Shhh... then Pounce!

I'm not feeling so well today. I couldn't get up this morning. I tried and shuffled back down the hall to rest some more just after 6. I just couldn't. I was so tired and achy and my head felt weird.

And there's the fact that I sleep so well when my precious puppy is otherwise occupied. So when Unnamed Friend is here, I'm relegated to "that person I know" in a certain canine mind so that she can dote on her new favorite friend. Which means that instead of cuddling with me, then sighing when I happen to shift positions (or nudging me awake to scold the cat when he attacks her), another human must cope with her. If I were a better person, I suppose I'd try to lure the dog in my room.

I'm not a better person.

So the story of the day is that Chienne went to the vet for her allergies - I adore my vet. Then I came home, attempted to get ready for work, then irritatedly put on pajamas and took more Advil and went back to bed. I'm all sick! Achy and nauseated. Foggy and sleepy. And I want to work - I'm not sad or afraid or anything other than suffering from some evil virus. So I slept. Chienne slept. But Sprout?

Sprout has a plan. He aspires to capture the tail of Chienne.

This plan can be enacted in any room of the house, and his target doensn't seem to mind his attempts at hunting.

"They play tail." Unnamed Friend said as I told her, pleased with their ability to interact, despite the sporadic hissing. "One cat will twitch her tail, and the other cat will chase. Moms do it for kittens. Friends do it for friends. It's fun."

"I don't think Chienne knows she's playing tail. But she seems happy enough to be oblivious to it."

The problem with any plan is that there are unforseen snags. And in what could be my favorite picture of sweet kitten, this is Sprout getting whacked with the very prey he sought. The tail wags at the will of its owner, and she's sometimes happy and sometimes sleepy. And the 2 states can morph rapidly, leaving a playful kitten to squint and dart away. Or get hit with a tail.

Either leaves me giggling and reviewing photos in delight as I lie on the bed with Klennex and a bottle of water.

But planning must be instinctual, for Sprout hasn't lived here long enough for me to train him. And while Chienne sleeps and whines and sighs just like I do (I can't remember exactly why, but I said, "You and me? It's like we have the same mind." To which Unnamed Friend replied - while giving me a look - "You realize you're talking to your dog." And I nodded happily, reporting that Chienne wanted to take a walk. I understand the dog quite well.)

I also admire taking a step back and considering your goal, which is what I believe Sprout is attempting to do here.

But then - great little creature that he is - he gets right back to it. He learned from his mistake, backed off a little bit, then stayed low to avoid detection (Chienne did know he was there - she just didn't care. I was petting her head and laughing, so she was quite content.)

Look at the concentration! The narrowed green eyes, the outstreched paw.

I'm so proud.

But, well, sometimes the best of plans go awry. The tail is taken away and you're presented with a head. You can glare at the head or you can avoid getting licked by the tongue that comes out of the head with frightening regularity.

The lovely thing is that I wasn't warning either of them to play nicely. They seem to have accepted each other, and we're coexisting peacefully (or playfully - it depends on the moment).

But since I do enjoy a happy ending, I thought I could conclude with the fact that the tail usually returns - in some form or another.

Sometimes Chienne turns around - not out of any altruistic feelings toward Sprout's plan, but because she was comfortable in her former position.

Sometimes Sprout stealthily moves again so that he is located at her back end, once more prepared to squint, focus and pounce.

I can only hope that I wake tomorrow feeling ready to do some squinting, focusing and pouncing myself.

There, there...

It is difficult for me to watch someone in pain. I don’t like it – feeling helpless and useless in the presence of an unhappy person. I like to help – provide food and distraction and some kind of comfort. If you’re sad, I could make cookies. Sick? Do you have Nyquil? Or Tylenol PM? How about Kleenex – the kind with the lotion so they don’t hurt your nose if you use many of them? I could loan you books if you enjoy romance novels or pick some up if you’d rather have another genre. I can listen for hours while someone whines or cries. I offer genuine sympathy and soothingly pat backs or stroke hair. I’ve historically been rather good in these situations.

Elle’s boyfriend of 3 years ended their relationship at the beginning of senior year of college. She was devastated – absolutely lost and crushed and desolate. Rachel and I had opposite sleep schedules, so she would sit with Elle at night, then I’d wake around 3AM and shuffle out to brush my teeth, then make tea and find another box of tissues. Then I’d sit next to Elle on the couch and let her curl into me and cry. Poor, poor dear. I knew it was hard, and would make soothing sounds and understanding statements until she was able to sleep for a couple hours.

M had her wisdom teeth removed in grad school – I insisted upon driving her to the oral surgeon so she could have the anesthesia, then smiled fondly as she came out of it. Yes, everything was fine. Sure, we could get ice cream later. No, she didn’t look like a chipmunk! Well, maybe a little. But just slightly. And a very cute chipmunk at that. But I helped her to the car, picked up the ice pack she dropped and drove to fill her prescriptions. I woke her up when she slept on my shoulder while we waited for her pain medication at the pharmacy, then covered her with a soft blanket and did some reading as I waited in her apartment.

I excel at calming Brother. It’s a tone of voice with him – whether he’s enraged or sobbing, simple words in my gentlest way of speaking. Repetition is key – it takes a few times for anything to sink in, so if I say it over and over, he seems to eventually cling to the concept, repeat it, and find a place of calm. Mom sent me to get him one night – he’d gone to a wedding with his wife and had gotten dangerously drunk. Like Dad, Brother is quite different when intoxicated. His wife was embarrassed and wanted him to leave – calling Mom and reporting she was going back inside because she couldn’t wake him from his slump against a tree (and they wonder why I abhor the girl).

Dad was angry, Mom was shaking with fear. Neither was capable of making the 45 minute drive at nearly midnight, so I took the car and sped toward where I thought the party was located. I took several frantic calls from my parents along the way, arriving to find Brother being propped up between 2 friends. I unlocked the door and buckled his seat belt without undoing my own and put the car in drive before acknowledging the man knocking on my window.

“Are you his sister?” He slurred when I opened it a bit.

“Yes.” I said, looking over at Brother again and asking if he was OK. Barely able to open his eyes, he nodded and said he wanted to stay with his wife. He was worried she’d meet someone else, he said. I bit back my reply that expressed my hope that she actually would and glared at her for only a moment when she emerged from the building to say good night to Brother.

“I’m sorry.” The “friend” outside my window said.

“What?” I snapped, turning my glare on him.

“I’m sorry you’re his sister. That must suck.”

I looked at him, furious and worried, spat out that he should get away from me, then rolled up my window and started to drive home. I bought food Brother refused to eat, calmly took his phone when he tried to call his wife again. I pulled over when he threw up and helped him take off his shirt because it was gross. I cleaned up pure liquor in vomit form when I heard him being sick in his old bedroom, then slept on the living room floor, listening in case he needed me. My parents were frustrated and upset as well, so I took care of it.

Carrie’s grandfather died in grad school, and I closed the door to the office and let her cry as I smoothed her hair. I - months later - took boxes of books to her apartment after she had surgery. In another year or so, I moved in for about a week when her husband had to move away for work. We put furniture in different places and she was happy with the simplicity of her living space rather than morose over the lack of the dining table because her husband took theirs when he moved. I bought Mexican food and shared cheese dip after difficult group meetings.

Rachel is less willing to let people in, but we’ve spent hours on the phone. Even when our bedrooms had a common wall in college, she’d sometimes call and talk without having to meet my eyes. And I’d listen and soothe, joke and distract. Send attentive emails the next day and buy little gifts so she could smile even when life wasn’t so good.

I’m good when times are bad. I feel stable because I’m busy. I crave comfort so often myself that I find offering it to others – especially those I love – rather effortless. I just keep making offers and doing little things until something seems to work. Helps the time pass just a little easier between now and when everything looks just slightly more OK.

It bothers me – I’d rather everyone just be fine all the time – but I’d rather be around than not. I’m used to offering comfort, being present in times of pain.

I’m not sure what the problem is, but the severity of my recent depressive episode has left me rather awkward in these times of late. The desire to help is there. I’m not afraid of the pain on a personal level, but I feel very worried about making it worse for the one who is suffering. I have a great appreciation for how dark the bad times can be. I know nothing helped me on those miserable days. And while I recognize that coping with life events that should be sad is very different than dealing with a mental health issue, I’m still fumbling through reactions that used to come quite easily.

I still offer food with great regularity, but I now understand completely when someone is too sick to even consider eating. I don’t murmur “shhh” when confronted with tears because sometimes crying releases a bit of that awful negative energy. I don’t suggest going to work because sometimes that’s too hard. The very act of being in the office can be agonizing. I can’t even ask gentle questions – I just wait until the words come. And if they don’t? That’s fine too – I get it. I’ll suggest walks because I walked a lot when I was lost in pain. It helped, I think.

I feel better - in the mental health sense - for the most part. I’m working and making serious progress. I saw my parents and enjoyed them, despite the complaints. I love my cat – I find him to be very sweet and cute. He sleeps in one corner of my bed, even when Chienne abandons me for the office and sporadic house guests. How to incorporate my faith in some profound way still rests uneasily in my mind. I’m waiting for something to click and feel right. So I comfort myself that I wasn’t really that bad. And even if I was rather crazy, the worst is clearly over. I’m OK.

But there are lingering effects. I look at people differently. Step much more carefully when I was once open and confident when I felt needed. I just don’t know what to do – I feel timid and unsure. The desire to help is immediate. My worry and sympathy is as sincere as it is strong. But even when I’m sleeping through the time when I planned to wake and check to make sure everything was OK, I did not have a plan for how to offer aid should some be required, and that bothered me. I felt like I should have had some idea, and I didn’t. I kept praying for the knowledge of what to say – how to offer comfort without condescension. And found myself opening my mouth, then closing it without saying a word. I couldn’t come up with much.

I made complaints while walking – about Chienne alternately yanking me forward then pulling me to a stop when she wanted to smell something. I tried to distract with stories – many of them random. I listened without comment or suggestion a great deal of the time. I don’t want to make it worse and have no idea how to make it better. I bought food and was relieved – tremendously so – when dinner “sounded OK.” I panted my way up a hill I’d climbed once before, then huffily declared there weren’t enough red trees on the side path we decided to take on our second trip around the park. I drove far out of the way on the trip home because I didn’t want to sit in traffic. Then worried that I was irritating my poor friend. Don’t make it worse, I scolded myself.

“Time will help.” I said at lunch – likely the only statement that helped me all day as I considered the future. “It won’t be OK, but I think it will be better. You’ll adjust.”

The truth – for me – is that bad things do happen. Those that are devastatingly awful and can’t be comforted or eased or taken away. And somehow in letting it hurt, allowing people to help – or at least to sit while they can’t think of how to help, letting time pass so that distractions become meaningful, humor and joy return and it does become OK. We cope and heal and move forward because there’s not really a good alternative.

It’s a good concept for me to remember. I think my fear is that there are moments of despair and panic that are profoundly bad. I’m scared of them. But I’m also hopeful that there are moments of great happiness and understanding and compassion. In the times when someone has to transition between the two states – from grief and pain to normalcy, pleasure and peace – I hope I figure out how to conduct myself with a bit less apprehension and a bit more grace. It’s part of who I was and who I hope to be. I’m just struggling to locate the right balance – in this as in many other things – right now.

Unscheduled absence

It was a long day. Not bad (though there was a sad part and a rather frustrating section), but long. And my cute little post sits with only a couple paragraphs of a long story. And I'm so very sleepy. So we'll catch up tomorrow, OK?

On reluctance and faith

Honestly? I’m a bit embarrassed. I don’t really get self-conscious about what I write here. You’re free to read and think and comment freely. I don’t expect that everyone will like or respect what’s here and while I’d rather the anti-Katie people move along quietly, it’s perfectly OK to come every day so you can think about how you’re much more sane and competent than I am. I’m not exactly sure of the impression I’m making – I offer you a great deal more than I offer people offline. It’s a bit strange, but it’s how I work. I’m more willing to let people in through this medium.

I knew I struggled with writing my last post. I sinned. It was bad. I learned something from it. Hopefully that takes me a step closer to something good. So why get defensive over what people might think? Why pause to think about saving the post for later before I shook my head and published? Why hope that people decide to take the day off from reading me? It was difficult to write – hardly my most clear or entertaining post. I couldn’t decide what to edit out, so it was incredibly long. I was bothered by it – almost posted something this morning to move it away from its spot at the top of the page.

I think the truth is that I don’t want to be seen as overly spiritual. How terrible is that? I know God – well, to some extent. I love Him, though I acknowledge that He’s more aware of the extent of those feelings than I am. I'm glad He knows my heart - someone should, and I don't think I'm always honest with myself about what I feel. It’s confusing – the urge to move closer followed by a retreat when I feel He welcomes me to Him. It’s not unusual – I understand that. There are periods of religious strength then times of lethargy. Undulation. But to embrace those peaks and to display obedience in the valleys? I would change. Become a different version of myself. And, again, I don’t want to do that.

The pills and therapy. A closer relationship with God. Progress at work that indicates I’m operating on some level closer to faculty than graduate student. I’m digging in my heels or dropping to the ground like that toddler who doesn’t want to leave the playground, and resisting any changes for all I’m worth. And when I do try to alter something, it appears to be the wrong thing.

When my parents were here, I noticed that I’m different. It happened without my permission – I’m just not the same as I used to be. I had this urge to revert – to figure out what exactly felt weird so I could fix it. Move backward into the person I used to be and abandon who I currently am. But that’s not an option – not on a real level – nor should it be. I have to go from here. That post last night was true – I believe it to be correct to the extent that I’m able to understand right now. I also consider it relatively important. A point where I can decide which way to go – I’m currently thinking that there are countless moments like that. Where I can make the right choice. My experience is that God isn’t ever far away. If I ask for help – need guidance in making some decision – He provides in some way. I haven’t ever felt forsaken as much as understanding I’ve abandoned the assistance freely offered.

I felt badly about these feelings – the urge to remove what I said, to pretend everything was normal, to talk more of fun things. Projects at work! Shopping! Pretty pictures! Even loneliness and depression are preferable to preachy posts. People are bound to stop reading, I thought morosely. I do like my blog, after all, and I hate to see my audience dwindle if I start to become more of a shiny spirit. But regardless of how much I regret these emotions, I really am struggling with stepping on the path to being more…something. Spiritual? Peaceful? Centered? Focused on God?

In moments where I’m confused or conflicted, I do what has worked in the past. Since I’m struggling with identifying who I am versus who I was, I looked to the very recent past. And decided to read more CS Lewis.

Luckily, I had discussed him with Boss and his wife. Offered my appreciation for The Great Divorce and recommended it enthusiastically when hearing that neither had read it.

“I am reading The Screwtape Letters.” Boss said. “Have you heard of that book?”

“Heard of it.” I replied, looking away from his liver and onions with a slight grimace. “I haven’t read it.”

“It’s good, though it must have been difficult to write.” He noted. “Screwtape is a…what?” He inquired, turning to his wife. “Demon?” She shrugged, then nodded. “He works for the Devil.” He clarified, pausing to sip his water.

“So Screwtape writes these letters to a lesser demon - a tempter - named Wormwood. He offers all this advice on how to take over his assigned person. How he should keep this man from God and the truth and happiness by using all these tricks. It’s good – the stuff he mentions does distract me from God, keeps me from living the way I could. But it must have been hard to write – to turn everything around and make good seem bad and bad seem good. He calls the Devil something like ‘The Father Below.’ But I’m enjoying the novel.”

So I bought Screwtape from audible and started listening to it this morning. I abandoned America: The Audiobook – which is really quite funny – in favor of more Lewis. If you recall, I waited for a few weeks before reading The Great Divorce – I thought it would be difficult for me to hear some of the stories it held. It wasn’t – I was ready and gave over to it quite easily. It was just so good – so filled with light and grace. The angels who came to help the ghosts? They were so joyful, so eager to provide that peace and purpose to the souls who had just entered Heaven. And the ghosts just had to decide to take the trip. To get on the bus that traveled to Heaven from the gray town. Then to walk with an angel until they gained enough strength, lost their ties to the world, and climbed the mountain to reach God.

I pushed play on the iPod and began The Screwtape Letters with the expectation that I would be similarly infatuated with this story.

I’m not.

It’s exquisitely written and read – I’m completely focused on the words and story. I remember nothing about my commute to or from work today – only the 10 letters I was able to hear while I drove. I nodded along, recognizing some truth, wincing in shame when I noticed places I’ve failed – allowed these demons to win.

But it’s hard to read – terrifically difficult to hear. I’m not supposed to believe in demons – don’t know that I do, really. But Screwtape indicates I’m not supposed to – it’s better if I don’t acknowledge the existence of evil. It makes it easier for it to take hold. Screwtape would enjoy that I feel embarrassed and awkward about my recent realizations. A moderate faith, he says, works as well for their side as no faith at all. Which irritates me, honestly, because I don’t like to lose. Don’t like thinking of my particular tempter writing to a favored uncle demon, skipping with happiness because I sinned against God knowingly. That I ignore what I know and avoid learning more. That sin and temptation appear to be victorious for the moment.

The fascinating factor is that Screwtape only grudgingly admits to God’s power, though he calls Him ‘The Enemy.’ So this book feels very dark to me. It’s funny in parts and very compelling throughout (though I’m not even halfway finished yet), but it’s scary. Absent of much hope and light – the work of my tempter, when I think of him, seems so easy. I help him out so very much. Don’t think enough of God or faith – convince myself I’m tired or unable to comprehend some of the concepts. I should instead have some lunch, as Screwtape suggests, or perhaps watch television, read blogs, focus on earthly pleasures – how pretty the leaves are. How nice the soap at work smells. What's going on with entertainment news. Anything to retain focus on sensory information.

“You don’t win.” I said to my tempter, eyes narrowed. “I’m learning. I’ll pray out loud because Screwtape is right – it’s too easy for me to lose focus when I’m silent. I will obey even when I don’t feel God’s presence because you creatures hate that. I do have hope – I do feel amazing relief because God doesn’t want me to be anything other than me. This bright person He put here for a reason and wants to love. You and those like you want me to become nothing more than food for a collective of evil. But now I know. And I can fight back.”

People will think I’m crazy, I thought immediately. That this depression pushed me over the edge into some fanatic faith because I’m very lost. I need to be moderate – talk about something else for a few days, then return to my discussion of faith. That would be more sensible, but would ignore the truth I think I heard from my car speakers.

That truth? I think there’s a struggle. It exists within me, so it’s certainly possible that it also occurs on a larger scale. Good versus evil. Heaven contrasting sharply with Hell. How I spend my days and how that affects where my soul spends eternity. I obviously connect well with what Lewis writes - how he portrays our attachment to this world and his illustration of sin and temptation. It makes sense to me - I can use it to grow and change and become better.

There are all sorts of adjectives I could string together to describe my life, but complicated would need to be included. So, regardless of my true motivation or my feelings about doing so, I’m pulling my faith from the periphery and toward the center. While I certainly understand oscillating between spiritual and secular focus, when I’m offered chances to change – when I’m compelled to think and write and pray even though it’s more than a little uncomfortable – I can’t resist anymore. So I’m moving forward. It’s slow, and I keep looking behind me and perhaps ducking my head because I’m not as proud as I should be, but I’m trying to shuffle out of my slump. It just feels shamefully difficult right now.

Oh, and I'm listening to Screwtape again tomorrow if for no other reason than I think the damn demon would rather I didn't.

"May I kill it?"

An introduction
I have progressed past dragging my feet on this particular post. If you think of the writing process as some sort of path through the woods, I believe you’d find me off to the side, taking a nap. It’s been a long time since I’ve struggled to articulate my thoughts to this degree. My feeling is that it’s important to me – a lesson, a confession and knowledge that I require to move forward successfully.

But once it’s written, it’s real. I’ve said it – skipping parts and stammering through words. But there’s something about writing it out, changing the order of paragraphs, considering the points and the context surrounding them. Trying to tell a cohesive story and explaining my conclusions. My goal isn’t to make you understand anything profound – I have long understood that what works for me isn’t what works for everyone. My hope is that people figure out their faiths to the extent that they’re able. Which is what I’m attempting to do. I’m just finding it difficult.

My typical strategy when I can’t get something written is to start adding headings. They cut out the struggle with transitions. There’s just some bold text that says “Now I shall talk about something else.” And I acknowledge that anyone who reads is more than capable of fitting it all together. That being said, this post is going to be long, and it’s highly unlikely to be elegant.

You’re not obligated to read this, but I’d like it if you would. The one recurring theme is that my faith and thoughts are highly influenced by external sources. I have a great deal left to understand and always appreciate hearing what people have observed or discovered. But here is the current state of my thoughts.


A book report
In the preface of The Great Divorce, CS Lewis discusses how there must be a break from what I love in this world. Not a short-term blip where God becomes momentarily important, but an acknowledgement that I am not meant for this world. I believe there is something after death and that being here has a purpose. But part of life is distractions – very, very tempting ones. As I search for purpose – satisfying work, wonderful friends, the hope that I’ll be able to create a family, acquiring animals to cuddle and care for, searching for love to give and receive, finding joy and enduring pain – I find it to be so compelling. So vividly real that it naturally demands so much of my awed attention that there isn’t a lot left for the ethereal spiritual concepts.

Lewis flips that around. Puts world-obsessed souls in Heaven - a place so substantial, so dense and heavy and real, that you can see through the ghosts. They’re transparent, so delicate that the grass hurts their feet as they stand on it. The narrator is unable to muster the strength to lift a single leaf. And even in the presence of such greatness, the ghosts eventually flee - return to Hell – a grey town - because it’s more of a known factor – comfortable to some extent. As the ghosts meet the angels sent to help them upon their arrival, they give various reasons for wanting to leave the spectacular place – so full of light and promise and joy they can’t access for various reasons. One wants to continue to use his talents – paint and be acknowledged for his gift. Another demands freedom of thought. A woman is embarrassed by her inappropriate clothing and refuses to stay. Another tries to tempt the angels and flounces away in frustration when they fail to gaze at her with lust. Lewis examines parental love, a great deal of fear, and the concept of pity. It’s magnificent, honestly. Such a good book.

But there’s one character - a ghost who came from Hell - that stays with me. I got the feeling he was sick – his spirit was oily rather than purely translucent or vaguely smoky. And he was scolding the lizard on his shoulder as it spoke to him. When his angel approached, the man apologized. Told the angel he was terribly sorry for he knew this was inappropriate. The lizard wouldn’t let him come alone, but now that he was there, the animal refused to stay silent. So he’d have to leave.

The angel asks if the ghost if he’d like the lizard silenced, and the man accepts quickly until the spirit shares his plan to kill the lizard. The man shared my concern – the lizard appeared to be part of him, and though it was clearly making him ill, killing the creature seemed overly harsh. So the man backs away – he wants to wait until later, see his doctor back in the grey town and if it appears necessary to kill the lizard, he will return. The man never rules out the possibility – he simply isn’t ready yet. The angel insists he must decide now – that the lizard is bad for the man, and must be killed.

“May I kill it?” He asks multiple times, and I read quickly, both terrified and fascinated. The man is similarly frightened and the lizard encourages this fear, saying that the angel doesn’t understand, that the man needs him, acknowledges he’s gone too far in the past – encouraged bad behavior and pushed too hard for certain decisions, but he’ll stay quieter, be better. Killing him is unnecessary and scary and painful.

But at the angel’s insistence – his continued requests of “May I kill it?” – the man finally accepts – saying that dying is preferable to living with the creature on his shoulder. So the spirit reaches out his fiery hands and kills the lizard. It seems to cause the man excruciating pain, but then something spectacular happens. Amidst bright light, a spirit emerges from where the ghost had fallen in agony. He is vivid and beautiful and the narrator is distracted when the lizard appears to struggle as well. After his death, the reptile becomes a gorgeous stallion and the man – a shining being that emerged from an oily ghost – is able to ride the horse up the mountain toward where God lives.

It’s a moment of exquisite triumph and joy. I was breathless and brushed away tears – so moved by the mercy of the angel in helping the ghost, the terrified bravery of the man to lose part of himself because it was bad for him, and the incredible reward he received for his eventual willingness to accept help, to face pain, to achieve growth at terrible expense then to emerge as something incredible.

An analogy
Have you seen toddlers throw tantrums? When presented with a refusal to obey with their childish whims, they often lose it. Shrieking cries, faces wet with tears, stamping feet, clenched fists. The frustration and injustice is just so overwhelming that the little guys can’t keep it together. It can be entertaining or irritating or befuddling to watch. Sometimes I understand – I too have wanted a stuffed animal and been crushed with disappointment when denied. And sometimes I frown in line at the grocery store. It’s gum, kid. Honestly – find some perspective. Regardless, the pain is genuine and the desire that this display of angst will somehow turn the tides so their will is obeyed is intense. I like intensity.

I’m reminded as I write this in fits of energy, then frown when it doesn’t make much sense, of the little ones who just go limp. Faced with going to the doctor or leaving the playground, they fall to the ground and refuse to aid any movement. It seems embarrassing to pick up the dead weight of their tiny bodies – to forcibly move them to where they need to go. But as parents – or even as adults in general (since I’m not a parent) – we’re responsible for the tiny creatures. It’s an awesome job – to protect them as they learn, to attempt to teach while relegated to watching them make some mistakes on their own. Sometimes the most effective teaching mechanism is pain.

I’ve been told – when asked for criticism – that I tend toward being more than a bit naïve. So my comparison of my current state to that of a toddler isn’t meant to be dismissive of all I know or have accomplished. Children can be astonishingly smart and capable and wise. They approach some moments of life with such great hope, optimism and love that I’m awed by some of them. But they have a great deal to learn – their abilities to trust might be weakened, they might not be as open to love, the naïve trust that people should play nicely is replaced by the knowledge that cheating, lying and stealing often pay off. You can take advantage and get ahead. Or at least it seems so.

So when you teach children – or as I’m attempting to remind myself – to be good, and then to worry about success, there comes a point where you can’t just pick them up and tote them around. So you turn to reason – telling stories, imparting rules, setting consequences, introducing them to people and concepts so that they participate in making the world better.

I started with the lesson – I certainly can’t illustrate it better than Lewis, so I began with the lizard, stallion, ghost and angel. But some concepts can’t be embraced without personal experience. So now I have to confess and explain mine.

But I want that!
I have more blessings than I can mention. Well, I could mention them, but I don’t. Instead I focus on what I’m missing. Ignore all the toys and games and love in my room at home to fixate on that little stuffed animal at the store that I simply must obtain.

At any cost.

I have a desperate desire to love and be loved. To feel the warmth of someone as he sits next to me. To glow because someone might be thinking of me at this very moment. Those are natural feelings – to care for someone and basking in the comfort that he returned my admiration. Feeling safe, beautiful, important. Loved. That’s good – those things are all good.

But in the moment they became overwhelming – that my grip on them carried me farther from God – I believe they made my soul oily. So why take love – of all emotions with which to sin – and soil it? Make it ugly and inappropriate?

I don’t think God has a man in mind for me.

“Why not?” Mom asked gently as we drove home from the store one night. She understood about the lizard – the representation of sin that comes from inside me. She looked at me – very concerned – when I admitted I’d knowingly and egregiously sinned. I loved God – she’s seen the strength of that devotion and is shocked that anything could overcome it. Dismayed that I allowed this to happen. As am I. But it did.

“I’m not sure.” I answered. “It’s just a feeling. He loves me – I know that. And if I’m not supposed to be married, then it’s the right thing. If I were to get married, I might be unhappy or might love this man more than I love myself or God or anything good. So I understand – on some level – that I should rejoice in God’s love, feel grateful that I haven’t stepped too far off His path to return to it. But I’m sad – I want to be loved, to live with someone, sleep with him, have children, share myself and accept him. I think I’d be good at it. But it has to come with God’s blessing for it to be right. I think I know that.”

But it fails to make me happy. I’m moved by the thought that God understands the core desire that caused the lizard. That I chose a poor representation of love – a red lizard with beady eyes and a twitchy tail – over what is possible – a gleaming horse that eclipses the lizard in beauty, size and function. But if I’m a toddler in the store and see this exquisite toy, I can understand if it’s too expensive. That it is very nice, but it’s not for me. So my feeling is that I should pick something more obtainable and fixate on that.

And that’s what I did. In a moment that will be confessed momentarily.

A request refused
I heard a sermon in the early Spring. I enjoyed it, but I basically put my hands over my ears, scrunched my eyes closed and said “la, la, la!” so the message couldn’t take hold. But it stuck – I always knew it would.

“There are some questions I hate to hear.” My pastor said. “And the main one regards fasting. Whenever I make a doctor appointment and demand the earliest time slot available so I can go the least amount of time possible while fasting, they ask why a preacher can’t go without food more gracefully. And I shrug and give some excuse and keep whining until they give me a 7AM appointment. Because I love to eat! I can’t stand being hungry!”

He had decided that fasting was a good way to retain focus on God by removing some of his earthly focus on food. So he decided to practice before church that morning. He ate dinner on Saturday evening, had 3 servings of dessert to tide him over, then decided he’d have a huge brunch after the 10AM service ended.

“I couldn’t even last until 8:00.” He reported sheepishly. “I was getting ready to come in to greet the early congregation, and had about 2 minutes to spare. I used those minutes to raid the youth group snack closet.

“I found a can of peaches – one of those little pop-top snack tins. I didn’t even waste time looking for a spoon. I just dumped the peaches in my mouth and decided if I dripped on my shirt, my robes would cover it up while I was preaching. Those peaches were amazing. I can’t remember enjoying food more in recent memory – a cheap little can of peaches gave me an incredible amount of pleasure.

“But as I stood there, wiping juice off my chin, I thought about how wonderful it would be if I could hunger like that for God. Be desperate and giddy to be in His presence. Wait impatiently until I could pray. Look eagerly for a break at work so I could read my Bible. Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could take the passion for the worldly things we enjoy – sports, television, friends, family, food – and put that energy toward God instead?”

So he encouraged us to do that. Spoke with passion and enthusiasm and urged us to think of one thing that brought us the most joy – that we were eager for and happy in – and to take a break from it. Just a small break, he said, telling us not to panic. We could still enjoy our favorite thing. But imagine what you could learn and gain if that energy went toward listening to God, loving our neighbors, learning His word, being with Him rather than focused on the world.

I didn’t obey. I understood the message for my little email relationship was very, very good at that point – God clearly said to stop with the online activity for a little while. Take a break from the email which I loved so much. Stop with the daily blogging that takes so much time and attention. Ignore site statistics and avoid reading comments. The eagerness with which I approached people online – spent time reading and writing and thinking, falling in love – should go toward God. Ask His guidance. Try to follow His plan.

My experience is that if I have something that God doesn’t like, He will eventually take it away. So in those moments when I decided to willfully disregard the warning, I knew my attention should be directed elsewhere. When faced with God’s first request to kill the tiny lizard He could see growing in strength, I knowingly chose present pleasure over eternal peace. Waved my hand at God and rested securely in the knowledge that I could eventually be forgiven if I were wrong. But if I could have a relationship, I wanted it – much, much more than I wanted to be right with God.

I didn’t share those thoughts with anyone – friends, family, or the man with whom I was falling in love. I didn’t want to be saved and I was afraid that someone in my life – given the truth of my thoughts – would insist upon their further consideration. But I wanted to love. So the lizard grew. And it made me very, very sick.

I’m not sure the lizard is dead, to be honest. Wounded, certainly, but perhaps still clinging to the control it held over me. And that lizard – even when directed at the best of men who could love me in a wonderful way – is bad. It’s inherently bad, I think. It indicates my lack of trust in God to know what’s best for me – to give what I need and withhold that which will harm me.

I want to be clear here. The lizard was born and started to thrive before anything went badly with Peter. This has absolutely nothing to do with him and everything to do with me and choices I made. I believe that given anyone in the same circumstances, I would have made the same choice. The problem was not that I picked the wrong guy. The error was that I didn’t trust God.

And it’s not the first time.

What about Grandpa?
I received a small booklet my freshman year in college. I believe it was from Campus Crusade for Christ, though I could be mistaken. There was a picture – poorly drawn in black ink on white paper – of 2 scenarios. There was a throne at the center, and 2 figures. One represented me, the other Christ. Scenario 1 had me on the throne and Christ somewhere near the bottom corner of the image. Scenario 2 placed Christ on the throne and me fluttering happily by His side. I rather liked scenario 2, so I decided to take the meeting they offered.

I sat on a sofa in a dim room in the student center. We talked about God and giving over to His will and trusting Him. Then my grandparents came up, though I can’t recall if it was at my urging or theirs. Grandpa didn’t go to church, and I ended up asking if he could go to Heaven anyway.

“He could. If he accepted Christ as his personal savior and knew that his sins were forgiven because that price had been paid for him.”

“And if he didn’t accept that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes in warning and watching the woman shake her head sadly.

“That’s the only way to get there.” She said softly.

So I didn’t return – it was too absolute for me. I wanted to learn and ask questions and cling to the comfort that was offered by believing my loved ones were in a better place. It took me a long time to wrap my mind around the idea of Heaven – who gets in, who might be left out. It eventually came down to trust for me. I believe that God is a benevolent being. His love for me has been proven countless times and I feel him as a peaceful, hopeful presence. Though I understand He is capable of terrible anger and absolute power, I believe He badly wants us to come to Him.

So if I wanted Grandpa in Heaven, God must want him there so very much more. God knew every second of Grandpa’s existence. Must have tried many times to guide him in the right direction, allow him opportunity for love, happiness and purpose. If anyone could get Grandpa to Heaven, it was God. And I trusted that He tried. That if the right thing was for Grandpa to be in Heaven, that God would get him there. And I relaxed. I wanted to go to Heaven – I wouldn’t worry about who else was there. God could deal with them. I’d just try to focus on me.

But here's the tantrum part
I struggle mightily with giving over control. I beg for help when I need it, but then start to feel better and snatch my life away from God, huddle around it protectively, start thinking and planning and excluding Him.

There are countless decisions – moments where I should pause to pray, consider my motivations, think about consequences – that occur every day. I fully expect that I’ll mess many of them up. In my experience, the meager prayers and attention I offer God are enough to give him a bit of my consciousness so that I understand when He yanks me back. When the misery without Him becomes too much. When I’m left weeping and trembling and begging for Him to please kill it – to take whatever is causing me such pain, to forgive that I not only carried the lizard around, but that I saw it, chased it, captured it, and convinced it to stay. Fed it, listened to it, and allowed it to infect the way I think and act and live.

It’s scary. To look at parts of myself – the lizards on my shoulders – and understand they are damaging my soul. On my journey – for some reason - I don’t think I get the horse, and a lizard seemed better than nothing. What toddler wants to leave the store with nothing? I think God wants the horse for me though it may not be in the form I want – a man who could pair with me for my time here – but it will be in the form I need. But to be open to that horse, I need to allow the lizard to die. And I think I’m trying to keep it alive, nurse it back to health. Because it fits in my little brain. I understand what it looks like and how it speaks and how it feels to have moments of happiness surrounded by a life of sadness. Hope that eventually dims in the surrounding darkness. Because the lizard only takes – makes me sick and sad and turns me into someone I don’t recognize. Yet I stamp my foot and cling because he’s my lizard!

I don’t want to meet someone at church – those men tend to be too good. I don’t find them complicated or fascinating. Their impression is more respectful and kind than confident and sexy, and I’m drawn to the latter. I crave the thrilling flirtations, the nudges into sex – mental and physical, the dark shiver when I look at a man and realize he might be able to push me farther than I knew I could go. I’m trying to realize that those desires aren’t inherently lizard-like either. There can be passion and affection mixed with love and obedience to God. I don’t think faith has to be boring. In fact, I’m doing it wrong if it fails to excite me on any real level. I personally love God very much – want to do what’s right in His eyes. I simultaneously have more than a passing interest in sex, secular interests, and sarcastic humor. It’s not at all out of the realm of possibilities that there are men who are completely compelling who have focused on their faiths. Pushed other qualities aside – allowed certain lizards to be killed – to make room for the horses that replace them.

The horse and lizard can’t exist simultaneously. They come from the same desire – the same internal yearnings – and represent those feelings. It’s the dichotomy of my choices – when I screw up and find myself with a lizard, do I stick with the comfort of the familiar – I know how the lizard speaks and he’s not all that heavy to carry around? He’s part of me – I created him. And it will certainly hurt to have him killed. But his very existence prevents the possibility of something better. So faith must get me past the fear – the knowledge that God loved me in the past and will continue to do so. The horse will emerge out of the pain and trust from losing the lizard. I believe this to be true.

His rules are not about earning a place in Heaven or pleasing Him enough to justify His love and hope for me. He is rather an extremely loving parent. Seeking to carry me at times – forcibly moving me to where I need to go. Other times he sends people to give gentle warnings, to support me when I’m low, to offer rebukes when I’m wrong. When I ignore His warnings, I do so at my own peril. I waste time – which is finite – and fail to move toward the greatness I could obtain while I cling to the darkness I create on my own. I’m afraid of change – I really don’t want to give up some of those lizards – but I’m tremendously grateful that I might see them for what they are. His rules are built so I can be successful here - happy, full of purpose and love. I very much want to try to follow them.

In doing so, the hope is that I become more of an adult. And a good adult at that.

Saturday Snippets

The cat plays at midnight.
I’m told he’s a kitten and kittens are prone to biting fingers and toes, destroying their toys and wanting to play wild games in the middle of the night. My new flannel comforter is bite-proof, thank goodness, so the dog and I are safe as we huddle under it to find sleepy warmth. It does get hot though, so my feet emerge at some point, as does Chienne’s head. We are then vulnerable for Sprout’s less than subtle attempts to rouse a playmate.

Biting my toes is effective only for getting scolded. I don’t even feel guilty about chastising him since it’s hardly a habit I want to encourage. I was next awakened by a low growl from the dog as she rested her head on the pillow across the bed from my own. I rolled over to blink at her, wondering what was causing such a tired yet irritated sound, and saw Sprout standing over her, paw ready to swat her nose again. I stifled a laugh and shooed him away, patted her head, covered her shoulders, and snuggled into my own pillow again.

So on his first overnight chance at freedom, Sprout did some damage to my sleep schedule. I also think I’m trying to make up for missing rest due to the parental visit. Regardless, I slept hard for parts of last night – I don’t remember waking at all on my own. And a night limited to cat-related disturbances is a good night indeed. I tried to get up around 7:30 – that’s officially sleeping in for me. But I ended up back in bed until nearly 10. At that point, the day is officially wasted in my mind, so I accomplished very little. You could basically list any number of tasks and I would shake my head sadly. I didn't do much of anything.

Why get out of bed at all?
Answer: To help America’s youth. Halloween is approaching and I went through massive amounts of candy last year. In an attempt to help me out, Mom bought treats to for me to distribute and stored them on top of my refrigerator. I politely left the bags alone while my parents were here – thanking them for taking care of those purchases – but quickly went to investigate after they left.

My first find was Kit Kats, which were a favorite childhood treat. We would park the car on Grandma and Grandpa’s blacktopped driveway and enter the side door. I would climb three steps to arrive at the kitchen, then turn immediately to the right and open the second drawer from the bottom. After retrieving a Kit Kat, I would go to collect my hugs, and have someone open my candy so I could break off pieces and savor the crunch and chocolate. I do enjoy Kit Kats.

So I had a few of those. Well, more than a few. But I told myself that there’s some kind of childhood obesity epidemic and that I was only saving the dear kids from a future of diabetes and heart disease and all sorts of awful fates. Apparently this altruistic urge comes with the understanding that I might suffer all these problems myself, but will have enjoyed some high quality candy along the way.

Then I found the bag of Twix and the day went from bad to worse. I like Twix almost as much at Kit Kats! Which is why I buy any candy other than those for Halloween. M&Ms? Eh. Fruity candy? I’ll leave it alone. Hard candy? I might have a single peppermint. Anything peanut-buttery? I wrinkle my nose. But some sort of crunch – from wafer or cookie – and chocolate and perhaps some caramel? I’m all in. I have a feeling that this recent dilemma of my pants being too big is going to get solved posthaste.

Out for the evening
I did have plans this afternoon, so I finally took Chienne for a walk (though I’m not sure of the point when I’m consuming thousands of calories in candy) and cleaned the kitchen (had to pick up all those candy wrappers) and picked up the living room (um…more candy wrappers). Then I finished unpacking, sorted some clean laundry, gathered dirty clothes, fed the animals (they eat each other’s food. Why? And I gave them some leftover chicken and Sprout was delicately trying to eat his to provide contrast to Chienne’s inhalation method. He accidentally dropped his tiny piece of meat, and the dog quickly took care of that. And he hissed at her for the first time today.) and got ready to go.

I was sleepy and did miss my candy, but I had a nice time. There’s something about listening to English spoken in a lyrical Spanish accent that’s quite enjoyable. I drank sangria and thought about how nice it was to eat wine-soaked fruit. I considered how rarely I get to watch flames as I stared at the grill, then had an excellent meal. I met Unnamed Friend’s friend and several pretty cats. There was entertaining conversation and a tour of a very cool house and a declined offer of leftovers.

Then I drove home, opened Sprout’s door, accepted Chienne’s frantic greetings – she misses me ever so much when I’m gone, and took out my painful contacts. I really don’t like my new ones – they correct for astigmatism, but they hurt!

So after writing a rather lame but newsy blog post, I have to decide whether I can stay awake long enough to do a couple loads of laundry. And, of course, choose between a Kit Kat and Twix…

Look! Look at the pretty lighting!

Nope - can't get the post written. And now I'm at the point where I've worked on it enough that it should actually start getting good. Or at least making sense to me on some profound level. But some of the thoughts feel right, but I'm still lost as to what to do with some of my new knowledge. So there are pages of text as I've tried to write stream of consciousness and I'm not used to not posting what I've written lately! So I'm mildly frustrated with it.

I basically felt like I was chasing my tail today - with work and with blog writing. But Sprout likes to mess with Chienne's tail while she sits and watches him, confused as to what he's doing. I really hope they're going to be friends eventually. I'm quite proud of my pretty puppy.

And I'm quite pleased with my lovely lighting, so I took pictures. I'm guessing you all will rue the day I decided to buy a digital camera since you end up viewing more photos than most people I know. Sorry about that. But the new glass shades make the old lighting look so much better. Though it is still a bit dusty - I tried to crop those parts out, but I can only do so much without actually cleaning them again.

It's a bit sad that this is all I can think of to say, isn't it?

Please note...

I'm seriously considering - in what I can only describe as an effort to waste massive amounts of time - going back and tagging my old posts. All 300+ of them. I believe this will make them all show up in bloglines for those of you who use that to read me. So I'd like to suggest that you edit your subscription so that you ignore updated items. This proposed project also gives me a chance to read and fix typos for everything I've written here! Imagine the time that will take!

Chienne and Sprout can apparently live quite peacefully. They're both on the floor, staring at each other across the living room. Chienne knows she's not to hurt him and he takes shameless advantage by swatting at her periodically then scampering away. My little hound mix isn't a very good hunter though. She'll wander around, looking for her feline friend, not realizing that he's actually following her as she moves from room to room. Even as I write, his tail is twitching as he anticipates getting the best of his floppy eared housemate. But the hissing is rare. They're actually doing really well - all that worry for nothing.

My parents left early this morning and it brought the expected sadness for me. I don't like it when people leave. It's been lovely - for the most part - having the extra noise and energy and activity in the house. Yesterday - since some home improvement project is mandatory - we replaced the globes in some of the light fixtures. It made a huge difference - I'm really quite pleased. I hated the chandelier over my kitchen table with a passion, but putting these on made it pretty. My favorite are sort of like these on the fan in my living room. As far as gifts from my parents, I'm enjoying them tremendously. So while Mom would have stayed forever, Dad was ready to head north to deal with his car projects. I'm blinked back tears as they drove away, but returned to giggle over my animals and stare sleepily out the window at the cloudy day, contemplating playing with my blog while I run Matlab code.

I suspect there are worse ways to spend the day.

Spoken, not yet written

I started the post I've been meaning to write. I've been composing it in my head for a couple days now - choosing words, putting sentences together, puzzling over flow. It's not a story so much as a series of feelings, decisions and concepts. And it's failing to come together in the way that I want.

But I was putting together one of the pieces when Mom finished dinner. So I sat with my parents and ate, then stood with my mom and cleaned. Put away leftovers. Frowned at the cat as he sat on the table, and smiled as Chienne unsuccessfully hunted for him. He's been out all day - save the part where we drove around looking for something to do - and I think the animals are playing. They chase and Sprout swats and they spend lots of time looking for each other. But it's OK. It seems to work. Sprout is going to stay when Mom and Dad leave tomorrow. I have a cat.

So instead of writing more, I talked to my mother. Told her about the book - about the spirits who came from Hell and why they decided not stay in Heaven once they arrived. So many reasons. I understood most - if not all - of them. But there's a particular character that stayed with me in one of the most terrifying and triumphant scenes. And it's those few pages that I want to summarize - those which remain so vivid in my mind. So I talked. Watched her stare at me, focused, eyes wide because the story is so compelling. I used the same words too often - the conversation was hardly elegant. I spoke too quickly because I was so passionate about this topic - I stumbled and backtracked and missed some points. She understood anyway. Asked questions, offered gentle advice, sighed and considered me when I offered my tentative conclusions.

It was good - telling someone what I was thinking while I was struggling to write it out.
The thoughts are there and I think tomorrow they'll be here. But it seems more important to talk with Mom, cuddle because I'm not sure when I'll see her again, pet my dog and watch for my cat because he's prone to pouncing when I least expect it. I'm figuring it out though - I really think I'm making a tiny bit of progress on figuring it all out.

Sprout finds freedom.

I'm sleepy. There was sightseeing yesterday (waterfalls! And I didn't even have to walk through a shooting range to see them!) with my parents. We drove a good distance, but it was well worth it. The scenery was gorgeous - more than enough for another blog template. I think that you'll be spared the photo posts here shortly. But for now? Look how pretty!

There was work today. Meetings where I actually contributed - apparently knowledge was gained at my meeting. I gave myself credit for finding the waterfall, but not for learning very much. But I picked up some information which I was able to share with my colleagues back at home. Lovely.

I also touched base with my volunteer coordinator - I'm one step closer to getting started. The Plan update 2 is looking good!

We have also opened the door for the kitten. It's going well - no blood has been shed, though the stares are not overly friendly. I just had to pause so that I could pet the dog located behind my knees and aim the spray bottle at the cat who was carefully planning his attack on her. I prevented said altercation successfully.

Little Sprout is rather... playful. I lost track of how many times he launched his slight body at the backs of my legs. Or tried to wrap his paws around my arm so he could bite me. But we're controlling Chienne and allowing Sprout his explorations. So he races between rooms, plays with his string, delights in startling us with his pounces. I rather think the animals will sleep well tonight. I hope I'll do the same.

I have posts in mind - 2 of them, actually. But I'd like them to be written well, and I can't come up with the time, energy or focus at the moment. Mom and Dad have decided to head north on Friday morning rather than Sunday though, so my typical wordiness shall return shortly.

In the meantime, I shall stare at my new graphics with utter delight. I hoped the brown would work well, and I'm ever so pleased with it. I want to add some categories, and think I know how to do it easily. I really just want to create another sidebar picture though - I like doing those for some reason. It's good to have a hobby I enjoy.

Guilty

“Don’t you feel bad?”

Yes. Of course I do. About anything and everything. I don’t work hard enough. I haven’t ever changed the oil in my lawnmower – I didn’t even consider that it should be done. I didn’t get the garbage cans out early enough today and the truck had to come back later. I didn’t email M immediately after hearing about the earthquake. I haven’t talked to Cousin about dinner plans this week. I keep Sprout locked in the guest room most of the time.

“Not really.” I answered in response to the final complaint. “I don’t have anywhere else to keep Sprout – I hadn’t planned on getting a cat, and wanted to take care of him.”

“But he wants out! To spend time with people.” Mom insisted, giving me a sad stare. The guilt is effortless.

“You should have left him outside.” Dad commented with a bite in his voice. “If you’re just going to keep him imprisoned.”

My father is overwhelmingly critical at times, though I think he means well. Everything is stupid and negative and wrong. And if I attempt to argue? He threatens to go home. He doesn’t have to tolerate people snapping at him. Heaven forbid, I think with a roll of my eyes as I fall silent. Keep the peace. Swallow my retorts even when I know he’s wrong. Accept the irritation myself rather than having him deal with it.

Mom, on the other hand, tries much harder to be accepting of my decisions. She hasn’t once brought up relationships, though there has been email about what people at work have tried. How they’ve met appropriate Christian men who spend minimal time online. But I’ve allowed Chienne to become painfully spoiled. I’m not doing well by Sprout – she talked to Dad’s sister and she might take him.

I felt my throat tighten at the thought of losing the pretty cat. Had to face the decision about what was best for him versus letting go of a creature I love. I didn’t want him – I admit that freely. I don’t know how this is all going to work – he and the dog don’t get along particularly well, though it’s slightly better now than before. But give him to a woman I haven’t seen in years? One I don’t recall being anything other than abrasive? No. I can’t do that.

“She lost her cat.” Mom said. “We were over one night getting papers signed for Uncle Ray’s estate and she’d just returned from vacation. The cat wouldn’t come home and they kept calling and calling him. It was awful – I felt so badly for her.”

Sympathy tugged at me as well – it’s hard to lose a pet. And I looked at Mom and understand where her thoughts are going – she saw a pain and remembered it. That’s lovely. She sees a cat I’m not able to give enough attention to, and wants to solve 2 problems at once. Make life better for my aunt and cat in one fell swoop. I said I’d think about while I was on my trip.

Upon my return, I was informed that Mom might take him home or Brother would take him. Either place would be better than here. Brother’s dog was more obedient than Chienne – my dog would certainly hurt the small cat at some point. Mom didn’t really want him, but she felt so bad for him. All alone in that room. All the time. She would accept the responsibility, and she did love him – cuddles him close and plays with his feathers on a string. They’re sweet together – Mom’s such a loving presence. I really do adore her – we laugh and talk and she tries so hard to understand me, to help me.

I’m like them – as critical as Dad at his worst, as manipulative as Mom at her peak. Living alone has made me miss them terribly – we get along very well 90% of the time. But there are times they make me tired – when I wish they’d go away so I can just think and write and work.

Then I could spend some time with Sprout then leave him with all his toys and his blanket in the window – take comfort from his gentle warmth and constant purring when I need him, and feel fine about leaving him alone when I need to do that.

Not worry that I didn’t send email to friends quickly enough. No, I don’t want them to think I don’t care. Yes, I want to treat people as I want to be treated.

I should work harder. I know it was very sweet of Boss to express his pride in me. It would, in fact, be nice to do something to deserve said pride.

I know – Dad doesn’t mean to be so indifferent to the needs of others. That he expects Mom to cook even when she’s not feeling well. That he complains about her driving even when she only offered to drive so that he could look around without steering us into a ditch. He is difficult. We still love him. I know.

I also know that he’s hurt when Mom lashes out – when she demands respect that she’s certainly due. I worry when she picks at food because I know she’s not feeling well – her knees and tummy hurt. Hiking around the state park was traded for driving to account for their preferences. I’m watching Dancing with the Stars rather than Gilmore because I know she enjoys the dancing.

It shouldn’t be hard to spend time with my family. To do what I know I should want to do with friends and pets and employment. I’m pretty selfish. I know.

I feel appropriately badly.

Progress is progress...

I forgot to remind you all to check out StyleyGeek's 3rd Carnival of GRADual Progress. I'm very proud to be included, and gratefully accept my imaginary award. I do like to tell stories.

I got home after a bumpy landing and slept quite well. Now Mom and Dad are here, partaking of the "let Sprout out of the room while Chienne's on a leash" plan. So writing for the blog is a bit self-indulgent at the moment. Luckily, there's good stuff at the carnival that I look forward to reading. I hope you can say the same.

Chasing Waterfalls

It was with grim determination that I set out from the hotel to find the waterfall. I had forgotten my map in my rush out of the room - we finished lunch later than I had planned, and so I threw on jeans and a casual shirt, tied my shoes, and headed out the door. All I took with me? A camera with dying batteries, a couple tissues (my nose runs in the cold) and lip gloss. No map - I'd left it on my bed and decided I certainly wouldn't need it since I was in a hurry anyway.

I returned - triumphant but tired - two hours later.

Apart from the time that passed between 1 and 3PM, today looked much like yesterday. I skipped breakfast to sleep a bit later. I was disturbed by the tapping that I hear even now - I finally turned the TV on at a low volume to drown it out - and didn't sleep that well. I enjoyed the conference, though there were some talks that could have been shorter. I decided to make half a sandwich today because I didn't finish the whole one yesterday at lunch - that's one difference. And I did change clothes completely before setting off on my hike. Oh, and I got lost while wandering around.

It turns out that a map would have been helpful. When planning a 3 mile hike, it's not overly efficient to add another couple miles to your route by missing the first major turn. I tried to remember enough of the map to decide if there was some alternate route, but finally turned around, shaking my camera to convince it to find the energy to take more pictures, and headed up the blacktopped road that I had earlier decided must be a driveway. It wasn't.

But the weather was cool and cloudy - a good day for walking - so I continued pretty happily once I found the right path. And I decided that getting lost had made me late - why else would everyone I saw be heading the opposite direction?

I finally reached a turn that lead to a gravel road from the pleasantly paved one I had been using. Then I saw two friendly Europeans and smiled easily at them while offering a hello.

"Are you going to the waterfall?" Asked the beautiful man.

"I am! Did you see it?" I asked, glancing between him and his beautiful companion.

"No - we turned around." He said as she shook her head. "I have to be back soon, so we saw the stream, but we didn't take the right path to get to the waterfall."

"Where do you think the right path is?" I asked, freely admitting to myself that I wasn't likely to get there on my own.

"We took the first turn, but you can't get there from that one. The bridge is out. So keep going straight - you go around the no trespassing fence, then curve around the gravel road, then follow the dirt path. Then ignore the first route to the left - that goes to the stream - and keep going toward the shooting. The map says there's another path that leads to the waterfall, but we didn't make it that far." Then he held out his map. "We don't need this anymore - we'll find our way back without it."

So I thanked him, took his map gratefully, and paused only briefly to read the "No Trespassing. All violaters will be prosectued!" sign before skirting around the edge of the gate and continuing down the gravel road. I also ignored about 10 bright yellow signs. They said "Do Not Enter! Shooting Range." But I shrugged philosophically, consulted my map, and headed further down the path. I was pleased when the gravel turned to dirt, and started looking for the path to the stream. Before I reached it, I watched a line of horses and riders climb the hill to my left, and I paused to let them continue their ride. There were 6 horses, and 4 of them were deep brown. The other 2 were not brown, though I don't recall their colors. But the riders offered smiles, so I decided the "Keep out!" signs must not apply to me. I was similarly encouraged when a man drove past on a ATV. If nobody told me to leave, it must be OK to stay.

So, admist the noise of increasingly heavy gunfire, I pushed forward, stopping several times to consult the map and peer carefully into the woods, wondering if I had missed the second path and would soon end up in the center of the shooting range. But when the shooting paused momentarily, I could hear water from the stream. Looking down at my map, I read the directions and noticed the "You'll be able to hear the falls." note for my current location. So I narrowed my eyes, checked my surroundings for recreational shooters, and continued around the curve.

It was with no small amount of excitement that I came across a small path - just wide enough for one person - covered in pine needles and leaves. It was incredibly steep and I carefully picked my way down toward the water I could hear, wanting desperately to see it. After my initial decent, I could make out the top of the waterfall, and could hear the water as it rushed over the edge, but my map said there was a bridge a bit further. If I could cross it, I'd be able to reach the level ground on the other side, then take a picture of the waterfall! So I painstakingly made my way around low limbs, over fallen trees and stepped over some of the large rocks that were loose. I smiled when I saw the bridge, ignoring the noise from the stupid guns that were above and all around one edge of my little valley to focus on the water that flowed easily under the sturdy bridge. I quickly reached the other side.

Backtracking, I walked easily now that I was away from the steep incline toward the stream. I had to duck under a large fallen limb, climb down some rocks near the waterfall, then I scampered quickly so I could turn and behold the my destination. I sighed for a mere moment before taking out my camera.

It would turn on, but refused to capture the photo. I took out the batteries and had them trade places. I jiggled and cajoled and demanded. I waited a moment. Traded battery positions again. Increasingly upset - I'd made it all this way and wanted a photo! - I struggled for several minutes before accepting that the camera wasn't going to cooperate. So I sighed and stood there - trying to remember. There were three major ledges that the water tumbled over - probably 6 feet high all together. There was a thin rope - white with a thin green stripe that circled it like a candy cane - hanging off the left above the rocks. I wondered what it might be used for. There was also a piece of pink plastic tied around one of the trees on the other side of the stream to the right. I was going to frame the picture to avoid those 2 features. I admired the water - how it was clear in some places, then frothed white in others. There wasn't much color down here - no bright yellows or vivid reds. Just soft browns - the dirt, pine needles and fallen leaves, deep greens in the shaded valley on a cloudy day, and gentle grays of the rocks on the ground. It was soothing, I decided, and spent a few minutes - just looking and listening and resting - before heading back the way I'd come.

Once I climbed out of the waterfall valley, it was an easy hike. Just moderate hills to climb, then gentle grades to descend. It was mostly a flat walk back to the hotel - though it did take some time - and I moved quickly while I considered myself and this obsession I have with recording everything. Making moments matter. Trying to take notes and write posts and frame pictures so that this day is somehow important. Worthwhile.

Some moments aren't, I finally decided. I saw a waterfall today. It doesn't - and shouldn't - matter to anyone but me. I don't need the picture to prove anything. I was there and enjoyed the experience (after the camera battle, of course. That part was freaking annoying!). I don't need to learn the meaning of research from this meeting - I'm picking up little pieces of information that may someday be useful. Then again, they may not. I'm talking to people who may eventually be valuable contacts. Or I'll forget I ever met them. I'm writing things down - notes and references and topics to think about later. I'll only use some of those pages - probably very few. And that's OK. It doesn't have to be profound and breathtaking. It just has to be. I have trouble with that, but sometimes, I really do think it just has to be.

So - for this moment - I've released the grasping desperation to make everything mean something - signify some profound personal growth or create some story behind every experience. I'm sure it will return - I'm intense like that - but it was a good lesson for today. So good, in fact, that I had to write it down.

So I'd remember.

Because it seemed pretty important.

Bright side? At least I can laugh at myself. And I did coax the camera into downloading some pretty nice pictures I took before I reached the other side of the waterfall. I had forgotten I'd taken one before I climbed all the way down the hill. So it turns out I can share a glimpse of the waterfall after all.

"Some places are like people: some shine and some don't."

The afternoon went well – I giggled a bit as the high school reunion band replaced the gospel singers downstairs. It was quite noisy in our conference room at times today, but I retained as much focus as possible. It’s a friendly meeting, to be honest. A bit informal, pretty casual and with lots of breaks – all containing food. I had the muffin that saved my morning – I was hungry after skipping breakfast. Then a forgettable buffet lunch followed by an unforgettable dessert that I believe to be a half pound of pure chocolately goodness.

Then I had my pretty hike, followed by the poster session where people stopped not only to ask questions, but to chat. It’s easy smiles rather than scowling focus. We laugh and get to know who asks good questions and who makes long statements. And when we adjourn and line up for the elevators that only hold 6 people, it’s not an unpleasant wait. It’s a good environment, I think.

“This hotel reminds me of The Shining.” Sharon said at dinner. I met her that morning when she sat next to me at the table in the sunshine. We both frowned when someone closed our curtain and plunged the room into sleepy dimness. Then we talked at the end of one coffee break, and I found her in the lobby as we waited to be seated for the evening meal that was provided to us.

I had just told her of the tapping that kept me awake last night – tap, tap, tap – all night long. At about 2 second intervals. I just couldn’t acclimate and relax with the constant noise. So I had about 3 hours of sleep last night and relied on the coffee and muffin, then lunch and chocolate, then soda and cookie, then soda and cheesecake square to keep me alert. The food has been quite good.

“Don’t say that!” I said, likely too loudly since I’d had 1/3 of the bottle of white wine. It was provided with the meal and with only 6 of us drinking the 2 bottles, I shared the Chardonnay with only 2 of my dinner companions. I do believe I’m intoxicated. “That movie was scary.” I said more softly, deciding I was glad it had been years since I'd seen the film.

“I think the tapping was a ghost.” She said confidently and I looked around at the pretty dining room in which we sat. I don’t remember how the hotel looked in The Shining, thank goodness, so I decided to believe she was mistaken and made no verbal response.

“When I got here last night – after midnight – I almost didn’t get out the car. I didn’t want to come in here! In the old building in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but darkness!”

“There isn’t anything around here.” I agreed. Even if I had a car apart from the one Boss rented, it’s a drive to even make it off the property. Let alone to a main road. And even there, you don’t find very much.

We had already joked about the menu – the warning that everyone noticed about eating undercooked meat.

“They’re going to give us food poisoning.” She predicted, and I laughed at her.

“Get the lasagna.” I advised. “There’s no meat in that.”

She didn’t, and I later laughed when I looked at her plate.

“Straight for the mad cow disease?” I teased when looking at her prime rib. “No screwing around for you.”

“Salmonella.” She said lightly with a nod toward my chicken covered in crab meat and hollandaise. And I gestured my agreement with a smile as I chewed my delightful Mediterranean vegetable medley then nearly cooed at the quality of sour cream that covered my baked potato. We had started with fresh pineapple that was covered in an sauce with orange zest and brown sugar. There were pecans and slivers of orange on top too. Then came salad and rolls, after which I was pretty full. But the entrée was fantastic – the black forest cake I chose for dessert even more so.

I was shaking my head over the treat, impressed by the quality of the cream cheese frosting, when I thought of something else.

“Not to freak you out.” I said, sipping my third glass of wine. “But on the hike I took this afternoon? The path didn’t go anywhere. I went down the hill for a long time, then had to come back up to the inn. No other options.”

I continued while she closed her eyes and laughed around her bite of cheesecake. “It looked like it went somewhere, but it didn’t. Just ended at this scary house if you went left and had forbidding signs about private property if you went right. So I had to come back to the hotel. I didn’t think about it at the time, but you might be right. We might be staying here forever.”

“Or until they kill us.” She predicted.

“Oh! And if you take the other path – the one to the waterfall? They say you need to be careful because of the activities – the “skeet shooting,” if you will. But perhaps they’re just shooting at guests who foolishly try to leave!” I deduced, quite brilliantly, I thought, especially given my overly full, overly tipsy mindset. “You even get shot if you try to look at the waterfall, and I wanted to see it.” I said sadly, deciding I’d go tomorrow, threat of bullets or no.

“Have you seen the staircase?” She asked excitedly as we both latched on to our horror movie in the making.

“I have, actually. I wonder why they didn’t finish it – make it pretty.”

“Why? It’s just a doomed escape route.” I giggled at her question and nodded.

“The elevator is scary too.” I noted, and it is – lots of shaking and pausing and bouncing around.

But we finished our desserts and wine, declined coffee that might keep us awake (The ghost has apparently stopped tapping tonight, so I’m hoping to rest.) and took the shaking elevator to our separate floors.

I didn’t want to come, I mused as I entered my room again, abandoning dress clothes in favor of pajamas, contacts for glasses, and makeup for a freshly washed face. But this was good for me – a change of scenery in a beautiful hotel with impeccable service. It’s not scary at all in reality, though you could talk yourself into believe it was out of a horror movie if you wanted. It’s true of anything – I see what I want to see. And though I don’t remember deciding to be happy, it appears that I am. I’m quite content and I think some of the peacefulness comes from The Great Divorce. I’m a bit silly right now as well, and I’m sure that came from the bottle of wine and the good company at dinner.

So, if I somehow don’t make it out of here, at least you know it was a very pleasant place for me to be.

Pretty

I think part of what keeps me writing here is the temptation of having a record. Of not wasting this time - forgetting lessons I've learned. It seems the learning comes at some emotional cost - there's pain and joy and progress, but so much of it is forgotten. Over the past months, I'm sure I've forgotten details and conversations, but the idea that I can come back here to remember is appealing.

I also take pictures. I often travel alone, so I'm likely to photograph the sights I find interesting - that way when I tell my stories, I'll have pictoral evidence that I was somewhere or saw something. But the idea that some of these images can appear in my journal makes me drag the camera out more often that I otherwise might have.

I ate a quick lunch after the morning sessions, thinking about how well the organizers had done for this particular meeting. We have tables in the conference room - a space for water and notes and laptops, as well as something to lean on when the sessions get long. They provided snacks at coffee breaks - a big deal when I decided to skip breakfast in a desperate attempt to get more sleep. The talks are uniformly of high quality - even when I zone out, I quickly regain my focus because the work is of such importance. Well, and I sit next to Boss so the idea of making a decent impression is a good one.

After lunch, I raced back to my pretty room and traded black pumps for old sneakers, then grabbed a map and my camera and headed out into the cool afternoon. It was cloudy, but the sunshine made pretty patterns as it peeked through the clouds. I enjoyed crunching through the layer of leaves on the ground as I made my way down a hill. I smiled when I thought - more than once - about how hard it was going to be to get back. When you go down, down, down on the way there, there's the inevitable up, up, up that must come later.

Realizing the time to be back was fast approaching, I consulted my map again and frowned when I saw I'd have to retrace my steps. I like to make loops and constantly see something new. But often there's no choice - to get to some places, you have to travel downward. Then you look around - maybe take a picture - then head back up the hill. If you're lucky - and today I was - there's beauty everywhere. The leaves on the rocky path, the sun shining on the few red leaves that remain on some trees, the rustle as the wind pushes through the forest.

Even as I started to pant as I quickly pushed myself up the hill, felt myself sweat despite the coolness outside, I said "pretty" out loud in several moments where the colors were too vivid, the light too exquisite too ignore. Then I winced when - upon returning to my room - I saw my face. Quickly washing and trying to acclimate to the inside temperature, I waited a moment before applying new makeup, stepping back into my pumps, and walking back downstairs. The people here are friendly - it's an environment of intellectual interest at a casual, approachable level. I enjoy this particular meeting very much and am glad to be here. I just have to remind myself of that as I sit through another 3 hours of lectures on a Saturday afternoon.

But as for the pictures, even as I uploaded them and watched as they appeared on the screen, I sighed and said, "pretty."

In case you missed me

Or, more likely, in case you were worried about me.

"It's like..." Boss said over dinner as I savored my stuffed flounder (I really forget how good seafood is when I emerge from the middle of the country) and tried to politely ignore his liver and onions.

All I could think of was Dirty Dancing. Our resort for this particular meeting is like the setting of that movie. Golf, tennis, swimming. Hiking, horseback riding, I think there's even shooting. Basically stuff I won't have time to do as I'll be learning about research. I somehow doubted that particular movie was what he was going for, so I stayed silent.

"Dirty Dancing!" He finally said, and his wife nodded as she sat next to him. I grinned, adoring them both.

It is pretty - our hotel. Quaint and historical. So as Boss asked about the dining hours while he was checking in - we arrived late after heavy traffic on the drive from the airport and were quite hungry - I barely restrained myself from interrupting. He decided we'd head back out to town to find food, and I braced myself before speaking.

"Is there internet access?"

"Wireless in the rooms. Though it can get iffy when it's windy. But there's always access here in the lobby." I smiled with pleasure at the woman behind the counter - I had been prepared to do without, but it's fantastic that I can sit in a chair in my adorable room and post something to my blog. I feel good, actually.

I started reading The Great Divorce on the flight. Finished it before we landed - it's not very long and I found it to be so exquisitely written that I can't even bear to summarize it. It was wonderful - I tried to remember passages I would want to read again until I decided I'd simply have to start at the beginning and work my way forward - again and again and again. It's simple and elegant and powerful.

I picked it up at a used bookstore on a day when I couldn't find anything I wanted. Me. Not wanting books. Feeling bemused and disturbed when meeting Unnamed Friend with her arms full of books and looking down at the single, short paperback I held. I'd seen C.S. Lewis as I browsed the fiction and avoided the romance. I like C.S. Lewis a great deal - found Mere Christianity to be an easy yet profound read. So I picked up The Great Divorce, read the back, then tucked it back between its friends on the shelf.

Scary, I thought. A book about releasing earthly desires for their Heavenly counterparts. I see it as the core struggle in my life at this point - for several reasons which I keep saying I'll describe later. So, as is my habit, I ran from the very answers I seek. But, as is also my habit, I looked around for a little while, thought about it, then quickly strode back and rescued my book. Held it to my chest as Unnamed Friend continued to pore over shelves. Sat and read the preface before we left.

In the funny way that God has with me, it wasn't scary to read though I expected it to be difficult for me right now. Instead, it was peaceful and gentle. A prodding toward truths I need to face - truths I think I want to face now. So I read it and sighed - wished I knew the man sitting next to me on the plane so I could tell him how much I liked this book. I needed to read it. Just as I think I needed to send some email yesterday - spend some time thinking and writing responses to messages I'd received. So, if I happened to send you something yesterday, it was more for me than you, I think. I wanted to be clear about how much I appreciated the opportunity to consider some topics I might not have otherwise. It made me tuck the book into my bag this morning. And that, I think, was important.

I feel stable. I'm thinking about what I can do with some work problems rather than punishing myself for all I haven't done. I smiled and shook hands with a prominent scientist after returning from dinner with Boss and his wife.

"I actually interviewed with you last year." I confessed, though I had talked primarily with one of the faculty in his group.

"It's OK." I said, tossing my hair (which looks fantastic, by the way - all shiny and curling, even after a day of travel) and smiling. "It was mostly with Other Guy. I'm Katie."

"Of course! I remember." I was about to ask how things were going when prominent organization leader smiled at me.

"I recognize your name!" She said, repeating it.

"Really?" I said, beyond surprised. "I don't know if that's good or not." Because why would she know me? It's a big organization - well, fairly big - and I'm quite the small fish.

But I shook her hand, made small talk about travel, then excused myself before they want to the bar and I came to unpack. Then I admired my pretty hair, took out my contacts, and looked at myself for a moment. I'm on my way to something, and I believe it can be something very good. There are choices - small and large - that need to be appropriately decided on the journey, but I feel - in some moments - strangely ready. There were a few times - on the plane and in the car afterward - that I wanted to be anywhere and nowhere else. Nothing specific - I didn't crave any location or person above all others. I just didn't want to do this.

But I can. I am doing this. Which means I need to sleep so I can do it again tomorrow.