On productivity, and being tragically un-cool...

So, many things were accomplished today:

Sold a bunch of old clothes to the Buffalo Exchange, which brought fear into my heart. It's an interesting sensation, having the Urban Outfitteresque trendster buyer girls rifle through things you have chosen, things you have paid for, things you have worn of your own free will, and tell you what they're worth - if they deem them worth anything at all. In the end, they took about 1/3 of what I offered, to the tune of $25 (35% of what they'll charge) - significantly more than I would have gotten at a garage sale, anyhow. At least a third of me is cool enough for hipster resale ;).

Found one of the greatest yarn stores I've ever been in. Happy face. Broke face.

We went to the Saturday Market, a regular occurrence here in Eugene. If you haven't figured it out, Eugene is kind of a hub for all things crafty - there is some sort of street fair or art show or whatnot almost daily. This one was a huge indy art maze adventure into the center of the peace-love commune subculture... the kind of place that makes you feel like even if you swear to never, ever shop at the Gap again, you'll never be quite cool enough to hang out with the in-crowd. This sort of place appeals to the quiet little rebel in me - the one who wants to dye her hair funny colors and pierce her face and make found-object art for a living. But, tragically and chronically un-cool, I don't have the guts or the devil-may-care attitude that are required for that sort of lifestyle. So I'm content to wander through the homemade candles and clothing, breathing other people's incense and revelling in the life I might have had.

If only I'd managed to buy better clothes.

C'est la vie. :)

having a song stuck in your head actually means you're smart

I'm being stalked by a song.

Is this the sort of thing that happens to other people, or is it just me? I'm being haunted, followed, sought out by this song... which I haven't heard in years, mind, and all of a sudden BAM! It's playing in Target, on my friend's car stereos, in the grocery store, on the television, on the radio... even my iTunes is obsessed with it and insists on including it in every random play list. Not that I mind. I like the song.

But when you're "signs and wonders" me, and you don't necessarily believe in coincidence, and the song in question holds some emotional significance in your past, a song-stalking episode can make you crazy. "What does it mean," you wonder, "is someone trying to tell me something?" WHY SONG, WHY? See? Crazy.

Good news is, at least I have a job :)

eulogy.

My grandfather held us on his lap and taught us to drive before our feet could reach the pedals. He taught me to speak by carrying me around the house for hours, pointing at objects, repeating their sounds. He taught me to stop and look before I was old enough to pay attention. His office always smelled like rubber bands.

Most of you never met my Grandpa Peters, or if you did, it was after his mind had already begun to fold in on itself, camouflaging so much of what I loved in him. He was the smartest man I've ever met -- a teacher, by profession and by nature. I've felt compelled in the past few days to try and explain him, to write it down and make sure someone is reading... he always wanted me to write everything down. I'm trying to listen.

He would insist that my white shoes were purple with so much conviction my small self actually believed I knew something he didn't. He'd sit on the floor and let us knock him over again and again and again... we were exhausting, I'm sure. We'd pull his hair, tickle him, untie his shoe laces... he'd try to explain static electricity.

My grandfather loved to walk. I had the privilege of walking with him, often, and these journeys are the substance of my earliest and most vivid memories. He was a storyteller... he spoke to animals, conjured fairies, chatted with gangsters, and understood the whys of everything I questioned. He would explain life and God to me with relentless patience. He loved exceptionally well, and he loved this world without exception.

At night, his hands were possessed by the spirits of two friendly, tickling creatures... they would creep- boompee doompee doompadee doompdee -down the hall, across the floor, and up over the edge of my bed to tuck squealing, protesting me in. I must have been at least 7 or 8 when I realized that Nipper and Napper were not independent personalities, but simply another incarnation of his extraordinary imagination.

I've had many conversations in my life about belief - the pros and cons and power of the simple act of believing in something. Often, I've heard people say that when they discovered the things they believed in childhood weren't necessarily true - the existence of Santa, Cinderella, etc. - they felt disheartened, disillusioned, betrayed. I don't share this experience. For me, that same discovery was simple, undeniable proof of how truly and abundantly I was loved. Entire kingdoms were imagined in my honor, and for my betterment- that I might know what it felt like to grow up in a world that radiated magic.

My grandfather passed away last week. He was not well here, nor very happy... there are a thousand reasons to be glad for him... he's whole again, somewhere, with the God he loved so much.

I am selfishly devastated, because I wanted to keep him.

The last time I sat and talked with my Grandpa, he told me about his uncle the trapeze artist, his dinner with Roy Disney, his first serious girlfriend. He wanted to know what I was planning to do with myself: was I planning to teach? Any new boys? He asked me what it would be like when I was sitting with my grandchild the way we were sitting then and I gave him some silly answer about space stations and holograms. The simple truth is, I'll be telling her, or him, about Sammy the Squirrel and Freddy the Fox, who live in the trees at West Valley College, or explaining the stock market, or Nipping and Napping her till she laughs herself to sleep, or helping her see the fairies in the bushes on the walks we take.

Or, most likely, I'll be telling her about her great-grandfather: how he held me on his lap and taught me to drive before my feet could reach the pedals, taught me to speak by carrying me around the house for hours, pointing at objects, repeating the sounds.

I'll tell her how very much I loved him, and how very wonderfully I was loved.

Cinderella came to my house!

Let's talk about how I get TTTTTTTTHHHHHHHIIIIIIIISSSSSSSS excited about trick-or-treaters... it's a little ridiculous. Tonight, Katelyn and I were sitting around the Los Gatos house (yes, I'm here, but only until tomorrow morning... long sad story) moaning and groaning because no one was knocking on our door. So we developed a strategy: we turned on all the lights, we put out some not-so-subtle signs that say "WE HAVE CANDY!!!!"... I put on a costume, and we tried to think lots of kid friendly, welcoming, happy-happy thoughts. Nothin'. Then we thought maybe all the "WE HAVE CANDY!!!!!" signs made us look a little too eager, like we were no longer the happy-cool-kid-friendly house, but the a-little-TOO-kid-friendly house, if you know what I'm saying. We were sad. We lamented: "Why don't the children love us?" " We are nice people" "Alas, Alack" etc.

Then......... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So we've had like, five thousand trick-or-treaters in a row now. And every single Disney princess. And we try not to scare them with our relentless and somewhat suspicious enthusiasm. And I pretty much love Halloween for this reason: your neighbors come to your door... you smile and exchange good wishes and get to talk to their kids without seeming like a weirdo. And it's just nice. Well, that and costumes. Those are nice too.

Hey artist... you got a dollar?

There is an unusually high concentration of hitchhikers in this city, and they are ALL good looking, clean cut young men. There are 4,129 people who live in my town. Burrito Boy makes what is possibly the second best burrito of all time, for cheapo (it's almost Ricardos. Almost.) We drove to the coast yesterday, which takes about an hour, and it's breathtaking from the start of the drive all the way to the cliffs and the sea. The ocean smells like home :). Saturday we found the "World's Largest Indoor Garage Sale," which made me almost as giddy as iced venti nonfat white mocha. Spoils: One broken but beautiful watch ($2), one silly little vase ($2), and one perfect Louis the whatever chair for me to take apart and put back together ($40... that's cheap, really it is). Left behind: perfect beautiful vintage coat ($15)... too short sleeves. Dang arms. There are WAY more stars than I remember there ever being, anywhere. There are WAY more bugs than there should ever be, anywhere. A suicidal bird flew into our window and I collected it and felt like I've officially transitioned into the attitude of this place. Our neighbors have horses they never ride, and I'm welcome to ride them, but there are three and they are a herd so I need friends. We are invited to a Halloween Party in a barn :). We went to the most amazing church on Sunday and they did my two favorite songs in a row (God is good all the time). www.ecf.org.

So, speaking of artists (yes, we were, check the title)... I'm going to have a house of my own soon, and I know I've already expressed to a few of you my desire to fill it with artwork by people I know and love... I'm so blessed to know so many talented people, and I think it'd be fabulous to have a gallery of a house, a piece of each of you up here with me. I'm not picky, sketch me something on a napkin or go crazy, send me wacky photos or poetry or whatever...I'll even frame a letter... I promise to send you back a dang good Christmas present. Really. Something really good :)

Accountability, party of none.

K so I admit it... I am a total Myspace spy. I spy on my friends and my not so friends, my old acquaintences, and if I'm bored enough, their old acquaintences. Now that there's a virtual epidemic of Myspace activity trackers and other buzzkilling spyware, I have probably been on many of your "profile viewer" lists. Yes. I confess. I spy on you, too.

It was on a particularly uneventful spy on friends of friends of friends kind of day that I came across the following profile headline: "Don't judge Christianity by the lives of Christians." Huh. Don't judge Christianity by the lives of Christians. Try as I may, I cannot get that phrase to stop bouncing around in the bottom of my brain... don't judge Christianity by the lives of Christians...

Seriously? I mean, really? Is it only me that has a hard time with this sentiment? I could understand "Don't judge God" or "Don't judge all Christianity by the lives of some Christians", but "Don't judge Christianity by the lives of Christians" sounds to me like a big, fat, nasty, cop out.

My buddy Webster is going to help me out here:

Christianity: 1. the Christian religion 2. Christian beliefs or practices; Christian quality or character 3. the state of being a Christian

Huh. So Christianity, in summary, is the religion AND practices of those who define themselves as Christians. Seems to me if you can't judge Christianity by the lives of Christians, you can't judge it at all. Because without being exemplified, practiced, followed, or lived out by Christians, Christianity isn't. It becomes extinct. It ceases to exist. It's a lot of good ideas in a book. Can you define a religion without the practices of the religious to base your definition on? And if the definition of Christianity exists only on paper and as an ideal, what value does it have? What's the point?

God is not religion. Religion is of man and by man, and flawed and fearful and all of the imperfect things that we are as a result. But we have to own it. How the world judges Christianity is absolutely our responsibility, because the lives of Christians, the unit of us, the whole, ARE the working, visable definition of Christianity. God is, but He isn't a religion. Christ is, but He isn't a religion either. The religion of Chrisitanity isn't only what Jesus intended it to be, it's also what we act it out to be. If the majority of us who call ourselves Christians are close minded, judgemental, hypocritical, and all the other things we often are, then Christianity, as it can be identified and defined in this world, becomes so as well. Is this the way it should be? No. Should we call it Christianity. No! Is it what Christ intended... I don't think so.

The face of God is perfect and whole despite any of our failures or shortcomings. But we are the faces of religion, and if we can't live it, then our religion isn't what we claim it to be, and the world SHOULD judge us, and harshly, for that. How many times in my life have I used "Don't judge Christianity by the lives of Christians... by the life of me" as an excuse to be less than I should be? How many more times will I fall into the same trap? Religion will never be perfect just as we will never be perfect, but it should be humble and it should be honest and it should be accountable. And if the world's judgement of Christianity is not what we want it to be, we should change it. We should change us.

Christian: 1. of, pertaining to, or derived from Jesus Christ or his teachings 2. of, pertaining to, or adhereing to the religion based on the teachings of Jesus Christ. 4. exhibiting a spirit proper to a follower of Jesus Christ, as in having a loving regard for other persons. 5. a person who believes in Jesus Christ; an adherant of Christianity 6. a person who exemplifies in his life the teachings of Christ

( I apologize to the " Don't Judge Christianity..." profile guy. I totally get your intention, pal. Sorry for the rant... I'm annoying.)

I admit there are a bunch of theological holes you could punch in my argument. Bring it. But, my underlying point and the heart of my post is as follows: no more whiney, put upon, irresponsible, "why doesn't the world get it and love us" Christianity. Let's be the change, people. Let's prove'em wrong.

I am shocked and appalled.

SHOCKED APPALLED and HORRIFIED



That I have to put my own stamp on my required jury duty response form envelope.

I mean, really. Insult to injury, people, insult to injury.

;)