2007 Quote Review

I thought with only 4 more days left in this year it was probably safe to go ahead and post my annual quote review. So here they are, my favorite quotes from 2007:

First, the silly stuff:

• So, if you want to get some salt water fish, I could go take a bath in your bathtub. ~ Velma
• I'll take it any way I can get it from you... I meant in regard to cookies. ~ me
• I hate Pine trees because you can’t run barefoot in the yard. They have all those needles and they stab you in the foot and I take it personally. ~ me
• I have this thing that I don’t do and it’s, like, tell the truth. ~ Velma
• Everything’s pointy when you’re naked. ~ Cuthbert
• Jesus is the way, the truth, and the Calvin Klein Obsession. ~ Cuthbert
• If I ever get indignant at your house I’m going to put my hands in my pockets and go, “Poof, poof, poof!” ~ Cuthbert
• And some days, I get drop kicked. ~ Mia
• Wait! I’m gonna protest you killing me. I’m gonna write my congressman! ~ Cuthbert
• Aren’t those the healthy cigarettes? ~ Dana
• I think it was C.S. Lewis. No, maybe it was Oprah. ~ me
• You’ll have to pee by the light of the shower. I think Meat Loaf had a song about that. ~ Cuthbert
• I thought about being a mountain climber today and moving to a place that has mountains because I really like mountain climbing... apparel. ~ Velma
• There’s no place like rehab! There’s no place like rehab! ~ I don’t know who said this, but it was during the passaround story with Britney Spears’ golden I-don’t-give-a-fuck scissors!
• When something tragic happens… or butter. ~ Mia
• Even at an early age I knew what it was like not to have a star on my belly. ~ me
• She really wasn’t down with me spitting in her mouth. ~ Velma
• Nobody drop kicks my sister! ~ my 5 year old nephew

Then, the serious stuff:

• There is no such thing as a happy ending. I never met a single one to equal ‘Once upon a time’. Endings are heartless. Ending is just another word for goodbye. ~ Stephen King; The Dark Tower
• I never want to have something that’s just mine. ~ Mia
• Life, liberty, and the pursuit of more stuff. ~ Cuthbert’s rant on consumerism
• It made him feel very small, and he supposed there was nothing wrong with that. In the scheme of things, he was very small. ~ Stephen King; The Waste Lands
• I’m just waiting for the church to die so that church can happen. ~ Cuthbert
• Does not man, perhaps, love something besides well being? Perhaps he is just as fond of suffering. Perhaps suffering is just as great a benefit to him as well being? Man is sometimes, extraordinarily, passionately in love with suffering, and that is a fact. ~ Dostoyevsky; Notes From Underground
• Storytelling always changes time. At least it does in my world. ~ Stephen King; Wizard and Glass
• Church is where you can capitalize on Jesus’ admonission to love, fuckin love. ~ Cuthbert
• I write not to stop my mind from thinking, but because I can’t stop it. Writing at least produces some fruit from the labor of compulsive thinking. ~ Brian McLaren
• If I have a choice between the kind of trouble that comes from too much passion or the kind that comes from too little, my choice will be easy ~ Brian McLaren
• One of the most tragic things ever to happen to the gospel was the emergence of the message that Jesus takes us somewhere else if we believe in him. ~ Rob Bell; Velvet Elvis
• If you can control your emotions, chances are you don’t have too many. ~ Douglas Coupland; JPod
• Don’t ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go do that, because the world needs people who have come alive. ~ Relevant Mag
• Maybe the Bible’s not the final word. Maybe God’s not done speaking to humanity. ~ Cuthbert
• One of the marks of a certain type of bad man is that he cannot give up a thing himself without wanting everyone else to give it up. ~ C.S. Lewis
• The more one respects Jesus, the more one must be brokenhearted, embarrassed, furious, or some combination thereof when one considers what we Christians have done with Jesus. ~ Brian McLaren; A Generous Orthodoxy
• Having guests and visitors, if we do it right, is not an imposition, because we are not meant to rearrange our lives for our guests – we are meant to invite our guests to enter into our lives as they are. ~ Lauren Winner; Mudhouse Sabbath
• Excess is its own punishment. ~ Douglas Coupland; Polaroids From the Dead
• It is not so much the suffering but the senselessness of it that is unendurable. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
• You rarely defend the things you love. You enjoy them and tell others about them and invite others to enjoy them with you. ~ Rob Bell; Velvet Elvis
• We are not just called to be candles. We are called to be fire. ~ Shane Claiborne; The Irresistible Revolution

Feel free to grab these quotes and use them whenever appropriate... or, er, I guess some of them won't ever be exactly appropriate.... but you know what I mean, right? Hopefully 2008 will hold many more great quotations! I look forward to discovering them with you.

Christmas Trees & Orange Prison Jumpsuits

This weekend my family went to pick out Christmas trees. I say ‘trees’, as in ‘more than one tree’, because this sort of excursion involves multiple households now that my sister and myself are on our own. What was once a short family excursion to find one perfect tree* has now turned into a three ring circus with five or more of us running around like crazy trying to figure out how many trees we need, how we will ever locate this number of perfect trees, and how we are going to load them all up on the same truck so that they don’t fall off into the road on the way home and so that we are able to remember whose tree is whose by the time we get home.

*The idea of the perfect tree differs from person to person. While everyone else wants a nice, tall, full tree I always feel sorry for the straggly, Charlie Brown looking trees off in the corner being peed on by wild animals. For this reason, and because of my choice of pets who tend to have, uh, how do you say, some challenges, my husband has forbidden me from adopting any children, as he is afraid I would choose one whose medical issues would put us into bankruptcy or whose behavioral issues would leave us with yellow crime scene tape fencing off our house from the public. He is probably right. I’m such a sucker, even for sad looking trees.

This year the entourage consisted of my dad, my mom, my sister Velma, my husband D, and myself. We were looking for 4 trees – one for my parents’ house, one for Velma’s house, one for my house, and one for my mother-in-law, who couldn’t join us but was brave enough to trust our judgment in tree purchasing.

In order to get these trees, we headed out to a tree farm that we have frequented for many years. Tree farms are awesome because you can cut your tree down yourself and haul it away. This makes us sedentary Americans who lock ourselves indoors 22 hours a day feel like we are actually participating in nature, even if all we are doing is chopping down a tree with a 4 inch diameter trunk, thus inflating our carbon footprints for the sake of tradition. Also, these trees were $7. Yep, $7. You can’t beat that.

We all gathered at my parents’ house to head out for our annual tree excursion. I walked down to the basement to pick up some things I had left at my parents’ house a few weeks ago. I look up, and my dad is standing on the basement stairs. Wearing an orange prison jumpsuit.

Did you read that? Wearing an orange prison jumpsuit.

A few questions come to mind. First, where did my dad get a prison jumpsuit? Most people don’t just have one lying around. I certainly don’t. And it’s not like you can just go down to the prison jumpsuit store and pick up a few when the urge strikes you. Secondly, why is he wearing the jumpsuit? Even if one landed on my doorstep I would not wear one. Does he think it makes him look more outdoorsy? Maybe he’s worried about hunters not being able to see him (not that I’ve ever seen a hunter at the tree farm). Maybe he fancies that the jumpsuit has a slimming effect? No idea. I have no freakin clue what possessed my dad to don an orange prison jumpsuit, but there he is, standing on the basement stairs, wearing one.

I raise my eyebrows and make eye contact with Velma. She looks at me and suppresses a giggle.

After a long search for the saw (you can’t go tree hunting without a saw, after all) we head out. My parents drive their truck and the rest of us follow in my little Jetta that I’ve named Rollie (pron. Raww-lee). Go, Rollie, go! We keep a camera in the front seat just in case my parents get pulled over. If an officer makes my dad get out of the truck with that orange prison jumpsuit on, we want a picture.

We make small talk on the trip up to the tree farm. My husband laments that there might not be enough trees, as last year the tree supply was severely depleted. He says:

“Watch, we’ll get up there, and there will only be 2 trees.”

To which Velma replies, “Good, we can each have one!”

Um, not sure what kind of math you’re doing, Velma, but last time I checked we were looking for 4 trees to split between 6 people. This frightens me deeply, as Velma works for a Credit Union (not telling you which one!).

We arrive at the tree farm to find that the tree supply is pretty depleted, but there are more than 2 trees. This makes picking out a tree relatively easy, as there aren’t a whole lot to choose from. My dad hikes around in his orange prison jumpsuit. My husband studiously analyzes each tree, keeping tabs on their every characteristic with the Excel spreadsheet that’s going in his head. I look for the weak stragglers, knowing full well that no one is going to let me take them home. Poor little unloved trees.

As Velma begins her hunt for the perfect tree, my husband begins to lecture her on how to make a good tree choice. He tells her you have to look for the 3 T’s of Christmas tree choosing. Um, the 3 T’s? Has anyone ever heard of the 3 T's? I sure haven't, and it takes me about 4 seconds to figure that D is full of shit, and just made that up on the spot because he likes the way it sounds. But, you've got to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, so I ask what the 3 T’s are.

D: “Triangular shape, tightness…”

Me: “Tightness??”

D: “Of the branches” (with a look that says, “of course it’s of the branches, but I don’t expect you to know that”)

Me: “What’s the third T?”

D: “It’s um, uh,… well, um,… (triumphantly) Non-Tipping!!”

Non-Tipping?

That’s not even a word. Oh, and it doesn’t begin with a T – which kind of throws off the whole ‘3 T’s’, theme, but hey, I don’t want to ruin it for anyone. It occurs to me to mention that any tree that isn’t currently lying on the ground could be classified as non-tipping, seeing as how it is still standing upright, but then D would accuse me of not having holiday cheer. Whatever. He is having fun, Velma is doing a great job picking out her tree even without perfect alliteration, and overall everything is going well.

Anyhow, we cut down 4 trees. My dad and D haul them back to the truck. My dad looks like he is doing hard labor in a prison camp and D looks like an oversized 5 year old on Christmas morning, practically skipping with his tree in hand (did I mention they were very small trees?). He gets way too excited about the holidays for my taste, but I guess if it makes him happy I’m alright with it. We hauled the trees home without any of them falling out of the truck. My parents didn’t get pulled over and my dad didn’t get mistaken for an escaped convict. We were even able to remember which tree belonged to who when we returned. Overall, it was a successful tree-chopping trip! I’ve even managed to put my tree up and decorate it.

Now, if we could just figure out how to get rid of that orange prison jumpsuit…

New Blog

Thought I'd update with info on a new blog that I'm a part of. My Tuesday Night community has decided to start a community blog. For news on what's going on with each of us, check out Tuesday Night Musings.

Ta ta for now, but I'll be back soon.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Well, guys, I've been broken up with.

Don't be too alarmed. D hasn't gotten too sick of me, and so he's going to keep me around. Or at least let me keep living at the house. If you're still feeling alarmed, just be reassured that this post has absolutely nothing to do with D. Nothing. We're not breaking up. But I was thinking about all the lame breakups I've been through over the years and I suddenly had an urge to list my top ten worst break ups ever. Why? I don't know. I just did. But as I was thinking of my top ten worst breakups ever, I realized that I've been broken up with much more recently than I thought. After all, I've been married for over two years so I can't have been broken up with for awhile, right? Right? Wrong.

In the last year I've been through something I like to call a friendship breakup. What's a friendship breakup? you ask. Well, since you asked, I'll tell you.

See, when you break up with a boyfriend or a girlfriend, you, at some point, make an official declaration that your relationship is no more - that it's not working out or you're growing in different directions or its not them, it's you, or some other crap excuse you make up to basically say you'd rather spend your time alone or with other people than with this particular person. It sucks, but it's a part of life. It's a breakup. You do what you have to do and you move on.

But a friendship breakup is nothing like this. Friendship breakups do not consist of us lamely explaining to people why we can't continue to be friends with them. Friendship breakups are much more slimy and twisted than all of that. There isn't a set of rules for friendship breakups in our society. In our society you either have a knock-out-drag-down brawl in which you scream (or type) obscenities you hope your mother never catches you using and swear you'll never speak to each other again, or your friendship just fades into the unknown and you don't know what's going on for months and months at a time before you finally just figure one day that it's over. At which point, of course, you hear from the potential ex-friend and the cycle starts all over again. These kind of friendship breakups occur with the friends you used to have who aren't really your friends anymore but who you still hear from around the holidays or run into at a grocery story but don't even know what to talk to them about anymore.

These are not to be confused with natural-drift friendships. Natural-drift friendships occur when two friends go off in completely different directions and eventually lose touch, but the moment they re-connect, it’s just like old times. Natural-drift friendships don’t have the awkward quality that friendship breakups have because they seem to happen naturally without a lot of thought and without any guilt on the part of either party. Friendship breakups, on the other hands, produce loads of guilt and self-doubt on one or both parties and leave you stammering random sentences you hope will pass as friendly when you are forced to be in the same room together. You’ll know a friendship breakup when you see one, trust me.

So Christmas is coming and I realized that I haven't spoken to two particular friends of mine since last Christmas. And I remembered that last Christmas I went shopping for gifts for these two friends and ended up standing in the middle of the calender kiosk at the mall fuming mad because I realized I didn't even know these friends well enough to know what they'd want for Christmas anymore. Uh-oh. A friendship breakup appeared imminent. And, given the fact that I haven't spoken to either one of them since, I think it's safe to say that the breakup is probably official.

So what do I do when they call me at Christmas this year?

Ugh. I don't even want to think about it.

But I thought it would be fun to share with you some of the hints I should have taken even before the calender kiosk incident that friendship breakup was imminent.

Hint #1
Potential ex-friend called off our date for the night because her dog puked and she had to clean it up. Um, how long does it take to clean up dog puke? So what she was really saying to me was “I’d draw out the process of cleaning up dog puke from 5 minutes to 3 hours just to avoid hanging out with you”. Ouch.

Hint #2
Potential ex-friend called an hour before we were supposed to hang out to cancel with me so she could go grocery shopping. Translation? "I'd rather grocery shop, which I can do any old night of the week, than get stuck hanging out with you. Produce is more enthralling than you, and the frozen pizza section is more captivating than any single quality you possess." Again, ouch.

So you would think that after several months of unsuccessfully trying to hang out with this friend I would get the hint, right? Wrong again. She stalls, she avoids making plans, she cancels plans, and yet my hopefully niave little self still keeps trying, until the fateful day of hint #3:

Hint #3
Potential ex-friend cancels our date night. I ask her why.

She says, “I can’t hang out with you tonight because I’ve got to stay home and clean my ceiling fan blades.”

Me: "Why?"

ex-friend: "I'm having a party tomorrow.... oh, you're invited if you want."

Needless to say, I didn't go to that party. Oh, and I am officially less interesting than ceiling fan blades. *sigh*

Maybe those friends won't call me at Christmas after all.

iPod Reflections

So I was listening to my iPod (which my husband so graciously purchased for me last Christmas, and which I am finally figuring out how to use) yesterday and I just so happened to come across that old song by The Wallflowers, One Headlight.

Don't you just love The Wallflowers? I do. So much good stuff I can hardly stand it. Also, someone told me the singer is Bob Dylan's son. Does anyone know if that's true? I can almost hear something that sounds like it might be related to Bob Dylan every now and again in that song... who knows?

Anyhow, I was listening to this song, and there has always been one particular part of the song that stands out to me. It is this:

"This place is old
It feels just like a beat up truck
I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn
It smells like cheap wine and cigarettes
This place is always such a mess
Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn."

I have always loved that part of the song. Random, I know. But here's the thing... want to know why I have always loved that part of the song?

It always feels like it describes some familiar place inside of me - that the guy who may or may not be Bob Dylan's son is singing about some place deep in me.

That's as close as I can get to describing it, and I can't even tell you why it feels this way. It just feels familiar. It feels like coming home. It feels like a part of me. Its like that tired place I retreat to when I can't take anymore. And I treasure that. I really do. I love this song for that - for making me see and love the tired, messy part of me where I go to hibernate.

Weird, huh?

SHARKS!!!

Last weekend my husband, D, my little sister, Velma, and myself drove up to Sandusky, OH to jump on some of the wildest roller coasters around. Aaahhh, Cedar Point. Who can resist?

Anyhow, on the drive up we suddenly came upon a terrible stench. And a terrible stench like this by the side of the highway can only mean one thing. I'll give you a hint: Black and white and striped and stinky. Ugh.

So we come upon this terrible stench and Velma leans up from the back seat of the car where she has been relaxing, crinkles her nose and says:

"I think somebody hit a shark!"

I look back at Velma, and promptly start laughing my ass off:

"A shark?"

Velma: "Don't they have the same number of letters?"

Me: (counting on fingers while mouthing the spelling of 'shark' & 'skunk') "Yeah"

Velma: "Good, I couldn't think of the word. I was trying to spell squirrel."

Ahhh, Velma, I love you.

Two days later we head back to Fort Fun. My husband is driving and we pass a black and white striped furry thing dead on the side of the road.

D: "Hey, look, there's a shark back there!"

Velma: "What?! Where?! How'd a shark get on the highw... oh, a shark."

I think I'm going to get her Jaws for Christmas.

A Beautiful Rebellion

I recently read a book by Mark Plaiss called The Inner Rooms: A Journey into Lay Monasticism. Yes, I realize that it might seem a bit strange that I’m reading up on monasticism, but hey, what can I say? Cuthbert sent the book home with me, and when Cuthbert sends books home, it is my sacred duty to at least make an attempt at reading them. He’d do the same for me.

Anyhow, the book talks about a new kind of monasticism and a new kind of monk. Plaiss writes about those who feel called to monasticism but who live lives outside of the monastery. He says we can be accountants or writers or business people or teachers, and still live a monastic lifestyle. It is a book about resting in the presence of God, prayer, and the sacredness and value of tradition, while giving an interesting description of the monastic life.

Plaiss writes as if every thing he sees or experiences is somehow the most beautiful thing he has ever seen or experienced. His writing is prose. It draws you in and pulls at the part of you that wants to lay everything down and rest in the beauty of the spirit that could never be requited by the self. He writes beautifully and if you stop to read this book you’ll find that it somehow calms you.

When I read this book I found myself thinking of Donald Miller’s introduction to Blue Like Jazz. Miller said that he had never liked jazz music, but that one night in Portland he stood outside a club and watched a man play jazz on the saxophone for 15 minutes straight and that the man never opened his eyes the whole time. Miller said that once he saw that, he liked jazz, because sometimes you have to see somebody love something before you can love it yourself – it is like they are showing you the way. This is what Plaiss does – he makes you want to love God and explore monasticism because you see so clearly that he loves it – he shows you the way.

Anyhow, I wanted to write today about something in Plaiss’ writing that struck me in relationship to the community I am living in. Plaiss wrote an entire chapter on the idea of the monk, or the monastic, as a sort of rebellion. I’d like to share a bit of this with you:

‘The Christian, too, must be a rebel… The Christian must be a rebel against the culture of self. The book of Wisdom says, “For God formed man to be imperishable; the image of his own nature he made him”. The rebellion of the Christian, then, consists in seeking daily to uncover the image of God that resides within… This rebellion takes the form of love. That which makes the Christian a rebel, then, is the decision to love.’

‘To choose love means to deny the self, for love is selfless. Love seeks the good of the other before that of the self…. The monk is a component in this rebellion of love.’

‘For the nature of the monk is at odds with the prevailing culture. Nothing in our culture is more useless than monks. The diocesan clergy, at least, provide a service for people. Lay ministers do
likewise. But monks? What task do they perform? What service do they provide? Who do they help? What do they do? Which is exactly the point. The monk is the antithesis of everything the prevailing culture esteems. The monk is poor, powerless, and prayerful. The monk retires to a cell and prays. The monk is therefore useless to a culture that measures worth by wealth, power, status and, most of all, utility. Not only does the monk lack these attributes, the monk actively refutes them.’

‘The monk is un-American in another way. At the dawn of the twenty-first century, there is a strong tendency in America to confuse freedom with license, uninhibited action. There is a reluctance among Americans to tolerate restraints on behavior and a strain of intolerance
for those who advocate such restraints. The monk, on the other hand, seeks to die to all those desires of the heart that enslave us to selfish actions. By doing so, the monk attains freedom.'

First let me note that I don't know what the book of Wisdom is. Is it a book in the Catholic Bible? Does anybody know?

Anyhow, in essense, Plaiss states that the monk is a rebel because he simply is, and because of the refusal to answer to the call of self - the desire to die to the self to become something more. And because the self is what America is all about today, this is the greatest rebellion of the culture. I find it interesting that he equates the action of monks with a deep rebellion against culture, while many might find the joining of a monastery (or even of a particular religious sect) to be the very definition of conformity. Ironic, isn’t it?

Prior to reading this book, I had a sense that my Tuesday Night community was also some sort of rebellion in our culture, and I’d like to explore this idea more now that Plaiss has brought it to the forefront of my mind. Some of you may not be very familiar with Tuesday Nights. I will not try to explain them here, as I’ve already written a freakin’ book today, but let me say this: Tuesday Nights are a time when our community gathers, tells stories, celebrates the good in us, and mourns the ugly stuff in us and works on change. It is a time to share the art we have created or the art that has touched us. It is a time to be authentic. It is a time to admit we are fake. Tuesday Night is a place where we simply are. It is a community of interdependence and support that grows stronger daily, embracing our differences and struggles and joy and making our lives into something beautiful. Though committing to this community of interdependence appears to be a confining conformity from the outside, it is actually a strong rebellion to the culture of independence and disconnection we live in.

Belonging to community is rebellion against American individualism.

Living in a state of interdependence with your community is rebellion against the American pride in independence.

Laying down the self to love each other is rebellion against the ‘me’ culture.

Telling stories is rebelling against the mindless technological, impersonal communication forms of Gen Y.

Mourning our ugliness and trying to become better out of it is rebellion again the raise-your-self-esteem-there’s-nothing-wrong-with-you-Dr.-Phil-feel-good-psycho-babble culture we’ve created.

Celebrating our beauty is rebellion against a culture of cynicism.

Communal sharing of time, talents, and resources is rebellion against a culture of consumerism.

And on, and on, and on, and on… You see what I’m saying, I’m sure. One of my favorite passages of scripture has always been in Romans 2:2; ‘Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.’ I hope we are doing this; I hope we are bringing this to life.

Jesus was a non-conformist. I find great joy in the realization that I might just be following in His footsteps, even if it looks like conformity from the outside. Let the world outside think what they want. Let them conform to the culture of individuality; to the dependence they’ve developed on independence. Let them look at me with pride that they have not succumbed to the ideals of a group who wants nothing more than to live and love, and to make life beautiful. Let them.

My community will continue in this great rebellion of love – a rebellion of hope, a rebellion of seeking and truth, a rebellion of our interwoven lives – and offer the world the beautiful fabric we weave. We will be community. We will practice interdependence. We will allow ourselves to become ensnared in one another. We will be the non-conformists.

We will be the authors of a beautiful rebellion.