Soap

So I was out at GI Joe's today (oh, sorry, just "Joe's" now) looking for a flexo-line to hang up drying laundry while I'm in Europe (which I didn't find, unfortunately), when I stumbled across one of those things that falls into the it-might-be-a-gimmick-but-if-it's-not-it's-wicked-cool category. At least I think it's cool: bar soap wafers.
Have you ever tried traveling with bar soap? It's way more convenient than liquid body wash and whatnot (especially with the liquid-paranoia of today's travel), but it gets so nasty and slimy and soapy residue leaks through the soap carrier thing and it generally becomes unpleasant. Or so I find. This is bar soap shaved into thin wafers (picture slightly thicker Listerine-strips made of soap), so you can use it without getting the rest of the bar wet.
Anyway, I think it has potential. But then, perhaps I'm just the marketer's delight.
I didn't buy it. Yet.

Slacking

I feel like a blog slacker. Look at this. Almost a week and I haven't posted anything.
I guess my life's not very exciting right now.
-thinking of something exciting to tell you about-
I pseudo-packed for Europe today to see how things stand. I'm almost good. Just a few odds and ends to pick up (and a few mysterious buckles to investigate on my backpack...).
-thinking some more-
That's all I got.
Sorry.

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

I have to say, I'm currently seeing, hearing, smelling, and generally enjoying the unexpected treat of a thunder and lightning storm right now.
How fitting that I'm just beginning A Wrinkle in Time tonight. (I guess I just feel a childlike sense of delighted surprise when fiction and reality so unaffectedly intertwine...)

Actual Employment

So, I think I may have received my first "real" post-graduation job offer. Not that it's something that I particularly want to do for the rest of my life...
But the non-profit estate-planning organization for which I've been doing temp phone work has offered to give me a raise for my work between now and my trip to Europe, and then to train me a bit more (and give me a further raise) when I get back; they're willing to use my services for as long as they can with the full knowledge that I'll be looking for other work and may give notice at any time.
And there are no transportation costs, because I do it from home. And I don't have to wear office clothes.
Really, it's sort of ideal.
Minus the whole lack of benefits (I'm a private contractor) and sort-of-a-mindless-job part. But I get to talk to quirky people, that's something. (Even if some of them do accuse me of telemarketing and hang up. It won't be my problem (I want to tell them) when they die and their paperwork is no good because they wouldn't take my call with its vital information.)
The sad part is, though, that I do sound like a telemarketer. I might hang up on me, too.
At least I make it a point not to call during the dinner hour, though.

Moleskine

I just learned that the famously hardy and convenient moleskin travel notebooks are not "moleskin" but "moleskine" (mol-a-skeen'-a), which is an entirely different woven material, unrelated to the "moleskin" used in clothes and blister bandages. And I've been saying it wrong all these years. Who knew?
----
Additional note: Apparently both words come from the original English word "moleskin," like the skin of a mole, but moleskine (the notebook) is an Italian creation, hence the different pronunciation.
(Yes, I did take the time to look that up. Yes, I'm a nerd.)

Transitional Youth

Somewhat spontaneously, I ended up serving chili-dogs downtown this evening to homeless people my own age with a group called Transitional Youth. They're doing some pretty cool things there, the best of which is showing such genuine care for the people who come through.
I never know quite how to feel when I'm sitting in my suburban home after an evening like this evening.
I came, I served, I left.
I'm so thankful for the many people who don't leave, and daily pour their lives into these youth, and I believe that God is at work through and among those who minister regularly and relationally there whether it's daily or weekly or monthly. I've personally seen the act of going and serving change people I know here in the suburbs. Perhaps it has changed and does change me as well.
But I still never quite know what to do with myself.

Wandering

"After all, people may really have in them some vocation which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not? They may seem idle and weak because they are growing. We should be very patient with each other, I think."
- Dorothea, in George Eliot's Middlemarch
Amen.

Amazingly Cool Slugs

I flipped open my National Geographic this month, and this was suddenly staring back at me:I thought they were fake--clay or puppets or something--but they're not. They're poisonous sea slugs. Nudibranchs, to be precise. These particular ones live in the deep sea off the coast of Indonesia, but nudibranchs are found everywhere from Antarctica to the tropics. Neat, huh?
There are tons of different styles and shapes and sizes...you should totally check out the NatGeo gallery of nudibranch photos. Totally crazy.
Anyway.
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Photo: David Doubilet

Not Jobless

I stuffed envelopes for eight hours today.
I went to university, why?

Picnicking

(Somehow, the word "picnicking" doesn't look like a real word when it's written out. Maybe it's the plethora of repeated letters. Hm.)
Anyway, I went picnicking this evening in Washington Park, and I got to swing on the swingset, and I got to climb a wicked-cool tree in which I would have lived as a child, should I have had the choice.
I like picnics. They're so...comfortable. Grass and fresh air and food and conversation and--ideally--a frisbee to toss around (although no frisbee tonight, since Mum so unreasonably wouldn't let me steal the one I found on the ground).
We should all picnic more often. But not too often, maybe, because then we might not enjoy them as much. As Emerson points out, "If the stars should appear but one night every thousand years how man would marvel and stare," yet as it is we seem hardly to notice them. Of course, this human attribute is not necessarily complimentary. There must be some sort of ideal balance, hey, between our "itch to have things over"--wanting to hang onto and repeat and guarantee the repetition of pleasure and security in our lives rather than taking an enjoying things as God grants them--and our boredom with "sameness." Perhaps G.K. Chesterton is right in Orthodoxy, that "grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony." But I like how he continues:
"Grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony, but perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them."
I hope that--by seeking this God--even when I am old I will cultivate the strength to exult in the glorious, nightly, "monotonous" appearance of stars. Not to mention frequent picnics.

Hindsight

I think yesterday's entry sounds a bit forced. Boring, really. I mean, it was a beautiful day, but still.
I think it's hard to capture beautiful days in words without sounding affected, or cheesy (unless maybe your Wordsworth, but even he went a little syrupy at times, in my opinion).
Perhaps such days are better left un-written-about. Perhaps they are to be experienced and absorbed, not crystalized to slake our prideful human "itch to have things over"* at will.
Or perhaps I'm just boring.
One never knows.
---------
* C.S. Lewis, Perelandra

Where's Spring?

At the beginning of this week, it was drizzly sweater-weather. Now all the flowers are wilting and I have a wicked sunburn from the blazing 90-degree sun outside. What happened to spring, mid-70s with a breeze? It feels like July.
However, that hasn't really dampened my enjoyment of the outside. It's just so beautiful and warm and full of birds, and our hammock is back up in the backyard. And since our backyard is to the east, we have lovely shade in the afternoon.

Semi-Jobless

So, the job at the temp agency didn't work out. Actually, I've been quite unimpressed with this particular temp agency overall. Perhaps my expectations were too high--it is, after all, the first time that I've used one--but everyone who works for the agency seems to hate their job, and they don't listen very well. Supposedly they communicate with the job seekers (e.g. me). You know, trivial things like the nature of the interested company, the expected length of the job, the pay, the job description (I know what they're supposed to tell me; after all, I watched their "what to expect" video at least twelve times)...the person "helping" me somehow forgot to mention, oh, all of those things, until I pressed her for them. All she told me initially was to "Go meet Debby at 1pm."
I asked for more information, and it turned out to be a job I wasn't qualified for, working with money (which I hate), away from people, and it was a permanent position. Hm, maybe not. And then she acted annoyed with me for declining.
So, I'm thinking I'll be contacting some other temp agencies this week...
I'm really not too disappointed about the one she mentioned not working out, although I do hope to land a few receptionist jobs before I head off to Europe. Besides, I'm sort of enjoying this phone-calling job. I get to talk to some very entertaining old people. Plus, I can do it all outside in the backyard.

The Ferret Lizard

Okay, does this not look like a lizardized ferret?
It's not. It's a pangolin, a scaly anteater from Africa.
There's weird stuff in the world, I tell you.
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Photo: http://www2.sims.berkeley.edu/courses/is213/s04/projects/Manis/
images/pangolin.jpg

Even Less Jobless

I visited a temp agency today. I wish I had known ahead of time that I'd be sitting in there for two and a half hours (and there subjected to the endlessly-looping cheeriness of their informational/promotional video on the waiting room television), but it may have paid off. They think they already have an admin job for me (although, of course, we don't know, because my brilliant and responsible self forgot my social security card, so we couldn't finish the temp "hiring" process, and until they hire me no one else can...way to go, me...-rolls eyes-).
I also began phone calling today for that other temp job I mentioned. It's actually kind of entertaining. And I was "trained" today, so now I can work at home (hello, back porch in the sunshine). I think my favorite part of calling is that I have access only to the clients' officially-recorded names, so I always end up having to ask for "Robert or Patricia Jones" or "Alfred or Constance Smith" instead of "Bob or Patty" (or whatever). I can hear their initial wariness dripping through the phone:
"Hi, is this Alfred?"
"Yeeess..."
"This is Marybeth, calling from Company X..."
"Okaaaay...?"
"We're the people who prepared your trust for you..."
-brief pause-
"Oh, hi! Yeah, this is Al. What can I do for you?"
-friendly conversation ensues-
...
Today also brought a potential dog-sitting opportunity. Maybe with all this I'll end up being a working, productive member of society yet. (No more random gallivanting. Sigh.)

Not Quite So Jobless

Today I got a temp job making phone calls for a company that sets up trust funds. No cold calling (thank goodness), but your typical, cheery did-you-get-this-document-notarized-yet-because-you-really-need-to-
in-case-you-die-unexpectedly calls. It's super flexible: I'm allowed to work whatever hours I want, however much or little I want, however long or short I want, and starting next week I'll be able to do it from home. Basically it's a perfect in-between stint while I'm looking for a "real" job, and works well around other temp work I'll hopefully get through temp agencies.
Yay for mums with random social networks.

Mothers

Happy Mother's Day!
Mums are pretty great, hey? Mine is, anyway.
In honor of mothers, I here present a poem by Billy Collins ("The Lanyard"):

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Recital

Last night I went to my friend Julie's senior piano recital, which was amazing. Seriously. She astounds me.
I wish you all could have experienced it.

Amazing Food

So, Amanda and I made an amazing dinner tonight, I have to say:
Fresh homemade pasta--half thyme pasta, half spinach pasta--tossed in a garlic-sage-thyme-butter sauce with spinach, mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes, walnuts, and goat cheese, accompanied by a crisp green garden salad and homemade artisan bread, with chilled vanilla custard for dessert. Quite tasty.
One thing I will certainly miss once I'm out on my own again: "free" ingredients to cook whatever I fancy.

Joblessness

Today I took the bus downtown, hung out with some friends from school who have also moved home to Portland, browsed Powell's, watched crazy pigeons at the waterfront, hunted for (and found) a fig-roll-selling bakery in the Pearl, was accosted by Green Peace people, rode the streetcar for the first time, finally purchased my own copy of A Wrinkle in Time (yay for gift cards), and saw a duckling stuck in a manmade fountain-pond. (The last one was a bit sad really. The walls were just too tall for him, as much as he frantically leapt and re-leapt...his eight siblings seemed to do alright, though...)

All in all, a good day. -sigh- It saddens me to know that once I have a "real job" I won't be able to do such things on random Wednesday afternoons.

Wapwa!

Exciting news:
Come winter my mpwa will have an ndugu, and instead of just one mpwa I'll have two wapwa!
Being an aunt is great.

The Search Continues...

Also while downtown, we were looking for places to live. There are some possibilities, but nothing close to a sure-thing yet...
...
Okay, actually, I admit it, I'm writing this post for no other reason than to allow me to come to my blog page without seeing ME! for two posts in a row, plus a profile picture. (Even if my hat is amazingly hip in two of them.)
So, yeah. More filling up space to move things down a bit on the page.
Should I include another poem? That has seemed to work well in the past. Let's see...
Ah, how about some Bonhoeffer? This prison poem has actually been quite meaningful to me as I've been cataloging my "accomplishments" and making shiny resumes and figuring out life and where to live and where to work and what I'm doing now that I've graduated, sometimes feeling like I get by on little more than sheer bravado:

Who am I? They often tell me I would step from my cell's confinement calmly, cheerfully, firmly, like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me I would talk to my warden freely and friendly and clearly, as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me I would bear the days of misfortune equably, smilingly, proudly, like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of, or am I only what I know of myself, restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds, thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation, tossing in expectation of great events, powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, faint and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the other? Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once?
A hypocrite before others, and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling? Or is something within me still like a beaten army, fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

Comfort in smallness, hey? Thanks be to God that in Him we live and move and have our being. There is such rest in that.

Another Whim

Today was gloriously sunny and warm. We had to be outside, so--to try out the noodle-cutting feature on the pasta maker--we whipped out some fresh fettuccine in a butternut squash/parmesan sauce, grabbed some fresh berries, and lunched on the back porch.
Then we broke out our capris and headed into the city for the Saturday Market. I love the quirkiness of where I live, I really do; the market is a people-watcher's paradise.
While there, on another whim, I decided to buy a hat (something I rarely do). I figure I need some way of dealing with potential bad hair days from this new short, can't-pull-the-disaster-back-into-a-ponytail-and-forget-about-it hairstyle. Anyway, here it is: I like it. It makes me laugh.
(Side note: I sort of wish there was something more aesthetically pleasing than those tents in the background of the picture, but at least you can see the water.)
Ay, it was such a lovely day. I hope you were all able to be outside in it at some point. (Assuming, of course, the weather was as inviting wherever you are as it was here...) Days like today simply demand it.

A Whim

So, on a whim this afternoon, I decided to get a haircut. Just, you know, about 14 or 15 inches off:
I already love it. I think it's the lowest maintenance haircut I've ever had. (Not to mention, my head feels about 10 pounds lighter.)
Now we'll just see how it looks after a night's sleep...

May Day

Happy May Day! Ah, this brings back elementary-school memories of making glue-smeared little baskets filled with tissue paper flowers to leave on unsuspecting people's doorsteps. Not that I remember actually leaving one on a doorstep, but as I made them I was always told that was the idea.
I think I just liked it because we got to use Elmer's glue, and I could "accidentally" get it all over my fingers and have the distinctly satisfying pleasure of peeling it off when it dried.
Those were the days.