Tuesday, February 28, 2006

An Official All-Nighter

So Mom was up all night at the office, and Nate and I were at the office until midnight, counting down to the deadline (March 1) by which our new bookstore is supposed to be up and running. This is further complicated by the fact that Nate accidentally deleted a number of key files while backing up the system a day or two ago. We’ve been reconstituting ever since. Mom is now high on adrenaline, and we are all much punchier than usual.

“I’ve been in labor for two months, guys, and I’m about to give birth to a bookstore!” – Mom
“Well Mom, none of us understand the analogy…. But we all sympathize.” – Christy

“Who closed my files?!” – Mom, sitting back down at her station.
“Sorry, I did. It was an accident.” - Nate
“You are over your accident quotient. No more accidents!” – Mom, with a wink and a smile
“Right. From here on out, it’s straight sabotage.” – Nate, grinning

“Did I ever promise to do that? No!” – Casey, insisting that she is not obligated to bring sanity to the office.

“You know, it sounds like a movie. ‘Out of the Microwave: An Epic Tale.’” – Nate, handing Mom her warmed-over coffee.

::Casey pokes Christy::
“Yes, Chopstick Fairy?” – Christy, taking off her headphones.
“I’m marrying Mike Mulligan. You just missed all this.” – Casey
“Ah.” – Christy
“Mike Mulligan was the epitome of heroism!” – Casey
“He had a steam shovel, Casey.” – Christy
“I know, but it’s Mary Ann and he can’t marry it! That’s my insurance.” – Casey

What If....

I woke this morning with one of "those dreams." This time it was Daddy who had died, in my dream, and a series of images passed through my mind, each worse than the last. Mama grieving. My little sisters without a father. How we would live. The loss of his voice, smile, presence, jokes... my loss. I forget when the tears began, but once they came I couldn't stop.

Dreams like this one come to me usually when I am very tired. It seems unfair that they should attack me just at the times when I have the least strength, but they do drive me to God. The recurrent question which I always find within myself, waking up from one of them, is "Could I still believe that God is good, and that he loves me, if that happened?" And I always answer, "I hope I could, but I don't know."

Mama once said something very wise to me on this subject. She said, "God doesn't give us strength for what might happen, Honey. He gives us strength for today."

But what about the bright hope for tomorrow? Why do these horrible dreams come and play on my altogether-too-vivid imagination? Why must I wake up, at least once a month, sobbing as though the horror had actually occurred? Indeed, it presents itself to me in such real images that I have been known to think, for several minutes together, that it has occurred.

But, as I said, it drives me to God. It drives me to question, doubt, and then reaffirm my committment. The truth is, if my whole world broke down around me, I think that I would cling still more to God. Not because it seems reasonable (i.e. an intelligent unbeliever might ask why I hold tighter to the very God who could have kept my pain from happening), but because faith transcends reason, I would turn to the only person in my life who will not die or cease to love me.

It is more consistent with the universe, and with universal experience, to believe that God still loves me and has a reason for causing me anguish (which I haven't grasped, because I am human) than to believe that he hates me and wants to hurt me. My whole experience of God has been that he wounds only in order to heal. I can doubt everything except his lovingkindness---that I have not seriously doubted since my senior year of high school, and hope I never shall again.

So, to the question "What if?" I answer "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him."

After all, whom else have I in heaven but him?

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Mellow


So Lisa came last night to spend the weekend with me (or mostly with me; I have to share her with her sister a little). Isn't she cute? She's also sweet, godly, and single. The lattermost description is, I'm convinced, a goof on the part of males everywhere. Someday one of them will see the error of his ways, and I just hope he deserves her, because if he doesn't.... well, I'll take steps, that's all.

We went out to dinner, pretended to do homework at Barnes & Noble, and talked about the three G's: God, grades, and guys. Good things were said about all three, with significant emphasis on the Gospel, trusting God, and (yes, I'll be honest) the need to make certain allowances for male weirdness. I haven't had such a great girl time since.... since... since the High Queen came to have lunch at the office with me last Thursday.

In other news, I have finally come out of Egypt. It was a long sojourn, and now I know a lot better how the Israelites must have felt. Overall, I'm satisfied with my work and a little stunned to have written 30 pages worth of seemingly intelligent literary analysis in only... what has it been... eight weeks? That's what we call grace, folks. We also call Grace Grace, but she's not here to answer. For those who are clueless, be it known unto ye that I have been writing curriculum on Egyptian literature (specifically poetry) for lo these many (two) moons.

Let me see, what else? Oh! Lamps. I like lamps, and I have acquired two of my own choosing for my bedroom (as opposed to my study). Observe:



Now, caveats.... that's how it the floor lamp will look when it arrives. However, since I've already had a chance to play with the table lamp (same thing on a smaller scale, which arrived last week), I have come to the decision that I don't much care for the shade. Ergo, picture that, but without the bronzy foliage and the shade. Instead, imagine a normal lampshade... inverted. If you can do that, I'll be impressed. If not, this picture still gives a general idea. Don't worry, I ran the lamp by my experts: Mom and Danya. Mom, as anybody who's been home with me can testify, is a gifted decorator. Danya is an art major/graphics guru. Between them, I feel artistically confident in making this decision.

Happy me. :-)

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Forgot to Mention...


Never tried to do a post in four minutes but will attempt now. Have been made EdenTroupe muckety-muck for this spring's Pride and Prejudice... costume director, directorial assistant, script editor, blocking & characterization coach, etc. etc. Many hats, much prayer requested! Have also been learning all kinds of stuff about sin (anxiety, desire for everything to be under control, temptation to take control when it seems they aren't, and general pride) through process. Directors are WONDERFUL---so much kinder to me than I ever deserve, especially when grappling with sins abovementioned. All going incredibly smoothly in spite of bumps, and am having all-get-out fun telling Collins to think of Lizzy as teddy bear, telling Darcy to think of self as millionaire or big man on campus, teaching Bingley to waltz, etc. etc. and so forth. Wildly enjoying life, in spite of being stretched to breaking point. Four minutes up. Love to all!

Love Me, Love My Ball


I bought a balance ball. It's green, but this is the image I could find. You get the idea.

I used to take ball classes at my fitness center when I was in late high school, and I've always loved rolling around on balls. it's fun!

My family does not understand.

"Honey.... you're taking your ball to the office?"
"Sure! I can sit on it instead of on an office chair, and it keeps me from getting backaches, and I get to roll around on it while I work. What's not to like?"
"Um.... okay." And then they give me a look of affectionate puzzlement, which says "You're cute, but you're awfully weird."

This morning I came downstairs, ball clasped in both arms. Mom smiled.
"Mom, I love my ball."
"Honey, I love you. Therefore I also love your ball."

::Warm fuzzies::

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to roll over to the other side of things and get some work done.

I love my ball!

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Look, Lampstand Quotes!

Back by popular demand...

“My epitaph: ‘Died from a honey explosion.’” – Casey

“Bing! The chopstick fairy is rejoicing with you! Bing!” – Casey, poking Christy with a chopstick
“Could the chopstick fairy express her joy some other way than by poking me?” – Christy
“Aw, the chopstick fairy is feeling dejected.” – Casey
“I don’t blame it.” – Mom
“What’s ‘it’? Christy or the chopstick fairy?” – Casey
“My daughter is not an ‘it.’” – Mom
“Oh my goodness, are you writing all this down?” – Casey to Christy

Valentine’s Day at Lampstand Press

So Jenny, our employee, unofficial office decorator, and general foodie, is handing out chocolate, and the girls are discussing gum. Grace brought chocolate (gratuitous in an office already swimming with chocolate, as Christy points out), and Christy brought the roses that her parents left for her this morning, and Jenny brought fresh ribbons (I guess the Christmas lights are no longer enough), and we are generally a happy bunch of singles.

“I’ve just never been able to get into it.” – Christy on chewing gum.
“I’m trying to cut down for my New Year’s resolution… I eat, like, eight pieces a day.” – Jenny
“Well, does it do anything to you?” – Christy
“Nah. It’s, like, five calories.” – Jenny
“And licking stamps is only two, so I say, go for the stamps!” – Casey

“So those of us who aren’t in relationships will all eat a lot of chocolate and get fat and then we won’t ever be in relationships.” – Christy on V-Day
“Exactly!” – Grace

“He’s worse than a parakeet!” – Mom, observing Sam playing with the bells on the office door.
“He’s not a parakeet!” – Nate

“Okay everybody, we’re going to go out and stone Christy! Lunch break!” – Nate

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Snow, Valentines, and Sonnets


I woke this morning to the shrill voices of my younger siblings, who had decided to fulfill a three-generations-old family tradition by racing around the house, in shorts, barefoot, through a foot of snow.

"Ah," I said to myself, "it's going to be one of those days." Then I grinned into my pillow.

It's almost Valentine's Day, and last night PHC indulged in one of their ASE wars---this one a sonnet cycle, which pleased me to no end. The Domina kicked it off with a reference to the old days, when Kristin S. would always announce a snowfall, and Anthony C. would always reply with a marriage proposal:

Sonnet in Mourning of That Which in Similar Circumstances We Possessed
Dedicated to all you who understand.

Ere since the rising of this morning's sun
Until the daylight fled from out this place,
That weather cold erasing every trace
Of mud and fungus which our lake be-scum
Has fallen firmly, bringing mirth and fun
To all of us who linger on the face
Of this collegiate campus and would race
To at each other fling and never shun.

But all this day our email boxes lacked
A message spreading forth this snowy joy:
Perhaps the gentlemen were working hard
And did not think as past the hours backed;
Perhaps the girls eschewed it as a ploy.
But IT IS SNOWING! --and grounds, not skies, are starred.

-- Carolyn

Verse in Perpetuation of the Ancient Custom

O Lady fair, of Gloriana's court
Alone who sends the weather's mild report;
The Earth, dight all in snowy mantle white
Has shone to th'envy of the stars above
and Cupid's eye hast blinded full this night
So that he's shot his feather'd bolt of love
Amiss, and wandering from its destined mark
Hath smote my wo'ful heart with such a stroke
That would-be lovers oughteth to remark,
And ne'er Love's interfering hence provoke.
But singeth now my heart in music sweet
Compelling me this burden to repeat
Disdaining Caution's cry of subtlety
-Carolyn Thompson, will you marry me?

-Peter C. S.

Peter--

Though sensible I am of the honor thus incurred,
I must refuse you firmly, attaching just a word
To the effect that when he rights his aim,
Cupid learns to rightly spell my name.

Carolyn

To the Young Men: To Make Much of Time *

While flurried snow past window-panes comes whirling,
Inside the flurried e-mails come and go,
With “Look! It’s snowing!”--then, the swift flakes skirling,
A swift proposal--and its answer, “NO!”
Alas! Mistyping brought down this young courtier,
Before he even had begun to court;
And if he would escape the ominous forty or
More years (unwed), to measures must resort.

And yet, this bard must gently beg to fill in
The other dapper lads, that other girls
Go yet without proposals--these gems, these pearls
Are likewise beautiful--and some more willin’.

But one last warning: lest a sudden quelling
Would dash your fond desire... first, check your spelling.

Jonathan Kanary

Dear Lord, forgive these students, we
Who try to write in poetry.
And also those who didn't mind
To mail in carbon copy, blind.
I pray that You in grace defer
To look at our pentameter,
For if you did, Lord, I am sure
That death would soon be at our door.

Too many think it's cool to write in verse -
They know not what they do, Lord - stay your curse.

The end.

David C.

To Young Ladies, That They Be Not Overly Particular

If Cupid aims a little bad, tis clear
That he is mad in love
And should not ladies fear to give
Offense to Venus' turtledove?

Ladies, it is by no means sure that he
Will shoot twice at the heart
That spurns his first address--as we
Must know from Mr. Collins' part.

Less elegance, less, ladies, less!
If spelling be the spell
What lyric fools Romantics were
And yet we know them well!

If Byron, Coleridge, Blake, and Keats, could sway
With phonics so unlawful
Dart not at this respectful man
Your spurnings fierce and awful!

And though thy name be Thomson, yet accept
A mad mistaking "p"
And gather thou the P that missed
Who pricks, but praises thee

Me

Too Many Proposals

Oh isn’t it a lovely sight,
The snow that’s on the ground tonight
But some think it’s a great excuse
For proposals which are of no use

Myself, I think we’ve made a mess
And now I’m in quite dire distress
If someone proposes every time it snows
We’ll be presented with a blizzard of “no”s

And if the ladies get the idear
That men are never quite sincere
Kanary’s advice will be mere wind blowing
For girls, when asked, will say, “it’s snowing?”

Nathan C.

A Chronicle of Not-Quite-Valentine's-Day-Eve

It all began one winter’s day - A message sent to quell dismay
For the ground outside, laden in snow,
If it were not for email, who would know?
The joy soon spread, passed on in fun,
With day complete at the setting of sun
Too early yet, to seek a night’s repose
And dream of holidays of chocolates’n’rose
The door was opened, soon all would be pit
In a war of words in prose with wit

When Cupid’s light shafts did strike amiss
Due to careless spelling of a youth in bliss
Whether truly seeking, or merely in jest
Tis too late now to celebrate his request
For presently, his dreams lie broken
By the rejection felt in the words then spoken
But lest thou think that the day did end
With all hopes lost and no way to mend
The beloved padre addressed those who would mingle
With or propose to girls who art still single
He cautioned them, to prevent the shame
Of wooing hearts using the wrong name

Now, above crippled lost love, transcends
The remainder of the tale my friends
We must now mention, though some have tried to hide it,
Factually, it has long hence been decided:
The grimmest of all earth’s poets are these:
Those men who spout as Socrates
Quashing romance to lay down law
Reprimanding many, crying, "faux pas!"
Then proceeding to beg mercy for those who dare,
To ASE-sans-BCC without a care.
"Forgive their sins, and waive pending doom!"
Thus was the plea penned in sullen gloom
A killjoy? perhaps, but in his defense
He merely asked for common sense

The call of dry wit, whatever the reason,
Appears to have come at a timely season
For future poets seemed to heed his prayer
And names were hid, in the unseen layer
As they sought to try their hand at verse
Thus with their fellow romantics to converse
On and on, back and forth, ‘til all were lost"
Be that the style of Eliot, Cummings, or is it Frost?"
Then at long last, far after it had begun
With inboxes flooding with the dreamwriters’ fun"
Enough!" was hollered, "Quit thy boast!"
"You sicken us with your poetic host!"

And such is the story as ought be told:
The day of intrigue, crushed love, and cold
As chronicled by another who has had
His day’s plans disrupted – like the lover lad
But be not concerned, if you’ve heard the rumor
Of his early morning habits, and obscure humor
For now the tale is complete, and to the masses committed:
An All Student Email (Mr. Anderson omitted)

Nicholas R.

Well, it's been quite a day. But breakfast is almost over, and there are taped Olympics to watch (figure skating!). That's all for now. :-)

Thursday, February 02, 2006

One Goal Realized

Mom came bouncing in at noon to find me huddled over a recalcitrant set of Lit questions--my take on the "Shakespeare of Egyptian poets," who wrote the breathtaking and difficult Tale of Sinuhe.

"Honey, you know what? Now that you're actually up and running the redesign, and I can let that project go, it's incredible how little I have to do! I'm unstressed!"

Or words to that effect. I sat in stunned disbelief for a few seconds, and forgot the stuffed nose and clogged head which have been plaguing me this past week.

"Really? You mean... my coming home... it worked?"

"Yes!"

I don't know how it happened (though I strongly suspect God), but apparently the goal for whose sake I came home this semester has been in some measure realized. I've been running so hard and fast that I couldn't even say when, or where, or in what manner--but there it is.

And I'm still amazed, because it certainly wasn't me who did it.