A little depressed. A lot going on.

 As I look around my apartment (yeah, I moved since I last wrote!) everything is unfinished, from dishes in the sink to a paused episode of Jane The Virgin, to laundry a week behind, piles of stuff...

I'm lonely. After living with my parents for 4.5 years, I come home to "me, myself and I" every night. My closest friend lives in Michigan, and my sister has a very clingy almost 2 year old. I think her 7 year old starts school on Monday. 

I'm waiting on news of an interview from one library system (what's taking so long?) and news will come next week about a job I interviewed for last week. A manager job that could start as soon as August 30. 

Smile. It was the best interview I've ever had. I slayed. I don't know if I'll get the job, but I have now had a management interview, and I slayed. So that's good. 

Not sure it's the best time to be online dating, but I'm lonely, so I took the bait. I think it was the stories that people told about my uncle at his memorial--I mean "celebration of life"--service. He had a sense of humor and the son thought he'd never see his mom laugh after the divorce but my uncle took care of her and she was alive. He made her laugh. I. WANT. THAT. Can you get that from Match.com? The jury is still out. The first guy was not like his picture at all, and I was not attracted at all, after almost 2 weeks of messaging (because I was on vacation one of those weeks.) (Otherwise I would have done a video meeting sooner.) 

Oh, and we're still in a pandemic. (And there's stuff going on in Afghanistan, and Black Lives still seem to not matter to most of the country, and there's a storm named Henri...and don't get me started on the Jeopardy fiasco...)

And I live in a neighborhood where everyone is concerned about their health and their children and their pets. I have a first floor apartment, so if I have the blinds open, I get to see everyone walk by, babies in strollers and wearable baby carriers, checking their fitness watches.   

And I have a tiny fruit fly problem. Did I mention laundry? I was going to go to Richmond today to see a museum exhibit (on mental health) that is going away on Friday but I don't see driving 2 hours there and 2 hours back for a 30 minute event, by myself. Especially when I have to go back to work tomorrow. Where I sit and do nothing, because we are still experiencing low indoor numbers (see "Oh, and we're still in a pandemic.") 

Naming things. That's what writing is. (We did an exercise at my latest church Session meeting where we gave each other words and the word given to me was "name." If I name things, it's a little less OVERWHELMING. I feel a little bit better having written this. I still don't want to do anything but lounge around in my super cute pajamas, but I did something. I named where I am. I tried. Maybe I could do the dishes? 

"Honor the space between the no longer and the not yet" (Or, some more liminal thoughts)

 (Nancy Levin)

It's been a while. Have you been waiting with me? I get it. 

So what was preventing me from writing? The list is boring. You probably have the same list: scaredy cat, the cat got sick, the dog got sick, someone waiting for a COVID test, someone else waiting to make a career decision, waiting, waiting, waiting...

My nails are waiting. I bought a fancy nail polish set on the Internet a month or so ago and my nails are still too long, cracked in places, and unpolished. The brown square box is underneath some mail. 

Honor the space...

I honor the space between me and my unkempt nails. 

At the moment, I can't do anything about them because I'm not at home, where the box is. (Also, could I really justify stopping a writing to do my nails?)

...Between the no longer...

I no longer want my nails to be unpolished, cracked, unkempt. 

...and the not yet. 

Writing this, I feel incredibly silly. Who cares, Sarah Louise, if your nails are pink like flesh or pink like polish? 

What does it have to do with making a career decision? 

I'll tell you why I haven't opened that box. Because painting your nails, even with the fanciest polish, requires waiting. Requires patience. Who wants to open a box just so they can wait some more? Who wants to send out a resume just to wait for the automated response, the inevitable interview, and then the phone call or letter that (it seems) never comes? 

I shift in my chair.

Let me tell you about my favorite song. It's by a Polish artist, Basia, and it's called "Time and Tide" It's all about waiting for the right moment. And waiting, and being patient. The lyrics aren't necessarily anything special, but coupled with the music, it's magic. 

 

And that's what waiting is. Nothing special, until it's put to music (after the waiting, after the writing, after the painting.) 

Here's your link to the countdown clock. When I'm writing this, it's 47 days till the Inauguration, 21 days till Christmas, and 28 days till 2021. People are doing their nails, making Christmas cards, writing their resumes. And maybe, as I wait, I can do some of those things too. 

Happy First Week of Advent! 

"This year's felt like four seasons of winter..."

 

(Unspoken, band, song: "Reason")

I remember hearing this song last January, as I parked my car and walked to church. Boy, did I have no idea. None of us did. "Always winter, but never Christmas" (a paraphrase of C.S. Lewis' description of the reign of the White Witch in the first Narnia book The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.) 

And here it is, almost Thanksgiving. We're in our fourth season of winter. I wrote in a tweet last night, "Here's the thing: they are sacred days but they are different this year. We can't get stuff, so let's celebrate with what we got, let's celebrate, but it's got to be different this year. We can't insist on tradition, we have to create different magic." 

Not everyone is going to be at the table. Some have died. Some are sick. Some are sheltering in. I hope your loved ones are all in the third category. Not everything is going to be at the table: there are shortages, and sides that would have been made by the missing ones at the table. 

Grim. 

But if you listen to the song, it tells you that LOVE is the reason. Love keeps coming back, love goads us on to keep trying. The video I didn't show is of Evel Knievel type child, trying stunt upon stunt. I couldn't keep watching this child, as each time he tried, he left the hospital with a sling, or crutches, or worse. At some point the father gets him a helmet but it was too late for me, I thought, we'll go with the Lyrics video. 

"All we need is just a little patience"

(Axl Rose)

*warning, the video is NSFW*

This song was popular the year I dated A.J., who idolized Slash, of Guns and Roses. (Red Flag anyone?)

It was also the year that had a lot of waiting and the results of patience:

Results of patience: The Berlin Wall Fell. (28 years!)

Results of patience: I graduated from high school and went off to college. 

Waiting: to get through on the phone to my parents, who were living in Poland, while I was schooling in Pittsburgh. I swear, this is one reason I think I have patience with technology (when I have patience with technology, which isn't always.) I would call Vienna. When I reached Vienna I would punch in the numbers to call Poland. (I know this doesn't make sense, but it's how the phone lines worked.) And invariably, I would get this recording: "The country you are trying to reach is busy right now, try again later." And I would sit in the phone booth on the 9th floor of Frances Warde Hall and pray and cry and try again, 10 times, 13 times, 17 times, until I finally got through. 

Waiting: to get to see my parents, I'd hop a plane in Pittsburgh, maybe change in New York, fly to Frankfurt, arrive in Warsaw. All told, about 13 hours, including all the layovers. Once I was waiting during some snow and instead of New York, I flew from Pittsburgh to London. Fortunately, there was a guy there (cute!) who was also going to London, so we waited together, sharing stories about places we'd lived, as he was also a TCK (Third Culture Kid, someone whose parents were working overseas). 

And isn't that what makes waiting easier? Someone to shoot the breeze with? Someone to remind you that it's not futile, all this waiting. We're going somewhere, and we're going to get there, but let me tell you a story while we're waiting. 

Is that maybe why we celebrate Advent? To help us tell stories until we get to Christmas? Not just to prepare our hearts (which is of course important) but to calm us down from all the anticipation. 

So tell me a story, in the comments. When was a time someone made waiting easier for you? 

"We keep waiting"

(John Mayer)

This has been a hard morning. 

I had to pay a bill late b/c I forgot to pay it online yesterday. Hello, late fee!

I ugly cried because I miss my friends, one in particular, who stopped talking to me in April. 

I had to figure out why my credit card bill was so high. Oh, hello, things I've been paying for and not realizing it. 

And my Bible study was all about how the Jews and Christians were so at odds but they finally came together. Oh, how I'm waiting on that to happen in this nation I live in (the U.S.A.)

 

"Every bad situation is a blues song waiting to happen"

 (Amy Winehouse)

What do you do when all the waiting (or some of it at least) is over? Yesterday I felt bereft, so I took a long nap. It's that feeling, after you've been in a play production in high school, all the work that you put into the production and then, in two days, it's all over! 

Grief sets in. How can it not? Life hasn't changed, but all of a sudden this big thing you were striving towards, working on, praying about, HAPPENED. 

It's like watching the Awards show and yes, it's fun and glitzy but then you have to get up and go to work the next morning. 

That's what this in between feels like. Because we now know who will be president, but we haven't started Advent, and the start of the new presidency is still 72 days away [Countdown timer].

I was struck by the reality of this tweet: "Everything is quieter now...and when the world gets quieter, grief turns up its volume." (Shannon Dingle, a writer who recently lost her husband and is raising 6 kids on her own.)

I'm so behind...all the work I haven't done because I've been too distracted. Not a very exciting blues song, but a blues song nonetheless. "I got so much to do bum bum...I don't know what to do, bum bum."

What's the blues song in your life?

***

Three things:

• Sleep: Discombobulated due to the nap.
• Walk: upcoming
• Work: I'm "teleworking" today, and have so much to catch up on. Thankfully I have a holiday on Wednesday. 

Final thought: I keep thinking about the author of It is well with my soul, because I heard the story again in my online Bible Study. 

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul

Comment prompt: What is the blues song in your life?

“I grew up with six brothers. That’s how I learned to dance — waiting for the bathroom.”

 

(Bob Hope)

Oh my blesseds. Well, one waiting is over. [Reuters]. I have to say, click the link, it's so satisfying to watch the numbers go from 0 to WON! The pictures above: these graced my desk at my old job 4 years ago, when my life fell apart from depression and then I decided to move to Virginia to live with my folks. Today marks 4 years of when I voted for a woman for President [Wikipedia] for the first time. I packed my car, I went to the dermatologist, and I voted. No line, just a cupcake from the bake sale at Dilworth Elementary. 

Can we laugh a minute? Four Seasons Landscaping????!! As the story goes, and I'm sure it will either become a myth from now on, 45 announced it would be at the Four Seasons and when it was confirmed, the Four Seasons Hotel said, no, it will be at Four Seasons Total Landscaping. I will never not laugh, and I'm planning to buy a T-shirt. I just bought a mask from Victory Masks DC, because I can't wear anything political at work.

I was all prepared to write something pithy and memorable but all that T-shirt and mask buying really killed my creativity. A LESSON IS IN THERE. (Today, I don't care.) 

***

Three things:

• TV: Watched A LOT of news yesterday. 
• Sunrise: today's was beautiful
• Something else: I can't think of anything. (Seriously, don't write and shop.) (It's like drinking and driving. DON'T DO IT.) 

Waiting...for wings and things

So we as a nation are still waiting for an answer. Waiting for votes to be counted, [Reuters] to be declared.

As we wait, a title keeps coming back to me: Waiting for Wings, which I think is a Lois Ehlert title. Lemme check. Ooh, I found a YouTube video!

Let's see if I can embed it: 

I'm a children's librarian by day and a network marketer by night. I also write, walk, and watch lots of Jane the Virgin on Netflix.

But we're talking about waiting here. I like this book and video because it continues to go back to the life cycle again and again--waiting isn't a one time deal, it's something we all do, again and again. 

Three things:

• Video I watched this morning: Joe Biden being patient and calm.
• What I ate for breakfast: Raisins with Grape Nuts and Oat Squares
• Thankful for: a day to dig in. I have a lot of work to do to get ready for Christmas in my network marketing business with Mary Kay. 

Liminal places and waiting

I think it was Nadia Bolz-Weber who said we are in a liminal time right now. It sounds like something she would say, but I can't confirm.

Liminal:  Of, relating to, or being in an intermediate state, phase, or condition. 

We're actually in the threshold of three different stages of waiting, at least. The three that I am identifying with are:

1. Waiting for a Presidential Candidate to be declared President Elect [Reuters] (from now until ??)
2. Advent [Wikipedia] (the time that Christians designate to "wait for Christ" and Christmas)
3. Waiting for the Inaguration [Countdown timer] (because if Biden is President Elect, there will be all kinds of nonsense from #45)

There are other things we are waiting for, of course, like the Winter Solstice (when the days stop getting shorter and start gettting longer), Friday (which happens to be today, woo hoo!) and...(fill in the blank). 

That's a good comment prompt. What are you waiting for in this season? 

I thought of creating an "advent" calendar using toilet paper rolls and tissue paper and chocolate and verses about justice and waiting but I don't think I have that kind of time and patience. And I do need a writing project right now. 

So I'm going to show up here every day from now until January 20, 2021 (within reasonable limits). And I'm going to talk about waiting in some way/shape/form.I don't know what it will be like, but come along, if you dare. 

***

Podcast I listened to this morning: Food and Faith Podcast: "Conversations on Hope and Lament"

Book I'm reading: The Off Season by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

What I saw along my walk: Zinnias in various stages of living and dying, and roses, same. 

This is a fall picture that was previously published to this blog, a look out on my back yard from my third floor walk-up in Pittsburgh. I currently live in Falls Church, Virginia. 

I love comments! So just to recap: what are you waiting for in this season? (Or anything else you want to put in the comment box that is PG-13). I reserve the right to police the comments. 

Camus on a rainy day...

i've never read Camus, but he's got a lot of great quotes, like this one:

In the midst of winter, i found within me an invincible summer.

And this one, which i had on a plaque in my bathroom:

Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend. 

This is one I need to learn and relearn again. I'm relearning it with Henry. Remember Henry? He's the guy I thought was crushing on me only to find out he's just a friend, which is okay too.

Today I was grumpy. I had to do some lady kind of laundry this morning, I was running late, I couldn't find my Advent devotional on Mary, not that I would have had time to read it, and I was feeling sorry for myself and crampy when Henry came down for lunch. So I pretty much ignored him, read my book.

And then I saw that I had to do my dishes. So I started a conversation with Henry, who has stuff going on too. It felt good take the focus of me, to listen. In the end, that's what matters. Listening to people when you finally have the energy to not be grumpy.

I don't want to write/I want to write

It all comes back to Pierre. "There once was a boy named Pierre/Who only could say I don't care"

He stays home and a lion comes and eats him because he doesn't care if the lion eats him and the moral of the story is "CARE!"

I think none of that made sense unless you are familiar with the Nutshell Library by Maurice Sendak, popularized in the 70s TV show, "Really Rosie," music and vocals by none other than Carole King.

I linked it up.

It's 10:53 and I work at 2:30. Which means I need to leave by 2, or 1:55 is better.

So I bought a Lenten devotional, and wouldn't you know it, unbeknownst to me when I purchased it, it's about poetry and they hope you write poetry, they write about it in the introduction, which I promptly closed when I got to that part. How dare the Holy Spirit trick me like that!!!

My mother is sitting next to me, writing emails.

Today or yesterday I read that Lent is a gift. It's not another self-improvement kick, it's a gift from God to let us be.

I can't write anymore. I won't write anymore. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. Okay, I care, but I don't see how anything can come from these ashes. Huh, the whole point of Lent is that we can't see what's becoming of the ashes. Humph. I'm going to hit publish and go get my laundry from the basement.

paper cuts...and other thoughts

(Thursday, November 1st)

Tis the season...for paper cuts.

If you work with books, the air is drier these days and even a book cover can cut and start that bleedin'.

I didn't go for a walk this morning. Or mass. I could have, I should have... (coulda, shoulda, woulda). It's a beautiful fall day and I still hate this keyboard even with short nails.

The day won't be a total waste, I'm going downtown to the Library of Congress for lunch with my friend D. We go to a cute diner there. We are both huge diner fans.

Will I ever get used to this keyboard?

I don't want to write about the shooting in Pittsburgh, and how numb I feel.

I don't want to write about why I stay in bed most (ALL) mornings until the very last minute.

*****

(Wednesday, November 7th)

So, the midterms happened. 100+ women got elected, it was a high turnout election, and all the races were tight. Democracy at work!!!

I was up late last night watching TV because I could--I work today at 2. But wouldn't you know it, I woke up at 7!! I'm sitting here in my jammies, writing this. I think I'm a little hypo-manic. Lack of sleep will do that to you. I should definitely go for a walk. Which I think I will, soon. But first, just some writing.

In the back of my mind, I still want to get a PhD in Children's Lit. Or do an MFA in writing. I don't see either of them really happening, but stranger things have...it's not that I don't believe in myself, it's that what are the job opps after I do something like that? I still think about Mary Kay every time I see a Cadillac of any color.

After today, I will have news. I don't know if it is good news yet. I'll keep you posted.

Lunch with D was good, but not as laughter induced as usual. Monday, we meet with 2 other librarians for our "federal holidays pizza." (They work federal jobs so have the day off, I requested the day off.)

I don't know what else to write about, except that I have a few people rooting for me as a writer and so I guess I'll hit publish one more time. Stay tuned. If I have news, you'll hear about it, though maybe not here first.

untitled

My new sneakers may not be pink. 

As an aside, I hate this keyboard. It is not made for people with nails. (AKA it was invented by a man.) 

I need new shoes because running shoes are only designed for 300 miles. Which is about 6 months if you run 7 miles a day? I didn't do the math, I'm trying to remember it from an online article I read.

I feel like I need to cut my nails to continue writing this post.

But the movie keeps me downstairs. The clippers are upstairs.

What movie, you ask? Oh, just the most beautiful, most depressing, most redemptive..."Sex and the City." I got to miss the horrible wedding part because my mom called.

OH EXPLETIVES. 

My nails are now short. Like the man who created this keyboard. 

I'm back. The movie is over but now the first episode of SATC is playing on "E."

I should go to bed soon. 

But this is a classic episode. I swear, I never thought I'd still be writing this blog at 46, unmarried. 

I almost deleted that last line.

This post reads like a thread on Twitter. Have I forgotten how to write long form? 

THERE ARE SO MANY COMMERCIALS! 

A friend called one of my earlier posts a "moment in time." Well, this moment is over. Time to sit in front of the TV instead of watching this episode in the reflection of the framed map of the world.

Cardigan day, therapy, I need a drink, what to name this post?

So, in case you have been outside Pittsburgh too long, or you don't find yourself on the RIGHT social mediums (TWITTER, Insta), today is #CardiganDay. I don't know if it's hit Facebook. Maybe I'm just being elitist. But I'm not going to pull myself away from this riveting blogpost to check.

My mother just walked in with a new haircut so my time to write is limited, I imagine.

Which is why I'm not going to get up to get a drink of water.

Today I did not want to get out of bed. Once I did, I got ready for an online job interview, sat on hold to find out how to apply to a job at my job (the aforementioned kids lead quit or something), went to lunch with my mother, got through to someone at HR, cleaned up a cover letter and a resume, submitted an application, and went to therapy. Whew!

I never want to go to therapy and I'm always tired when I'm there and when I leave but my therapist does have insights and she is the smartest therapist I've had since I moved dahn South. (That's down South for you non-Pittsburgers.)

I may go to Pittsburgh for the 50th anniversary of one of my former employers. The librarian who invited me on FB was actually their first children's librarian and I think still works there at least one day a week.

I miss blogging, but the pressure to write something riveting every once in a while as opposed to something sort of great every day is real. I think that's a run on sentence. I don't care.

And that's all, folks. A moment in the life of Sarah Louise.

Flopping...

In about a half hour, I have to make sure the freezer door is on the porch. I'm having a "flopping" morning, which is Sally's word for just, well, doing very little. By now my Kindle may have downloaded Season 1 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, which I have watched three times but want to watch again because the new season drops soon.

My father has been in the hospital for pneumonia. Hopefully today he'll transition to a rehab center, I think that's what they are called. My phone is upstairs and on vibrate, so I haven't gotten the latest texts if there are any.

I still keep a "blog roll" on the side of this blog, and it's coded to let me know how recently folks have written. Kristin Cashore, a fiction writer, wrote this piece (On Writing Through Hard Times) 4 days ago and it gave me some hope as I am going through a difficult time myself.

29 minutes till I need to move the freezer door.

28  minutes.

Difficult times are hard to describe. I think the most difficult part of right now is that I haven't found a place to be yet. I'm in between. I go to work, and there, no one knows I'm a children's librarian, perhaps something I should have publicized a little more because they just hired a third "kid's lead" and it wasn't me because I didn't even know the job was available. It would be a step down from my current position as head cashier where I count money like the king in his counting house from that nursery rhyme. And I am currently interviewing every chance I get for children's librarian's positions and starting a sub position today at a local library, something I hope will be a chance for me to get my foot into the door.

I still have dreams at night about my Pittsburgh apartment, and my Twitter bio still says I live in a third floor walk up, geographically located in Pittsburgh. My heart says not yet to changing it.

21 minutes. All 8 episodes of MMM have downloaded.  

This post is turning out to be like the last one, which I wrote last February. Going nowhere, slowly. So I think I'll say goodbye, for now, and hit "Publish."

it's so much easier to think about writing...

In my mind I have created a whole new blog and it's called something fancy that signifies it's going to be a spiritual memoir. Also, in the first paragraph, I talk about how my favorite spiritual memoirs currently are Eat, Pray, Love, and Travelling Lessons. I prefer the audio to the book of Travelling Lessons, but both are great. Then I'd talk a little about N.T. Wright's quote about being born again being when the words of the Bible make sense to you, touch your heart.

And that's where my imagined writing ends.

It was supposed to snow last night and it didn't. Or if it did, there's nothing to show for it. I want to just check the weather on my phone, or be downstairs eating breakfast with my folks.

I used to just be able to chatty chatty chatty, run off a blog post. Now it is like pulling teeth to even get a few words.

I'm louder than this on Twitter!

I checked my phone. If we got the snow, it's gone, and the rest of the forecast is just wind wind wind.

This is embarrassing.

Part of it, I'm sure, is that there's a personal thing going on that I don't want to write about here and that's where my mind is all stuck.

And so I wrote about the personal thing for ONE sentence and I was done. I was feeling GREAT when I woke up, or at least not rotten, and now my balloon is pfft, no air.

This has been an exercise in futility. Which is what the spiritual journey feels like sometimes.

Digital hoarding...salt water solves everything! Featuring thoughts from Mitali Perkins, Frederick Buechner, Isak Dinesan, and of course yours truly!

For some time now, I've hit "save" on various links/posts/photos on FB. The following is the first post in a series, an exploration and repository of some of those links/posts/photos, and WHY I saved them.

"Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention." — Frederick Buechner

This was posted by Mitali Perkins, but on the same day, in a closed group, a woman mentioned that she was never a crier and now cannot stop. I am reminded of the phrase that salt water solves all problems: the sea, tears, (what is the rest of this quote?) Ah, it's a quote from Isak Dinesan: "Salt water solves everything: sweat, tears, or the sea." (I wonder if this is something she said or from one of her stories?) WikiQuote tells me it's both. She said it in Reader's Digest in 1964, and it is also in one of her stories:

"Do you know a cure for me?"

"Why yes," he said, "I know a cure for everything. Salt water."

"Salt water?" I asked him. "Yes," he said, "in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea."

            ---from "The Deluge at Norderney" (7 Gothic Tales, 1934)

When my mother was pregnant with my brother, the doctor sent her to beach at Tela to help her with a cold, and at this time we lived in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, where the Nurse Practitioner at the U.S. Embassy Health Unit already had us sniffing salt water. (This is from memory, so I will take correction in the comments.) There were no stories of flesh or brain eating bacterium in those days. I sense that my municipal water in Pittsburgh is not going to have these bacteria, what do you think? Ah, here we go, an article from the Daily Mail. Yes. You should not use tap water to irrigate your nose. What about gargling with salt water (mixed with tap water?)

Oh dear, that gets you into an entirely different segment of scaries--you shouldn't drink water from plastic bottles, and tap water has chlorine. I refuse to let all the scaries get in the way of getting healthy. We live in a broken world in need of healing. I can only do my best, which can vary on a daily basis.

Onward onto more about sniffing salt water. 

My thought is we need something like a bottle warmer that will warm distilled water, because part of the comfort in sniffing warm salt water is the warm part. I find that Neti pots don't work for me, I just put the salt water into my hand and sniff it from there. Also? One less thing to make sure you wash correctly, apparently bacteria can get into the neti pot if not washed and dried with care.

Must look into getting a bottle warmer or some such. I'm going a little broke buying canned saline solution from Target--4.99 for a can that lasts 3 weeks or so, or 8.79 for 100 special salt packets. If you use a packet twice a day (recommended) that lasts a month in a half. Also, less packaging/smaller footprint. Or, even cheaper, mix up your own with kosher salt and baking soda. I used to have the recipe from a ENT I went to in Fairfax.

After checking three websites, it seems the best recipe is 4 cups (1 quart) water, distilled or not (article linked does not say you have to use distilled), with 2-3 heaping teaspoons Kosher salt, and 1 rounded teaspoon of baking soda. Stir or shake before each use, dump after a week, start over. (University of Missouri ENT & Allergy Center.) A quart seems like a lot more than I'd use in one week, though. Here's one from the Happy Simple Living Blog, 1/2 cup. I don't think that would last a week. (I do like the idea of having a batch for the week.) I guess it's time to take it off the Interwebs and do some experimenting in the real world. Not today, I have more digital hoarding to clear out. But I'll let you know what I find out!

Complicated/Uncomplicated

Life is pretty complicated right now.

(Well, son, I'll tell you/ Life for me ain't been no crystal stair...)

Yeah, as soon as you read how the mother talks to her son about nails sticking up, and bare spots and "boards torn up," you start to think, Oh. And *SHE'S* STILL CLIMBING.

So I can too.

This is the power of poetry.

Hallelujah for poets. (Especially Langston Hughes.)

My friend Lilly shared this video from a poetry slam a few months ago, and it still just gets me.



"You can set the world on fire! All you have to do is BREATHE."

I've been crying on the bus this week. At first I thought it was because I was reading Flora and Ulysses--have you read it? A real tearjerker, but SO WORTH IT.  Who thought a squirrel being vacuumed up would turn him into a superhero? I can't believe it took me ALL YEAR to get to reading this book, but it was just the right time, I need the encouragement DiCamillo's words give me, RIGHT NOW.

Work is complicated right now. Let's not go there. Oh, but some guy put our library in his will! So that's joyful and joyful always = uncomplicated.

Uncomplicated thoughts? I would LOVE to go to the beach, or barring that, Sandcastle, tomorrow. (Sandcastle is a water park right outside of the Pittsburgh city limits, and has just enough rides that it's fun, but not too many that you feel like you can't do them all in one afternoon.) I generally go after 3 p.m., to a) miss the harsh sun rays of the midday and b) save some green. I'm all about taking care of my skin and saving money. Or how about making some? My foray into Mary Kay is complicated right now, see above, work is complicated. You don't jump-start your home-based business in the summer if you are a children's librarian.

(It's like retail Christmas, in case you're unfamiliar with Kid's Summer Reading.) 

More uncomplicated thoughts?

Hmmm. Morning baths and evening walks. I've been getting more of those in. The ducks at the reservoir are SO CUTE. Right now there are three families with ducklings. The teenagers, the not quite tweens who have mostly lost their fuzzy, and the fuzzy ducklings, our newest group. I hate not having a camera, but going to the AT&T store to get an iPhone 5 just seems...complicated. (Do not judge me.)

The past two days it's been coffee shop coffee and drugstore breakfast sandwiches. Money not well spent. Ah, the commute. (Catching a bus means you gotta get out of the house, pronto.) (As opposed to driving, where one minute later leaving means 1 minute, not 20 minutes off schedule.)

Oh, sorry! I got back to complicated.

Uncomplicated thoughts?

In the middle of writing this, GAY MARRIAGE is now legal in every state in the union. I prefer to only think about the uncomplicated joy that this creates for so many people that I love. (I realize it is not uncomplicated, but the JOY is uncomplicated.)

Cupcakes. Very uncomplicated.

My favorite librarian J has arrived for her Friday shift.

It's Friday and I have two days off in a row! Oh, and I don't have to fast tonight for a blood test tomorrow, because all the Shadyside appointments for my cardiologist got cancelled for next week. JOY!!

This tweet, which today makes me want to cry...

.@rbuurma: "When you use a library catalog, you are collaborating with generations of library catalogers." #rbms15

— Kelli Hansen (@Bibliokelli) June 25, 2015

(But practically anything will tip me to the tears side today.)

I need a fun book to take with me when I take myself OUT for lunch = uncomplicated. I've been good almost all week eating in. Yesterday was unplanned. (So it doesn't count?) But I had leftovers for dinner.

See? I can make anything uncomplicated, complicated.

Goldfish. Nope, one died when I was in 2nd grade.

DAMMIT!

Hi, I'm Sarah Louise, and I'm a complicated "think everything over ten more times than it needs to be"-aholic. 

Hi, Sarah Louise.

Sarah Louise and the City

In my new life as a city dweller and city worker (as opposed to my old life as a city dweller and suburban worker) I have noticed a few surprising fringe benefits.

(Not all of the fringe benefits are surprising, since I worked downtown in an earlier life.)

But here's one I didn't expect: I have started running into people I work with on the street, in city neighborhoods besides downtown. Last night, on the way to dinner, I ran into a library clerk that works at our branch, and this morning, on the way to the Busway, I ran into a woman who works at the offices in the East Liberty branch. She was presumably walking to work. It was just fun to see these folks on the street, and just say hi. That glimmer of recognition--you are someone of my tribe--was delightful.

And last night, after dinner, at the bus stop? I met an opera singer from Central Europe. We started talking about European cities we had in common and didn't stop talking until our buses came. These are connections that do not occur when you are sitting in your car in traffic. 

Other fringe benefits include more built-in exercise, as running for the bus is now a part of my daily life. Some days I take the neighborhood bus to the Busway, some days I park closer to the Busway and walk. I never take the neighborhood bus all the way downtown, as it takes 45 minutes as opposed to a variable 33 minutes to take the neighborhood bus and the Busway. It's not just the time factor: the buses are old and uncomfortable. I prefer to walk for five minutes, sit for 10 minutes, walk for three, and sit for 10 more minutes. I think once spring comes, I might try walking to the Busway from my house, approximately 2 miles, but I need to purchase better walking shoes first. I am potentially looking at the bike angle. (Although I don't bike or currently own a bike.)

I am purchasing less gas for my car, but since a Zone One bus pass costs $97, I'm not really ahead on commuting costs. Once my bus pass is taken out of my paycheck pre-tax, I will recoup some additional monies, but I'm not sure how much. Every paycheck is a surprise--the first paycheck just had the normal deductions, Social Security, Medicare, City tax, State tax, Federal tax. The second paycheck, I started getting my Flexible Spending monies deducted. The third paycheck, I'll start paying for my health care. I think the fourth paycheck, I'll be starting to pay for my pre-tax bus pass.

Unexpectedly, I miss driving my car. I miss catching up on NPR news, listening to my music, and just driving. This weekend I drove home to see my nephew Max (not his real name) and to celebrate my mother's birthday. Being out on the open road was a thrill. Yes, I was thrilled to be on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, who knew? And last night, driving home from a surprise trip to Wilkinsburg, I got to listen to Jian Ghomeshi, who is one of my favorite radio personalities. Last night he proved he can get out of a hot spot quickly with an interview with singer and British celebrity Boy George. Who would have thought that Boy George is now 52?

***

Reading right now: The Help by Katherine Stockett (umpteenth time); Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins; Calling me Home by Julie Kibler; and The Kitchen Counter Cooking School by Kathleen Flinn. All but the last title are fiction.

The toil of thy hands...

Remember him -- before the silver cord is severed,
or the golden bowl is broken;
before the pitcher is shattered at the spring. (Ecclesiastes 12:6)

I have been putting my Raggedy Ann piggy bank back together. She lost some ceramic orange hair about a month ago when I was trying to get to one of my jewelery boxes. Poor Ann, I broke her before, when I was a girl, and put her back together again, like Humpty Dumpty. I don't have all of the pieces, so the hole in the back of her head is larger than before, and she has a triangle of air in the middle of her cheek. But she still smiles. I haven't used her as a piggy bank for years, but she is someone that has been in my life for a very long time.

The sugar bowl I bought it in Prague when I was 20 has a broken lid. It was to be the sugar bowl for when I got my first apartment. And it was. And it is. Until recently, I didn't have the proper glue in my house, so the broken pieces are all together in one place, waiting for me to glue them back together. The bowl part still holds sugar, and I am fortunate that the only bugs I have to worry about in this apartment are stink bugs and the occasional fruit fly, and neither species cares about dry sugar.

The golden bowl will break. The pitcher will be shattered at the spring. And the silver cord will be severed. (I wonder if the silver cord is our life, I haven't done any research on this verse, but you will find it underlined in just about every Bible I've ever owned.) I find it comforting that the writer of Ecclesiastes knew these things. I wonder if he ever owned a sugar bowl with a broken lid.

***

This morning, I couldn't sleep. I woke up at 4:57 and used the commode, tried to get back to sleep to no avail. I thought, oh, this might be a good time to read the Bible! and pray! (It is Lent, after all, when we are meant to put more energy into prayer...and it's been forever since I've opened a Bible outside of church.) But when you are rusty and out of practice, restlessness takes over again. I'm not used to being quiet anymore. I opened my Bible to Ecclesiastes and read some bits, but I still was too restless. So I came here. I think writing can be a kind of a prayer, so here I am...and I can hardly believe it's been since October that I've posted here, but there you go.

I'm looking at verses in different translations, thanks to Biblegateway.com. The Message is a paraphrase by Eugene Peterson. He has a way with words, he does. Ecclesiastes 5:18 contains this phrase: "what was the point of working for a salary of smoke?" (He's describing a rich man who loses all his money in a bad business deal and has nothing to leave his son. Naked he came[from the womb of his mother], naked he went./So what was the point of working for a salary of smoke?) 

I love that phrase: a salary of smoke. 

Part of why I went to bed restless and woke up with numbers in my mind is because last night I finally opened TurboTax and started my taxes. They were a little more complicated this year because I received the fellowship I think I told you about, to study rare children's books. Because I was not a student at the time, that money is perceived as self-employment earnings, and so I had to work on deductions and mileage and such. I was not reimbursed by work for a conference I attended in October. So I had to work on what the deductions were for mileage and travel and meals. My refund is half of what it was last year, and part of that is the fellowship and part of that is that I cashed in quite a few of my Savings Bonds. 

So it is helpful to read Ecclesiastes in the face of all this. The bowl will be broken. The cord will be severed. The pitcher will be shattered. And yet, the point of life is to enjoy the toil of your hands and then die. 

(I never said it was a cheery text.) 

The tax refund will pay for most of my tire bill and for my professional memberships. I was hoping that my refund would pay for all of my tire bill plus my professional memberships, but with a smaller refund, I have to divvy up the monies, and I can't put off paying for my professional memberships any longer. (I should have paid for them back in October.)

I have a new job, by the way. It is hard work, but mostly satisfying. I'm working as a librarian in a downtown location. The city shouts with beauty and dust, unlike the suburbs which try to make everything decent and tidy. I am faced with the disparities of life--people with more than enough, people with enough, and people with less than enough. These are the people I work beside and these are the people I help each day. I see how important the library is to people who cheerfully ask to borrow the dictionary from the reference desk. Or for young people who have big dreams and nowhere to express them but to borrow foreign films at the library. For the mother with a restless child who wants a copy of The Cat in the Hat. Eventually, I'll be working with children on a daily basis, but since there hasn't been a children's librarian at the downtown location for over a decade, I have to build relationships first. For now, my collection, the books, music, DVDs, these are the welcome mat I extend to the children and parents that walk into the library. It is a collection that someone else created, and that will be mostly replenished by someone else, but I am now its main mama. 

I digress. There is so much that can't be put into words. But the point I am trying to express, that I am dancing around, is that my work means I generally sleep at night. It means that I have the energy to work on my taxes on a weeknight, instead sitting in front of the television with my dinner. It means that even though I have no idea at the end of the day if I'm making more or breaking even with this new job, I am happier. And you cannot put a price tag on happiness. That is the point of the book of Ecclesiastes. Dust we were, dust we will be. But if we can find work we enjoy and we can sleep at night, that is good. 

Selah.* 

________________
*pause, and think of that.