At last, Patricia gets her post (Patricia MacLachlan, writer phenom!)

So, a bit about me, first. (It is *my* blog.) I saw Patricia MacLachlan in May. It's now, um, July. So I could find the notebook with notes from PLA in March, but could I find the notebook from May? Non! Ah well, c'est la vie! So the quotes are for effect, not direct, although her words do still resonate in my brain...

I wrote her a letter once. It was after I read Baby, which so touched me because it dealt with a family that had lost a child and our family lost two. (But we got two more, so we are very blessed.)

And one of the main themes in the book was a game of "rock paper scissors," a game you play with your hands. My father and I have a rhyme that we sometimes mime to each other:

"In a cabin (make a roof with two hands together)
in the woods (hold two hands out, fingers wide)
little man by the window stood (hand at your forehead, as if you are looking at something far away)
saw a rabbit hopping by (you know this one!)
knocking on his door (a fist knocking)
Help me help me help he said (two hands, raise them up and down)
for the hunter shoot me dead (you know this one!)
Little rabbit, come inside, (beckon with your hand)
safely to abide." (use one hand to caress the other)

Um, yes, at 34 and 64, we still sometimes mime this. It drives my mother crazy, which of course makes it more fun.

Baby is also written using a lot of flashbacks and italics. "I love italics" says PM. "I wish I could write an entire book using italics, because italics say, 'I'm important, read me!'"

I sat in the front row. No one else did. It was a lame conference. I mean, c'mon, this woman is phenomenal! And when she was done and asked for questions, I got up and said, "I feel like you've written my life, because in Baby there were lost babies and we lost two. And in Unclaimed Treasures, the twins were ten when they got a new baby--well, I was ten when we got the first one of a set of Irish twins. I couldn't find my copy of Unclaimed Treasures for you to autograph, besides, it's just a tattered paperback." PM replied, "I love tattered paperbacks."

She was so self-effacing, humble. When she talked about 9/11, she said, I thought I should go out and get training to be a paramedic. I mean, I felt so useless. And then a boy from Georgia called her and said, "You're still going to write, aren't you? Even after what happened?" Another boy left a message on her machine that said something about how he liked what she wrote and what she left out. Which she found wonderful--that a child could figure out how hard it is to know what to keep in or leave out. She said, "Jane Yolen always asks the kids if their parents know they're calling, but I don't care, I just love talking to them."

She talked about her father, who is an existentialist (I think he's still living.) He used to talk to her as a child, saying, "Are you bored, anxious?" (So wishing I had my notes right now!!!) As an adult, they argue about things, and one time, they'd been arguing and she dropped him off at his apartment. When he got to the streetlight, he did a little jig, which she interpreted as "Oh, let's not fight, let's have fun."

I just googled PM and I'm #4 "(Using italics reminds me I still haven't blogged about Patricia Machlachlan. I also have a post on the letter P in the works.)" (How humbling!!!) (until I spell it right--MacLachlan!)

She lived in Wyoming as a child and still carries a bag of prairie dirt with her.

She writes in between games of Solitaire. She had this conversation with Natalie Babbitt, who said, yes, but my fingers hurt. (Natalie was still using cards!) (Patricia plays on the computer.)

She is adamant that a family is the people who love you--it doesn't have to be mom and dad, it can be grandma and grandpa, or whoever it is that takes care of you.

One of my favorite picture books by PM is like many things, lost in my apartment.

Here's a great link (believe me, there are some duds out there):

Transcript from Reading Rockets (Reading Rockets is a national multimedia project that offers research-based and best-practice information on teaching kids to read and helping those who struggle. It is an educational service of public television station WETA in Washington, D.C.)

I'll let you know when I find my notes!!!

The kind of conversations we have...

So I didn't go downtown to sing "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood." I didn't go to see Good Brother Earl, or the Violent Femmes.

And it's okay.

I've been having a crappy week, emotionally speaking. I'm dealing with the loss of a friend who I considered my best friend for the past seventeen years. That's half my life span. I'm dealing with the reality of a prince coming off a pedestal, someone I've admired from afar and up close for over a year.

The moments of my week were wonderful. But the emotional weather has been bleak. In the car, to and from work, I've been listening to the audio of How to Survive the Loss of a Love. I recommend it heartily. It's at moments very funny. The book is a colaboration of three writers, who read their respective parts of the book. They admit at the start of the audio that they are not professional readers. One of the writers is a poet, whose poems are extremely cheesy, like "The poem on this page is upside down, because my life has been turned upside down." But it's meant to be cheesy, so it works as comic relief. "There is no poem on this page. The poet has taken a nap." (Right after one of the other reader/writers gives a chapter on the importance of rest and naps.)

For the first time in almost 10 years, I won't be with my family for the Fourth of July. Which really sucks. My parents generally stay at a hotel downtown that has a pool, so we get to swim, and we go to a movie as a family. (Superman would be a shoe-in for this year's--in the past we've seen Eraser, Spiderman Two, among others.) One year, my sibs and I went to Sandcastle for the day. On the fourth (or in the Sophie Maslov days on the third) we'd walk from the hotel to the fireworks.

But I'm getting ahead of myself--this post is about my wonderful mom. And how excited she was that I'd have a chance to sing for the movie. And how, this evening, while sitting on the stairs in my garret, I told her I didn't go and she immediately said, "That's all right." I told her I need to protect myself--this is a hard weekend. She didn't know what agoraphobia was (fear of the marketplace) and said, "Oh, that's what so-and-so has. He doesn't want to go anywhere." I don't really have agoraphobia, but it's the easiest way to describe it: I didn't want to go out!

I finally told her about the last conversation I had with my friend, how she told me she didn't see any reason for us to be friends. "Oh honey," she said. Then we talked about friends and how right now my mom is feeling trapped, since she's not really the "girlfriend" type and there's a woman who seems to really want my mom as a "girlfriend." Fiercely independent, that's my mom. She doesn't go on "girlfriend getaways" or have a "girl's night out."

I just felt like my mom was meant to be *my* mom after we hung up. Neither of us were ever extremely popular, although I'm more of a social butterfly than she is. But she understands the pain of having lost friends over the years. And she understands how far I have come. And how bipolar can ravage my life, with swings of great and wretched times. She is realistic and encouraging. She gets me. She knows why I'm afraid. She knows I will get over my fears.

I told her I'm probably going to see The Devil wears Prada tomorrow. She said, "What is Prada?" I smiled, and said, "very expensive shoes."

25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed... (Proverbs 31:25-28a, NIV)

Catch up (not Heinz 57)

Coming soon: Born on the Fourth of July—List Friday (To be Posted later)

In this post and to be posted on later: Random thoughts on Friday: N’Orleans, Elevators, and Humming Hymns.

One morning this week, upon waking, I started humming “Here I raise my Ebenezer” which is the second verse of “Come Thou Fount…” Last night at the Sharp Edge, Babs and I were discussing what posts we had on the back burner. I said, a shoe post, of course (here’s hers), and the up to three meme from Bookhart. And a paragraph so far on this old hymn, “Come thou Fount.” Oh, she says, I have that Easter one in my head right now, the one that goes “A-hhh-le-luia.” So then we both try to hum, “Come thou Fount” and fail miserably. I finally get it going. Yes, so get the mental image of two tired librarians, with our Yuenglings, hungry as ever, humming hymns at the Sharp Edge.

I like the idea of an Ebenezer, a rock that one places because “God has helped us.” In the Old Testament, the Patriarchs (Abraham and his dudes) were forever placing rocks and calling a place “Beth-el” or “Ebenezer” or what have you, after God did some amazing thing. It was a visible reminder to them, and I guess to anyone who stopped by. I guess the modern equivalent would be memorials—like the Vietnam Memorial, or the Civil Rights Memorial which my dad visited after he was done conventioneering with the Presbyterians in Birmingham last week. Except that those all seem to be memorials to deaths or cataclysmic events. I’m just rambling here…

So today is the first day back for my boss, the Storytelling Lady. She went to N’Orleans for the mother of all Library conferences. She is full of stories of how Bourbon Street was so packed that in order to stay with her husband she had to either hold his hand or his belt loops.

******

Yes, it is now Saturday. I could write more (and aren't YOU curious why I'd be writing about elevators--how do you keep a turkey in suspense? I'll tell you tomorrow.)

But I just wanted to get something up--it's my one compulsion, post daily! (Not that I expect others to, it's just that I sometimes feel like I have so much to say and y'all are my captive audience.) And I'm addicted to comments. Hi, I'm Sarah Louise, and I'm a comment-aholic....

(Thanks for sharing, Sarah Louise.)

That said, I may or may not post tomorrow. I'm PLANNING a quiet Sunday (movie, lunch out) but my plans don't always come to fruition...

And I'm still not sure what Monday looks like--I generally have a therapy session in the North Hills (and then I sometimes go into work for an hour or so, to catchup) but my therapist is on vackay...so I may go to the pool with Babs & Co...who knows. This is the first year in ages that the 'rents haven't come up for the Fourth and there's a SLIGHT possibility that they still might come but my mom didn't have full details when we spoke last night. I miss my momma! Anywho, I'm starved (as here on the East Coast or Mid-Atlantic or Southwestern Pennsylvania time zone it is 24 past the meridian) so I'll sign off.


Going dahntahn to sing, and see two bands at the Regatta...
***this portion of the blog has been pre-empted by a small case of agoraphobia.***

Over and out, time for lunch!!

more small moments (a very short and rather pedestrian post)

Life is hard, but good.

Walking from work to my car (parked in the shade), talking to my mom on the cell. (She won't let me drive and talk, so I sat in the parking lot for a bit.)

Going to dinner with some OD folk (that would be Open Door, not overdosed). One beer was all I needed...I left at 8:30 and was asleep by 9:30pm. The food was paella and divine!

Thinking about how I could make a mini-trip home...since the mountain can't come to Mohammed...(the 'rents usually come up for July 4th but can't, and I have a window of time where I *could* go down there for a few days...next weekend.)

And this weekend will be full of fun, egads!

This was the quote that hit me today, as I continue to read Phillip Yancey:

"To live in the past and the future is easy. To live in the present is like threading a needle." (Walker Percy)

Which, threading a needle isn't so hard if you're paying attention. Unless, of course, you happen to be Tom Sawyer...

I'm listening to Hoot on audio again. Oh, I highly recommend it! Chad Lowe is an amazing reader!

And soon, I promise, I'll write on Patricia MacLachlan. Pinky swear.

Today's challenge: to see if I want to do some Japanese story thing with my Mother Goose crowd or just find a copy of When the Relatives Came (by C. Rylant.) Joke thinks I should challenge myself--I'm feeling stretched beyond belief, but WE'LL SEE. Stay tuned.

Oh, and Joke also recommends Veggie Tales. That's some advice I will most certainly be taking!!!

The Point (and further ramblings)

Well, this is Pittsburgh, after all. The city that will buy up all the brown shirts you'll sell it. (Honest injun, a friend of mine used to be a buyer in the men's department for Kaufmanns. Whenever she was in NYC looking for stuff and saw brown shirts, she bought them all, because apparently, Pittsburgh men will buy them, hand over fist.)

Yesterday I posted on an event happening at the Point. Singing a song from the Mr. Rogers' show with one of the former stars, Mr. McFeely.

"IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD
"BE PART OF A FILM SHOOT SATURDAY JULY 1, 2006 5:00 PM AT THE POINT
On Saturday July 1st at 5 p.m., Pittsburghers, past and present, near and far, are invited to join Mr. McFeely (David Newell) to sing "It's ABeautiful Day In the Neighborhood" at The Point.This once-in-a-lifetime event is part of the grand finale of "A TALE OFTWO CITIES", a movie we are making about Pittsburgh-- the city which builtAmerica with its steel, cured polio and invented everything from aluminumto the Big Mac which now is being challenged to reinvent itself.

I found out about it from an email forwarded from someone my boss knows, who forwarded it to me. I dutifully sent it out to my entire address book. My two tried and true Pittsburgh friends replied thusly:

1. "How do I know this isn't a hoax?" and then later, "I checked it out, it's not a hoax."
2. "Well, it's not Rick Sebak. Pittsburghers are constantly reinventing the city. It's not really a matter of 'two' cities over time."

Oh for crying out loud. My parents, normal people, replied thusly: (well, my mom)

"It looks to me like a MUST Do. You would just have to leave work early, not not go at all right?

Love you, Mom"

So that's one Point, Point State Park, the place where three rivers meet.

This post is also about another kind of point, a point in time. It's called, Sarah Louise cannot stand her hair on her neck anymore so she MUST put her hair up. It's the Ponytail Point. Then there's the point at which Sarah Louise must take off her ring (sometime from getting home from work to at least 15 minutes before bedtime) and the point in the morning at which she must put her ring back on. It's the Ring Point. Then, there's the Shoe Point. This one can be easily determined: the minute Sarah Louise enters her garret (which is wall to wall carpeted in entirety.)

On the way to Target Monday, Babs and I discussed blogging. How it can sometimes be cliquish and high school. Well, yeah! I loved high school. (Ninth grade was horrible, but that's normal.) But then again, my high school wasn't cliquish. We had groups that morphed. I was a part of the courtyard group (the folks that ate lunch in the courtyard.) Our group was anywhere between 8 and 20 folks. I was in a similar group in college. My college was a little cliquey. However, the worst cliquishness I experienced: at the youth group at my church. I came in at 7th grade and they'd been together for years and I was never "one of them." Finally I stopped going my senior year of high school.

And I have never heard of a "pop-up" thunderstorm, but that's the forecast for this afternoon.

rain rain go away, little Susie wants to play...

It's raining. If you're anywhere on the Right coast-ish (East Coast, USA) (as opposed to the Left, or West, Coast) you know of that which I speak.

Actually, I think it did stop for a moment. But never fear, the skies are still gray. Ugh!

It's the sort of day you want to just go to the mall or curl up with a book. I may actually go into work early, so that I can leave early on Saturday and do this.

I think I'll copy-cat Babs soon and do my own "shoe" post. I even already have pictures of her shoes!

I added a few folks to the right--to "Shoe Shopping": PJ, Carolyn, who are just great ladies, and fun to read! They have every right to be mad that it took me so long, but knowing them, they'll just say something sweet. To "Church Shoes" I've added Semicolon (who I only realized today is mother to eight!!!) and What I see, the blog of the Rich Ufford-Chase, who was moderator for the Presybterian Church (USA) for the past year or so. And I don't know if I mentioned it when I added it, this crazy Catholic guy I know, Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.

I'll probably add a few library links to "Work Shoes" later this week. I am so grateful for the blogosphere for opening my eyes to so many new things. I wrestle to keep my blog up to date, I wrestle with what I read from others, I wrestle on what to comment or what others commented. I even did get a new name (I love it that some people call me Sarah Louise when they see me "in real life.")

It's raining again. I'm listening to WJAS, the nation's top rated nostalgia station. I love the fact that folks like Sting and Rod Stewart (yes!) have taken up singing the Standards. Sting just sang "What are you doing the rest of your life." Listening to you crooning, I think.

Oh, and reading. Last week I ordered up a ton of books from the library. Since I work there, books show up on my desk, or in my mailbox (maybe.) I have two desks, two mailboxes, and there are at least two other places my books might show up. An intriguing read for those of us thirty and fortysomething singles (and a book I'd like to recommend anonymously to a few folks): Unhooked Generation. One of the things it talks about is how our culture prevents us from committed relationships. Match.com is described in detail--I was apalled! I did the eHarmony.com thing awhile back and luckily got every penny back. Part of my problem (and the author's) with these online sites is the "check-list" mentality. Let's see, I want a blond 6' lacrosse player who has been to Europe, wears wingtips, and will dance the Macarena at our wedding. Um, from what I've heard from my married friends, it doesn't work that way. And from my own experience, what looks great on paper, on-line, on the phone, doesn't always translate to everyday life.

In fiction, I just finished Romantically Challenged (which features a protagonist who does the dating agency thing and gets burned when the company goes belly-up).

...and I'll leave you with this quote from Julia Roberts, from my "Fabulous Broads" page-a-day calendar "I'm too tall to be a girl. I'm between a chick and a broad."

Ciao!

Oh, and in case you care, this week's 6:00 Friends is the whole "Ross and Rachel break up" and at 7:00, Ross just had a baby son. I'm waiting for the library to cough up the next 6 episodes so that I can continue with the Complete Fourth Season of Sex and the City.

Over time, I have become more comfortable with mystery rather than certainty. (Phillip Yancey)

This was one of those wrestling with God weeks. A friend said to me, well, Jacob didn't give up (refererring to the dream where Jacob wrestled with God and got a new name, Israel, and a limp.)

Literature on bi-polar says that a regular schedule is what will keep you in check (read: healthy, out of the hospital, etc.). Literature on first borns (me) and only borns (I was an only until 10) say that I should be organized, using a Palm Pilot, and spoiled. Well, guess what, I'm un-boxable. I have seasons where I keep a regular schedule (if you can call it that) but I am pretty free-form and my doctors are always pleased at how healthy I am. I have a Palm Pilot (or is it a Pocket PC) that I used to play the games. I'll probably sell it, as soon as I locate it in my garret and get my ducks in a row. Literature on Global Nomads says that we either wander for the rest of our lives or find a place and stay put. Yes, I have found my stay put. I do not ever want to leave my garret. (Well, not never, but I do not want to have to move!) I love Pittsburgh and am forever discovering new things to do, new people to befriend.

And I love the old (make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.) I mourn the loss of old friends but work hard at making my new ones into faux and real antiques. Change has been the currency of my life, and I want stability! I've done my globe trotting--I want to go back to the places I've been before and see them again. Yesterday I found a picture of Old Town Warsaw, Poland (Stare Miasto) which was rebuilt after WWII. (So it's really new, based on the old.) I put it on the wall by my desk at work, so I can look at it. Places sometimes mean more to me than people--I wonder if Le Petit Trianon is still there, a French restaurant where my mother and I would go for crepes in the middle of the afternoon. I long to re-visit the sculpture museum, where they had a sculpture of three pregnant women. Oh, and a Rodin.

There are places I'll remember, all my life, though some have changed... I think of Paul McCartney, now 64, and not having someone to love him like in the song (will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?).

Right now I'm in that sweet place. It comes and goes, but it's that place where I have a smile lightly dancing on my lips. This week, contributing to the sweet place:

• Grocery shopping with Babs and Terzo. She knows I rarely say no. And she found individual yogurts--6 oz! (They used to be 8 oz, at the same price but this is about sweet moments...)
• Marzipan with chocolate for breakfast (due to Babs recommendation.)
• Second dinner and beer at the Sharp Edge with Babs, last night. Oh, it is so good to have friends!
• Listening to Back when we were grownups (Anne Tyler), read by Blair Brown. (need I say more?)
• Reading blogs: Telfair is moving, bb is traveling, and Babs is reading more books than humanly possible. Oh, and Erin is finding Play Doh in her car!

This was the verse that hit me this morning (Yes, I've gotten back to reading the Bible, mornings.)

Proverbs 25:2 It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of [queens].

(I changed kings to queens. It's my blog, I get to do that!)

Because God is clearly concealing a whole heck of a lot from me these days. But he is also reavealing to me that I am such a broken vessel, in need of grace and glue. I thank all y'all who have donated your Elmer's moments to me, whether you knew it or not.

Everyone's going to conferences...

Already, as a professional, I've learned a few things.

Some people love conferences.

Others, hate them.

I fall in the middle. A conference is generally 4-5 days in a city far away and it really screws up my routine. I love visiting new places, but I get homesick very easily. Yes, this from the world traveler, but most of my world traveling was actually with my family.

Right now, Terry I (as opposed to Terry II--some of us actually call them that, Terry One and Terry Two) is talking about the ho-hum-ness of General Assembly. My boss, we'll call her the Storytelling Lady, is on her way to N'Orleans for the American Library Association, where she will participate in committees and such (she was at least once on the selection committee for the Newbery Award.) My father is actually AT the General Assembly, in Birmingham, and having a grand old time.

And I'm loving the fact that I can keep in step with the General Assembly online, via the PC (USA) blog and the GA website. I'm reading about Milton Meija, who my dad met when he was in Colombia learning about the (growing) Presbyterian Church there. I'm reading about Alice Winters, who I think both of my parents have met, who has been a missionary in Colombia for 30 years. I'm reading about Rich Ulford-Chase (who looks so young in that picture...and dapper, I might add.) who visited the OD and said that we are the life-blood of the Presybterian Church. That we should keep doing what we're doing. Until a few days ago, he was the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church (USA) until they elected a woman, the Rev. Joan Gray.

Another way I get to connect internationally and yet not have to leave my garret (Thank you, God!) is by visiting the blog put up by the Bellefield team that is currently in Honduras. Someday soon (2007, 2008?) the Louise family (yes, all 5 of us, my parents and sibs) are going to go with Bellefield (the parent church of the OD) to Honduras. But for now, by the magic of fiber optics and DSL, we can connect online.

Oh, and look at the time! But I got to visit Birmingham and Honduras, and think about N'Orleans, sitting here in my jammies.

Sarah Louise breaks this run of doldrums...with blog things!

So as you can see, I'm feeling better. I hit traffic and laughed, because my Anne Tyler audio book was hysterical at that moment. (Back when we were grownups, read by Blair Brown, whom I adore.)

(Aside: can you believe that my 24 year old sister doesn't know who Blair Brown is? This new generation, I tell you.)

One of my co-workers made Rice Krispy treats (yes, another Sally!) and we are all eating them...and wondering why we don't make them more often. My excuse: I don't have marshmellows at home. Hmm. Now that I have both peanut butter AND jelly, marshmallows (what is the correct spelling?) seems next on the pantry list...

I feel like writing a letter to Anne Tyler. She is truly one of my top favorite adult writers. (I think she is #1, followed by (is it a list???)

Top 5 Adult Writers, as rated by Sarah Louise

1. Anne Tyler
2. Jane Austen (I own four copies of Persuasion...)
3. Sue Miller
4. Jane Smiley
5. Meg Cabot

Also-rans: Elinor Lipman (vintage), Emily Giffin (I have a feeling Baby Proof is not going to be as stellar as the Something books), Elizabeth Berg (who has a hit or miss style), Jill Davis (has she written anything besides Girl's Poker Night??) and I'm sure there's someone I've left off...oh, Jay McInerney, for Bright Lights, Big City. I don't think I've read his others...

TTFN (I had to explain this one to my 23 year old brother: Ta Ta For Now.) (Those kids these days...)

Clearly, they haven't met me...

Your Band Name is:

The Above Average Housewives

Band Name Generator

I mean, I am above average, but not a house (apartment!) or wife (you see any rings on the left hand?)

I’m going crazy, wanna come?

My mother said this a lot when I was growing up. That, and “Stop this world, I want to get off” which I later learned was the name of a musical. My mother also sang wonderful songs like “Old King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he, he called for his pipe, he called for his bowl, he called for his fiddlers three. And we threw him out the window, the window, the second story window! Old King Cole was a merry old soul and we threw him out the window."

My cousin Art, bless his heart, was fond of the nothing song. “I do nothing nothing nothing, I do nothing all day long, I do absolutely nothing, how do you like my nothing song? Second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse…”

This is the state of one’s mind, I’ve discovered, when one has to work with children all the time. And I’m not even working with them, just near them. They are here in the library with their parents, nannies, and grandparents, signing up for summer reading club. Or we’re calling them on the phone and they are sometimes calling us back because we need to know what school the kids are attending in the fall. (They get letters sent to the school saying Junior participated in the SRC program at X library.) (I’ve heard it gets you a lollipop and a certificate at the elementary school down the road.)

We are the largest one building library in our area, possibly in our state. We already (at the middle of the second week of registration) have over 1000 kids registered. Which is barely the tip of the iceberg—if we had full registration, it would exceed the 2000 we generally get by the end of each summer.

“Stay on the sunny side, always on the sunny side, stay on the sunny side of life…”

Oh help!

The kind of conversations we have...

My father is a born storyteller. I don't suppose it's a trait all PK's have, but I imagine it must have something to do with sitting there in the pews, week in, week out, listening to your dad preach.

So he's told me a bunch of Condi Rice stories this week, being that he's in Birmingham, where her daddy's church was. (He went there on Sunday, and talked to the minister, telling stories, making connections, as he always does.)

I just got off the phone, wishing him Happy Birthday. We played a short game of telephone tag.

This is the Condi Rice story he told me today: (and as much verbatim from my dad as I could remember) she was not going to church for awhile, when she was teaching at Stanford. She was in the grocery store in Palo Alto. Now, you have to figure, there aren't a lot of African Americans in Palo Alto. A man comes up to her and says, "Do you know how to play piano?" She's so struck by the directness of the question that she stutters, "why why yes." He says, "Our tiny church really needs a piano player." So she goes to the church, and realizes she was never taught to play gospel music. She phones her mother and her mother says, "Just play everything in the key of C." Well, apparently what happens in a lot of African American churches is the song leader starts the choir in a capella and the piano comes in right afterwards.

Sunday he told me the story about something else. I can't remember. But I'm starved. I *am* going to lunch with Heather at 11, so I probably shouldn't spoil my appetite. I'm so tempted to go to Pamela's though, since the message from my father on my voice mail is how five years ago on his birthday he went with me to Pamela's for the first time.

It is so good to have someone else for remembering the things you've forgot.

The book Terzo gave him (not Bab's Terzo, pay attention!) was by John something Gattis, a historian. It came out of a conversation that Terzo and Dad had about history and how it's hard to make it objective. My dad was so pleased that the gift was the fruit of a conversation they'd had. That's just the kind of guy he is.

As we got ready to hang up, he said, "I've heard from all my girls today."

And as I write this, there's one girl I wish was still around, his mom, my Granny.

June 20, 1942: Happy Birthday, Daddy!

My dad's birthday often falls on Father's Day, but always is very close to it. So on Sunday, when we spoke, he in Birmingham for the PCUSA General Assembly meeting, me under a tree standing next to my car at the Pittsburgh Seminary, he reminded me that I'm the reason he's a daddy. I love him dearly.

Happy Birthday!

Whose am I? And what is Jesus doing? (Thoughts for a rainy Pittsburgh morning)

This morning, as I sat in my car, looking at the abandoned tennis court, rain pitter patting and then pouring down and then pitter patting and then pouring...I discovered that I had left my walkman at home. So I read about the eighth mark of New Monasticism: Communities of Celibates and Marrieds--that community is a family, whether it is made up of blood ties or not.

And it occurred to me that right now, the main relationships I'm in are without confusion of face, at this blessed moment. I know whose I am. I am God's child. I am Jesus' follower. I am my daddy's #1 daughter. I am friend of Babs, Joke, and Erin (among others). Emily loves me. So does Pete. I'm not anyone's girlfriend, wife, or mother. And that's okay. Although, when I wrote words to that effect in the journal I found in my bag, I wept.

And it reminded me of Gerard Manley Hopkins' words: "Margaret, are you grieving/Over Goldengrove unleaving?" and the last verse: "It is the blight man was born for,/It is Margaret you mourn for." Because I wasn't weeping for Darfur, or the lack of good leadership in our nation's high offices. I wasn't weeping for my abandoned tennis court. I wasn't weeping for anyone but ME. Me, the one that doesn't have a ring. Me, the one who doesn't have a child. Me, the one who shares her bed with Marvin, the teddy bear, who ends up on the floor every morning.

The sermon at church last night was on Mark 6 and looking deeply at our Christology. Do we believe that Jesus is here, now? Or are we looking at him as a good teacher to emulate, someone who lived 2000 years ago (What would Jesus Do?). Instead, we should be asking, what is Jesus doing, now. That Jesus is saying to us, "Get out of the way, FOLLOW MY LEAD." We are not Jesus' hands, feet, body. We are his FOLLOWERS. I know it will take probably all week for this concept to sink into my thick head...and so, yes, we need to examine what defines us as followers. But we must rely on HIM. He is the one that starts the change in us. HE chose US.

The call to worship was verses from various psalms and included this one: Lead me to a rock that is higher than myself. Oh the humanity. Because some moments I'd rather just settle in the valley with a nice man and have a few bambinos of my own. But as Lauren Winner says, "If you are single, then you're called to be single." (I might have paraphrased her words a little.)

I feel like I'm taking dance lessons, or preparing for an elaborate trip. Both work with the analogy of one step forward, two steps back.

John talked about how in Mark 6, when Jesus told the disciples to go, he told them to go unprepared. Take your shoes. Take the shirt on your back. (The words written between the lines are these: rely on the people you will be meeting and ministering to. Rely on THEIR hospitality.) I wasn't able to sit still--the chairs my friends chose were uncomfortable, so I spent the second half of the sermon pacing back and forth in the back of the Great Hall. John said, Jesus did not say, fill up your truck with 2 by 4s. Max out your account at Home Depot, because these people need what you can offer. Nope. Jesus went against the Boy and Girl Scout oaths: Be prepared.

Which speaks to me in volumes. I am a ragamuffin of the nth degree. I could write a volume on this. But here's the thing: here's what puts Christianity in a corner, away from the other thoughts of Life: We are supposed to be broken! In our brokenness, we participate in His ministry. I am very unschooled in other thoughts, but I think Buddhism talks a lot about suffering. But I don't think it has the joy in suffering that Christianity does. 2 Corinthians 4:7 says: "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (NIV) Our suffering points us back to Him, the one who made us, the one who suffered far beyond what we will ever suffer or comprehend.

It is my brokenness that allows me to be a friend, because I can participate in brokenness--I (have) experience(d) great loss, depression, bipolar disorder, etc.

Change is the life of the pilgrim.

Pray that there will be more workers for the harvest, NOT work the harvest. In returning and rest you will be saved, NOT in doing. Of course, I need to practice what I preach, nothing new there.

On my wall is something I try to attain and forever fall short: Pray More, Do less. I am not there yet.

But if I can say this to others, I can say it to myself, "Don't try to get ahead of Him. It's basically how people burn out."

I'm posting this now, because I have to go meet Babs and Terzo for coffee. And because these thoughts are as unfinished in my mind as they will appear on the screen. I welcome your thoughts.

This Post brought to you by the letter P...

I've been tagged by Carolyn! And the letter she gave me is P.

P as in Pink and Pink Sneakers. Pink has been my favorite color since kindergarten. Julianna and I were going to go to New York and be famous ballerinas. I have always wanted a pink car since I saw a pink punch-buggy (no punch-backs) when I was in five or six in Germany. Hence the whole Mary Kay career...hello, can you say Pink Cadillac?

P is for Pop (what they call soda in Pittsburgh) and also another name for Dad, and after all, today is Father's Day. My dad's name also starts with a P. So does Paul McCarthy's. (Who is now 64.)

P as in Pittsburgh, the city of my soul. I could write a novel on this, but all of a sudden, I'm shy. The link is so old I had to go to the way back machine (internet archive) for it.

P as in Pete. Pete is a friend who is younger than my sister, older than my brother (he's 24ish) and who "gets" me. The other night I was starting to tell a story and he totally got what I was trying to say before I got the words out. Friends like that are precious.

P as in Pittsburgh Penguins. Today in the coffee shop we had a conversation about Ben R. (not the Seattle Seahawks QB!) and we started talking about our favorite hockey players. Babs and I are going to a game next season, as long as they don't get sold and move...We all love Sidney Crosby.

P as in Pittsburgh Steelers. The World Champions at the Superbowl FIVE TIMES!! I don't get into football except when it gets into Playoffs for the home team.

P as in Pandora. I put in Annie Lennox, hoping for "Walking on Broken Glass," but they haven't played it yet. Right now it's playing Pat Benetar, "We Belong."

P is the 16th letter in the alphabet. I would never use this sign, but it always cracks me up "welcome to our ool--what's missing? P!"

Playful, play, playing, as in what I'd like to be doing 90% of the time. For me, if it's not fun, why do it? (Although my version of fun may not be yours: I like doing dishes, most of the time, and I like checking Dewey Decimal numbers to see if they match the book in hand.)

P as in Pennsylvania, the state I live in.

P as in palindrome, like madam, or nurses run.

P as in pansy, a flower I do not like. I do like: geraniums (red only), tulips (any color), roses (any color).

P as in Poland, the one place I would go at the drop of a hat. My parents lived there for three years while I was in college and I visited them seven times.

pelican, piano, paper, Presbyterian, percussion (other p words I like.)

Printed in books CIP data: "printed in China, not at government expense" (note in book Masters of Movement) and "Design by compisotor name here." (note in a book about Chinese/American foreign relations.)

I could go on, but I want to post this.

the one where Sarah Louise loves the one where...

So I came home and to my delight, baseball wasn't on, Sex and the City was! And now that I've seen the HBO goodbye montage, I knew that Berger was going to break up with Carrie on a Post-It, so today I got to see the episode where it happened and the episode where she got over it.

THEN, when things couldn't have been getting any better (five points if you do the Chandler voice), Friends was "The one with all the Wedding Dresses." Probably one of my top five favorite episodes. I haven't laughed like that and clapped my hands and laughed and clapped for a long time.

Oh it feels good to laugh.

I'm going to a charity event tonight. The tickets (plural) (two) are comps because I volunteered last year. I remember thinking then, this is cool, but I'd rather be with someone. Yeah. I wish that tonight too, but everyone (and I mean everyone) had other plans. Yeah, them too. Yep, asked her. Yes, asked him.

I generally do not mind going alone.

I go to movies alone. I go out to dinner alone. I go to First Fridays alone. I go to parties alone. But this is an event where I will probably know no one. And while watching a movie is something that doesn't really involve someone in the seat next to you (which is why I do not advocate it for first or second dates), and sitting in a restaurant alone can be fixed nicely with a book, going to a charity function where most people have paid the entry fee can be a little daunting. Especially when you have cajoled your single male friends almost to the point of embarassment and know you will have to face them at some point in the future. (Ugh.) Especially since last year I only saw one person I knew. (I'll have you know I just deleted three extremely catty but hysterically funny sentences.)

(You never know who reads this, and besides, I wouldn't want people talking about me that way...am I too nice to be comic?)

So I'll get dolled up and I'll have fun. It is, after all, the event of the year. And I'm getting in FREE! It starts at 9, so I even actually have time to watch Murderball, which is overdue at the library, with 18 holds. If you're one of those people waiting, I'll return it Monday, I promise!

Oh, and if you're looking for a great chick-lit mystery, Size Twelve isn't Fat is a wonderful choice. Meg Cabot is a writing genius. I hope she never stops writing. (Wasn't it only seven years ago I was saying that about Elinor Lipman?)

Anyways, Happy Father's Day, everyone.

Make new friends...

This part I wrote the weekend Babs and Blackbird went to Bethlehem:

Last night I finished reading Eat Cake. I may start reading it again tonight. Two books I ordered at the library came in for me today, books I'm not sure I'm really ready to read:

• What Did I Do Wrong?: When women don't tell each other the friendship is over
• The Friend who got away: Twenty women's true-life tales of friendships that blew up, burned out, or faded away.

It's a subject that I've been working on emotionally since Sally Brown (not her real name) told Tray I liked him and then flew away to China the very same day. That was in the fourth grade. For two years, books were my only friends. Friendship-ending is a subject that women don't talk about. Here's a quote from WDIDW: "Yet I could positively say that this subject had never come up. I had never asked a woman, 'How are you?' and heard the response, 'Not so great, I'm in the process of being dumped by a very close friend and I'm feeling so sad and kind of ashamed about it.' No, I'd never heard anything even close to that." (Pryor, 5)

Pryor tells her story through conversations with us, the reader, and with other women. How we get tons of sympathy from all corners when a guy dumps us, but there doesn't seem to be a category for "friend grief." I think back to Maya, who helped me with my yard sale a couple years ago. I think back to Tara, who was my roommate for a few months in college. I think of Lorelei, who fell off the face of my earth for a few years. I think of...and the list goes on. It was my fault, it was her fault, it was geography, it was time, it was marital status... Pryor talks with her friends at a baby shower. Phoebe gives us this: "I go back and forth daily. I hate her, I miss her, I'm pissed, I'm sad. I can't get over the fact that she sees me as so replaceable. We have so much history, and for the life of me, I can't imagine what happened to outweigh all of that. She was the only one I never had to go back and explain things to. She was there for all of it..." (Pryor, 14)

A few years ago, I was really depressed. It was summer, and I'd been friends with Maya since winter. Life, junk, and the co-dependency of our friendship was pulling me into an abyss so low that I finally had to take some time off work. I went home to stay with my parents for five weeks and when I came back, I didn't work for months. I couldn't face her. I cut her out. She'd call, and I'd let the phone ring. I couldn't tell her. Because with a guy, you know you probably won't be with him forever unless you're both wearing rings. But when you meet a girlfriend, we all have this fantasy that we'll be friends forever, have houses next door to each other, and raise our children side by side. It's the girlfriend version of the American Dream. So when stuff pisses us off, we put it aside. We don't talk about it. And it builds. And it builds. And it builds. Until the thought of that person makes you want to vomit.

Men don't seem to have this issue. In an earlier post (back in March), I wrote about the book Why Men Hate Church. In there, I read about testosterone and its role in relationships. Here's me, from Still reading that book called "Why men hate church" (March 11, 2006)

... For instance, I knew (who didn't?) that men have more testosterone. In conflict solving, this allows men to fight it out quickly, sometimes mano a mano, and then shake hands and be friends again. What I did not realize was that women have more seratonin. (Which explains why women "are naturally more self-controlled, less aggressive, and less prone to violence than women. Women get angry, but seratonin allows them to handle conflict differently...Seratonin lets women suppress their anger, allowing it to smolder while they plot their revenge. Men get mad; women get even." p. 83)

Lily and I haven't been talking--I've been too tired to get back in touch. But we chatted briefly on Friday and she told me she'd run into Maya, who wanted to get together for dinner sometime. I didn't say a word. I'm stronger now than I was two summers ago. Maybe I could be friendly with Maya.

Make new friends, but keep the old, some are silver and the other gold. A circle is round, it has no end, that's how long I want to be your friend. (Traditional song.)

This part is tonight, at 11:42, as Kenny Rogers sings "The Gambler" and my air conditioning whirrs and makes the room cool.

What is a true friend? It changes every day. And yet, it is the same. One soul in two bodies. I woke Emily up because I was angsty about something I did earlier today. And she didn't judge me. She didn't offer advice. She said, SL, those things are things that only God can reveal to you. And that, my friends, is golden. Because that was what I needed to hear. I don't understand why my life is what it is, but He does.

A bruised reed he will not break, a dimly burning wick he will not quench....Isaiah 42:3

This has been a heck of a week. But it's almost over! One more day of being a Children's Librarian, a charity function, and then it's Sunday! I actually have just about 24 hours before it is a new week. Hallelujah!

Tomorrow is a brand new day--with no mistakes in it.

--L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables.

But you must have wondered about the mysterious way small objects seem to disappear.

Nothing of great value--small things, like pencil stumps, safety pins, stamps, corks, pillboxes, needles, cotton spools--all sorts of things?" Mary Norton, The Borrowers Avenged, p. 9

List Friday--Lost and never regained items. Sponsored by Mrs. Pom. (forgive the crazy formatting...I'm losing my patience...)

Loretta already knows that I have great fun with List Friday. It just so happens that I'm trying to come up with a list for parents and children of good audiobooks for the summer (you know, for those long car rides.) AVOID Ben and Me. It's by Recorded Books and the reader is dull as a doorknob (are doorknobs dull?). But as soon as I put in The Borrowers, I listened all the way home and part of my morning commute. Which put me in mind of lost things, of course.

1. Two rings. One was a Christmas gift that year and the other I bought at a Renaissance Festival while in college. I took them off for a nap and I swear the Borrowers got them, because they were nowhere to be found later on. My mother has now gotten in the habit of giving me rings for Christmas and I need to tell her to stop. I only need one for my right hand and I have one, with three amber stones.

2. A teardrop earring. Probably on my first movie date with Daniel. We went to see Jerry Maguire and I lost my earring. I found the other one a few months ago and am glad that I lost that one, because the teardrop earrings I now own are much more stylish.

3. My watch! It's a men's watch I got at Target while in grad school. It's a men's watch b/c men's watches tend to have a second hand that is a different color from the hour and minute hands. The second hand on this watch was red. I love that watch. It's been lost since Christmas, when I got a new watch from my mom. (You don't think she got rid of my old watch...)

4. An earring that I know is under my couch, but I probably won't find it until the next time I move the couch...it's from Brazil and it has an opalescent sheen.

5. A lot of money in Internet scams. Ugh.

6. A bracelet that I bought at the Highland Park yard sale just a few weeks ago!! It is beautiful, with glass beads of multicolors.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster

(Elizabeth Bishop, "One Art")

7. Marla Kuhn. She was my friend in 5th grade, I think. She moved, or I moved. I think of looking her up every once and awhile. She was the first friend I fought with. We played Barbies by making elaborate houses "Borrower" style. A bowl was a swimming pool, books became floors or walls...

8. Sally Brown. We were best friends in fourth grade. Then, right before she moved to China, she told Troy Zepeda I liked him. We reunited in the seventh grade, when we were both living in the DC Metropolis, but after that I lost her. I'd run into her mom occasionally, who volunteered at a thrift shop I liked in Falls Church.

9. Sally Himmens. I think she wigged out when I went manic. I did get better. It's such a shame that people are so afraid of madness, however temporary.

10. Tanya Dill. I went to her wedding shower, I went to her wedding. But after that, I lost her. She never answered calls, or emails, or letters.

11. Boston...in the process of losing. I talked to her every day when she had her chemo treatments for ovarian cancer (the kind she should not have survived.) We've called each other on our birthdays every year for 17 years. There are things I wouldn't tell anyone but her.

But I can't bear to think of this beautiful day (It is GORGEOUS here in da Burgh) to only be thought of with lost things. So a few found ones...

"I once was lost, but now am found..." (John Newton, "Amazing Grace")

1. My commonplace book. It was lost for months and months in the wreck of my apartment. It has all my favorite quotes and poems, including some that I've written.
2. The earrings I'm wearing today. They are clear Brazilian crystals. I tend to take earrings off before bed and sometimes that means they get caught in the carpet. I've lost and found them about 5 times.
3. my friend Lorelei. We had a few years where we completely did not talk and then somehow one of us started back up again.
4. my other friend Sally--she was totally into the kids for a few years there, but now we talk occasionally and even go to the movies! (Yes, I attract Sallys like moths to the flame)
5. Stamps. You know, they aren't as many cents as the new ones.
6. Contact solution--two bottles. I knew I bought some.
7. Kleenex--pink. (I only buy pink.) I now have three extra boxes.

Show and tell--hats!

(Didn't we do this in January?) (That's a rhetorical question, because I have the proof!)

So I'm posting an old picture.



It's one of my favorite hats, my souvenir Union Project hard hat.

Show and Tell, courtesy of that fabulous babe Blackbird at Say-La-Vee.

And now I feel like a heel, because it was the fabulous Vickee that asked for hats. Check the archives, it's around January 19 or 20.

The update post and some thoughts about friendship (it's the perfect blendship)

The title's clickable. I haven't figured out the code (Babs?) on that yet. You might get a lovely pop-up, and for that I'm sorry, but hey, it's the Internet, folks. It's a html-java jungle out there.

I woke up this morning after having the same dream twice. It was the cinematic ending of a book (in my dream, cuz in real life I've never read him) by Don DeLillo, called The Road. Oh, it was a dream, it would be too complex to explain. Anyways, that's not what got me off the sofa and to the keyboard right away.

Oh, you want the update?

Wait a second, or scroll down.

My friends are the most important thing to me. Why? Because, honey, they were all I had for a long time. I went off to college and my folks went to Poland. Hello? As in six time zones away, phone calls that cost a dollar a minute, and me, sitting in the hall at the phone booth (the room phones didn't work for international calls) praying I'd get through. We're talking I'd get the message, "I'm sorry, all circuits are full. Please try your call later." Before and after I became a Christian, I just prayed. "Please God, this time!" I didn't pay attention to the polite lady with her "I'm sorry"'s. I dialed again. And again. And again. And sometimes, after dialing eighteen times, I'd get through. I talked to my folks once a week with a short laundry list of business items. So my friends, through the magic of the phone in my room or the postal service (Lorelei and I wrote so often that we had to number our letters--sometimes we'd send 3 in one day) were my lifeline. For the first semester at least, I had mail EVERY SINGLE DAY. God bless Sir Roland Hill (my ancestor, the one who thought up the penny postage stamp.)

I didn't have a boyfriend. I didn't have college friends until my second semester freshman year. I couldn't go home for laundry. My high school friends were it. They kept me afloat, literally. Both of them are married now, and with one or two children. We write less frequently, and for a while, used the phone only for birthdays. Then I got a cell phone. You know, free long distance? Oh, baby! I was talking to Boston on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.... and of course, as with all my married-with-children friends, the phone calls were full of "Come inside" or "Can you see I'm on the phone?" etc. Which I'm totally fine with. Because if the kids come with that package, I'd rather have that than have no package.

I'm still single (and pretty happy with it, for the moment). But I still need my friends, although my parents and I are closer now (we talk at least four times a week). Because in the meantime, I developed this mental health issue that is sometimes scary. And it helps to talk about life. (Enter friends.) But in the meantime, most of my girlfriends are married. I had a conversation with one of them yesterday, another Sally (how can I keep them all straight?). She said, "You know, I don't have any high school friends anymore. I mean, they live near here, but we don't keep in touch. And our college friends have reunions every once in a while, but Joe and I rarely go." Which is why I woke up with this urge to write. It's no sense calling up Sally and saying, "Hello, you got married right out of college, so you've always had Joe, plus the kids, and you live your marriage out in the same neighborhood where you went to high school."

Hey, that is wonderful. But I'm Carrie. (The single part, the girlfriends part. I haven't had a kissing boyfriend in eight years, so don't get me started.) I don't have the house, the husband, the 2.5 children. I respect the h-e-double hockey sticks out of anyone that does. I just haven't met anyone yet that I wanted to spend my life with, besides my girlfriends.

In my frantic search on Sunday to find the poem (do a search on my blog search for List Friday--it's not up anymore b/c it was tres personal), I found an old card from Lorelei. It said, "I'm glad you're a forever friend." We haven't spoken since I got back from my trip to New England. I've sent her a few emails, but that's our speed right now. I think she sometimes reads this. Maybe I'll email it to her. It is always a red letter day in the Sarah Louise household when I get a letter in her penmanship that has LKM in the return address area. (Yes, she uses her initials.)

In the meantime, I'm mourning the loss of Boston. I had no idea I would be so homesick while at the PLA conference, translating into probably one of the worst weeks I've ever had, and it had to happen while I was visiting my other high school friend. Somethings you can't control. I refuse to live in the "well, if only I had..." because that week was drenched in prayer. It was also drenched in my own brokenness. Which was the straw that broke the friendship. Which I'm mourning the loss. (Did I split an infinitive there?)

It's gonna take some time. Carole King can sure write some songs: "It's gonna take some time, this time/To get myself in shape/I really fell out of line this time/I really missed the gate/The birds on the telephone line (next time)/Are crying out to me (next time)/And I won't be so blind next time/And I'll find some harmony." (Using italics reminds me I still haven't blogged about Patricia Machlachlan. I also have a post on the letter P in the works.)

Oh, you want the update? Okay, so my gyn. called me yesterday and said I have a small cyst (2 cm), which probably will resolve itself. (We're so cyst-y, women are!) If I want to go ahead right away with the lacroscopic deal, I can. Or I can wait 6-8 weeks and get another sonogram (my bladder is giving me the silent treatment) and THEN decide if I want to do the lacroscopic deal. Oh yes. I like that. If we have the luxury to take this slow, let's take it slow. Meantime, I can find out how much the lacroscopic deal costs and if my insurance covers it. Oh, and I can stop taking the contraceptives. YAY! Because frankly, I am sick and tired of breakthrough bleeding. (Of course, I would have liked to have had that conversation BEFORE I spent $35 on the Seasonale pack, but hey, it upped my Fuel Perks.) I've started taking fish oil again (it's good for so many things, one of them being cramps) and I'm incorporating more veggies into my life. Yes, it's time that Sarah Louise takes control of what goes in her mouth--less Wendy's, more Whole Foods.

And because when I googled Fuel Perks, this wikipedia article came up, a little Giant Iggle history.

Because it takes a giant to make life simple...

I'll be here all week. Oh, and I'll be commenting on that post that says you don't have to post every day. No, I do. I'm a writer. Some day I'll be working on the novel and maybe I'll stop blogging or blog less frequently, but right now, yes, I have to post every day. I don't care if I'm clogging the blogosphere. (More on that later. My bladder gave up on the silent treatment.)