Michael (coming home): Hi!
Me: Welcome home!
(Attempt to hug)
Michael: You know, it feels like someone has come between us…I just don’t feel as close to you as I once did…
Monday, February 28, 2005
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Hailstones and coals of fire
Life has gotten so busy that I am keeping a calendar for the first time in my life. No longer can I depend on keeping it all in my head, and so I write things down, and good thing, too. It leaves a distinct paper trail of exactly how busy we are.
Last weekend my dad and three brothers drove down to help install a central vacuum system in our house. What ease and convenience! Daddy has always installed one wherever we lived, so I’ve grown up with one. Being without and dealing with clunky upright models for the past two years has been quite the rude awakening. Some people, when I tell them about it, have never even heard of such a concept, and others tell me horror stories of people who tried vacuuming out the still-smouldering ashes from their fireplace and burned the house down. I think the worst I ever did was to stick the nozzle in the toilet (when I was very young) and watch the water get sucked away.
Last night we had a terrific hailstorm. It was loud and almost frightening, and I was greatly relieved not to lose electricity at all. Michael made a bowl of truly excellent guacamole, which we devoured entirely, and we watched Fried Green Tomatoes. I was disappointed that I was too tired to think it through thoroughly, because it begged further reflection. It reminded me strongly of Gone with the Wind, with the parallel story line of an unlikely friendship between two women of very different personalities, one extremely strong and rebellious and the other meek and good-spirited. There was the same sense of desolation and poverty, of sadness for an era gone by and a frustration at the sense of social injustice. Then there’s the question of why two wrong don’t make a right, and whether it’s right to threaten a man who’s beating his wife. Was it right for her to leave him? Why was there no legal protection for her? Why was the jury so prejudiced against her, insisting that no good Christian woman would leave her husband? Why was the law so corrupt as to prevent innocent bystanders from prosecuting ruthless vandals who attacked their private property? If I had lived in that era, what could I have done to fight against the wrongs of the system?
Last weekend my dad and three brothers drove down to help install a central vacuum system in our house. What ease and convenience! Daddy has always installed one wherever we lived, so I’ve grown up with one. Being without and dealing with clunky upright models for the past two years has been quite the rude awakening. Some people, when I tell them about it, have never even heard of such a concept, and others tell me horror stories of people who tried vacuuming out the still-smouldering ashes from their fireplace and burned the house down. I think the worst I ever did was to stick the nozzle in the toilet (when I was very young) and watch the water get sucked away.
Last night we had a terrific hailstorm. It was loud and almost frightening, and I was greatly relieved not to lose electricity at all. Michael made a bowl of truly excellent guacamole, which we devoured entirely, and we watched Fried Green Tomatoes. I was disappointed that I was too tired to think it through thoroughly, because it begged further reflection. It reminded me strongly of Gone with the Wind, with the parallel story line of an unlikely friendship between two women of very different personalities, one extremely strong and rebellious and the other meek and good-spirited. There was the same sense of desolation and poverty, of sadness for an era gone by and a frustration at the sense of social injustice. Then there’s the question of why two wrong don’t make a right, and whether it’s right to threaten a man who’s beating his wife. Was it right for her to leave him? Why was there no legal protection for her? Why was the jury so prejudiced against her, insisting that no good Christian woman would leave her husband? Why was the law so corrupt as to prevent innocent bystanders from prosecuting ruthless vandals who attacked their private property? If I had lived in that era, what could I have done to fight against the wrongs of the system?
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Happy Birthday Oregon!
Which, of course, is the real significant thing about February 14th.
Three years ago yesterday we were in the throes of the 2002 Winter Olympics. I went to a girls’ party, where we watched a cute musical, ate lots of food, painted our nails, and each parted with a yellow rose (for friendship). The next morning there was a flurry of She Said Yes emails and gem studies, and Amy recounted how at dinner SHE was reminiscing about last year, when SHE went out with the girls, watched chick flicks, and painted her nails, whereas here she was, one year later, getting engaged.
Two years ago yesterday I was in Oregon for a wedding and spent the whole evening online exchanging emails with Michael, who observed, ‘Midnight on a Friday night all alone in my apartment reading Emma and writing emails and not feeling a bit depressed about Valentine’s Day? Must be in love.’ There were a dozen roses waiting for me when I got back to Virginia, which was quite the comeuppance for someone who had expressed her sentiments on fresh flowers rather explicitly in years past:
Don’t send me no flowers;
The effect will fall flat.
Flowers will die in a couple of hours.
What lame allegory is that?
One year ago yesterday we went out to dinner with several of our couple friends and had a lovely evening.
Yesterday two dozen NON-red roses were delivered to me at work. It brightened my day and cheered my olfactory senses. We cooked an elegant dinner and drank sparkling cider.
Life just gets better and better, I decided.
Three years ago yesterday we were in the throes of the 2002 Winter Olympics. I went to a girls’ party, where we watched a cute musical, ate lots of food, painted our nails, and each parted with a yellow rose (for friendship). The next morning there was a flurry of She Said Yes emails and gem studies, and Amy recounted how at dinner SHE was reminiscing about last year, when SHE went out with the girls, watched chick flicks, and painted her nails, whereas here she was, one year later, getting engaged.
Two years ago yesterday I was in Oregon for a wedding and spent the whole evening online exchanging emails with Michael, who observed, ‘Midnight on a Friday night all alone in my apartment reading Emma and writing emails and not feeling a bit depressed about Valentine’s Day? Must be in love.’ There were a dozen roses waiting for me when I got back to Virginia, which was quite the comeuppance for someone who had expressed her sentiments on fresh flowers rather explicitly in years past:
Don’t send me no flowers;
The effect will fall flat.
Flowers will die in a couple of hours.
What lame allegory is that?
One year ago yesterday we went out to dinner with several of our couple friends and had a lovely evening.
Yesterday two dozen NON-red roses were delivered to me at work. It brightened my day and cheered my olfactory senses. We cooked an elegant dinner and drank sparkling cider.
Life just gets better and better, I decided.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
A question of great doctrinal import
(…as pronounced by Jane to Mr. Collins in the A&E version of P&P.)
I’ve just begun meeting with a small group of girls on a weekly basis. It’s a mentoring/discipleship program sponsored by our church, and we’re doing a Bible study called Undercover Princess, written by one of the youth interns at the church. I’m very excited to be doing something like this; it’s my first such involvement since AWANA, and I really missed the challenge and the discipline.
Last night was our second meeting, and I think our group is really going to click. There are four girls, all fourteen, and we had such an interesting conversation. The lesson was on getting to know you: WHY is it so important to build a relationship with God? Because we only trust that which we know. And then the lesson took us on a whirlwind tour of the Old Testament sacrifice system, in order to set the stage for WHY the sacrifice of Christ on the cross was such a necessity and what a burden it was that He freed us from.
When the girls came, I told them we were going to start off with a game, and forthwith played a few rounds of Tri-Bond to set the stage. Then, without further explanation, I directed their attention to three items I’d set out on the table: a tube of concealer, a tin of tic-tacs, and a picture of an Old Testament sacrifice. I was so delighted at the end of the evening when one of the girls suddenly got it!
Anyway, at one point the topic of Christ’s location after His death came up, and we wondered where He was during that three-day interval. Somehow all of us had had the impression that He spent those days in Hell, which was what made it all so awful: the separation from God the Father, the reason why He so wished to have the cup pass from Him, etc. We pulled out our Bibles to find a verse to support this theory, and couldn’t exactly nail it down, but all of us had the distinct impression of being taught that Christ spent the time between His death and resurrection in Hell. Then followed the logical question: how could He promise the thief on the cross that that very day he would be with Him in Paradise? If He wasn’t going to be there for three more days Himself? Hmmm. Very puzzling.
I’ve just begun meeting with a small group of girls on a weekly basis. It’s a mentoring/discipleship program sponsored by our church, and we’re doing a Bible study called Undercover Princess, written by one of the youth interns at the church. I’m very excited to be doing something like this; it’s my first such involvement since AWANA, and I really missed the challenge and the discipline.
Last night was our second meeting, and I think our group is really going to click. There are four girls, all fourteen, and we had such an interesting conversation. The lesson was on getting to know you: WHY is it so important to build a relationship with God? Because we only trust that which we know. And then the lesson took us on a whirlwind tour of the Old Testament sacrifice system, in order to set the stage for WHY the sacrifice of Christ on the cross was such a necessity and what a burden it was that He freed us from.
When the girls came, I told them we were going to start off with a game, and forthwith played a few rounds of Tri-Bond to set the stage. Then, without further explanation, I directed their attention to three items I’d set out on the table: a tube of concealer, a tin of tic-tacs, and a picture of an Old Testament sacrifice. I was so delighted at the end of the evening when one of the girls suddenly got it!
Anyway, at one point the topic of Christ’s location after His death came up, and we wondered where He was during that three-day interval. Somehow all of us had had the impression that He spent those days in Hell, which was what made it all so awful: the separation from God the Father, the reason why He so wished to have the cup pass from Him, etc. We pulled out our Bibles to find a verse to support this theory, and couldn’t exactly nail it down, but all of us had the distinct impression of being taught that Christ spent the time between His death and resurrection in Hell. Then followed the logical question: how could He promise the thief on the cross that that very day he would be with Him in Paradise? If He wasn’t going to be there for three more days Himself? Hmmm. Very puzzling.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Black Magic
At long last we have our 'new' car. We picked it up last week, after nearly a week of Michael dropping me off at work each morning and me hitching a ride home each night because the rental car had to be returned the previous Friday. (Long rabbit trail potential here: did you ever stop to consider how much better off we are than our parents? In so many ways, we are standing on their shoulders. I was all of fifteen years old, I think, before we got a second vehicle in my family, and here Michael and I take our independent forms of transport SO for granted! And cell phones, and computers, not to mention size of starter houses...anyway, a good thought for a spare five minutes.)
The good news is that it is black, sleek, about the same size as Black Rider, gets good gas mileage, and has a CD player. The bad news is that I had to spend an extra $20 at the tag office to buy a WHOLE NEW TAG, even though I had the old license plate and completely unexpired registration in my hand ready to transfer over, because the car dealer had typed up the title with both our names on it, Michael's coming first, whereas on the old registration, my name had come first, since it was my car first and we added Michael's name to it after we got married. So, in other words, I had to pay for a whole new license plate and registration, instead of a mere title transfer, because of a minor bureaucratic hang-up. Whatever. After I'd fought traffic on my lunch hour and waited over fifteen minutes in line, trying to look as pathetically pregnant as possible in the feeble hope that some good soul would volunteer to give me his place in line ('You look pregnant, Ma'am. Here, take my place and step right up to the counter.' Yeah, right!), and discovered what my options were, I decided to fork over the extra $20 instead of trying to track down the dealer, get him to print out a whole new title, sign all the forms and paperwork all over again, and come back another day. It will only take me another fifteen years or so of picking up pennies in parking lots to make it up.
Anyway the new license plate was your standard-issue plate, because pretty plates and vanity plates cost far more than they do in Virginia, and at first I was mildly puzzled by the unassuming AGC. Suddenly on Saturday it hit me. We were out shopping, and had driven separately to drop off Michael's truck for tire rotation, and as I walked up to my car it dawned on me: Agincourt! This was so marvelous that I just about called Michael on my cell phone to tell him about it, but I decided against it since, after all, it was a proper name. Then Michael himself came up with the brilliant, elegant, devastatingly simple tour de force: Magic. Aha! Of course! How could it have escaped us? What better word can you make with the letters AGC?
It does put us in a bit of a dilemma, though. The obvious conclusion, judging from the colour and all, is Black Magic. I'm not really sure I want to name my car that, though. How else does one propose to top Black Rider, though? I've already decided emphatically against Black Rider II or anything of that sort.
I sit in solemn silence simmering stew on the stove while my husband works late. And it's only Monday already!
The good news is that it is black, sleek, about the same size as Black Rider, gets good gas mileage, and has a CD player. The bad news is that I had to spend an extra $20 at the tag office to buy a WHOLE NEW TAG, even though I had the old license plate and completely unexpired registration in my hand ready to transfer over, because the car dealer had typed up the title with both our names on it, Michael's coming first, whereas on the old registration, my name had come first, since it was my car first and we added Michael's name to it after we got married. So, in other words, I had to pay for a whole new license plate and registration, instead of a mere title transfer, because of a minor bureaucratic hang-up. Whatever. After I'd fought traffic on my lunch hour and waited over fifteen minutes in line, trying to look as pathetically pregnant as possible in the feeble hope that some good soul would volunteer to give me his place in line ('You look pregnant, Ma'am. Here, take my place and step right up to the counter.' Yeah, right!), and discovered what my options were, I decided to fork over the extra $20 instead of trying to track down the dealer, get him to print out a whole new title, sign all the forms and paperwork all over again, and come back another day. It will only take me another fifteen years or so of picking up pennies in parking lots to make it up.
Anyway the new license plate was your standard-issue plate, because pretty plates and vanity plates cost far more than they do in Virginia, and at first I was mildly puzzled by the unassuming AGC. Suddenly on Saturday it hit me. We were out shopping, and had driven separately to drop off Michael's truck for tire rotation, and as I walked up to my car it dawned on me: Agincourt! This was so marvelous that I just about called Michael on my cell phone to tell him about it, but I decided against it since, after all, it was a proper name. Then Michael himself came up with the brilliant, elegant, devastatingly simple tour de force: Magic. Aha! Of course! How could it have escaped us? What better word can you make with the letters AGC?
It does put us in a bit of a dilemma, though. The obvious conclusion, judging from the colour and all, is Black Magic. I'm not really sure I want to name my car that, though. How else does one propose to top Black Rider, though? I've already decided emphatically against Black Rider II or anything of that sort.
I sit in solemn silence simmering stew on the stove while my husband works late. And it's only Monday already!
Introducing Baby
…who for the present remains invisible but clearly noticeable.
October 2004
This is the last time I wore my silk party dress in quite some time, the one I traditionally wear each year to a wedding and for my birthday. It was long after this picture was taken that I began to realise that I wouldn’t be wearing this dress for THIS birthday, at any rate.
October 2004
Our first in the ‘cute couple pregnancy’ series, which we decided to start taking once a week to document progress. We’ve missed, well, a few weeks here and there. Sara ably observes the halo above Michael’s head, aptly illustrating his cherubic nature in posting the pictures for me as well as his general all-round….thing-ness (as Bertie would say).
November 2004
At this point there was really nothing to see on the front front yet (ha, ha!), but there was a whole series of pictures I cut from the roster circa this month because I looked so second-trimester from the pose.
November 2004
The week after Thanksgiving.
January 2005
Second week in January. This wasn’t part of our scheduled Sunday series, but after a birthday party when everyone remarked how not-pregnant I looked, I had to get a picture of the I-will-never-look-this-good-five-months-pregnant-again me. Michael is very forbearing. Does he think I am vain because I beg him to whip out the camera every time someone tells me I look nice? Nooo, he whips out the camera and tells me I look nice.
January 2005
Third week in January. And after this point, Baby went on a big growth spurt. I am officially into maternity clothes now.
October 2004
This is the last time I wore my silk party dress in quite some time, the one I traditionally wear each year to a wedding and for my birthday. It was long after this picture was taken that I began to realise that I wouldn’t be wearing this dress for THIS birthday, at any rate.
October 2004
Our first in the ‘cute couple pregnancy’ series, which we decided to start taking once a week to document progress. We’ve missed, well, a few weeks here and there. Sara ably observes the halo above Michael’s head, aptly illustrating his cherubic nature in posting the pictures for me as well as his general all-round….thing-ness (as Bertie would say).
November 2004
At this point there was really nothing to see on the front front yet (ha, ha!), but there was a whole series of pictures I cut from the roster circa this month because I looked so second-trimester from the pose.
November 2004
The week after Thanksgiving.
January 2005
Second week in January. This wasn’t part of our scheduled Sunday series, but after a birthday party when everyone remarked how not-pregnant I looked, I had to get a picture of the I-will-never-look-this-good-five-months-pregnant-again me. Michael is very forbearing. Does he think I am vain because I beg him to whip out the camera every time someone tells me I look nice? Nooo, he whips out the camera and tells me I look nice.
January 2005
Third week in January. And after this point, Baby went on a big growth spurt. I am officially into maternity clothes now.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Overheard late one night
Michael: I love you. Good night.
Me: I love you too. Good night.
Michael: I love you more, ’cuz I’m bigger!
Me: I love you more, ’cuz there are two of me.
Michael: No, there aren’t.
Me (sleepily): Oh. Well, anyway, we both love you.
Me: I love you too. Good night.
Michael: I love you more, ’cuz I’m bigger!
Me: I love you more, ’cuz there are two of me.
Michael: No, there aren’t.
Me (sleepily): Oh. Well, anyway, we both love you.
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