| Solstice Blessings |
[Dec. 20th, 2009|12:17 pm] |
Know Thyself
There is no longest night, no waning dark,
The sun combusts always, somewhere in sky.
This planet, like our hearts, doth axis mark
And leaves us ever burning. Burning.
Wilt thou now burn with me, beloved one?
The winter’s cold or summer’s heat appease?
Each drawing breath we take another dawn
To waken, finally turning. Turning.
What do you wait upon? The light is heard,
You know the name of every ant and leaf
And sing the spell in every woven word,
Your chambered heart beats yearning. Yearning.
You are the light. You are the one returned.
You are the shining thing that always burns.
T. Thorn Coyle
with Solstice Blessings, 2009 |
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| Solstice |
[Dec. 20th, 2009|07:18 pm] |
Tomorrow is the longest night of the year. It's also a Monday. That doesn't mean a whole lot around these parts these days. Christmas we'll open presents. Christmas Eve is going to be joyful because that evening Adam's brother, whom we call ChaCha, is coming to visit for 10 whole days! I am planning a small feast for us that night. But what to do tomorrow? I don't really know what to do to celebrate it.
I do plan to spend some time looking at the moon. I am going to go to the library and look for books about the moon. Bennett has become fascinated with the moon and he'll pull out any book or picture with a moon in it. Candles. Hanging out 'round the fire. I'd like to mark the peak of the dark, but don't have any good ideas. Once upon a time, I'd mull wine, stay up late, throw a party, but with a wee one, and a husband who doesn't like mulled wine, those options are out. |
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| Gratitude |
[Dec. 20th, 2009|01:10 pm] |
Today I'm feeling slow, a little crusty and achey (I ran into the bathroom door), but mostly I'm feeling happy. It's a good time write a gratitude post.
I am grateful for:
*Snow? Frost? It doesn't matter. This morning the outside was crispy and white!
*A good night's sleep
*Our new clothes dryer. OMG, clothes and diapers that are soft and not crispy! And dry in less than two days!
*Playdates for Bennett. Really nice family people and their little kids that love Bennett
*Winter! Christmas! Solstice!
*A truly amazing and happy little boy
*Living in Wales, a healthy, green, magical place - this makes me happy every day I wake up here
*The Family Centre - basically it's a parent particpation preschool. That's my best description. It's been a sanity-saver for us and Bennett loves it there. Plus, it's great to feel like we're a part of the community |
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| Spirit in Flesh: another Parliament blog |
[Dec. 19th, 2009|02:58 pm] |
A friend tells a story about people cleaning the kitchen in a monastery. One admonishes the dishwashers, "Remember, these are the Buddha's bowls!" The sensei, walking by at that moment retorts, "They are not the Buddha's bowls! They are the Buddha's flesh!" This speaks volumes about our relationship to what we consider to be "objects" and to the parts of Pagan theology that say the Divine is immanent and that everything is sacred.
I've used this story in teaching as a way to illustrate how we treat our "stuff" and why it is that we value a hand thrown plate more than a factory made plate. Our animal soul responds to the amount of life force, care and intention we can sense in the hand-crafted object. We tend to devalue the factory made object because we have a harder time relating to it energetically. Yet both are of similar substances and both hold the pattern of the Immanent Divine. However, a sense of distance from the sacredness of some objects makes it easier to have a "throw away" culture in which the inexpensive is considered to be disposable - less sacred - than the expensive. Sometimes expense reflects the amount of labor that went into the manufacturing, and other times it is product of some strange status attached to a particular brand. In any case, the landfill grows, resources dwindle, and we keep on buying more, rather than relating more thoroughly with what we already have. These days it is difficult to even get anything repaired. It's cheaper to get a new one. And in some cases, the technology shifts so quickly, the thing needing repair is already outdated. So what do we do with that part of God Herself? We send it back to China where elderly women and children salvage the various metals, often at great cost to their health.
This is a part of Pagan theology - and truly any theology that wishes a right relationship with Nature in all its forms - that I would like to ponder further. It feels important to the consistency of our "beliefs": "Everything is sacred." or "We are all part of the web of life." or "Thou art Goddess." What do these things really mean when lived? And are we living them?
Two things at the Parliament of the World Religions gathering stood out for me as helpful additions to this topic:
Ainu elder Tsugio Kuzuno spoke of the damage Japan has done to the earth and people by investing so heavily in "growth culture". In the midst of his ideas on this, one thing stood out sharply:"...spirits accumulate also in man-made objects. When you make something, you are responsible for what you have made. There is a dark side and a light side to every product. You should not make something that cannot be reabsorbed into nature."
That statement orients us clearly in the sacred, does it not? It implicates our current practices directly in the rending of human relations with the kamui of Mother Earth and gives a clear directive for repair this rupture. The mending begins within, with human attitudes and human ethics. Are we in relationship with the material world or not? As Pagans, I think our answer would be a resounding "yes". So what does that mean for all of our choices and actions? Theology includes practice.
The second idea that feels germane to this discussion came during the presentation, "The Revival of the European Pagan Traditions." Andras Corban Arthen said that in Gaelic there are two different ways of using the possessive tense, each with it's own word. One, which translates as "mine" only represents something that made you or that you made. For example: "my ancestors" or "my child" or "my boat" (if you fashioned the boat) or "my book" (if you wrote the book).
The other possessive form translates as "I am with" to show that you are in relationship with the house or land, or with your partner or colleagues. There is no word for "owning" something that you have not directly made.
This seems like a very helpful distinction. In US terms, I might say that we are in closer relationship with a house that "we own" than one "we rent" because our responsibility to it is greater. But closer relationship still does not connote actual ownership. We can tie this back to Kuzuno's thoughts on responsibility for things we have made - if Dell or Apple computers says "these are our computers" in the first possessive usage, they are taking responsibility along with ownership. Not only can they claim credit for the benefits that their computers give, they can claim responsibility for the toxic waste that is the end product, and by extension the health of those workers affected by the salvage.
Ainu leader Ryoko Foose told us that in their language, the name given to Mother Earth reflected the relationship between her and humans. If true relationship to the sacred in all things was consistently recognized, how might the talks at Copenhagen be going differently? Would Wal-mart even be in business, were there not a flood of inexpensive (cheap in labor cost, but high in cost to humans and environment) and highly disposable goods available?
I look around at my rented home filled with stuff. Most of it consists of books and hand-made art, things that are pleasing to my soul. Yet I also acknowledge that if I had fewer of these beautiful objects, my relationships to each might feel more intimate. I might come to know them better.
They are all the Buddha's flesh. They, and we, are all God Herself.
I pray that each day, we try to remember the sacred, and to come into closer and more healthy relationship with everything: animate or inanimate, animal, vegetable, mineral, water, fire, soil, or flesh, paint, ceramic, petroleum, or plastic, chemical or quark.
Blessed be. |
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| Things I'm really liking right now |
[Dec. 17th, 2009|09:29 pm] |
Full Metal Alchemist. Thanks, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) bravenewcentury!
Pukka herbal teas. I want to try each and every one. We have 5 different kinds currently on hand.
The abundant bird life here. I'm not very good with my birds, but I know I've seen magpies, ravens, swans, hawks (maybe kestrels or kites?), mourning doves, and various other kinds of finches and blackbirds, and other birdies.
The cold clear weather, and the dark. |
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| Mysterious Welsh wildlife |
[Dec. 16th, 2009|10:01 pm] |
Tonight walking home through the cemetery I saw an unidentified mammal. Yes, it was dark. But there was just enough light from the house next door to show me that it was bigger than a cat, it had a large tail about as long as its body, and it was dark with a thick white stripe from the tip of the head to the end of the tail. I though maybe I'd seen a skunk.... but after googling images of a skunk, clearly that's not what I saw. Nor is it any of the other mammals in Wales. What the hell did I see? It made me stop in my tracks. And when a dog came out of the neighboring house it scampered off. |
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| No answer |
[Dec. 14th, 2009|10:50 pm] |
I've said every day is like a vacation here. Every day is so lazy and free and easy. I don't really have to do anything at any particular time. I get to be with Adam and Bennett as much as I want. It's gorgeous, quiet and safe here. It's downright bucolic. Village time has taken over.
But I'm slipping. I can't seem to answer an email or phone call in a timely fashion. It takes me weeks to file paperwork. I've been working on ONE 20 page paper this entire term. I cannot bring myself to care about the news. I was given a recent copy of the Economist, I flipped through it, and set it aside. I just want to do..... nothing. I want to be slow.
This doesn't feel depressive to me. It feel like an honest to god break. A mental and motivational vacation. I think I'm still recovering from the move - deciding, willing, facilitating, making it happen. And becoming a mother. And being... well, being me. DOING things. All the damn time. Maybe I need a season to be late, lazy, unresponsive, unmotivated, and not have it be because of a mental health problem.
But things do have to get done. In a display of accountability, I present my list of things to take care of tomorrow:
*Attend the holiday party at the Family Centre
*go to the Academic Registry and the Council Office (paper work which is about 8 weeks overdue!)
*read through my paper
*maybe make a hair appointment
*talk to E about babysitting
*talk with Adam about our Plan to De-Mold the House
*maybe think about Christmas cards and stuff
*make curried lentils with spinach and brown rice for dinner |
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| Nature/Religion (part 3) |
[Dec. 14th, 2009|12:56 pm] |
Nature/Religion (part 3)
Sitting in the Sydney airport, waiting to return to the land that my animal soul comprehends on a deep and resonant level, I wish to type up one more thought. After teaching a group of Tasmanians yesterday, a few of us went for a short hike amongst the tree ferns, myrtles and eucalypts. Dotted here and there in this particular preserve were signs about the local aboriginals. One of my hosts commented that this particular group was not considered aboriginal by the other local groups. “Ah”, I thought, “one cannot get away from this anywhere.” When asked why, he replied that since people from this particular grouping had intermarried at various points with white settlers (who were brutal settlers, in the beginning), they were no longer considered aboriginal. The subtext is, of course, that they were tainted and no longer pure.
In these conversations about which Pagans are “indigenous” and which are “neo-Pagans” how long is it before indigenous comes to equal authentic and authentic comes to equal pure and pure comes to equal superior?
Yes, definition is often problematic, and identity even more so. I do not need to lay claim to indigenousness. I practice Paganism and magic. I have a nature based (though not strictly earth-based) religion. I have heritage and training, it is true, but more importantly, I have practice, I have my body, I have meditation, I have the sun, the stars, the trees, the water, and you. Leave me to my practice and worship, please. I’m fine with being a 21st century person practicing a religion with ancient ancestry and contemporary innovation. As a person who lives on this land and in this time, among these cities and farms and wild places, how can I really do anything else?
For right now, I will call myself Pagan: one who connects with the non-Dual and the many Gods, with this sweet earth and with the stars far beyond my eye’s ability to reach. |
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| Nature/Religion (part 2) |
[Dec. 14th, 2009|12:53 pm] |
Nature/Religion (part 2)
[Again, this was written while in Tasmania, so my thoughts reflect my experiences there.]
Our lack of intimacy with each other is in direct proportion to our lack of intimacy with the land…the land is love. Love is what we fear.
– Terry Tempest Williams, from The Forests by Matthew Newton and Pete Hay
Let us rethink our definitions of Nature. We are Nature and Nature is ourselves. We are these towering trees, these slow moving clouds, these green rosellas, these echidnas and wolf spiders. We are the sun. We are beyond the sun.
Yesterday, I taught a dedicated group of Tasmanian forest activists some energy and breath techniques to help them in life and in their confrontations with loggers and police. We hiked into old growth forest and did our work at the base of a 1,000 year old myrtle tree.
Afterwards, four of us hiked down – well, scrambled, climbed, slipped, balanced, jumped, crouched, and sometimes crashed down would be more accurate for two of us – an untracked, activist-blazed path to the Weld River. This is a beauty of wild proportions. We drank it’s tannin colored water and ate our lunch on rocks at the bank while small green butterflies chased each other overhead. I began to sing, “Oh, children, let’s go down… down to the river to pray.” One of the men said, “This is our church.” Yes.
Thus began a discussion of disconnection and being part of place. Some of the activists feel that they are not part of great Nature, but rather must work to stop this alienated human destruction of it. I replied that in sensing we are not Nature, we instantiate the rift that causes the logging and wood chipping of the old growth that they are fighting. Alienation and disconnection are the same, whether one thinks humans are superior or inferior to the land, the trees, the animals and the sky.
We need a deep realization that we are one with all of these. That we are the same. That the call of the koorawong is our call. That the rocky outcropping high above the Weld Valley, with its view of clear-cuts, masses of trees, the glorious white of the soaring grey goshawk over the appearing and disappearing shine of river is a vision of the connectedness and disconnectedness of our very lives.
The satisfied grunting of the mother pademelon chewing grass as her joey peeks from the pouch to do the same, is little different from a human grunt of enjoyment at a perfectly steamed broccoli floret. The screaming of a raptor and the crying of trees rubbing together is little different from human voices raised high in anger or in lust.
We are Nature. We are of place. We are born. We live. We die.
We are all indigenous to this planet and this solar system. I am indigenous to the state of California. My practices of religion, inspired though they may be by the magic of the ancient tribes of Europe and rooted in the folk practices of the US and the ceremonial practices of the late 19th century are also informed by my animal body responding to the ocean near my home, to the particular quality of light reflected upon hills or buildings, to the strange quirks of weather on the little peninsula at the Golden Gate. Place informs me and I inform place. My practices are no more nor less indigenous than those of any other migrating people. Something that was invented to root us in this particular place or contemporary time is no less authentic for being 40 years or 40 minutes old rather than 4,000.
Some people have religious practices that are indigenous to place. They claim that. I respect this and feel no need to make such claims for myself. Were I to ever leave my beloved San Francisco Bay and the San Andreas Fault for some other land – such as this paradise of Tassie – or some other planet, even, I would be no less part of Nature, no less a thread in the fabric of life and the fabric of God Herself. My soul and body – one in the same right now – are both evolving. We can all evolve. We are all travelers on spaceship earth, whether we call ourselves indigenous or not. We are Nature. We would do well to not forget this. |
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| Nature/Religion (part 1) |
[Dec. 14th, 2009|12:49 pm] |
Nature/Religion (part 1)
[I wrote the following 3 posts while on the road without internet access. They are my reflections on Nature Religion as well as the many conversations about Paganism as “indigenous religion” that happened at the Parliament. I recognize that a lot of discussion has happened on this topic while I was in radio silence. Here are my thoughts nonetheless. Since they were written in stages, there is likely some repetition. Forgive me.]
Sitting here in a cabin in the Huon Bush, I marvel at the beauty of the fern trees and acacia, the fairy wrens and the eucalypts, the pademelons and possums and the sheer stretch of the sacred creature that is this mountain range.
Last night, we went to an exhibit of photos taken by tree-sitters and activists, the sacred warriors who attempt to save the amazing old growth forests of Tasmania from the perils of cable logging and wood chipping. Cable logging is not only deadly for the environment, it is bad capitalism. The huge cables are dragged from the top of the mountain to the bottom, felling every tree in their wake. These trees, whether eucalypts or black hard wood that could be used to hand-craft furniture, are used for chips that are shipped to Japan. But huge amounts – often 70% – of branches and wood are left on the mountain to compost.
Looking upon those pictures of beauty and destruction I thought of the Parliament of the World’s Religions. I thought that these photos should go to Copenhagen. I was also thinking of Barney Zwartz, religion writer from The Age. I told some of the photographers that they should send these pictures and their stories to him with the words, “this is our religion.”
Many of the activists are atheists – “no Gods, no Masters” – and they have a sense of sacred Nature more keen than many Pagans I know. They share similar concerns to the indigenous people who came to the Parliament… which brings me to the argument that was raised in many a conversation: “can and should Pagans call ourselves an indigenous religion?”
I find the statement that Paganism is the indigenous religion of Europe to be problematic. I understand that Andras Corban Arthen – who speaks quite eloquently on the subject – has filed us into three categories (reconstructionist, indigenous and neo-Pagan) and truly feels that his tradition is reviving traditions from remnants of the old. Many of us are. Feri Tradition, for example, is an American Pagan tradition that draws upon many sources – Victor Anderson’s gnosis for one, Cora Anderson’s Appalachian folk traditions some of which came from her rootworker grandfather for another, plus hoodoo, some other influences from the African diaspora and Latin America, and finally, eventually, Wicca and some Celtic religious influence (of course the Celtic influences were already present in the Appalachian magic). Just as most Americans are mixtures of bloodlines and heritages, so most “American” traditions spring from a variety of sources. Does this make us ‘indigenous’ because Victor and Cora both had access to and practiced folk traditions, revitalizing them with other sources and their own wisdom? Or does this make us a “new religious movement” because most of us don’t claim some unbroken line? Victor and Cora were always clear that the small dark people’s of the world carried the magic of the world. They were also clear that humans all came from Africa and shared common ancestry and that magic was as old as humanity. They called what we did, simply, “the Craft.”
Folk traditions and magic have survived all over the world – in Scotland, in Lithuania, in Japan – and in some cases do have a fairly unbroken line of a coherent teaching despite oppression and slaughter. In other cases, fragments have been passed down in stories or spells, kept alive in families – as was the case with Cora Anderson and many others. I feel that most of us from the European Pagan Traditions are in the latter camp. As Patrick McCollum pointed out in conversation, even those coming at this only from books are sharing in the wealth of those who have had direct teaching. Each of us also must practice deeply, share in the mysteries of the Earth and the Gods, and be informed by our own observances.
I think calling ourselves indigenous religions is problematic on many levels. First, it lays claim to an unbroken, coherent tradition, when most of us have fragments. Second, it runs the risk of laying claim to the same conditions that our indigenous brothers and sisters are currently struggling with in their fights for reparations, the right to practice freely, the right to fish or have their own sacred lands, and the right for autonomy of their nations. We have no nation, even those of us who claim to trace unbroken lines of magic. We are surviving fragments, or revitalizing (a word Andras uses nicely) old ways for a new time. Third, it sets up a hierarchy of “authenticity” where “authenticity” is always going to have a superior air about it. What is inauthentic about a tree-sitter spending years of her life to save a stand of trees? She does not call herself indigenous. He does not even call himself Pagan. But I would say there is a spiritual sense, and a case could even be made for calling it a religion. There are rituals for entering the forest and erecting the platforms, there are protocols for what materials can be used and which are forbidden. There is communion with earth, sky, rain, trees, animals, and wind. There is connection: re-ligio.
We are good enough as we are: Pagans. Nature Religionists. Ordinary Mystics. |
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| Year End meme |
[Dec. 14th, 2009|07:11 pm] |
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New Year meme - I've cut out a lot of the dumb or terribly redundant questions, and ( cut for kindness ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 13th, 2009|07:49 pm] |
I sang well tonight. Gosh, was it nice to sing, easily and beautifully. And given that I've been sick (and I'm still coughing) I sang really well. If I do say so myself. We're home now and we're going to be having a very late dinner. Roast chicken and potatoes and carrots, and garlicky salad.
With the choir rehearsals over my schedule is freed up, but the next two weeks feel hectic: must remove mold, keep studying, prep for the hols and rels, and also attend the other parties on the list. It's really nice to be invited to parties and start getting to know people. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 13th, 2009|09:13 am] |
It is beautiful here: clear, cold, thin wintry sun. I've spent much of the last few days walking around Lampeter.
The landlords are buying us a tumble dryer. It's going to have to sit on our kitchen counter, but it's better than mold. I am glad we're not moving because I really like this place. Now to deal with the mold. Getting our linens and curtains to and from the laundrette is a challenge. And hopefully someone can watch Bennett for a few hours.
In more good news, I am singing the solo today. I'm certainly not in best form, but I can sing. Most of today will be spent at church. There's regular Sunday service on top of the service tonight, and two hours of rehearsal this afternoon.
Bennett is flinging his diapers all around the living room. Time to go eat and get ready for the day. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 11th, 2009|04:53 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | health, place | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Chieftains - The Bells of Dublin | ] |
A big part of the mold problem is our fault. I feel like a really awful tenant. I grew up in a place wetter than here, but all the housing is timber framed so the houses 'breathe,' whereas here it's all concrete, brick and plastic windows. We've been drying our laundry all around the house, not opening the windows enough, or heating the house consistently enough. We're beginning a program to change the way do things, air it all out, and dry things up. And clean up the mold. I am NOT looking forward to that. But it must be done. Then, we need to take all our bedding to the laundromat. Hopefully in a week's time or so we'll begin to feel better. Adam and I feel terrible.
We're still going to look at other places though. We think we may be paying too much. |
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| More about mold |
[Dec. 11th, 2009|09:52 am] |
I'm starting to get freaked out. Now that I'm pulling things away from the walls and looking down at the trim, I see it everywhere. The spots in the corners are worse than I realized. The mold along the trim is hard to see, but it's clearly in the early stages. I'm completely grossed out. I don't want anything to touch the walls or the floor. I made the mistake of looking up black mold on the internet. There isn't a lot of good information out there (other than how to treat your house for it, which isn't what I'm interested in) and there are a lot of alarmist sites - including a documentary trailer on youtube. I'm nervous we're going to be sick for a long time.
Today our plan is this: at 11 the landlords' cleaning lady is coming over. I will not let her touch the mold unless she brings sheets/tarps/etc to cover our belongings. She also needs to take the curtains away to wash. I don't want to stir up the spores and spread it further - mainly into our things anymore than it probably is. After that, we are walking around the entire town looking for 'to let' signs, and just generally getting out into the sunshine and fresh air on this beautiful clear day. We're seeing a house at 6.30 this evening.
I do have some pictures of the mold, but I'm too afraid to post them. I don't want people freaking out - I'm freaked out enough as it is. Until we have another place to live, we can't leave. We can't afford to move into a hotel. We do know the manager of one of the hotels. Do you think he'd let us move in for free? I may ask. Am I being alarmist? |
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| Black mold II |
[Dec. 10th, 2009|10:13 pm] |
We decided to break our lease and move. Across the board, from the sane and sober, and everyone in between, we keep hearing horror stories about mold. So we're out. My adviser has mentioned possibly renting her house to us when she moves in January, and tomorrow we look at another professor's house.
If you're the praying type (or your equivalent), please pray for three things.
1) That our landlords will graciously let us out of our lease
2) That we find a wonderful, healthy, less expensive alternative
3) That no lasting damage has been done to our health
Thanks. |
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| The Parliament: Eight |
[Dec. 9th, 2009|02:16 pm] |
One More Post:
I feel profoundly grateful for having attended the Parliament. There is much to write up still: about inter-religious dialog. About the fact that the upcoming meeting in Copenhagen was very much with us. About the indigenous people’s representation and statement. About the Dalai Lama. About Pagan identity. About identity in general. About the fact that we all have to work a little harder – together – to secure justice for the earth and all it’s denizens. I want to write about our placement in the solar system and the gifts we share. I want to write about theology and the preponderance at a gathering like this to shift deep understanding about the Non-Dual into nice words about a Creator God. .I want to write about doing and living theology rather than studying theology.
But for now, I am off to Tasmania, to walk amongst the giant ferns, catch sight of pademelons and kookaburras, teach, work with activists in the deep forest, and get a little rest. |
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| Pissed |
[Dec. 9th, 2009|09:27 pm] |
I am sick again and losing my voice. I think I'm going to have to abdicate my solo. I'm really really disappointed. I miss singing. If things don't improve I may have to not sing altogether. |
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| An assortment of morsels |
[Dec. 9th, 2009|04:50 pm] |
Every day is a vacation. That's how it felt this morning. Bennett ran up to me with his shoes five times this morning - a clear sign if ever there was one that he wanted to play outside. Seeing as how it was dry and somewhat sunny, we went to the park. He stomped in puddles and tried to talk to the pony on the other side of the fence. Then we walked around town and he stared at the huge lorry full of trees. It was really free and fun and cheery. We wake up whenever we wake up, we have a loose schedule, we don't really have to be any where, and small town life encourages meandering and 'stopping by' for a chat and a cuppa. I feel like every day is a vacation.
Mold. We have a serious mold problem. Black mold. Creeping across our bedroom ceiling, up a corner of the living room wall, and behind Adam's desk in his office. In general, the mildew is growing apace around the windows. I am sure this is why I am sick again. It's so damp in our house that my sinuses aren't drying out and we all have coughs. In fact, it's so damp that our gas fireplace and our lighters won't light. It doesn't feel that damp, but it must be. We're trying to convince the landlady to cover the costs of a large dehumidifier. If she declines we will look into moving.
Singing. Of course the constant sinus baloney is ruining my singing voice. I have The Solo on Sunday and my voice is a mess. There are other solos, but apparently the opening verse to Once in Royal David's City opens to the whole shebang - I stand in the doorway, holding a candle and then the choir follows in behind me singing the second verse. It's a Thing. I don't care, but it's important to other people and I'd like to not suck.
Bennett attended church for the first time on Sunday. The church I sing at had a Christingle service. I don't understand the name, but it's a children's service. It was brief, only mildly obnoxious, with horrid "children's" hymns. The good part was that all the kids were given oranges with ribbons and candies stuck on them and a white candle in the middle. Then, the lights were turned out and the candles lit one by one. This orange is the Christingle, and Bennett LOVES his. He knows how to blow candles out so he was tickled to have his own. We light it every night before dinner. All the other kids ate their candies before the candles were even lit! But B had no idea what they were, so they're still on his orange! I figure he'll learn about sweets soon enough.
This town is small. The whole thing could fit inside of the neighborhood I used to live in. And Temescal had ten times as many people. And it's a small town in that we went to a party last night and met readthisandweep's neighbor. She was talking in vague terms about her neighbor and I knew who it was straight away. Her first response was, 'Oh you must be the American she was talking about!'
Work. I turned in draft one of my paper. I plan to turn in some more tomorrow. I think I am a tedious, redundant writer. I remind myself that this is the first set of drafts. More work is still to be done. But go me.
I think that about covers everything. Life isn't exciting here. Just really pleasant. And damp. |
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