an everlasting light

My windows glow in the cracks between the blinds. With two fingers, I spread apart the blinds and peek out into the night. White light carpets the ground and pieces of it float like feathers in the reach of a street lamp.

I see this every night for ten nights.

I sleep in too late in the mornings, spend way too much time on facebook, watch too many movies, eat too much chocolate.

I walk around the baseball fields one day and remember what it felt like to trudge up the hill pulling a sled, following my brothers and trying to step in their boot prints. Red cheeks, white puffs of breath in the cold air, snow clumps clinging to my gloves, coat, scarf, hat. At the top of the hill, out of breath, I barely have a moment before I'm shoved face-first onto the sled and kicked down the hill, screaming.

"She's headed for the creek!" I hear behind me. "Steer left, Amanda!"

I thrust my arms out in front of me, pushing them into the snow, creating a stinging spray of it against my face. The sled hits a snow-covered mole hill and jerks me sideways, backwards, feet-first. I land in the blackberry bushes and my brothers have to haul me out and brush off my scared-snowy face.

"Don't tell Mom," they say.

I remember this and smile as I tromp around the Yauger baseball fields and look forward to pulling off wet socks in a warm room, even if it doesn't have a wood stove to sit by.

Another day, I decide to go Christmas shopping. Along with thousands of other hoodlums. I make it safely to a parking spot at Target and linger inside, even after I've successfully picked out presents for everyone on my list. I know I have to face the traffic entropy outside whether I like it, or not. I decide I won't like it, buy my gifts, and leave Target. Twenty-five minutes later, I arrive at Safeway, two blocks away from Target. When I leave Safeway, it takes me 40 minutes to get home, another two blocks away. I decide not to drive again until the snow has melted.

After two full days inside, I must exit the apartment or go mad. I exit the apartment and walk to Safeway with cash in my pocket. I wander the aisles in Safeway, trying to find some excuse to be there. I stand with a multitude in front of rows of glass doors guarding empty milk racks. We can see heads bustling here and there through the space between the racks. A white carton of 2% milk suddenly slides down one of the racks and a teenage girl rushes toward the glass door, pulling it open and crying out in ecstasy as she grasps the carton, tossing it into her friend's grocery cart. A man standing nearby smiles at the girl's acquisition. More and more white, 2% milk cartons slide down the racks across the rows of glass doors. A nonfat chocolate milk carton slides down one of the white-cartoned racks. I realize I don't need milk.

Snow days, a weekend and three days before I make an exodus to sanity and Christmas with the fam gives me a lot of time to think.

One night, I have a breakdown. I am so aware of my sin that I begin to cry, pushing my head under the covers in the dark because I am not alone in my house.

I confess to Jesus often, probably every day: "I'm sorry. Please help me not to do that again. I'm sorry." This time when I confess, I'm sucking in air trying not to blubber snot all over my pillow. It's a moment when the Holy Spirit slaps me across the heart with two visions: what I look like now, and Jesus. Covered in feces, The Cross. Piss all over my face, God incarnate.

Teaching has made me aware of how depraved I am. This is good. If I had no idea what an idiot I am and what huge mistakes I make every day, I would be completely ignorant of the fact that I am rubbing my students' faces with dirt from my own hands and telling them to EAT IT.

Thank you, God, for giving me Jesus. Thanks, Jesus, for giving me your Spirit. Thanks, Spirit, for counseling me, for convicting me, for guiding me. Thank you for your interest in and concern for me, a rubbish heap with feet. I love you and adore you. Thanks for letting me stink up your presence and be the idiot waving my arms and shouting hello from across the room. Thanks for coming over and saying hello in front of all your cool friends.

from Isaiah 60
Arise, shine, for your light has come,
and the glory of the LORD rises upon you.
See, darkness covers the earth
and thick darkness is over the peoples,
but the LORD rises upon you
and his glory appears over you.
Nations will come to your light,
and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
. . .
The sun will no more be your light by day,
nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you,
for the LORD will be your everlasting light,
and your God will be your glory.
Your sun will never set again,
and your moon will wane no more;
the LORD will be your everlasting light,
and your days of sorrow will end.

that's what I love about a rumschpringe

An Hour of Optimism, when figuring


[everything]


out tastes like ice cream when i need it


the most and i am excited to become


the bohemian image of a burlap skirt


and cotton headscarf, holding baby


in crook of arm, feeding bulging bellies


one-handed


[scattering feed for the chicks]


indicating with nods and words and smiles


how to work the well


Come children, Come!


The world is a better place, and how


did we end up here?

Knee Caps or Else

While running mock 10 on the elliptical tonight, I saw a trailer for the movie adaptation of John Patrick Shanley's incredibly introspective, challenging, and thought-provoking play, DOUBT.

Anyone watching my face probably started laughing.

Halfway through the trailer, I realized my mouth was hanging open, my eyes were bulging out of my head, and a little bit of drool was slipping off of my lower lip. I might as well have stretched out both arms toward the screen and gone in for a hug.

I am so excited.

I saw DOUBT live on stage at the Seattle Rep a couple of years ago, and actually blogged about it: O, Sister


It gets better.


I started paying attention to the T.V. screen, which had formerly been playing an interview between Larry King and Brad Pitt, when I saw Philip Seymour Hoffman (aka the actor love of my life--CAPOTE--loved it) in a black priest's getup. Then I KNEW. It had to be DOUBT. And it was. It IS. It WILL BE.


It gets even better.




Meryl Streep plays the primary role of the nun who has doubts.


Oh, it's going to be good, or else I will have some knee caps to break in Hollywood.

Grandma Shirley

Oh, I had almost forgotten about the praying porcelain angels lining the windowsills in the kitchen, keeping watch over the valley below, just like Grandma as she sits at her yellow formica table waiting for something to happen: a mailcar speeding up the hill to bring her medical bills and letters from Norway, a familiar tractor rumbling across the field with a trail of lowing cows behind it, her neighbor in the yellow house lowering his flag to half mast at noon.

We sit in the shadow of a lone lamp as a grey afternoon turns to damp evening. I smile at the "Uffda" banner hanging off a brick next to the unused fireplace. Fire strikes terror into my grandmother's heart, as does snow, rain, thunder, lightning, cows, floods, and diversity. I remember how she used to put her hand over each stove top burner to make sure it was completely off before we could leave to go out for lunch at the diner down the hill. She never used the stove.

Oh, the things that I've been going through! All summer, I've gone through photographs and photographs. All the old relatives and places from Norway. Of course, no one's interested in those anymore.

I'm interested, Grandma. I love that kind of stuff.

Oh, well, I've sent most of them to the people who are interested in them. People just aren't the same as they used to be. There's no dignity anymore. People shooting people over a toy the day after Thanksgiving. I remember Frederick and Nelson's--such dignity. Of course the store wouldn't open until nine, ten o'clock. Lines of people, all the way around the block. But always dignity. Of course, you wouldn't go shopping downtown without a hat, gloves, and heels. I always wore my heels when I shopped downtown.

I'd love to see your old shoes and hats, Grandma.

Oh, and the suits! Always wool, none of this... spandex nylon. And if it was cotton, it was 100% cotton. Of course, the colors were mostly black, green, ivory suits. Oh, I'd love to have a nice blue suit again!

I listen to her talk about the furs, the gloves, the $2.20 hat sales twice a year, the size triple B shoes, the elevator girls, the Wednesday fashion shows, the dignity. I can see her, a young, Norwegian platinum blonde, her fjord blue eyes striking against her fair skin. She glides upstairs on an escalator in her pointy heels and her brown hat with the pink roses lining the lip. When she arrives home, with two hat boxes and mink stole, her father shouts at her in Norwegian to shut the curtains and turn out the lights, the Nazis could be flying over Ballard tonight.

My reflection in the dark kitchen window brings me back to her frail arthritic hands and her swollen ankles. I take inventory: the quilted cozy over the toaster, the styrofoam container of pastry, the neglected copper teapot on a cold burner. And she is still there, the dancing porcelain girl in a poplin dress, holding her skirt daintily in one hand and a pink parasol in the other.

Angsty

I have to keep secrets.
This makes my skin itch and I feel
like I have a cloth heart

so, often
I force the seams at the arteries
with a ripper
with surprise
as the threads burst open

I'm sorry I let your secrets
out,
floating along bloodways
to stop and clot
in my tongue

I would tell you
they are safe in my body
I have good skin, seamless skin
and you'd believe me, OH, you would

But you see, I've just cut my tongue on the edge of the knife as I licked off the creme of the cake

Woman, believe me

Today I went to Angel's baby shower. She's having a baby girl, Grace Amanah. Kind of like... Amanda, but not (she and Ross are secretly naming the baby after me*).

There were three pregnant women at the party (and several non-pregnant women), an array of mini quiches and mini sandwiches, and lots of games having something to do with babies or being pregnant.

I won a game. Of course you want to know what I had to do to win, don't you? I guzzled several ounces of 7-up from a baby bottle faster than four other women. Honestly, it felt kind of creepy and a little dirty as people were taking pictures of me avidly sucking liquid from a rubber nipple. But I won a cool prize, so let's call it good and forget it ever happened.

I also smelled some daipers with melted candy bars in them. No, I did not visit a cult gathering today.

The shower was great and I got to meet two amazing women who I had heard about but never officially met: Margot and Kelsey. Both have beautiful babies and are obviously wonderful moms.

I love meeting moms. I love meeting pregnant women. I love hearing about their food cravings, how sick they get in the morning, how often they have to pee, what position they sleep in at night. I am crazy.

I don't want, or plan to have a baby for a long, long time (if ever). In fact, if you know me well, you know that I would rather adopt than conceive and labor a baby from my own loins. I just used the word loins. Do women have loins?

But I lOVE hearing about what it's like to be pregnant and have a baby. I love watching moms interact with their children (most of the time). I often ask women I don't even know very well if they had a natural birth, a drugged birth, or a Caesarean. I also ask women I don't know very well what kind of birth they plan to have. Water births fascinate me.

Certain stories, anecdotes, or tales of traditions make me look forward to having my own family someday. I get really, really excited.

I once had a dream that I was pregnant. My face was pretty, my belly was huge and my heart was anxious. I did not want to have the baby. I wanted it to stay in forever because I didn't want to go through the pain of the labor. Then I found myself in a hospital bed laying on my side, fully dressed and having my baby; it was over so fast and it didn't hurt at all. I slurred out loud, "That was so easy! I can have tons of babies this way!" And then I woke up.


*some statements may not reflect reality

Sabbath

My cheeks feel the prick of a cold room and I wake up.

I sit up in bed and peruse a Vegetarian cookbook. The Sheharazad Casserole and Spinach and Feta Pie look good. Everything looks good. I grab a journal and begin a grocery list, then I get hungry.

After breakfast, I pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. I wrap a red knit scarf three times around my neck and fasten the toggles on my white coat. My brown beret pushes my bangs into my eyes, but that's ok.

The drive downtown is easy and the sidewalks are still waking up. I park and meet Katy at Batdorf & Bronson for tea. We talk about our students, our theology, our everything. She has a British accent and I'm still unsure how to say Batdorf... or is it Bardorf? I can't tell, but she says it so musically. I suppose I could just read the sign.

We buy tea at the Tea Lady store and leave downtown to have more tea at her house. I meet Katy's husband, Dan, and we sit in the living room listening to music, talking about music, and looking at her artwork. It feels like home.

Soon it's late afternoon, and Katy and I have shopping to do. We walk three blocks down the road to the Food Co-op. It's my first time buying groceries here. It's a small store, and I'm surprised to hear rap music bumping in the small store speakers. I pick out my produce and write down the PLU numbers in my journal, next to my grocery list. Some things I will buy at Safeway because I can't justify the price difference. But I like knowing that I'm supporting our local farmers in some small way here.

Browsing through the bulk, I see a container marked "Wiccan Women's Brew." Nice. Why don't they just write, "Witch's Brew"? Ingredients: one eye of newt, three dragon scales, the blood of an unhatched chick, fennel seeds, and monosodiumglutimate.

I become a member and check out, two bags full of greenery and some self-righteous pleasure. We walk home and decide to carpool to work on Monday. Excellent.

I make Sweet Potato Pancakes and Grilled Pineapple for dinner. I sit and watch a movie. I blog.

As I turn the light off, I remember the verdant smell of fresh parsley in the back seat of my car on the drive home.

God's Speed

Is it common knowledge that once a woman reaches the age of 49, she loses the ability to make decisions in under 11 minutes?

Sometimes I have no patience for people who can't make decisions quickly.
who forget small, but important, details.
who slow down when the light is still green.
who cry in front of large groups of people.
who have no awareness of other people.
who don't turn their assignments in and try to make me feel guilty for their irresponsibility.
who don't use commas, who use commas incorrectly, or who hate commas.
who can't read my mind when I want them to.

You want to be my friend now, don't you?

Tonight I wanted to come home, lie in a heap on the floor, fall asleep for 12 hours and have a dream about watching a good movie & consuming 1 lb. of jalapeno chips and 2 pints of Chubby Hubby. And a brownie. Dreams don't have calories.

I did something similar, with more calories. Now I'm going to complete the task, put my head down on the pillow and confess my sins.

Good night and God speed.

Dear Tomorrow:

Today my hair was really greasy. I mean, so greasy my fingers could barely tolerate a run-through. I cringed when someone commented sweetly, "I like your hair, Miss Winterhalter." Eeewww.

Students gaped at me after I asked the question, "Does that make sense" in several different ways, over a period of at least three minutes. Gaped. Gawked. Glared.

"Are you serious?" I responded.

Yawn. Glare. Yawn.

"Let's start over, then," I said.

My biggest disappointment so far: a cheater. Not your general, write-the-answers-on-my-hand-and-sneak-a-look kind of cheating. The raw meat, plagiarism kind of cheating. A whole paper. Do I look that stupid? Do they not realize that if they buy an essay off of the internet, I can easily find that essay on the internet, too, with a simple Google search? What makes students so desperate that they feel they need to cheat so ignorantly? At least make an effort to be a little more covert, a little more subtle. Don't insult my intelligence.

Tomorrow, I need to borrow some things from you. Actually, not borrow--receive--because I'm not going to give them back. 1) Gym... it's time to tear up the treadmill. 2) Patience and grace for me and my students. 3) A real fantastic premier of the Office. Don't let me down.

Yours,

Am

Autumn: The Rest of the Year

August is not finished, summer isn't over,
but my feet are cold.
My feet were cold yesterday
and Monday.
Tonight I could smell the cold when I went out to my car;
I could smell the leaves turning yellow,
just on the edges, like gilt pages in a Bible.

Soon I'll be wearing a long white coat
and I'll wrap my neck in a red knit scarf
and I'll tote a polka dot umbrella wherever I walk.
I'll buy some slippers for my cold feet
because socks just aren't good enough.

I'm going to visit my mother on weekends,
drink tea and watch the rain from a quiet couch.
My brothers and I will eat turkey, probably,
and stuffing, definitely, on November 27.
And perhaps for Christmas, we'll all be together
in the firelit cabin on the hill with my Aunt Tina,
who smells like coffee and roses
and whose kitchen smells like coffee and roses.

Worse than a curse:

God showed up.

As if he were missing?

Hey guys, I found God over here, hiding out behind the 12-foot cross hanging on the wall behind the platform.

God: "Sorry I'm late, but at least I showed up, right?"

It is you, Jesus! Now that you've shown yourself in your tattered canvas robe, white-man's beard, and sandals, I'd recognize you anywhere. It also helps that I feel all good inside and I'm raising the roof with my hands and singing loud and off-key.

I carry stones in my pockets just for people who sink low enough below the radar to think that God is a respector of times, places, persons, styles, etc. Don't you know he's sovereign? Don't you know he's omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent? Be careful how you use your language.