Newsy-type Fireside Chat

Ummm...so, wow. Well, I'm going to Omaha now. Seem abrupt? Well, it was. Hope called me on Wednesday morning and told me that it was suddenly possible for her family to chip in to fly me up there. I was gone for the next two days on a trip to Austin with my family (yes, another abrupt decision) and then when I got back on Friday, we bought a plane ticket for the following Monday. I have two days (well, now only one day) to get ready for a ten day trip to Omaha and then when I get back I will have a week to get ready for a semester long trip to Australia. Where did my summer go? All of sudden I went from having two weeks left to prepare myself to be ready-emotionally, mentally, and in the actual details of traveling-as soon as I possibly can. Was that a really dumb decision I just made? Actually, I feel rather overwhelmed and scared by what I've done. It all happened so fast, and what with the money and the time that I'll be spending, I'm afraid that I just jumped into this situation like a big dumb fool and I'm not going to be able to handle it-logistically or mentally. But in a way, it seems so appropriate that before I go forward on my plans for Australia, I return to my Nebraskan roots (eliciting a shudder, but hey, I'm from where I'm from). I feel like I haven't been able to do the preparation for I thought I would have time and clear-headedness to perform this summer, but maybe this is preparation of a different sort, though valid just the same. And furthermore, I've been aching to see my friends all summer, so I guess that would explain why I basically just followed my gut without really thinking about it too much. So this is just to say, if you haven't heard from me in a while, you probably won't hear from me for a while longer, cause things are going to be awfully busy until I leave. And hey, if you live in Omaha, watch out, because the kid is coming back!

Also, I guess this is to notify that at this point in time this blog is going to be serving another purpose. I'm doing an independent study on travel writing while I'm in Australia, and this blog is going to serve as my journal to keep all of my notes and observations on what I'm seeing and experiencing in Australia. So, basically, the blog is going to stay pretty much as I'd envisioned it would when I started this, but now I'll get class credit for it as well! But at this point I'm supposed to start recording my impressions and expectations and thoughts leading up to the trip, so we're kind of moving into "Shannon's Blog: Part 2." Hopefully, as part of this second phase I'll be able to keep posting occassionally while I'm in Omaha, so stay tuned. Soon, I'll also hopefully have some things that I'd like you to keep in your prayers for me while I'm gone. So, I guess I just wanted to say thanks to those of you who've been reading and hey, don't stop, because it ought to be more interesting while I'm in Oz than when I'm at home, right?

A much needed repose

Okay, I guess I have to realize from the outset that there's no way I am going to be able to express myself adequately over this. Lately especially, I seem to be running into my own limitations with words again and again and again. But, today was special. Today, we went to the ballet. Maybe you're thinking, ah Houston, a city of first class entertainment. Well, this was not that kind of engagement. We heard about this little show through a friend of a friend, an original ballet done by a tiny dance company that no one has ever even heard of before. But when my mom forwarded me the e-mail, I jumped at the chance to go. Because, you see, this was a production put on by a Christian ballet company, a show called "World without End." And let me tell you something, having seen what I have seen over the past few years and especially during my semester in London, I jump at a chance for Christianity to reclaim its place in the fine arts. I said to myself, I don't even care if this show is going to suck, I want to support this kind of endeavor. And that's how we all ended up piled in someone else's minivan on our way to the Jewish Community Center downtown. I wasn't expecting much. In truth, the setting was actually kind of ghetto. The curtain groaned as it raised like it was about to crash back down again given the least provocation. But the curtain and even the theater were quickly forgotten once the curtain went up. This was no typical ballet. The first dance opened with a regal woman all dressed in white, blowing a shofar. Right off the bat I had chills. Then I realized that the music for this feature was not the orderly compositions of Chopin or Tchaicovsky. There were drums. Just drums. Then the first of just two principals began dancing. She wore a pale green satin tunic over very wide leg, flowing pants of the same color, an ensemble which goaded me to envy. She was an amazingly beautiful woman, with proud posture and wonderful dark skin the color of coffee. And her dancing...well, I don't think I've ever seen anyone move like that. She was amazing flexible, amazingly talented, amazingly strong. Her movements were so tight, so controlled, and so graceful. The other women were all beautiful too, in their own ways. About half of the other dancers were at least over forty. There was a woman dancing up there who must have been at least sixty years old, and she had long, smooth grey hair tied back in a ponytail and a wonderful look of tranquility and joy on her face. She kept up with the best of them, and they were not doing stuff for amateurs either. God, please please let me have the ability to dance half that well when I'm sixty...and seventy...and eighty. As I said, the music was atypical, and so was the dancing. Not just an average mix of Western ballet; actually the staple of the program was something that looked distinctly African to me. There was even a couple numbers of belly dancing (kind of a Song of Solomon, church-as-bride kind of motif, I think you had to be there not to be scandalized). If I ever had any doubts about Katie's theory about Westerner's dancing vs. everybody else, they have been laid to rest. I don't even know how they did it. I have never seen anybody move like they moved (I think I may have already said this). But the looseness, the freedom, the joy, so expressive, yet never becoming sloppy or careless. I don't know how they did it. I think my body might shatter if there was so much power and so much expression coursing through it. But it was so refreshing, such a joy to watch. You know, I may never be able to move just that way, but I am willing to spend the rest of my life trying. It was inspirational really. I have long found dancing (either my own or others) to be a balm to the soul. It was exactly what I needed, considering that the week leading up to it has just been shitty (sorry for the language, but no other word would quite do). It was good to see something so redeeming after a week like that. This ballet was one that somehow managed to express the deepest and highest of Christian truths in a way that would appeal or at least be respected by most modern- (or postmodern?) minded people. I guess my only question now is, where do I sign up?

a VerY Bad CaSE of THe MeAn ReDS

Please excuse me as I sound my barbaric yawp into the emptiness of cyberspace to release frustration in a way that will not do harm to myself or others: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!

Life as I know it

So, I have developed a great fondness for bike riding in these past few weeks. It has been very surprising to discover how many strange and adventuresome things one can discover in one's own neighborhood. Today, for example, I realized that I have a most unnatural fascination with unfinished houses. I was riding through some new developments which surround our subdivision, and there were a number of houses just sitting there, empty and incomplete. A great and irresistible force drew me to the houses. I think it has something to do with my dad, I think, because when we lived in Omaha and our subdivision was new, we used to do the same thing every chance we got. So I had a grand old time this morning, exploring houses that were in various stages of being built. I think my favorite were the ones that didn't have the drywall up yet. It was like a see through map of the house, a much better way to see how things fit together than after the walls were up. It was fun trying to guess which room would be the kitchen, or the living room, or the bathroom (those were the easiest to guess). I think, actually, a lot of the appeal comes from the fact that you're doing something just a little bit edgy, because you know if anyone found you there they wouldn't like it. It makes it exciting. Kind of sad, that my life has been reduced to this...oh well. Also, I was riding past the new developments and I stumbled onto a very old neighborhood, the kind that your grandparents might live in, where large trees hang over and shade the road and people still own lawn gnomes. The streets had names like Dunkirk and Kilrenny and there was even a Bonnie Sean Drive. It was like little Ireland in the heart of Houston. All the houses there had so much character, some had rows of arches along the front and some were tall with columns. Some were totally overgrown in the front with a riot of vegetation so that the lawn was completely swallowed up. Okay, looking at what I wrote, it actually looks pretty darn boring. Hmmm...time to reevaluate the sad direction my life seems to have taken...

Why small dogs are evil

My family has always had golden retrievers. They are large, beautiful dogs which shed a lot. But they are basically good and many of them have a degree of that special something which makes us think of dogs as almost human. Well, in fall of this past year, we lost our last golden retriever to cancer. (Yes I know, very sad, boo hoo) So then I went back to college for the spring semester, and in my absence my family got a new dog, a daschund (blast those German names!) I wonder if this would have happened at all if I had been around to prevent it. And so a great evil was permitted entrance into our house. That's right, I said evil. You know, I expected that I would like this dog. I even wanted to like it. But...I don't. The problem with this particular small dog is that she is very cute in appearance and that saves her from a great many hardships which should have rightly fallen on her by now for her many crimes. For example, she periodically decides to relieve herself on our carpets. This is sometimes for a reason as trivial as being frightened by a clap of thunder, or sometimes for no reason whatsoever. You see the fine person that gave her to us made sure to tell us quite after the fact that this particular breed of dog can never really be potty-trained. Grrreat... For this reason, we spend much of our days occupied in letting her in and out of the house. Furthermore, she is rather neurotic as dogs go. She barks at anyone who comes to the door or near the house or drives by on the street or animals on the TV or animals in the neighborhood and again, sometimes, for no reason at all. She is a rather hostile creature, to all other animals (remember the Kujo entry) especially cats and squirrels. Also, she is much riled by everything that goes on wheels. Once, when I was not yet home again, there was a report of her chasing and biting a girl in the neighborhood because she was on a bike. My sister defended this action, saying the girl deserved it. When asked why, she said it was because the girl had tried to pet her. Imagine, the nerve of some people!

Furthermore, I think what is most distressing and disturbing about this particular dog is the unnatural degree of affection which my mom seems to feel towards her. She will, for example, use the same terms of endearment on us that she uses for the dog. She allows this little creature to totally rule her life, having to go to be very early in the evening so that she can get up at 5 or 6:00 so she can let the dog out. We have to plan our outings around being home in time to feed the dog or let her out again. She spends hundreds of dollars on the dog's medical problems and the dog's training (which didn't work, by the way, she is still quite bratty). The dog sleeps with her in her bed at night. All of this she gets away with because of some dark magic by which she controls the occupants of this house. I fortunately, have not yet fallen under this spell and so I still maintain control over my own faculties. Pray for me friends, that I may have resilience in the face of this four-legged terror.

How to Dance in 3 Simple Steps--Part I

So, once upon a time when I was a small thing I lived in a little room with a little roommate who made an observation about Western dancing. She was saying that there just doesn't seem to be the same sense of fluidity, of comfort, of looseness when Westerners dance. In short there is no "there," there. I have always contested this, for the sake of myself mostly; as a Western dancer I would like to think that I do not come off as stiff and stodgy. But the more I have considered this, the more I fear that she was right, especially as I have seen dancing in other cultures and realized what it could be. So, in order to explain this, I have developed a hypothesis. I think that the root of this problem is found in Platonic dualism, which separates a persons body and soul into two different categories and exalts the latter over the former. I think this philosophy is at the root of many Westerners distate for the human body. It is so often seen as a base, degraded thing, the part of us that is the most animal. The problem is, the people who hate their own bodies will never be able to dance successfully. The best dancing is done by people who love their bodies and want to use them well. For example, when you dance, you can feel each movement of each muscle, the stretch and the twist involved in each maneuver. The curve of your foot's arch when you kick or point your toe. Dancing is what makes you most aware of your body, because you use every inch. And I think that one of the reason that Westerners have a hard time dancing is that they shy away from that face to face encounter with their own physicality. I think the other thing that comes into play in producing bad dancing is a general self-conciousness that inhibits people's willingness to experiment. I have found that the best cure to this (and don't scoff, Will) is actually dancing to rap music. It is so unpredictable and unorthodox and devoid of melody that you can't do the same old stuff, you have to get weird. Anyway, these are my brief and random observations for the night.

Random thoughts of a tired girl

So, coherency, yes. The only reason I'm up is that my mom has ordered me to keep the dog from sleeping so that the dog won't wake up and wake my mom up too early. So in the meantime, I'm watching a rap about Magilla Gorilla and philosophizing (only not really, but the rap part was true). And so, here is the update. MY SISTER KNOWS HOW TO RIDE A BIKE! This is great and wonderful news, first of all since my sister was 13 years old before she learned how to ride said bike and secondly because I was the one who taught her. It was the most wonderful feeling when everything clicked for her and she flew off on her own, with me running behind. Secondly, she is off in Omaha this week (so keep a lookout, Omaha peeps) and so tonight me and my mom went to see Phantom of the Opera downtown. It was really wonderful. I enjoyed it more than I expected to, even though it still confuses me. Wow...I hope to have the music from that stuck in my head for a long time. Blah...z z z...

I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy?

Being the patriotic soul that I am, I am not ashamed to confess that I love the Fourth of July. I have always loved this particular holiday, largely because I am a pyro. I could not help but become such because it is in my genes. My dad taught me the way of the pyromaniac since I was a wee babe. I remember him trying to get a whole package of fireworks to go off at the same time by lighting the box on fire. He used to gather up all the sawdust that the snaps were packaged in with the other trash that was left over after nights of revelry and start a little driveway bonfire. So, to this day I continue to adore this holiday celebrating the birth of our great country, though since we have moved to Texas, a lot has changed. For example, the buying of fireworks is quite a bit different than back in the good old days. In Omaha, there was pretty much one long stretch of road where companies would come and set up big carnival tents and fill them with fireworks. Down here, there are little trailers selling fireworks on just about every corner around Independence Day. Then there are also a couple of warehouse stores run by bands or girl scout troops who are trying to raise money. All of the fireworks are fenced in to keep you from getting near them and the little members of the band walk around to put the fireworks in your cart. You see, in the great state of Texas, one is not allowed to lay one finger on one's fireworks until they are paid for and they people will walk around these warehouses looking for perpetrators to scold. An odd rule, I know, I don't actually understand it either.

All of this to say that, yesterday being this greatest of holidays, my family was looking about for something to do. My mom's co-worker was having a little soiree, and so we decided to drop by. It was by default, really, there was nothing better going on, but my sister was not quite resigned to the idea. She rode all the way there in the backseat with her arms crossed. I must admit, on arriving I was quite disappointed. For being DINKs (yeah, my mom just taught me that, industry term) their backyard was about the size of a postage stamp. The pool was filled to capacity and those who couldn't fit lined the sides sipping drinks and looking bored. What have we gotten ourselves into, I wondered. My mom had been lecturing us on the way over on how to be social, about how if you ask them people will go on for hours about themselves, and isn't it funny how they never ask about you. This had me in a very anti-social mood, not really willing to talk to any of these strange adults. Well, most of the party did turn out to be pretty boring, until I actually, purely by accident, did start talking to some people. I found out that one of the men was the spouse of an international aerobics instructor and so they had traveled all over the world and he was telling me about the countries they had been to. Then I found out that another one of the people there was an amateur magician, and he showed us card tricks and tricks with these little red balls and a light, the kind of tricks that you actually can't figure out how it was done. Basically, I was surrounded by really cool people that I was too stubborn to discover because I was assuming that I already knew everything about them and it was all boring. A great lesson for a great holiday. I just hope I can keep this in mind when I get to Australia...

Flashback

This one is for all my peeps from World Religions class. So, we're painting my room the other day, and to keep our spirits up we're listening to the oldies station on the radio. Then this song comes on called "My Sweet Lord." For those of you not present in the aforementioned class, our teacher brought up a recollection of this song from her own youth. She recalled its popularity and how excited all the church people were at the time to hear a popular song on the radio that was supposedly about Jesus. She went on to say that she had heard it again more recently, and realized that the song wasn't about Jesus at all. During the chorus, she heard them repeating "Hare, Hare. Krishna, Krishna." (For those of you not familiar with Hinduism, Hare Krishna is one of the incarnations of the god Vishnu) The song they had rejoiced over wasn't about Jesus at all, but about a Hindu god. So when I recognized the song, you better believe my ears were perked right up to see if it was true. And sure enough, during the final choruses, I heard them singing the very name my prof had mentioned. I smiled quietly to myself, my prof's story verified. Kind of makes you wonder what other things we misconstrue like that...

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY EVE EVERYBODY!!!!!!!!!

Name the quote for a free scone...

"Let's sing a little song/With eight little words/'Bout a rocket ship/And flightless birds"

Kujo Returns

In high hopes of recovering some semblance of intimacy, Thursday night was dubbed "Family Fun Night," and of course no such occassion could be complete without a trip to our neighborhood park. Okay, okay, in all honesty it is not our neighborhood park, since it is in the next subdivision over. In many other parts of the world, this is not a heinous crime, but in the dangerous land of Texas, it is a capital sin to go into the park of a neighborhood that is not yours. In fact, they even have signs posted to that point and purpose, warning away non-residents from said park. So when we go, we have to go in cognito as residents of "Memorial Northwest" (all of these preliminaries is just to set the scene that what we did was pure madness). So we headed over to the park of forbidden pleasures (such as the long rope where you can swing through the air like Tarzan, as long as you remember to drop before colliding with the monkey bars) and much to our chagrin we saw that family fun time would have to be shared with another family, no doubt legal residents of the subdivision. Upon closer inspection, we discovered an even more discouraging fact, that said residents also had brought with them a dog, a dog without a leash. Now, our dog is just a little Daushund (sp?) and this dog was a large Weimeriner (stupid dogs with German names...). We brought our dog into the park and took her off the leash momentarily to let her run down the slide, which she seems to enjoy. Upon her exit from the slide, I went to grab her, but she was small and slippery and I was too late. A confrontation ensued as the other dog came over to inspect the intruder. It was a knock down drag out tussle that any of the stray dogs of Italy or Mexico would have been proud to witness. Our dog (posing under the sweet street name of "Rosa") actually went for the other dog's soft underbelly (which she could reach, having a stature of about six inches) biting and growling and barking with all the ferocity of a junkyard killer. The other dog did it's best to put up a respectable fight, but was really rather frightened, I think. It took the other guy a good deal of yanking to finally get the animals apart. Am I the only one who thinks it is folly to keep such a vicious (though miniscule) creature in the house?