So I'm sitting here, in my living room, taking care of business and getting drowsy when all of a sudden I hear this tapping noise at the back windows. Fortunately Heather is already in bed, but even as it is my heart is suddenly in my throat because it sounds for all the world like someone tapping away at the back door, looking for a way in, or at least punk kids throwing dirt clods at our windows. So, being the astute protector of the homefront that I am, I first run over and check the deadbolt. It is secure, so my next move is to go and get pants. I have no idea what's waiting for me in our backyard, but whatever it is, I am not willing to face it in my nightgown. So then I go and turn on the porch light, and the noises stop momentarily. I picture the punk kids seeing the light and knowing that I'm on the them, running away. But then the tapping noises start again, right around the door, sounding for all the world like a killer jiggling the knob. I slip open one slat in our mini blinds to peer out. No dark figures lurking around the door. Suddenly the noise changes, all of a sudden there's a buzzing. I picture a precision instrument slicing through the window glass near the knob. But then I realize that the noise is actually coming from way down in the corner, near the floor. I move to a corner window and look out to where I can see the jamb on the door. And sitting there on the stoop is what I would basically assume to be the biggest bug ever, pending the Guiness board's decision. I think there may have been more than one, but at any rate, this must have been the most determined. Confident that our awesome human-house building technology would keep the little critter out, but I did take the precaution of turning the lights back off so they would no longer be attracted. Now, granted, it was only a very, very large bug, but I think that I should be lauded for my exceptional bravery in guarding the homestead in my mother's absence (she has been in Denver all week). After all, it could have been a killer.
Oh, and I was working today on a photo tour of my room, which is very cool and I've been meaning to show you guys since we painted it. Now you might finally get a chance, but not tonight, since I don't have the pictures loaded yet. Tomorrow, maybe?
Yours with valor,
S.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
One week to rule them all
Two major pieces of news since our return from the Hill Country: Last night was pie mania!!! My mom's friend is a prolific baker, but she admitted that she struggled with her pie crusts. I have never been able to make a decent pie crust in my entire life. So we all resolved to conquer this thing together. We got together and, long story short, we ended up making three perfect pies with the most tender, flaky, buttery gorgeous crusts you have ever seen in your life. One peach pie, and two chocolate cream pies. I was really nervous making the crust, but it was good to have Jeannie there, because her experience made me feel more at ease. The most difficult part was trying to decide when to stop adding water, but we must have gotten it right because they came together like magic. Jeannie could whip out those crusts in no time flat, but she let me roll out one too. See, the thing that you have to realize is that a little tearing or cracking is no catastrophe, it's easy to pinch back together. I guess with pie crusts, perfectionism is overrated. Whupah, another notch in my belt of culinary seduction, another jewel in the tiara of this domestic goddess.
So the other thing is that I have my last honors project book due tomorrow. After that, I have the whole week to do what I will. And what I will is to try to squeeze everything that I have neglected to get to all summer into this one week. And my mom is going to be out of town for the entire week. I'm already going over my little list and wigging out over all that must be done before heading back to school. Fortunately, I have a big ol' slice of chocolate cream pie to help me calm down.
Phew...in, out, in, out,
S.
So the other thing is that I have my last honors project book due tomorrow. After that, I have the whole week to do what I will. And what I will is to try to squeeze everything that I have neglected to get to all summer into this one week. And my mom is going to be out of town for the entire week. I'm already going over my little list and wigging out over all that must be done before heading back to school. Fortunately, I have a big ol' slice of chocolate cream pie to help me calm down.
Phew...in, out, in, out,
S.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Nights in gems and clover
As I write this, los techodores are pounding away all over the roof of this house, day 2 of the racket that woke me this morning. We are getting a new roof this week, thanks to the damage done by a major hail storm this past spring and our friendly neighborhood insurance company. I can walk through the house and hear something that sounds like it's crumbling down right in front of me, only to realize that it's just those little pellets rolling down the roof. Crazy.
This past weekend I was again away, as you might have noticed. Maybe not. But that's okay cause I'm back now. We spent this last weekend in the Hill Country of Texas, visiting our good friends, Marda and Jerry. Let me just state right now, I love the Hill Country. It is so different from Houston, out in the country, hilly, arid, with almost a touch of tuscan flavor in the dusty, ruddy cliffs and large opulent houses that peek out from the tops of the hills. The yard every morning was full of hummingbirds whirring up to the porch for a sip of nectar and breast jays dominating the yard with flashes of brilliant blue. We watched over 3 million bats churn out of an old railroad tunnel before flying out to look for an evening snack. We floated down a gorgeous strech of the Guadalupe (in Texas pronounced Gwa-da-lopee) River in the shade of centegenarian cypress trees that reached down from their lofty heights, stretching to touch the face of the river. We went to an honest to goodness barn dance in an honest to goodness barn with open sides and twinkling Christmas lights hung from all the rafters. Country music abounded in the cool dark night and couples whirled in Texas two-steps around the dance floor with all the pagentry of Czar Nicholas' court. I sat in the night breeze on the third story porch overlooking the river valley at watched a million stars sweep over the sky and watched some of them shoot off in a solitary, short-lived blaze of glory. Then the moon rose over the farthest hill, large and orange as a Halloween pumpkin. So, all in all, it was a pretty amazing weekend. I felt like I was really getting a taste of what it is to be a Texan, long lazy afternoons on the river, barn dances in the evening, camp revival meetings and a lunch of barbeque and church ladies' covered dishes on a Sunday morning. I don't know if any of this makes any sense, probably not, because I have a major identity crisis when it comes to a geographic kind of belonging. Perhaps its better not to get too attached to Texas either, but I don't know, I can't really help it. I'm coming to like it here, or to like what this place or these people stand for, or something. But at any rate, it was a really great weekend, and very restorative. It gives me happy feels...okay, goodnight.
S.
This past weekend I was again away, as you might have noticed. Maybe not. But that's okay cause I'm back now. We spent this last weekend in the Hill Country of Texas, visiting our good friends, Marda and Jerry. Let me just state right now, I love the Hill Country. It is so different from Houston, out in the country, hilly, arid, with almost a touch of tuscan flavor in the dusty, ruddy cliffs and large opulent houses that peek out from the tops of the hills. The yard every morning was full of hummingbirds whirring up to the porch for a sip of nectar and breast jays dominating the yard with flashes of brilliant blue. We watched over 3 million bats churn out of an old railroad tunnel before flying out to look for an evening snack. We floated down a gorgeous strech of the Guadalupe (in Texas pronounced Gwa-da-lopee) River in the shade of centegenarian cypress trees that reached down from their lofty heights, stretching to touch the face of the river. We went to an honest to goodness barn dance in an honest to goodness barn with open sides and twinkling Christmas lights hung from all the rafters. Country music abounded in the cool dark night and couples whirled in Texas two-steps around the dance floor with all the pagentry of Czar Nicholas' court. I sat in the night breeze on the third story porch overlooking the river valley at watched a million stars sweep over the sky and watched some of them shoot off in a solitary, short-lived blaze of glory. Then the moon rose over the farthest hill, large and orange as a Halloween pumpkin. So, all in all, it was a pretty amazing weekend. I felt like I was really getting a taste of what it is to be a Texan, long lazy afternoons on the river, barn dances in the evening, camp revival meetings and a lunch of barbeque and church ladies' covered dishes on a Sunday morning. I don't know if any of this makes any sense, probably not, because I have a major identity crisis when it comes to a geographic kind of belonging. Perhaps its better not to get too attached to Texas either, but I don't know, I can't really help it. I'm coming to like it here, or to like what this place or these people stand for, or something. But at any rate, it was a really great weekend, and very restorative. It gives me happy feels...okay, goodnight.
S.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
God's Judgment on the Multinationals
Hello! As I believe I mentioned, I am back from Galveston and full of stories (more or less). The title of this post is a chapter (which I did not read) from another book on liberation theology (which I did earlier today). I think it is fairly amusing. These liberation theologians mean well, I know, but they beat a dead horse better than any other kind of theologian that I know. Well, here is the first story that I promised.
We stayed with a friend of my mom's who has a timeshare condo down on the beach of the Great and Glorious Gulf of Mexico. Now, we are already disposed, at this point in the story (the second day of our stay)to be displeased with the good people of the Silverleaf resorts because of the stories that our friend Jan has told us of their atrocities. They employ high-pressure sales tactics to entrap potential buyers and scare the life out of them till they have no choice but to buy. Their smooth talking ways have pulled the wool over the eyes of many an unwary consumer who realized only too late that they were being given the runaround. Well, then when Jan went to listen to one of their seminar spiels, having been promised 100 dollars if she would come, was then given only 50 dollars because they said they hadn't realized that she had not driven down exclusively for the seminar. Imagine! We were much incensed, having heard of these manifold travesties, but nothing could prepare us for what lay ahead.
We had planned on playing an innocent game of minature golf on the condo's facilities. We forayed out one evening after a dip in the pool, hoping that the water would keep us cool while we played. It did that, but I think it also managed to attract every single mosquito in the Greater Harris County area. So there we are slapping away through our first eight holes until someone says lamentingly, "I wish we had some kind of mosquito repellent." To which Mom suddenly replies, "Oh, we do, it's over in the swim bag!" Said swim bag had been sitting over a few yards from the golf course the entire time, so we all felt quite foolish. But I digress, this, although amusing, obviously has nothing to do with the depredations of Silverleaf Resorts.
So there we are, putting away to our hearts content, most of us (being me, my sister, my mom, and my mom's friend's daughter) being pretty darn bad at the game. Then, of a sudden, we reached the dreaded 10th hole! !!!*bum ba bum*!!! Well the construction of this particular hole was remarkably challenging because it backed right up to a little pond, and the hole was at the top of the green butting right up against the side of the pond. So, undaunted, I lined up my shot, right around the curve racing up the green and heading right for the wall where it would ricochet back and into the hole for a perfect shot, a hole in one. At least, that was the intention. What really happened is that the ball hit the back wall, flew up into the air and, ploink!, into the pond. Oh bother. Now, before you laugh too hard, you must realize that the wall of this hole was so poorly constructed as to practically shoot the ball into the pond for you. You know how most holes have a little raised wall around the green to keep the ball in? This one was made of concrete, raised only about a half an inch above the green, intended to look like natural rock, so it sloped right down into the water. We should have been wary after this obvious set-up, but being of a trusting and naive nature, I thought nothing of it and volunteered immediately to go to the rec center for a new ball.
Off I tromped, only to be brusquely informed at the counter that I needed to give him a dollar for a new ball. I replied almost as curtly that I didn't have dollar and high-tailed it away again. Upon returning, sans ball, I explained with much indignation about the dollar. The indignation was obviously contagious, and soon everyone was up-in-arms over this outrage. Clearly these brigands had designed the hole in such a way as to suck in stray golf balls into the depths of the murky green, stinking water so they could claim a dollar and claim a profit on an otherwise profitless course. Belive it or not, while we were able to sit by in the face of all the other atrocities, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. We resolved, of one mind, that we were not going to pay that dollar.
Into the stinky pond we plunged our four clubs, scraping along the bottom through the muck in search of a golf ball, any golf ball, that could be successfully brought to the surface. There were a number that we could feel on the bottom, but none of them could be dragged up with the narrow heads of the clubs. All the time that we were trying, other folks were passing by, trying to play their game. We looked pretty silly there in everybody's way. But it all payed off when Mom finally managed to fish a yellow golf ball (mine had been purple) out of the pond. In triumph we marched back to the counter and slammed our balls down on the table. The man looked questioningly at me until my mom interjected, "There they are, we have four balls." And he checked them in, fine free. As we walked away, someone suggested that we go back and dig more balls out of the pond to see if they would give us a dollar for each one that we returned. And yes, we didn't get past the tenth hole. No one really felt like playing anymore golf that night.
No more golf tonight either, I'm afraid.
Goodnight, all,
S.
We stayed with a friend of my mom's who has a timeshare condo down on the beach of the Great and Glorious Gulf of Mexico. Now, we are already disposed, at this point in the story (the second day of our stay)to be displeased with the good people of the Silverleaf resorts because of the stories that our friend Jan has told us of their atrocities. They employ high-pressure sales tactics to entrap potential buyers and scare the life out of them till they have no choice but to buy. Their smooth talking ways have pulled the wool over the eyes of many an unwary consumer who realized only too late that they were being given the runaround. Well, then when Jan went to listen to one of their seminar spiels, having been promised 100 dollars if she would come, was then given only 50 dollars because they said they hadn't realized that she had not driven down exclusively for the seminar. Imagine! We were much incensed, having heard of these manifold travesties, but nothing could prepare us for what lay ahead.
We had planned on playing an innocent game of minature golf on the condo's facilities. We forayed out one evening after a dip in the pool, hoping that the water would keep us cool while we played. It did that, but I think it also managed to attract every single mosquito in the Greater Harris County area. So there we are slapping away through our first eight holes until someone says lamentingly, "I wish we had some kind of mosquito repellent." To which Mom suddenly replies, "Oh, we do, it's over in the swim bag!" Said swim bag had been sitting over a few yards from the golf course the entire time, so we all felt quite foolish. But I digress, this, although amusing, obviously has nothing to do with the depredations of Silverleaf Resorts.
So there we are, putting away to our hearts content, most of us (being me, my sister, my mom, and my mom's friend's daughter) being pretty darn bad at the game. Then, of a sudden, we reached the dreaded 10th hole! !!!*bum ba bum*!!! Well the construction of this particular hole was remarkably challenging because it backed right up to a little pond, and the hole was at the top of the green butting right up against the side of the pond. So, undaunted, I lined up my shot, right around the curve racing up the green and heading right for the wall where it would ricochet back and into the hole for a perfect shot, a hole in one. At least, that was the intention. What really happened is that the ball hit the back wall, flew up into the air and, ploink!, into the pond. Oh bother. Now, before you laugh too hard, you must realize that the wall of this hole was so poorly constructed as to practically shoot the ball into the pond for you. You know how most holes have a little raised wall around the green to keep the ball in? This one was made of concrete, raised only about a half an inch above the green, intended to look like natural rock, so it sloped right down into the water. We should have been wary after this obvious set-up, but being of a trusting and naive nature, I thought nothing of it and volunteered immediately to go to the rec center for a new ball.
Off I tromped, only to be brusquely informed at the counter that I needed to give him a dollar for a new ball. I replied almost as curtly that I didn't have dollar and high-tailed it away again. Upon returning, sans ball, I explained with much indignation about the dollar. The indignation was obviously contagious, and soon everyone was up-in-arms over this outrage. Clearly these brigands had designed the hole in such a way as to suck in stray golf balls into the depths of the murky green, stinking water so they could claim a dollar and claim a profit on an otherwise profitless course. Belive it or not, while we were able to sit by in the face of all the other atrocities, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. We resolved, of one mind, that we were not going to pay that dollar.
Into the stinky pond we plunged our four clubs, scraping along the bottom through the muck in search of a golf ball, any golf ball, that could be successfully brought to the surface. There were a number that we could feel on the bottom, but none of them could be dragged up with the narrow heads of the clubs. All the time that we were trying, other folks were passing by, trying to play their game. We looked pretty silly there in everybody's way. But it all payed off when Mom finally managed to fish a yellow golf ball (mine had been purple) out of the pond. In triumph we marched back to the counter and slammed our balls down on the table. The man looked questioningly at me until my mom interjected, "There they are, we have four balls." And he checked them in, fine free. As we walked away, someone suggested that we go back and dig more balls out of the pond to see if they would give us a dollar for each one that we returned. And yes, we didn't get past the tenth hole. No one really felt like playing anymore golf that night.
No more golf tonight either, I'm afraid.
Goodnight, all,
S.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Buzoo, buzoo
Hey little peeps,
Just wanted to let everybody (Hope) know that I'm going to be outta of town again this weekend. Crazy? You're telling me. My mom has been running around all morning like a chicken with her head cut off trying to hustle everybody out the door b/c she doesn't want to hit the southbound traffic on our way to Galveston. Trouble is that my sister's high school (ahhhh!) orientation was also today, so we're not able to leave until about...now. Gotta go grab my CD's so we'll have some good music for the car. Life!!!! settle down!
Pinas de alegria a todos,
S.
Just wanted to let everybody (Hope) know that I'm going to be outta of town again this weekend. Crazy? You're telling me. My mom has been running around all morning like a chicken with her head cut off trying to hustle everybody out the door b/c she doesn't want to hit the southbound traffic on our way to Galveston. Trouble is that my sister's high school (ahhhh!) orientation was also today, so we're not able to leave until about...now. Gotta go grab my CD's so we'll have some good music for the car. Life!!!! settle down!
Pinas de alegria a todos,
S.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Everyone listen to me!!!
I feel starved for attention. I want friends. I am tired of summer. I feel yucky and I don't know why. I always feel like such a jerk when I feel sorry for myself because I am an upper-middle class white American and I have creme brulee in the fridge and I don't really have anything to feel bad about ever. Probably I don't feel bad. Probably I feel really good, and I am just confused. I am tired of my project and I am tired of my minutia. I am tired of the necklace I am wearing. It is a choker, which means it's kind of itchy. I want to have a great conversation, not over the phone. I want to get a really long letter. I haven't done the workbook for purity group tomorrow and I haven't done any reading today and I probably won't do any tomorrow. I have to cook a truckload of food for people and for this weekend and I wasted the afternoon making creme brulee which nobody wanted but me. I got my hair cut today, it looks cute. I went to the grocery store. I didn't get to the laundry. I took a shower. I tried to cook the dinner, but I couldn't get any farther than the marinade. This is how I spend my days. I take showers, I do laundry, I clean up the kitchen, I red up the living room, I unpack the groceries. None of my projects ever get done. I have no free time. I feel like I'm wasting time doing all these little tasks. My religious training tells me that nothing is really minutia in the long run. Brother Lawrence says that...well I'm not really sure exactly what Brother Lawrence says. It's something about worshipping God in the mundane, in acts of service. Whatever, apparently I have trouble believing this anyway. Why do I do all this stuff? It certainly isn't for the accolades of family and friends. I drove my sister half an hour to her friends house today and she left the car without even saying thank you. I need perspective. What is the big picture. How do all of these little things turn into something worthwhile? Am I just wasting my time? What about this so called "project" that keeps taking up so much of my time? Is there any point to this stupid thing, or am I just trying to look cool and academic and have some kind of thing jigger put next to my name at graduation. I did this project because I hoped to reach people and bring clarity, but who is ever going to read it? Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get friends and family members and maybe a few profs, but won't I just be preaching to the choir? Is this the worst post ever, or is it just me. Lord, help us, stop whining! I wish I had said something interesting. I really do have interesting thoughts at times, I don't know what's the matter with me tonight. Maybe I'm just tired. This might have been too much belly-aching, but I hope at least that my speculations about what makes activities meaningful and what is the use of the mundane in our lives, maybe those have been more interesting than the past few posts.
Goodnight, poor brow-beaten readers,
S.
Goodnight, poor brow-beaten readers,
S.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)