So here I am, totally procrastinating from packing. I'm making bread... salt and pepper rolls which are super delicious hot out of the oven with lots of butter. I'm blogging blogs... blah blah blah. I'm contemplating if I should have my legs waxed in Phuket, and then I think F**kit and giggle silently to myself. I'm listening to Dee Lite because my squeeze is not home and am drinking the leftovers of a terrible stout I purchased for the Craft Night Retreat. Oy vey, was that an adventure. So here I am staring down a formidable pile of antiseptic wipes, linen garments, adapters and cords and other odds and ends wondering why I am bringing anything at all. How on Earth will I know what I need and what I don't? Sure, sure, sure I could have read travel blog after travel blog and researched all the ins and outs of DEET usage, but I sure didn't. Kinda like how I hate to read movie reviews before going... I like the surprise. I'm so going to get stuck in quicksand or a mud pit and no amount of tampons are going to save me.
My major prollem right now is figuring out what vessel I want to tote my totables in. I have a nifty new suitcase sized just large enough to check my mobile pharmacy, but I am at a loss for the appropriate carry-on. I have pondered duffels and satchels of every ilk and have found nothing that screams PERFECT for under 250 bones. My actual budget is 49.95. If I had an inside track on some gold bullion, I might have a little better luck. Now, I'm not saying the Army Navy Surplus doesn't have some viable bags priced around 20 bucks, but they just aren't working for me right now. I need something with a shoulder strap and handles. I need it to be rugged but not fugly and be easy to cram in every overhead I encounter and keep my gadgets safe. I also don't want to look like a dumb American tourist. Sorry fellow Americans, but a few of you with zip off short/pants and backpacks have created a stereotypical target for the rest of the world to harass. For my own safety, I would like to blend. In that case, I am considering just using my giant leopard print tote and calling it a day. I'm a girls scout. I still don't pack more than I can carry, so who cares what it looks like?
Honestly, right now I feel like one of those special goats that falls asleep when it gets frightened. Zzzzzz. Or I feel distracted and then things get deep. I try to line up the last 10 years of my life in order according to apartments and love interests and then I get maudlin and Zzzzzz. But really I should just be packing, no?
M'kay, then.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Story of Confirmation Part II
I woke up from my nap restless. Allowing my emotions to unfurl around me had relieved most of my anxiety and now I was ready to get going. I had decided to stop worrying about myself and get back to the real reason I started this process. At this point in the RCIA class all of the focus had been on the candidates, getting them ready for the big day. It was starting to sound like the whole reason for Easter Vigil was for us, for ME. And so I focused along with everyone, but I started to feel uncomfortable with this notion. The real impetus for my confirmation in the Catholic church is because of an undeniable feeling, maybe a knowledge, that God exists, my life and my love are gifts from God to share with others, and that God has asked me to give up everything for Him. Now, this last one still freaks me out, and I am not at all sure what it means, or if I need to honor it actively, but Catholicism is the first framework I've found to help me start to understand what it could be all about.
After a shower I sat down to the task of writing thank you notes to everyone at my RCIA table. I had purchased some blank butter-colored stationary cards a few weeks ago and I embellished each on with a gold cross with little yellow hatch marks implying a glow. Each card was addressed to an individual and I thanked him or her for being a part of the process with me, remarked on how an aspect of what he or she shared at the table over all those months inspired me, and blessed each on the beginning of a greater journey as a beloved child of God. It was time to start giving and sharing this kindness. I have been known to describe it as a Giant Ball of God's Love, imagining in my mind something akin to the sun being distributed via firehose that has been let go of. Catholicism, to me, is the method by which I can learn to hold onto the hose, get to know my gift, and find the best ways to use it wisely. BEAM BEAM BEAM!
My friend Liz came to the ceremony. She offered to drive me to the church so I didn't have to worry about parking, traffic, etc. and I could relax. It was incredibly sweet of her. I proceeded to go through about fifteen different white-ish outfits before I decided I needed to go shopping. I went to five different places, totally unsatisfied (there don't seem to be confirmation outfit retailers anywhere...) and decided on white jeans from American Apparel. OMG. About two hours later I emerged in a white skirt and sweater, black belt, shoes, tights and glasses with my hair twisted up into a poof on the top of my head. I may as well have been wearing a bunny suit for how comfortable I felt. I checked my phone to see if Renee had called with an outfit solution, and she had indeed left a message telling me I am a beloved child of God and that it didn't matter what I was wearing and that she had gone shopping too, and her dress was too tight, she couldn't breathe. Ok, good, we were in the same boat. Now the only thing left to do was pack up my cards and wait for Liz to get there. Of course her intentions were to ease my mind, and ultimately she did, but she got to my house two minutes before I was due at the church for early check in so relaxing was still not an option. Bless her soul, we got there safely, found parking right away and whisked through the gale-force freezing wind up the stairs of Old St. Pat's into the buzz of a most exciting event.
To Be Continued...
After a shower I sat down to the task of writing thank you notes to everyone at my RCIA table. I had purchased some blank butter-colored stationary cards a few weeks ago and I embellished each on with a gold cross with little yellow hatch marks implying a glow. Each card was addressed to an individual and I thanked him or her for being a part of the process with me, remarked on how an aspect of what he or she shared at the table over all those months inspired me, and blessed each on the beginning of a greater journey as a beloved child of God. It was time to start giving and sharing this kindness. I have been known to describe it as a Giant Ball of God's Love, imagining in my mind something akin to the sun being distributed via firehose that has been let go of. Catholicism, to me, is the method by which I can learn to hold onto the hose, get to know my gift, and find the best ways to use it wisely. BEAM BEAM BEAM!
My friend Liz came to the ceremony. She offered to drive me to the church so I didn't have to worry about parking, traffic, etc. and I could relax. It was incredibly sweet of her. I proceeded to go through about fifteen different white-ish outfits before I decided I needed to go shopping. I went to five different places, totally unsatisfied (there don't seem to be confirmation outfit retailers anywhere...) and decided on white jeans from American Apparel. OMG. About two hours later I emerged in a white skirt and sweater, black belt, shoes, tights and glasses with my hair twisted up into a poof on the top of my head. I may as well have been wearing a bunny suit for how comfortable I felt. I checked my phone to see if Renee had called with an outfit solution, and she had indeed left a message telling me I am a beloved child of God and that it didn't matter what I was wearing and that she had gone shopping too, and her dress was too tight, she couldn't breathe. Ok, good, we were in the same boat. Now the only thing left to do was pack up my cards and wait for Liz to get there. Of course her intentions were to ease my mind, and ultimately she did, but she got to my house two minutes before I was due at the church for early check in so relaxing was still not an option. Bless her soul, we got there safely, found parking right away and whisked through the gale-force freezing wind up the stairs of Old St. Pat's into the buzz of a most exciting event.
To Be Continued...
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Story of Confirmation Part I
So I wrote this last year to describe what the experience of becoming Catholic was like. I'd like to share it with you all now as we approach Easter. Thanks for reading. Love. Hugs.
I woke up on Saturday morning with a head full of anxiety and cold feet. What did I think I was doing? There was no way I was going to wear all white, get up on stage wearing all white, face the entire congregation in my white outfit and nerd glasses and my true intentions laid bare, get oil smeared on my white forehead and say "I do" to a man I have never met and a God I can not see. Right. I called Renee immediately and got voice-mail, left a message "This is insane ridiculousness and I have cold feet. What are you going to wear? Call me". I proceeded to search the webbernets for a sign of life and fortunately while I was there Judy B. was online. She has been a great friend these past months. She helped me lighten up at the beginning of Lent and has been a sport about my Catholic questions. So she dialed me up and I told her a bit about my predicament. She thought it sounded natural and gave me a good pep talk.
A few technical difficulties resolved and some breakfast made and we were chatting away. I won't elaborate on the conversation except to say that it really helped me get centered and take an objective look at my impending confirmation. It was the exact opposite of what came next.
I was already exhausted from the stress of the morning so I crawled into bed. And I sobbed. So many emotions were crowding me that I couldn't keep them in. I had done so much work to get to this day. So much opening of my brain and heart, so much having faith and praying, so much anguish and frustration and attempts at forgiveness. I spent hours and hours, months at a table with newlyweds with newborns and soon-to-be-weds with starry eyes watching them grow closer together and more in love. I listened to viewpoints and perspectives from Chicago's priests and bishop and all sorts of other people who live their lives as Catholics. I took copious notes and read my bible, um, religiously. I dove into Lent with such earnestness that I actually gave up hope, because it was the only thing that gave me great comfort, so I thought that was what I was supposed to do without. After Judy B. set me straight, I gave up cheeseburgers instead. Better to be skinny than hopeless. All of this and still to come was Reconciliation. I knew what I had to say, and I have never been more scared in my life. I clutched the paper with your penitential prayer until it was crumply and soft. And I broke myself open with tears that would not stop and reached into my heart for the the thing I had to turn over to God. It was like extracting a shard of glass that had been wedged in there for years and I gave it to Father Jack Wall because he seemed old enough and wise enough to hold it for me. All of this was coming back to me with such vehemence and yet I felt profoundly empty. And so I slept, gratuitously, in the middle of a Saturday still in my pajamas.
To Be Continued...
I woke up on Saturday morning with a head full of anxiety and cold feet. What did I think I was doing? There was no way I was going to wear all white, get up on stage wearing all white, face the entire congregation in my white outfit and nerd glasses and my true intentions laid bare, get oil smeared on my white forehead and say "I do" to a man I have never met and a God I can not see. Right. I called Renee immediately and got voice-mail, left a message "This is insane ridiculousness and I have cold feet. What are you going to wear? Call me". I proceeded to search the webbernets for a sign of life and fortunately while I was there Judy B. was online. She has been a great friend these past months. She helped me lighten up at the beginning of Lent and has been a sport about my Catholic questions. So she dialed me up and I told her a bit about my predicament. She thought it sounded natural and gave me a good pep talk.
A few technical difficulties resolved and some breakfast made and we were chatting away. I won't elaborate on the conversation except to say that it really helped me get centered and take an objective look at my impending confirmation. It was the exact opposite of what came next.
I was already exhausted from the stress of the morning so I crawled into bed. And I sobbed. So many emotions were crowding me that I couldn't keep them in. I had done so much work to get to this day. So much opening of my brain and heart, so much having faith and praying, so much anguish and frustration and attempts at forgiveness. I spent hours and hours, months at a table with newlyweds with newborns and soon-to-be-weds with starry eyes watching them grow closer together and more in love. I listened to viewpoints and perspectives from Chicago's priests and bishop and all sorts of other people who live their lives as Catholics. I took copious notes and read my bible, um, religiously. I dove into Lent with such earnestness that I actually gave up hope, because it was the only thing that gave me great comfort, so I thought that was what I was supposed to do without. After Judy B. set me straight, I gave up cheeseburgers instead. Better to be skinny than hopeless. All of this and still to come was Reconciliation. I knew what I had to say, and I have never been more scared in my life. I clutched the paper with your penitential prayer until it was crumply and soft. And I broke myself open with tears that would not stop and reached into my heart for the the thing I had to turn over to God. It was like extracting a shard of glass that had been wedged in there for years and I gave it to Father Jack Wall because he seemed old enough and wise enough to hold it for me. All of this was coming back to me with such vehemence and yet I felt profoundly empty. And so I slept, gratuitously, in the middle of a Saturday still in my pajamas.
To Be Continued...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Blank stare, dead air
So yesterday I had a moment of hesitation about getting the second part of my gap year moving. Not unlike the time I picked the shotgun back up and aimed with all my conviction at the clay pigeon hooked on a nail in the tree twenty paces in front of me after the firearm had kicked back into my shoulder so hard that I went into hysterics, I met my fears head on and through paroxysms of frustration and anger I coaxed the webbernets to produce confirmation numbers for a series of international flights. Not without some customer service interaction and a lot of mixed emotions.
Now here's the kicker: this is not normal. One does not just quit one's job...
Bank Teller: "Do you have a direct deposit on this account?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So is Skidmore Owings and Merrill LLP still your employer?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So you have no income on this account."
Me: "Correct"
Bank Teller: "So you are a student."
Me: "Of sorts"
Bank Teller: Blank stare
Me: Polite smile
At this time I am thinking, seriously, with the economy the way it is, is it still impolite to assume someone is unemployed? I guess it is. After this she tries to see if I will be keeping a certain balance on my account so she can upgrade me to a different plan. I tell her no, I will not be keeping this balance, and keep the part about how I'm going to spend all of it today on plane tickets to myself. Finally I can't take the puzzled looks and little grunts of the cut off beginnings of questions so I tell her I am volunteering in Southern India and won't be working, receiving income or using my bank card for about three months.
One does not find time in her busy life...
Bank Teller: "Oh wow, I would love to go help volunteer for womens' rights in Cambodia. I want to help stop human trafficking, wow, I wish I could find the time... I'm married and have children, you know, so I'll never be able to, but I really wish I could"
Me: "That is wonderful, I hope that the opportunity comes into your life."
She proceeded to waive the service fee on my account for 4 months until I get back into the states, which was a really nice thing for her to do. I was glad that I finally told her what I was up to even though I would prefer if strangers don't inquire into my personal life. Next I had to deal with the fallout from updating my billing address (which is what prompted the exchange above). This involved calling Expedia, to inquire why if my bank's information matched my input information what the hold up is, where...
One does not book flights without a return date...
Expedia Customer Service Agent: "We are very sorry for the inconvenience, let's see if we can go ahead and have this flight booked for you, what is the itinerary number?"
I give her the number.
ECSA: "I see and we are not showing any dates for your return on this itinerary, when will you be returning?"
Me: "I do not currently have the return flight scheduled"
ECSA: "You don't have a return flight?"
Me: "Not at this time."
ECSA: "Um, ok, Well we would like to go ahead and make a booking for your return while I have you on the phone"
Me: "Thank you, but I do not have a return date as of yet."
ECSA: "But..." Dead air.
Now I could hear the questions going through this nice woman's head through all that silence so I just proceeded to tell her that my travel plans were not yet confirmed and that I would not be booking return flights today. I'm not really returning anyway. I am just going to keep going forward until I have circled the globe and arrived in my original location. I am traveling East which means that my original location will actually be trying to catch up with me. She tried two more times to get me to book more flights but I just politely kept saying no. Besides ...
One does not spend all of their money at once...
While I am freaking out about having mistakenly shipped some very expensive electronics to the wrong address (Amazon, you make it a little TOO easy), I get a phone call from the Visa early detection program wanting to confirm some purchases that appear on my credit card. Yes, yes they are all my purchases. Apparently only criminals book international flights the same day they buy ipods. Now, I am happy that Visa is looking out for my best interests, but they called at the exact moment I was trying to dial up Amazon to change the shipping address so I didn't have to sit on the front porch of my old rental apartment in Riverwest all day waiting for a package. Fortunately the lady at Amazon was extremely helpful and changed the address before any items had been shipped. SIGH of relief. I do, however, anticipate some more customer service interactions and failed purchases as I try to book some more international flights in the next 48 hours. Lord have mercy.
So if you had the patience to get to the end of this post, you may have realized that I have booked my tickets to India and procured a music playing google machine for the road. This means I am actually going. Can you believe it? Yah, me neither.
Now here's the kicker: this is not normal. One does not just quit one's job...
Bank Teller: "Do you have a direct deposit on this account?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So is Skidmore Owings and Merrill LLP still your employer?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So you have no income on this account."
Me: "Correct"
Bank Teller: "So you are a student."
Me: "Of sorts"
Bank Teller: Blank stare
Me: Polite smile
At this time I am thinking, seriously, with the economy the way it is, is it still impolite to assume someone is unemployed? I guess it is. After this she tries to see if I will be keeping a certain balance on my account so she can upgrade me to a different plan. I tell her no, I will not be keeping this balance, and keep the part about how I'm going to spend all of it today on plane tickets to myself. Finally I can't take the puzzled looks and little grunts of the cut off beginnings of questions so I tell her I am volunteering in Southern India and won't be working, receiving income or using my bank card for about three months.
One does not find time in her busy life...
Bank Teller: "Oh wow, I would love to go help volunteer for womens' rights in Cambodia. I want to help stop human trafficking, wow, I wish I could find the time... I'm married and have children, you know, so I'll never be able to, but I really wish I could"
Me: "That is wonderful, I hope that the opportunity comes into your life."
She proceeded to waive the service fee on my account for 4 months until I get back into the states, which was a really nice thing for her to do. I was glad that I finally told her what I was up to even though I would prefer if strangers don't inquire into my personal life. Next I had to deal with the fallout from updating my billing address (which is what prompted the exchange above). This involved calling Expedia, to inquire why if my bank's information matched my input information what the hold up is, where...
One does not book flights without a return date...
Expedia Customer Service Agent: "We are very sorry for the inconvenience, let's see if we can go ahead and have this flight booked for you, what is the itinerary number?"
I give her the number.
ECSA: "I see and we are not showing any dates for your return on this itinerary, when will you be returning?"
Me: "I do not currently have the return flight scheduled"
ECSA: "You don't have a return flight?"
Me: "Not at this time."
ECSA: "Um, ok, Well we would like to go ahead and make a booking for your return while I have you on the phone"
Me: "Thank you, but I do not have a return date as of yet."
ECSA: "But..." Dead air.
Now I could hear the questions going through this nice woman's head through all that silence so I just proceeded to tell her that my travel plans were not yet confirmed and that I would not be booking return flights today. I'm not really returning anyway. I am just going to keep going forward until I have circled the globe and arrived in my original location. I am traveling East which means that my original location will actually be trying to catch up with me. She tried two more times to get me to book more flights but I just politely kept saying no. Besides ...
One does not spend all of their money at once...
While I am freaking out about having mistakenly shipped some very expensive electronics to the wrong address (Amazon, you make it a little TOO easy), I get a phone call from the Visa early detection program wanting to confirm some purchases that appear on my credit card. Yes, yes they are all my purchases. Apparently only criminals book international flights the same day they buy ipods. Now, I am happy that Visa is looking out for my best interests, but they called at the exact moment I was trying to dial up Amazon to change the shipping address so I didn't have to sit on the front porch of my old rental apartment in Riverwest all day waiting for a package. Fortunately the lady at Amazon was extremely helpful and changed the address before any items had been shipped. SIGH of relief. I do, however, anticipate some more customer service interactions and failed purchases as I try to book some more international flights in the next 48 hours. Lord have mercy.
So if you had the patience to get to the end of this post, you may have realized that I have booked my tickets to India and procured a music playing google machine for the road. This means I am actually going. Can you believe it? Yah, me neither.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Trigger Sad
Can someone tell me why it is so hard to buy these plane tickets? Why can I not press "purchase"? Is it the money? Is it the looming reality of actually going to the opposite side of the world now that I am terrified of it and not flying on a wicked detachment high? What if it hurts? What if something happens? What if I don't make it home? What if I don't want to come home at all? Are my feet cold? Am I chicken?
Oh come off it. Just shut up and start booking some tickets. Stop yer whining.
Oh come off it. Just shut up and start booking some tickets. Stop yer whining.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Rosemary Rolls
A small breakfast of two hard boiled eggs, quartered and sprinkled with salt and black pepper, apple slices and a buttered rosemary roll fresh from the oven sits deliciously in my tummy right now. Gatsby is yelling "ham!" at the top of his little kitty lungs, but alas I do not have any for him. I've created a monster by treating the ancient beast to tid bits from every people food snack I make. He got a brushing this morning with gardenia scented lotion on his brush so I suppose I could give him some ham for enduring such torture. I am sure there will be plenty of people snacks for him later as my Chef prepares tonight's repast. We spent the morning sprucing up the house (and the cats) in anticipation of a houseful of guests for a dinner party.
I am looking forward to the event because it will be delicious, a good mix of friends and family and most importantly because it will really make our home feel good. I think, from my experiences, that a house is not a home until you have entertained guests. Now I know that this particular house has hosted many a guest over many years, but never has it been home to our friends mixed together hosted by a concept called "us" in a space called "ours". This has made for some interesting negotiations and experimentation with wording, space and acceptance. I have made rosemary rolls since baking bread is one thing he doesn't do. I'm in charge of aesthetics even though we've butted heads on couch placement, dinning table angle, buffet location and glassware. Sigh... when two homebodies with strong personalities and a penchant for stubbornness try to arrange furniture there are bound to be a few minor conflicts. I'm not keeping score, ahem, but I think I am up one on interiors. I'm sure I'll get overthrown on something else before the day is out, however.
Ok, Chef A just arrived with the loot and it is time to start setting the table and laying out the glassware. Toodles.
I am looking forward to the event because it will be delicious, a good mix of friends and family and most importantly because it will really make our home feel good. I think, from my experiences, that a house is not a home until you have entertained guests. Now I know that this particular house has hosted many a guest over many years, but never has it been home to our friends mixed together hosted by a concept called "us" in a space called "ours". This has made for some interesting negotiations and experimentation with wording, space and acceptance. I have made rosemary rolls since baking bread is one thing he doesn't do. I'm in charge of aesthetics even though we've butted heads on couch placement, dinning table angle, buffet location and glassware. Sigh... when two homebodies with strong personalities and a penchant for stubbornness try to arrange furniture there are bound to be a few minor conflicts. I'm not keeping score, ahem, but I think I am up one on interiors. I'm sure I'll get overthrown on something else before the day is out, however.
Ok, Chef A just arrived with the loot and it is time to start setting the table and laying out the glassware. Toodles.
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