One of Alan's favorite movies is Wet Hot American Summer-- a very silly movie that is also rather funny. Alan's favorite scene in Wet Hot involves the song "Danny's Song." You may have heard it; the chorus goes "Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey..." Because of the movie we sing it to each other all the time, fondly reflecting on how even in times of financial straights our love carries us through.
But our situation with money is never so grim that we are really just living on love. We always eat, always have enough to cover the bills (even if its a stretch sometimes). What has brought this home recently is the situation in Zimbabwe.
A former classmate of mine lives in Zimbabwe, his home country, with his wife and young child. He is a pastor of several churches there and is suffering from the terrible inflation taking place. A bunch of our friends from college are chipping in each month to help him, his family, his churches get by. I wanted to know how far our money would go. I calculated the price of bread in Zimbabwe at this time and it is equal to over 2,000 US dollars. I can't imagine how what we are doing is bringing any relief.
So Alan and I can joke about how we are just getting by on love, but it helps to remember those who truly are surviving only by the grace of God and can only find their peace in their love for God and each other. Please pray that the situation in Zimbabwe comes to a quick and non-violent resolution.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Major Dude and Early Mornings
Last night I found a great song by Steely Dan. I love Steely Dan as it is, and anyone who knows my musical tastes knows I'm a sucker for encouraging lyrics. If you can brave the oddness, go listen to the song. Here is the chorus:
Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend
Any minor world that breaks apart falls together again
When the demon is at your door
In the morning it wont be there no more
Any major dude will tell you
Yes, Wilco fans, their version of Any Major Dude is a cover (surprise surprise). But I won't open up that can of worms.
So we had an early morning. Alan has taken to running first thing (and I mean in the wee hours, 6ish). It isn't even 11am and I feel like most of my day is behind me. It was nice to walk downtown while the air was still breathable; these Kentucky Septembers are brutal at times.
I'm trying to take Steely Dan's advice, seeing my world as a minor world that-- despite all the little breaks-- will eventually fall together again.
Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend
Any minor world that breaks apart falls together again
When the demon is at your door
In the morning it wont be there no more
Any major dude will tell you
Yes, Wilco fans, their version of Any Major Dude is a cover (surprise surprise). But I won't open up that can of worms.
So we had an early morning. Alan has taken to running first thing (and I mean in the wee hours, 6ish). It isn't even 11am and I feel like most of my day is behind me. It was nice to walk downtown while the air was still breathable; these Kentucky Septembers are brutal at times.
I'm trying to take Steely Dan's advice, seeing my world as a minor world that-- despite all the little breaks-- will eventually fall together again.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
In Need of Fresh Air
I am working hard to make up for an inevitable gap in my assignments, pumping out prose about elliptical trainers and protein powder. At the same time I am running an 8-hour long documentary about the planets, called "The Planets." I am checking the news online very frequently (Alan has a classmate who's been lost in Glacier National Park for 3 weeks and we are very worried about his fate). And I'm filled with caffeine from Dr. Pepper and chocolate ice cream.
I think I've uncovered the location of a dimension hidden behind the fabric of space and time.
Needless to say, last night I dreamed of flying to Neptune, unaided by anything but my own willpower, guided with directions I found when typing into Google "directions from Wilmore, KY to Neptune." I think my brain is still there.
I think I've uncovered the location of a dimension hidden behind the fabric of space and time.
Needless to say, last night I dreamed of flying to Neptune, unaided by anything but my own willpower, guided with directions I found when typing into Google "directions from Wilmore, KY to Neptune." I think my brain is still there.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Just One of Those Weeks
Its just been one of those weeks. Lucy has been clingy and cranky, Alan and I have been arguing about everything, friends of ours received some not-so-good news after a long wait, and the school year is at hand. Right now the sky is rumbling, ready to usher in one last summer storm.
I know things always get better, every cloud has a silver lining and so forth, I just prefer the times when life is rolling smoothly.
I know things always get better, every cloud has a silver lining and so forth, I just prefer the times when life is rolling smoothly.
I`ve been waiting to awaken from these dreams-Jackson Brown
People go just where they will
I never noticed them until
I got this feeling
That it`s later than it seems
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
"I'm not an angry girl..."
This is the kind of year I've been having. It is amazing that even after bringing a new life into the world, bringing home the bacon, rediscovering the Church, and learning so many things about the stars and philosophy I can still let people around me make me feel like I'm a raving lunatic who should be concerning herself with other things.
Since I don't know what to say anymore, in defense of myself or what is dear to me, I'll let Ani DeFranco take it from here.
"Not A Pretty Girl"
I am not a pretty girl
that is not what I do
I ain't no damsel in distess
and I don't need to be rescued
so put me down punk
maybe you'd prefer a maiden fair
isn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere
I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I've got everyone fooled
every time I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
and imagine you're a girl
just trying to finally come clean
knowing full well they'd prefer you
were dirty and smiling
Since I don't know what to say anymore, in defense of myself or what is dear to me, I'll let Ani DeFranco take it from here.
"Not A Pretty Girl"
I am not a pretty girl
that is not what I do
I ain't no damsel in distess
and I don't need to be rescued
so put me down punk
maybe you'd prefer a maiden fair
isn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere
I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I've got everyone fooled
every time I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
and imagine you're a girl
just trying to finally come clean
knowing full well they'd prefer you
were dirty and smiling
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Bonnie and Clyde
I suppose I can blog about this now. When Alan and Lucy and I came back from Washington in June, we only had a few hours peace when a knock came at the door. Alan answered it while I changed out of my PJs. It was the cops, and they looked none too happy.
Now I have no respect for cops. Aside from my mother's brother-- who has too much of a brain to have been really cut out for it-- all the police I've encountered are generally small-minded and quite dense. So to see one standing in my living room, trying to intimidate us with his flab and jowls, put my blood pressure through the roof almost immediately.
To make matters worse, he starts asking questions about our whereabouts on such and such a date at whatever time. It happened to be the morning we drove to the airport, when we'd filled up on gas at a station where the alarm was buzzing. We thought we weren't allowed to pump gas at that time of the morning but I suppose the store was being robbed at that very moment.
So the big ugly cop tells me they have a picture of Alan walking into the store (which he didn't do) and wanted us to show him where we might be hiding the cartons of stolen cigarettes (which we obviously didn't have). Alan showed the guy around. He asked if we smoked, we said no. He asked why we had matches in our bathroom then. Alan answered to burn up the poop smell. The ugly cop said he didn't follow what Alan was saying. We tried to explain it again-- speaking very slowly and using small words-- but he just proceeded to talk about how if Alan had a confession he should give it to him sooner than later.
He actually told Alan "The deals get worse from here on out." Someone watches too much Law and Order!
He and the not-so-bad cop from our town finally left. And that was the last we heard of it. I can't imagine they ever had anyone on tape that looked like Alan-- people here ask all the time "What is he?" as if they've never seen a mixed race person before. When they venture a guess they sometimes ask if he's Russian or Middle Eastern-- no one in these parts looks like my husband.
We were rattled at first as this area has one of the highest rates of wrongful accusations in the country. But I suppose it has all blown over now and they caught the little punk who really did it.
Hopefully that was our first and last brush with the law.
Now I have no respect for cops. Aside from my mother's brother-- who has too much of a brain to have been really cut out for it-- all the police I've encountered are generally small-minded and quite dense. So to see one standing in my living room, trying to intimidate us with his flab and jowls, put my blood pressure through the roof almost immediately.
To make matters worse, he starts asking questions about our whereabouts on such and such a date at whatever time. It happened to be the morning we drove to the airport, when we'd filled up on gas at a station where the alarm was buzzing. We thought we weren't allowed to pump gas at that time of the morning but I suppose the store was being robbed at that very moment.
So the big ugly cop tells me they have a picture of Alan walking into the store (which he didn't do) and wanted us to show him where we might be hiding the cartons of stolen cigarettes (which we obviously didn't have). Alan showed the guy around. He asked if we smoked, we said no. He asked why we had matches in our bathroom then. Alan answered to burn up the poop smell. The ugly cop said he didn't follow what Alan was saying. We tried to explain it again-- speaking very slowly and using small words-- but he just proceeded to talk about how if Alan had a confession he should give it to him sooner than later.
He actually told Alan "The deals get worse from here on out." Someone watches too much Law and Order!
He and the not-so-bad cop from our town finally left. And that was the last we heard of it. I can't imagine they ever had anyone on tape that looked like Alan-- people here ask all the time "What is he?" as if they've never seen a mixed race person before. When they venture a guess they sometimes ask if he's Russian or Middle Eastern-- no one in these parts looks like my husband.
We were rattled at first as this area has one of the highest rates of wrongful accusations in the country. But I suppose it has all blown over now and they caught the little punk who really did it.
Hopefully that was our first and last brush with the law.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Success
I watched a spot on "Sunday Morning" about Stephenie Meyer, the author of "Twilight" and the subsequent books in the series. I wasn't familiar with these books-- they are about a teenage girl and a teenage vampire who fall in love and have to constantly dodge his blood lusting.
Anyway, it wasn't the books that struck me, nor the hordes of screaming teens who show up at Meyer's book signings, but rather her story. She grew up in a Mormon home and, like many good Mormon women do, married and started having kids. She wrote the first book in her series after having a dream about the main characters. Meyer pounded out the story in a summer in between her duties as a mom and housekeeper. She'd never written before, nor did she have any aspiration to become a writer.
When asked by the "Sunday Morning" reporter if she was afraid her fame would disappear as quickly as it came, Stephenie Meyer said no. It isn't that she doubted her success could go away overnight, its that her life was very happy before-- going back to the status quo didn't frighten her because the life she had with her family and old job were good.
This is a sweet kind of success. Our culture is rather fond of the passionate, all or nothing stories. But the goal of each person, whether success reaches your doorstep or forever eludes you, should be to strive for a good life.
Anyway, it wasn't the books that struck me, nor the hordes of screaming teens who show up at Meyer's book signings, but rather her story. She grew up in a Mormon home and, like many good Mormon women do, married and started having kids. She wrote the first book in her series after having a dream about the main characters. Meyer pounded out the story in a summer in between her duties as a mom and housekeeper. She'd never written before, nor did she have any aspiration to become a writer.
When asked by the "Sunday Morning" reporter if she was afraid her fame would disappear as quickly as it came, Stephenie Meyer said no. It isn't that she doubted her success could go away overnight, its that her life was very happy before-- going back to the status quo didn't frighten her because the life she had with her family and old job were good.
This is a sweet kind of success. Our culture is rather fond of the passionate, all or nothing stories. But the goal of each person, whether success reaches your doorstep or forever eludes you, should be to strive for a good life.
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