Questions

A friend emailed me this. Rather than email her back to the requisite number of people, I thought I'd answer the questions here--for those with a burning desire to know more about me:

1. What time did you get up this morning? 5:45am
2. Diamonds or pearls? pearls
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? can't remember
4. What is your favorite TV show? House Hunters
5. What did you have for breakfast? Flax Plus with Silk, and a pear.
6. What is your middle name? Ann
7. What food do you dislike? raisins and figs
8. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Bach Double Violin Concerto
9. What kind of car do you drive? Toyota Corolla
10. Favorite sandwich? Lettuce, tomato and cheese
11. What characteristic do you despise? Laziness
12. Favorite item of clothing - pajamas
13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? Puerto Rico
14. Favorite brand of clothing? Jones New York
15. Where would you retire to? Upstate New York or New England
16. What was your most recent memorable birthday? I haven't had a memorable birthday for years
17. Favorite sport to watch? I avoid watching sports at all costs
18. What is the furthest place this list will go? Alaska
19. When is your birthday? March 16
20. If you are married, where did you meet your spouse? On a Christian website
21. Are you a morning person or a Night person? Both
22. What is your shoe size? 9.5
23. Pets? Otis Melotis (cat)
24. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I get to write all summer and not teach (YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
25. What did you want to be when you were little? A surgeon or a midwife
26. How are you today? Really tired at the end of the week.
27. What is your favorite candy? Chocolate with hazelnuts in it
28. What is your favorite flower? Ranunculus or Iceland poppies
29. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? June 14--graduation and the school year will be over!
30. What are you listening to right now? The AC (it was 100 today and even tonight at 9:30, it's 81 degrees.
31. What was the last thing you ate? A vegetarian patty (want the recipe? They're terrific)
32. Do you ever wish on stars? no
33. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Cranberry
34. Last person you spoke to on the phone? Carla
35. Last drink you had: Water
36. Favorite restaurant? Napoli's
37. Hair color? Chestnut brown with gray here and there
38. Eye color? Chestnut brown
39. Weight? In your dreams
40. What is your favorite outfit? My wedding dress (plum colored dress with jacket)
41. What was your favorite toy as a child? A large, stuffed lion with a shaggy mane
42. Summer or winter? Winter
43. Hugs or kisses? Hugs
44. Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate
45. Coffee or tea? tea
46. When was the last time you cried? Last week after coming home from an utterly wretched conference
47. What is under your bed? Some afghans and quilts in storage packages
48. What was the last thing you laughed hard about? Teasing Sam
49. What did you do last night? Saw a client at the office, watched TV and looked at houses for sale on the internet
50. What is your favorite thing to read? Therapy books
51. What are you afraid of? The thought of being in a men's prison for any reason
52. Salty or sweet? sweet
53. How many keys on your key ring? (Which one?) 2 and 11
54. How many years at your current job? almost 2
55. Favorite day of the week? Saturday
56. How many towns have you lived in? 12 I think
57. Do you make friends easily? Yes
58. What is your favorite room in the house? The livingroom
59. Who did you last pray for? Our former mayor, who died in the last day
60. How many people will you tag to write their own questions? Whoever wants to do this.
Copy and paste, then send it to me on my email.

Why does this generation want to smell like over-ripe fruit? It seems that pleasant perfume aromas in our parent's generation were things like Tuberose, Lilly of the Valley or White Shoulders. My sister's generation felt that these smells are dated. They liked things that were very strong and that preferably covered the smell of marijuana: patchouli, vanilla, incense, Musk. Those kinds of things have always made me feel nausated.

So my generation has wanted scents that are bit more understated and faintly floral: Jojoba, or Fresh Linen--maybe light lavender/mint or something very mild.

Fast forward to today's generation. Walk into any Bath and Body or Victoria's Secret store and pflam! Right in the face: burnt vanilla-almond, peach, mango-pineapple. It's loud and obvious without any way to be unobtrusive. You can typically smell today's youth before you see them. Apricot-honey-mustard or melon duet. Hug a young person and you will get a nose full of citrus-loquat or something called Ocean that can lift you right off your feet. Why do they want to smell like rancid fruit? Why such strong smells?

What I can't help noticing is that today's kids also cannot tolerate any "normal" or average scents: a house needs to have a scented (strong, nauseating) apricot smell on a whirring plug-in. The bathroom has not only sprays, but a couple scented candles. Of course the shower is loaded with a variety of very strong scented shampoos, soaps, facial scrubs, and conditioner. The bedroom needs to have a candle in it. Even the car has to have some scented dangly thing on the mirror, or a little can of stinky "goodsmell" hidden somewhere. It is torture to those of us who have very sensitive sniffers.

What will the next generation want to smell like? Imagine your grandchild or great-grandchild breezing through your livingroom smelling like tomato-tripe or pumpkin-shallot, or durian-cream-pulp? Make way for the rosemary-lavender-garlic immersed young person, smiling with satisfaction at their almost visible olfactory aura.



Don't misunderstand me: I like a faint scent that is very understated. But it makes me almost ill with nausea and headache to (for example) be sitting in church and have a string of young adult women come in late, sit in front of me, and with their every move, a thick cloud of vaporous air wafts back toward me--and my insides begin to church.

I'm pleased the girls are in church and ultimately that idea holds off any critical comment I may be formulating in my head. But on the inside, I am not reverent or quiet. I am saying things like, "Oh please....what scent are you trying to cover up with that?!" "I think the deacon at the back can smell you. No, probably the guy on the motorcycle flying past the church on the street." It's not good. But I feel so ill that I can hardly hold down my breakfast at times like that.

So I wonder what the future of Sweet Scent America will be. We'll be sniffing.

Walking partners

"Walking Partners, found here

This is a check in about my promise to live a more healthy lifestyle. It is now my fifth week of walking almost every morning with my friend, Olga. We walk a good 40-45 minutes up a hill, past an orange grove, down a road from which we can see the entire Inland Valley, and then back home. The first week it was hard to make it through the day without falling comatose onto my desk. I was exhausted from all that walking.

Now I'm used to it and if I wake up tired or with a headache or something, I just call Olga and beg off. I've done that twice in five weeks. Then there was the time I had to drive to Palm Springs early in the morning. But for the most part we've walked five days per week. We've sometimes varied our route according to how we feel, but we are still out walking.

I feel better and it's obvious to me that my blood pressure has improved as a result. I haven't turned into a fashion model though. I think Olga may have even gained weight. I'm not sure sometimes if the walking is good for her. She says it is.

One can learn a lot about another person by chattering away every single morning. We talk about our mothers (she has an elderly mother living nearby who has factitious disorder and issues daily demands to get her to a doctor, the ER, or call 9-1-1), her children, her divorce, my job, our mutual musical interests. Olga grew up in a country in Eastern Europe in which the nurse came to the school and vaccinated the entire classroom with one needle. Many of the people from this country have Hepatitis C. Olga does, so she lives with great uncertainty and discomfort. I am fortunate to have her as a walking partner because she has been so sick in the last year that we both wondered aloud at times if she would survive. 12 years ago I helped Olga get away from an abusive womanizing husband. He continues to be active in the community and to go uncensured by his church, whilst she lost her standing at the church and holds only a peripheral position to the one she enjoyed before she divorced him. But she can laugh and be her own person now, even though her ex-husband almost ruined her financially and she will never own anything. She has her life, her children's love and loyalty, and she has several part-time jobs.

Every morning my eyes are open to new possibilities and ways to think about life because Olga's views are different from mine. I enjoy hearing a European perspective about relationships from her and she laughs at all my stories and thinks I'm witty and a good friend. It is a win-win.

Back to my report to you: my next focus is to eat more carefully and healthfully. I'd like to be eating less white foods (potatoes, pasta, bread) and more brown foods: beans, brown rice, whole wheat, and lots of vegetables and fruit. As we get closer to the summer in which I don't have to do any teaching (just live at the computer, writing), I'll work on the next part. For now, I'm delighted to have made the changes in lifestyle and feel much better.

Flee as a Bird

This morning I stepped out of my office into the hall of our counseling building into the midst of flapping wings that sailed past my head. A mourning dove had gotten inside through the open windows of the courtyard. The panicky little thing sailed off down the hall at knee level, rounding the corner toward the religion department. Hearing my gasp of surprise, my next door neighbor appeared at her office door wearing a black plastic file holder over her head.

"That bird was in here yesterday and I shooed it out the window. It must have gotten back in" she said matter of factly.

"And you are wearing a file holder on your head because..."

She lifted it off. "To protect myself from that thing."

Obviously not a country girl. No need to protect herself from that terrified little dove. She looked ridiculous.

I wondered if I could catch it. I'm not sure what I thought I would catch a bird with, but I went around the corner where I had seen it disappear. There it was on the floor looking very tired. A mourning dove looks washed out color wise anyhow, and this little one looked worn down to nothing. It must have been in the building for quite some time because there was quite a collection of bird droppings on the floor under the window.

As I got closer, the bird lifted off and sailed down the hall and around the corner back toward our department (the hall is in a rectangle with an atrium in the center). Hustling down the hall past the bank of windows, I noticed another dove looking very curiously over the edge of the building. It was making its little "whoo-whup-whoo" sounds, probably calling for its mate. That devastated me. Mourning doves mate for life and when one dies, the other kind of hangs around until it dies, alone. It is tragic and the thought was very sad. I don't know about other people, but I'm particularly torn up inside when I see animals who are hurt or scared. It is almost unbearable, so my level of motivation to help this dove was extremely high. I was afraid it would be so scared or dehydrated that it would drop dead if I frightened it too badly.

It flapped up into a window by the side door of the building. There was a 12-inch ledge and the dove hovered up against the warm glass of the window where the sun was beaming in. It would have been a good spot except being dehydrated, it probably was not good for it to be in the sun.

The problem with that perch was that it was about 10 feet over our heads and in a stairwell. There was no way to open the window over its head--I tried, with a broomstick. Then I picked up a fake tree and tried to sweep it across the windowsill to get it to fly down. Nothing but flapping wings. That was definitely not the thing to do.

By now, two students and my neighbor with the file case over her head, were all wringing their hands and near tears. A bird can't fly into a therapy department and not have an array of feeling responses from the faculty.

Finally, a maintenance man happened by with a long handled broom, knocked the bird out of the window into a trash can and released it out the front door. The little thing flew off immediately so it must have had both strength and enough moisture in its body to do so. We all heaved a sigh of relief before we ran around the halls shutting windows. The dove on the roof flew off to join its mate.

If I was so concerned about this innocent, albeit, not-so-smart bird, what must God's heart of boundless love feel about it--and all the other lost birds, dogs, children, people--in this sin filled world?

God sees the little sparrow fall,

It meets His tender view;

If God so loves the little birds,

I know He loves me, too.

God paints the lily of the field

Perfumes each lily bell;

If He so loves the little flowers

I know He loves me well.

God made the little birds and flowers

And all things large and small;

He'll not forget His little ones,

I know He loves them all.

He loves me too,

He loves me, too--I know He loves me too.

Because He loves the little things;

I know He loves me, too.

Original Trinity Hymnal, #635.

Maria Straub, 1874.

Outbid

Good news: We are very excited about finding the perfect home.

Bad news: There were 9 offers on "our" house.

Good news: We have not lost one penny.

Bad news: We didn't get the house.

Good news: We are going out looking at more houses on Sunday afternoon.

Bad news: Most houses on the market around here are short sales, which are neither short, nor do they follow your usual home sale rules. (Avoid them at all costs! is what we're hearing).

Good news: We love our realtor.

Bad news: It will take us hours of traipsing through one house after another to find the right home.

Good news: God is going with us.

Wanna come along?

We're on a real estate roller coaster and I thought it would be good to have company as we go along for the next few weeks.

We've found a foreclosed home that is in marvelous condition and is very big (3200 SF, 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms). It is only three years old. Apparently, someone had an interest only, or balloon payment loans and lost the house. It is an absolute steal because when we moved here, it was more than twice the current (very reasonable) price. We can't even get a 2 bedroom condo in our town for the same price! Here are some pictures:

As you come in the front door, onto the Travertine ceramic tile entry, there is the staircase to the right and the den directly in front of you. To the left of the entry is a living room with fireplace and about 15 feet ceiling. To the left of the den is a full bathroom and guestroom. The kitchen is to the right of the den. Unfortunately, the previous owner had no color sense. The walls are chartreuse, even though they look a bit more tame than that in this picture. Absolutely shocking. "Bilious," as my father would say.

Here is part of the kitchen. There are Travertine ceramic tiles on the floor and granite countertops. There are also enough cupboards here to make me weep with joy! The door to the pantry is standing ajar, which means there is space for all my china, all my catering dishes, Mother's dishes, and all my appliances (unlike our current rental, which requires me to almost stand on my head to get my Tupperware out of the back of a teeney little cupboard). There is a breakfast nook in front of the windows and also a full, formal dining room back around the corner. Incidentally, there are very odd filmy curtains hanging over the windows that don't have wooden blinds over them. It will all have to go.

Here is the backyard. I would be happy to have something bigger, but we can't have everything we wish for. If you click on this picture and look at the larger version of it, you can see some of the mountains a bit better. You can see Mt. San Bernardino (very pointy and tall) from the upstairs master bedroom window (which is hidden behind the neighbor's house).

We did a home visit marathon on Friday--9 properties-- (and a marathon the week before that), and ended up with two houses we really liked. One had an outdoor entrance to an office type of space. I thought it would be perfect for a home office. And the view from the upstairs bathroom and bedroom was gorgeous--the mountains full on. I was ready to write a check out for earnest money right away but we came home to sleep on it. I hardly slept, actually. We prayed and prayed, and Sam went off to sleep within 15 seconds of saying goodnight. I kept thinking that I just didn't like the kitchen (of the house with the view) because it had kind of odd black granite tiles in the kitchen, and that front office space bothered me. You can only enter it from outside or through the garage. Sam really didn't like it because something seems unsafe about it. Someone could either accost me in there and he wouldn't be able to hear me, or else someone could break into the house through it, go into the garage and come into the house. He has a point. And the office is really wasted space.

The more I tossed and turned, the more I kept thinking about all the prayers I've offered up in which I've asked for a large home to have students over once a month for soup, sandwiches, and fellowship. Sam and I can hardly fit into our current house, so a large house has been prayed for repeatedly.

I realized, in the wee hours, that when I looked in this house, I never really looked. I was jarred by the items the former owner had left behind (typical of foreclosed homes), and pleased that the house was in such excellent condition: clean carpet, clean kitchen; clean stove, dishwasher, and microwave all present and matching. It seemed dark inside and the color scheme made me ill. The master bedroom is painted a pale blue that looks like a surgical suite. There is a black and dark brown marble tiled bathroom floor, which is shocking against the blue walls. Then there are these heavy wooden blinds against the chartreuse walls and oddball items left all over.

It will need a good carpet cleaning, all new blinds, paint, and some minor landscaping cleanup.

We heard a sermon this morning about how we cannot serve God and money, or possessions. The key word, the pastor emphasized, is serve. We own things in order to serve. We save money to enable us to serve. There is nothing wrong with having things--as we keep in view our mission on earth: to serve. I kept thinking how I've prayed to have a place to bring students, a comfortable home for the girls, space for Mother if she should want to spend some time with us, room for a grand piano if I am ever fortunate to own one, and a spare room or two for cancer patients who come out here for our specialized treatment regimen. That would be wonderful to be able to share such a home in this way.

Tomorrow morning we are going to go over first thing, throw open all the blinds and windows so we can see it by daylight. If we like it, we will put a bid on it probably on Tuesday.

I don't know what will happen but I'll keep you posted.

YIPEEEEE!!!

For the love of knowledge

I am writing this post after attending one of the most stimulating conferences I've ever experienced. It was entitled, "Strengthening Families in the 21st Century" and had the aim of bringing faith-based research findings to bear on local church functioning. The researchers behind the publication, Hardwired to Connect presented their research on infant-parent bonding and how early infant experience sets the stage for attachment to relationship style, learning, and EQ (emotional intelligence). The research was amazing--I'll discuss some of it later. But what I left the conference with was a loud question ringing in my head: Are my contributions to my field worthwhile? Against the stunning clarity and novelty of the other researcher's findings, mine were pallid in comparison and seemed like amorphous mush. I felt like a mental midget. (This is not a ploy for supportive or sympathetic comments).

Have you ever bumped into someone so brilliant in their line of thought that you wondered how you could be so plain or lackluster and still belong in the same field as they are? That was how I felt leaving the conference. It was two days of absolutely incredible researchers discuss their findings on faith communities, authoritative communities, and trends on spirituality and religious practices. The third day was a working day during which academics, researchers, donors, and church leaders, tried to brainstorm about how to bring the research home. As I drove home after that day, I just started crying in the car. Not just a tear, but a real good bawl. Why? Perhaps I was full to the brim. Maybe it was that I have wanted to see, just once in my lifetime, the church actually utilize research and be empirically driven. Maybe it was being in close proximity to impassioned conversations about what relevance scholarship and academia is to the local church. I'm not sure--but I sure had lots of tears about it. I was left feeling very, very small and humbled by what I had witnessed.

They were tears for knowledge: sadness for being so limited in my little academic corner; overwhelmed for the great needs in the church; the opportunity for continued servanthood; wonderment that so many voices had joined together in the search for new directions on the ground; and sheer mental fatigue from trying to contain all the information without having my head blow off my shoulders.

I'm still getting over the experience. There is so much to be done now, in trying to apply what I learned. Part of that will be discussing some of the ideas at the conference here. I think you may find it interesting, even if not mood-altering as I did, for the moment that you hear about it.

Hanging on

There has been an excellent conference here at our university, which I'll write more about later. Fact is, I've been caught up in it as both participant and planner and have not had time to blog. I want to share some of the fascinating facts that some very famous authors spoke about. But it will be later when things have slowed down.
I think I've said that before--when things slow down.
They never do...

More later.
Don't give up on this blogsite.

Furnace Life

It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt.

(Fyodor Dostoevski)

House Hunting

Today we went looking at homes with a realtor who had been recommended by our lender. If we go with this guy, we will get some special something or another--Sam knows what it is. I could care less what it all means since he's the numbers guy in this family.
Anyhow, we identified several homes we wanted to see in our price range and emailed him ahead of time so he could arrange for us to see them. I have no words to describe adequately what transpired. Let us just say that he has a voice that can cut steel and a need for an audience like no one else I know. Perhaps he was in a manic phase. In any event, he didn't come up for air the entire four hours. No questions about us, nothing interactive. Just a tirade of random facts about--you name it. We learned about his pastor who is having trouble at the church, particularly since his daughter just swallowed 100 Tylenols. Hmmm. At age 12, young girls don't do that for no reason. Now she is in a local psychiatric hospital and our realtor, the hero, is going to go speak with the pastor tonight to straighten him out about how to interact with her.
Then, he pointed out every home of every friend and client he'd ever had. In the middle of a non sequitor, he'd drop the name of someone who was driving past, along with the details of their home sale.
In a closed car without open windows, his voice was hard to take. He rambled on and on, without a break. Voluntary, rapid-fire, non-stop commentary on everything and anything having to do with him. Sam was so disgusted that he went mute about an hour into the fiasco. He nodded and had an occasional comment or two, but he shut down. That left me to --well, what does one do? Try to keep responding (read, reinforcing) his talking? Stop talking altogether? Ask him to take us back to the office and never call us again?
When we got back to the office, Sam jumped out of the car, extended his hand and thanked him for his time. The man acted like he never heard one word. He launched into a harrangue about how he was going to set the pastor straight in his dealings with his daughter.
We came home with headaches and ringing ears. He showed us only houses that were absolute wrecks. In this region there used to be 734 houses for sale. Now there are 8,000, many of them lender-owned. So many houses are trashed before the people who could ill afford them in the first place, leave.

Sam and I stopped and got something to eat on the way home. Our blood sugars had dropped, we felt ill and I just wanted to go to sleep for two weeks. That guy wore me out. How can one person generate that much obnoxia? (new word).

Sam is going to call our lender in the morning and tell him to find us someone else. It was curious that the lender told us initially, "You can change the realtor if you want to. We'll find you someone else if you need us to." Indeed, we need someone different.

I need sleep and absolute silence.