Christmas Morning

ISBN ### What is your water saying?

ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-8980-1

I recently posted about my friend's gift of Masaru Emoto's "The Hidden Messages in Water" and now I can post to say I've finished the book. I enjoyed it and I'm glad I finally read it. In many ways, I sort of alluded to this in my previous post, it was more to me than just reading an interesting non-fiction text. I made my own memories and created my own meaning for these crystals, instead of only remembering our memories and our meaning. Very cathartic and also very appropriate for an approaching new year.

For those not familiar with Emoto's work, his basic premise is that all energy is vibration. "The entire universe is in a state of vibration, and each thing generates its own frequency, which is unique." He goes on to say that water visibly responds to words, music, and other vibrations by forming crystals. Positive words, music, images, vibrations, etc. form whole, clear crystals; while negative words, music, images, vibrations, etc. form incomplete, murky blobs. Emoto has photographed these crystals, or non-crystals in some cases, and he includes pages and pages of photos in this book (and more in two previous books he self-published years ago).

Human beings are about 70% water and from there it is his proposition that we are impacted by words, images, vibrations, etc. just as the crystals. Furthermore, we in turn impact the entire planet (also mostly water) by our own words, music, vibes, and so forth. It's a beautiful concept and one by which I already live my life...but not with an understanding of the chemistry of crystals. It was interesting to read about his experiments and to see photographs of the perfectly-formed crystal that heard "Thank you" and the completely deformed blob that heard "You fool." One of my favorite moments was seeing the crystal that heard "Let's do it" compared to the one that heard, "Do it." I loved that.

He says that we start out as fetuses made of 99% water. Perhaps that is why babies en utero respond to Mozart piped through headphones on the mom's belly? Interesting thought. Another interesting point is his answer to the question of how to live a happy healthy life. He says, "purify the water that makes up 70% of your body. Water in a river remains pure because it is moving. When water becomes trapped, it dies. Therefore, water must be constantly circulated. [...] So when your emotions flow throughout your body, you feel a sense of joy and you move towards physical health." Nothing new to those who study chakrasana yoga or even some meditations, but I like how simply he phrased it. My interpretation of circulating emotions is giving and creating. In other words, getting the energy/movement/circulation outside your own body. "The opposite of war isn't peace, it's creation!" (Jonathan Larson, anyone?)

Emoto's message that it's up to us to pro-actively make a positive impact really resonated with me (no pun intended). He writes, "Pollution originated in our own consciousness [think the collective unconsciousness taught by Jung]. We started to think that we wanted a bountiful and convenient lifestyle at any cost, and this selfishness led to the pollution of the environment that now affects every corner of the globe."

A Closet Scrapbooker

D.I.Y greeting cards, by yours truly. Hours and hours of cutting, glue gunning, mixing and matching funky paper, sorting orphan buttons and scraps of ribbon...who knew? I'm not a scrapbooker by any stretch of the imagination. I find it perfectly useful to store old photos in shoe boxes and new photos in digital iPhoto albums...and yet here I am home for the holidays playing arts and crafts in my mother's office all night. I cranked up Regina Spektor (Begin to Hope rocks my socks and if you can listen to "Us" from Soviet Kitsch without bobbing your head, you have no soul), grabbed a glue stick, and went to town. I have to admit that I do think some of these cards turned out pretty well. I've always enjoyed creating collage and mixed medium pieces, so I may have to suck it up and admit that there's a closet scrapbooker inside me just waiting for permission to break free.

Something about the mix of grandmother's couch flowers and punk polka dots is endearing to me.

I love the anarchy of three different prints and a ribbon that doesn't match any of them. "Anarchy," says the dork rockin' a glue gun and die cuts on a Saturday night.

I don't care where you're from, it does not get more scrapbooky than this card. But come on, tell me those colors aren't yum-my.

The colors and texture didn't turn out well in this photograph, but imagine this as a brown/rust/pink rose on antique parchment-like paper. It's so granny with the lace and buttons I can smell moth balls just looking at it.

Aesthetic Awakening

I posted about the gift from my friend that shocked me out of my creative stupor; however, it wasn't until we finally closed up shop for winter break and my time was my own that these re-awakened creative impulses began to manifest. Regular readers of this blog know that I've been overhauling my bedroom and redecorating top to bottom (Thank you, Baby Jesus, for fulfilling my every Christmas wish when on the eighth day you created IKEA). While combing the wide isles of the mother ship I found this delicious treat. Alright, so it's hanging in my living room and not exactly part of my bedroom beautification bonanza, but it is so me and so perfect for my space. My bellas will know what I mean when I say this, but I saw it from across the store and ran to it singing, "This one time, in Rome..."

Just having this painting hanging in my home was enough to inspire me to create create create. I've had two small canvases hiding in my "random box of creative arts and craft crap" for well over a year now. A few days ago I decided it was time to paint. I'm not claiming to be an artist and I'm not claiming these acrylic trinkets are headed for Tate Modern, but I will say that they are also now hanging in my living room and they make me very happy.

ISBN ### Forgiveness is all I have to offer

ISBN 1-4019-0896-9

About a year ago I was watching a Wayne Dyer special on PBS. He was promoting his new book slash speaking tour, "Inspiration: Your Ultimate Calling." At one point he told everyone that he wanted to introduce someone who inspires him. A strikingly beautiful African woman walks on stage, confident but quiet, stands front and center and proclaims: "My name is Immaculee Ilibagiza. This is the story of how I discovered God during one of history's bloodiest holocausts."

Immaculee is a rare Tutsi survivor of the 1994 Rwandan genocide. One half of one percent of Tutsi women survived. The Rwandan government estimates that more than one million people were killed in approximately 100 days. The historical and political story of the genocide are well published, but in superficial summary: Hutus staged a government coop and country-wide ethnic cleansing campaign, slaughtering their Tutsi friends and neighbors, men, women, and children. Immaculee survived 91 days hiding in a Hutu Pastor's home with seven other Tutsi women in a closet-sized bathroom. She shares her story in "Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust." In her own words, the story of "Left to Tell" is her realization that "being spared is much different from being saved...and this lesson forever changed me. It is a lesson that, in the midst of mass murder, taught me how to love those who hated and hunted me - and how to forgive those who slaughtered my family."

"Left to Tell" creates an incredible arc, leading the reader from Immaculee's memories of her childhood, her family, and their village here Hutus and Tutsis lived in peace, to her formative days at university, to the genocide, and finally her life 13 years after the genocide. The book does not shy away from the difficult, bloody details of those three months in 1994. I respect that it doesn't gloss over these events or even give readers a break from the intensity. I couldn't put the book down, finishing it in about three days. As painful as it is to read, there is a power in the book that compels you to not only reach the end, but reach the end quickly. Even though the general history of the event is well known, something in the book calls you to discover what happens to Immaculee, her country, her friends, her family.

The women hiding in the bathroom could not speak and could only move to re-situate themselves once each day for fear of being discovered. Hutu soldiers searched the Pastor's house a number of times and, based on rumors circulating through the town, called Immaculee by name as they hunted specifically for her. The picture on the left shows Immaculee ten years later in that same bathroom, clearly amazed that seven women survived three months in that tiny space. As described in "Left to Tell," throughout the 91 days she spent in the bathroom Immaculee prayed 10+ hours a day, worked her way through her rosary again and again, read the Bible over and over, and trudged through an intimate argument with God...all trying to make sense of what was happening. Reading about her experience in that bathroom is life changing, but it is the closing chapter of the book that shook me to my core.

Within weeks of the end of the genocide Immaculee was living in the capitol city of Kigali and working for the United Nations. She had begun to look toward the future and imagine a new life. She realized, however, that try as she might she could not yet move on. To this end she visited her friend Semana, a politician in charge of arresting and detaining the Hutu killers, and arranged to meet Felicien, the person who killed her family.

"Semana pushed Felicien into the office, and he stumbled onto his knees. when he looked up from the floor and saw that I was the one who was waiting for him, the color drained from his face. He quickly shifted his gaze and stared at the floor. 'Stand up, killer!' Semana shouted. 'Stand up and explain to this girl why her family is dead. Explain to her why you murdered her mother and butchered her brother. Get up, I said! Get up and tell her!' Semana screamed even louder, but the battered man remained hunched and kneeling, too embarrassed to stand and face me. His dirty clothing hung from his emaciated frame in tatters. His skin was sallow, bruised, and broken; and his eyes were filmed and crusted. His once handsome face was hidden beneath a filthy, matted beard; and his bare feet were covered in open, running sores."

Can you imagine what you might say to this person? What emotions would you have surging through your mind and body at meeting this man? Immaculee writes, "I wept at the sight of his suffering. I was overwhelmed with pity for the man. [Semana] grabbed Felicien by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. 'What do you have to say to her? What do you have to say to Immaculee?' Felicien was sobbing. I could feel his shame. He looked up at me for only a moment, but our eyes met. I reached out, touched his hands lightly, and quietly said what I'd come to say. 'I forgive you.'"

Naturally, Semana was stunned. He returned Felicien to his cell and then approached Immaculee, "How could you do that?" She replied, "Forgiveness is all I have to offer."

Ramblings from the Route | Musical Meanderings

I was fortunate this week to enjoy two UTA commutes. I don't have much of a Ramblings from the Route post for my first trip, being that I was too busy wiping tears from my eyes and snot from my nose as I worked my way through the final chapters of Hosseini's "Kite Runner." My friends ask me every so often, "Are you still riding the bus? How's the Parade of Crazy?" Well amigos, I joined the crazy parade this week as I broke down into my paperback.

My second UTA commute is today, a gorgeously rainy Friday. I was in a musical mood this morning as I cranked on my iPod and sloshed toward the bus stop. My rambling today is a WTF Music Mix, more commonly known as iPod Shuffle. I'm completely addicted to party shuffles and smart playlists. I'm already looking forward to my ride home when I can finish the second half of this cacophony.

Lisa Loeb | Falling in Love (live version from Lilith Fair)
Various Artists (Hairspray) | You Can't Stop the Beat
Sufjan Stevens | Chicago
Royal Bliss | Devils and Angels
The Byrds | Spanish Harlem Incident (covering Dylan)
Doris Day | Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps
Ellis Paul | Give In, Give Up
Pete Yorn | Life on a Chain
Dar Williams | Iowa
Toad the Wet Sprocket | Dam Would Break
Frank Sinatra | Dancing in the Dark
Ryan Adams | Chin Up, Cheer Up
Guster | Demons
I Fiamminghi & Rudolf Werthen | Fratres for Eight Cellos
Indigo Girls - Scooter Boys
John Mayer | Slow Dancing in a Burning Room (acoustic Village Sessions)
The Shins | Girl Inform Me
Gustav | We Shall Overcome
Animal Collective | Did You See the Words?
Phantom Planet | Lonely Day
Ani DiFranco | Evolve
Mahala Rai Banda | Tabulhaneaua
Better Than Ezra | Allison Foley
Big Bang | Girl in Oslo
Old 97s | Indefinitely
Abdel Ali Slimani | Moi Et Toi
Justin Timberlake | FutureSex/LoveSounds
The Flaming Lips | What is the Light?
Citizen Cope | Let the Drummer Kick
Counting Crows | Friend of the Devil (covering The Grateful Dead)
Howard Zinn | Langston Hughes, The U.S., and Imperialism
John Gorka | The Gyspy Life
Bill Withers | Ain't No Sunshine
Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova | Trying to Pull Myself Away
Eminem | 'Till I Collapse
Cecilio & Kapono | Feeling Just the Way I Do

First Friday Films | Take Four

First Friday Films | Take Four
The Oscar Race continues...



I'm still enjoying the run of substantive scripts and political plot lines gracing our megaplexes. It's only a matter of time until movies stop grasping for Oscars, go back to sucking, and I retreat back to the Film Society and obscure world cinema waiting to be discovered on the library shelves, but for now...

Into the Wild
When the film ended and I sat glued to my seat, tears in my eyes, and a knot in my stomach, I knew the experience would haunt me. I didn't expect, however, that it would still be haunting me weeks and weeks later. The genius behind this haunting experience is most definitely Sean Penn (the film's screenwriter & director, and a golden idol worshiped by yours truly), but not to be overlooked is Emile Hirsch who nailed the role of Chris McCandless.

For me this is a love story. It's a love story about Chris's passionate affair with nature, his fling with the freedom of the open road, and the eternal quest to find an authentic self. I have a wanderlust in me that will not be satiated, but I believe that deep within every person is the desire to be free and live authentically. For Chris McCandless that meant hitchhiking, living off the land, spending years of his life virtually alone and in search of...something. Not many take it to that extreme, but there is something profoundly, universally human about this film. I've heard from friends that have read Krakauer's book (I haven't yet) that it's a bit different than the film. It's definitely on my to-read list. Oh and Eddie Veder's soundtrack, it should be noted, is a character in the film in its own right.

Dan in Real Life
Cute, funny, lame, plays out like a poorly written sitcom, but Steve Carrel is sweet, super good looking, and quite charming. Because of him, even this mildly inane film is worth watching. Dane Cook, however, WTF? Doesn't he have beer cans that need crushing against a forehead or something? Run along.

Lions for Lambs
"Rome is burning, son!" Rome is burning and I'm glad this movie stepped into the fray. This movie is such an awesome surprise. Knowing that Cruise produced it (his first project as head of United Artists), Redford directed it, and Streep acted in it, one would assume it's a liberal flick preaching to the liberal choir. Not so much. The brilliance of this film is that it's perfectly balanced. Perfectly. If you go into this movie thinking George Bush is right, America is infallible, and we're taking the right approach in the "war on terror"...you'll leave feeling validated and represented by this film. If you go into this movie thinking George Bush is doing incredible harm, America deserves better, and we need to pull out of Iraq yesterday...you'll leave feeling validated and represented by this film. Brilliant.

The three stories told in the film take place simultaneously and all in the course of about one hour. You watch a conservative senator have a heated conversation with a liberal journalist. You watch a passionate university professor have a debate with an apathetic young student. You watch two U.S. soldiers stranded in the snowy mountains of Afghanistan, eventually both killed by Taliban fighters. Redford is never shy about cramming metaphors down your throat and this movie is customarily thinly veiled. The message? "The problem is not with the leaders who started this, the problem is with us. They bank on your apathy. The build entire strategies around it." The point? Have the conversation. This movie doesn't provide answers, it only starts the conversation. It doesn't tell you if the soldiers died in vain. It doesn't tell you what the apathetic young student decides to do with the challenge posed by his professor. It doesn't tell you what story the journalist publishes. It only starts the dialogue that every person in America, if they would stop consuming long enough to be citizens again, should be having.

In the film, in a debate about consumerism in our culture, a college student flippantly asks: "When did Americans not want big homes and high walls?" The profound response came from a classmate: "July 5, 1776. December 8, 1941. September 12, 2001." We need to have this conversation now. The immediacy created by telling all three stories in real time in about an hour is Redford's not-subtle way of telling us the time is now. In the time it takes you to watch this film, two more soldiers, albeit fictional characters in a film, have died. And yet...how many soldiers and citizens have lost their lives in the time it took you to read this post? Start the conversation. Start by seeing Lions for Lambs.

American Gangster
I can't get enough Russell Crowe. I really like him and I really like the films/roles he chooses (A Good Year as a possible exception). This script is so tight and so perfectly woven that even though the movie feels eight hours long, I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. I honestly cared to know what happened to each character and it's a rare film that can hook you like that. What's more is that I'm not terribly interested in gangster thriller films...and yet it held my attention through to the very end. Well done.

Beowulf
As an undergrad I trudged through this epic in its original old English verse and when I first heard Hollywood got its hands on it I was interested in the way we're interested in car accidents. You don't want to look and but you're oddly compelled to rubberneck. From what I understand, Beowulf is supposed to be seen in 3D. I didn't watch it in 3D and perhaps that explains the annoying half-animation slash half-human situation I was faced with. Very confusing. And yet, like a train wreck, oddly compelling. The cinematic style grew on me and sometimes, when I let my eyes relax and cross a bit, it got better and was almost 3D. Angelina Jolie, it goes without explanation, is wicked hot in her gold body paint (and CGI hips). My goodness. But even my crush on her, I'm sorry to say, wouldn't get me in the theatre a second time.

Reign Over Me
I realize this came out eons ago...but it was another Redbox impulse rent. I like Adam Sandler in dramatic roles. I think that when he wants to, he can make pretty decent movies (Punch Drunk Love, for example). Not to say that Happy Gilmore isn't a modern classic among the likes of Gone with the Wind. I thought Reign Over Me is tastefully done. It's a quiet, sweet movie about friendship and grief. I've posted before about my fascination with films portraying male friendships and this is another good example. Don Cheadle is flawless and completely steals the show.

Enchanted
I didn't do nearly enough blow in preparation for this bizarre flick, nor was I drunk enough. I attended a free sneak preview and once I figured out how to block the noise of sticky children running up and down the aisles (I guess their parents dropped them off and were back home in the barn), Enchanted was pretty funny. I mean, let's be honest, it's stupid and contrived, but somehow it ended up being really funny. You have not lived until you watch a hamster play charades for three minutes straight. What?!

I'll never say no to Patrick Dempsey (even in a ball gown) and Susan Sarandon is wicked hot (not pun intended) in her witchy get-up. I also like that it tried to turn the tired fairy tale on its head. In other words, not to ruin the suspenseful ending for those of you dying to see it, the princess kicks ass and saves the prince's life. That's what I'm talkin' about.

August Rush
Cynics beware, don't bother with August Rush. If you're not willing to suspend judgement and let yourself be swept up in a dazzlingly magical story, spend your money on American Gangster. If you are willing to let yourself be charmed, romanced, and flat out seduced by the idea that anything is possible, you must. see. this. movie.

The fact that there is a harmonic connection among all living things on this planet (harmonic patterns throughout the entire cosmos, for that matter) is nothing new or controversial. What is beautiful to me is the way that this film took that harmonic concept from the abstract universal and translated it into something extremely specific and personal. In the case of August Rush, two musicians fall in love, have a one night stand, a child (put in an orphanage), and a passionate emotional connection even though they have no contact with each other outside their one night together. Ultimately, it's music that brings all three people (the musician lovers and their child) together after 11 years have gone by.

I knew what I was getting into with this movie and I was very willing to be charmed, romanced and flat out seduced by a happy ending. So between Jonathan Rhys Myers (ranked securely in my Top Five Sexiest Men on Planet Earth. Match Point, anyone? Don't make me gush about the Tudors (Google an image search and I promise you won't be disappointed)) and this refreshingly sweet script, I was not disappointed. Lovely all around.

High School Musical 1 & 2
Before your mouth gapes in shocked horror at the fact that until 23 November 2007 I had never heard of High School Musical, consider that: A) I'm not a bubble gum popping thirteen year old; B) By intentional choice my only media outlets are PBS and NPR; C) I don't read Rolling Stone, Teen Beat, or InTouch; and D) I'm not a bubble gum popping thirteen year old. To reiterate. And yet, as of 07 December 2007, I have sincerely requested that both DVDs be stuffed in my Christmas stocking.

So I'm at my parent's house for Thanksgiving weekend and having just finished a non-fiction memoir about the Rwandan genocide I found myself detoxing by flipping through no less than 500 channels on the boob tube. With approximately two seconds on each channel I can't say I caught much of anything...until I fell in love with Zac Efron. Two seconds. That's all it took. Turns out the Disney Channel was playing High School Musical 1 & 2 back to back all. day. long. All! Day! (And no, I won't tell you how many times I watched them). Not only were they airing these addicting treats back-to-back, there were little pop-up bubbles displaying random behind-the-scenes facts about the cast, crew, and the experience of making the movies. So yes I'm like three years behind, but I bet you can't tell me that the milk cartons in the cafeteria were actually filled with Sprite or that the stairs in the high school were not painted red, but covered in sticky vinyl.

So speaking of my tasty jail bait, Zac has an overly-acted but rockin' dance solo in the second film and it's totally Footloosesque (floppy haired Kevin cracks open a cassette tape case, beats the steering wheel with his fists, shakes his little acid washed booty...I'm flushed at the thought). Speaking of, the world wide web told me Zac is working on a deal to remake the classic dance flick and play the Ren McCormick role. Cute as he is, not quite sure how I feel about that. I will tell you how I feel about the confirmation of High School Musical 3, however. Giddy as a bubble gum poppin' tweenyboppin' school girl.

Creative Coma

I've been in a creative funk lately. I haven't had energy to create my own visuals and so instead I've resorted to a slew of movies (First Friday Films post coming in a few days). I haven't had energy to create my own words and so I've been reading voraciously the words of others (ISBN ### posts also coming soon). Over Thanksgiving weekend I read "Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust" by Immaculee Ilibagiza, I needed a mindless break so I cruised through David Baldacci's "The Collectors" in two days, and just this morning on my UTA commute I finished "The Kite Runner" by Kahled Hosseini. I usually look forward to writing my ISBN ### posts and processing my thoughts, but this funk has paralyzed me.

Ironically, it was the thoughtful gift of a book from my friend that snapped me out of this creative coma. I haven't read it yet. I haven't even cracked it open. I've done nothing but read her sweet card and put the book on my night stand. The amazing thing, however, is that the moment I saw the cover of the book, I felt my funk snap. It was gone. My mind was immediately alert. My emotional center made riotous noise, upset that I've been ignoring it. "The Hidden Messages in Water" by Masaru Emoto brought with it not only an appreciation for my friend, but also a flood of memories from a past relationship, conversations, love letters, pillow talk, all of it washed over me in a single instant. My bond with him was the most creatively charged growth experience I've ever had. The same was true for him and our energies combined was a powerful cocktail. The memory of what it feels like to be constantly turned on to the world came rushing back to me.

I'm grateful for my friend gently showing me, even without intending to, that it's time to let this creative coma slip away.

My front yard | Saturday afternoon

And lest you think winter is all grey and glum...look what I found poking out from behind the thick blanket of powder.

I need a vacation

Last Rose Standing

She seems so fragile and delicate, the last rose standing in my front yard. Burdened with the valley's first snowfall she bends and sways under the weight, soaking up the bright moonlight.

First Snowfall

Last night on my way to the gym I was unexpectedly caught in a snow storm. By the time I got home it was very dark, very cold, and very beautiful. The trees in my front yard were sparkling under the street lamp and while there's no real way to capture a moment like that, I tried.

Thanksgiving Day | 8:00am

Ahhhh...the day after Thanksgiving. No alarm clock, apple pie for breakfast, pajamas all day. Love it. My family has never been keen on the whole slave-away-in-the-kitchen tradition. We go out to eat and then see a movie. This year, however, we decided to skip the meal and volunteer to serve Thanksgiving dinner to others. It was the perfect way to kick off the holiday season.

Eagle Ranch Ministries has been serving a hot meal under the downtown freeway viaduct every single Sunday + Thanksgiving and Christmas for 22 years now. I've volunteered to prepare and serve Sunday breakfast a number of times, but had not participated in the Thanksgiving meal until yesterday. It's quite an operation. The Eagle Ranch Chuckwagon is parked under the freeway at 7:30am and as volunteers trickled in we were put to work unloading tables, grills and camping stoves, huge tupperware containers, a cd player and PA system for Jesus rock and logistical announcements, and more. After 22 years Jennie Dudley knows exactly what she's doing and the whole morning rolls by like a well-oiled machine.

I would estimate about 150 volunteers cooked meat (raised locally on the Eagle Ranch), sliced cheese, chopped up fruit salad, prepared potatoes (fresh and mashed by hand), sorted donated rolls and pastries, and other such preparations for a feast. It is awesome to me how much care and time is put into this effort. My task, and the task of my new friend Jamie, was to sort through bagged romaine lettuce and remove any leaves that weren't fresh and crisp. Rifling through piles and piles of lettuce to pick out the smallest imperfection really puts it in perspective. They love the people they serve and every Sunday for 22 years they present a beautiful meal to their friends.

This experience, particularly in light of my recent musing on pure religion, reminded me how much I enjoy serving meals with Eagle Ranch. I want to try and volunteer one Sunday a month, even when my travel schedule picks up again, and walk the walk, so to speak.

Grandma's Hands

women through generations
powerful brave
waves of immigrants
voices in her hands
calloused hold the love
of stories rich lines tough skin
the american dream pulses within
her veins

An Afternoon with Grandma

She's 5 feet 3 inches tall, 89 years-old, and sharp as a tack. In the words of Grandma's eternal wisdom: "One time a group of Missourians came down to Iowa to work on the farm and help bale hay. One of the women found out she was pregnant, very pregnant, and she didn't even realize it. She must be a sound sleeper."

A few minutes later when my sister-in-law commented on how beautiful Grandma's wedding ring is, Grandma asked to see her ring. When they held their hands together, Grandma's face scrunched up and she looked around confused. "Hey," she persisted indignantly, "yours is bigger than mine."

At my request she told us my favorite story, the story of her courtship with my Grandpa. She was teaching grades K-8 in a one-room school house for $60 a month when Grandpa started coming around. At that time school teachers had to be single and so when he proposed marriage... "I told him that I wanted to teach. I liked to teach. [...] He had two choices. Take it or leave it." He waited five years for her and only when she decided she was done teaching did they get married.

ISBN ### My Legs Are Praying

ISBN 978-0-8070-7726-9

Eboo Patel has a long history of volunteering with the Catholic Worker movement. He writes that his experiences with the Catholic Worker communes scattered across the country significantly shaped his world view and desire to start the Interfaith Youth Council. On the other hand, he also offers this criticism in Acts of Faith: "Why was so much done in remedying social evils instead of avoiding them in the first place? Where were the saints to try to change the social order, not just to minister to the slaves but to do away with slavery?" I constantly teach this model of social change to the students I work with: "It's great that you're serving sandwiches at the soup kitchen. We need that, but you should also be asking why we have shelters in the first place. What will you do about the answer to that question?"

As I read Eboo's thoughts I was reminded of one of my favorite allegories, a popular yarn spun throughout the activist community. To paraphrase: A community living near the river notices a body floating down the stream. They are concerned and jump in the river to save this man. They get him out of the stream and rush him to the hospital. A couple days pass and another body floats by the community. Again, they are concerned and retrieve the body from the water and rush her to the hospital. The very next day, two bodies float past and they also take them to the hospital. Everyone then gathers for a community meeting. It is decided that they need to build a hospital closer to the river to meet the need of the growing number of bodies floating down the stream. In the following days the number of bodies floating past their community grows and grows and the hospital is very busy trying to take care of these people. A few weeks pass and a village elder returns to the community from a long journey. She asks about the new hospital and the mysterious bodies. After the community relays the story of the past few weeks, the village elder pauses before calmly replying, "Why has no one gone up the stream to see where the bodies are coming from?"

That specific philosophy of systemic social justice, in combination with my faith, motivates me to action. My political/social actions are ironically many times marginalized by my faith community. I'll admit that one reason I enjoyed reading Acts of Faith was because it validates my actions and reinvigorates my commitment. Patel writes, "The tradition you were born into is your home, but as Gandhi once wrote, it should be a home with the window open so that the winds of other traditions can blow through and bring their unique oxygen." Through my open windows blows Dorothy Day, well-known for her role in the Catholic Worker movement. She wrote in her diary: "I pray that God will give me a chance to pray to Him the way I like to pray to him. If I pray by making soup and serving soup, I feel I'm praying by doing." And Abraham Joshua Herschel, a Rabbi who worked closely with Martin Luther King, Jr. on the cause of equality and civil rights, said while marching with King in Selma, "I felt like my legs were praying."

I pray by doing. My legs are praying. This is, to me, the heart of religion. It is by no means exclusive to religion or religious people (far from it actually), but in speaking of my own personal faith, this concept of belief-put-into-action is key. The key. Jesus As Radical Hippie Restoring Justice To The Social Order is neither a new concept nor an unfamiliar archetype. (Godspell, anyone? We have the Baby Boomers to thank for that musical interpretation of the life and times).

Jesus' brother James writes, "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this: To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction..." (James 1:27, KJV). He continues, "What doth it profit though a man say he have faith and have not works? Can faith save him? If a brother or sister be naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, 'Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled...' notwithstanding ye gave them not those things which are needful to the body: What doth it profit? Even so faith, if it have not works, is dead, being alone..." (James 2:14-17, KJV). In other words, you can talk a powerful talk but if you don't back it up with a powerful walk...what does it profit? What does it matter? Nothing.

Patel writes, "What is a community but a group of people who have some claim over you, and what is a tradition but a set of stories and principles and rules handed down over hundreds or thousands of years that each new generation has to wrestle with." A tradition that I have to wrestle with? The fact that modern LDS culture (culture = individual members) seemingly ignores our doctrinal call to a political brand of social justice. There is little doubt that humanitarian service plays a huge role in the organization of the LDS church, but I often wonder if members assume "All is well in Zion" and simply retrieve bodies from the river as they float by.

ISBN ### Doctrine vs. Culture

ISBN 978-0-8070-7726-9

Eboo Patel's first love, a high school relationship described early in the book, was with an LDS girl named Lisa. He writes, "I still don't know how Mormon theology regards true believers of other faiths. That moment with Lisa taught me a lasting lesson about the sociology of religion: the heart of even the most ardent religious believer will provide more accurate clues to his or her behavior than the theology of his or her faith." Doctrine versus culture. Or in his words, theology versus behavior. I could write for days and days on this topic and my friends are probably sick of me harping on it; but it took years of angst and screaming into the wind for me to boil down the disconnect I observe to: doctrine versus culture.

For only a few examples of this dichotomy: LDS doctrine teaches, "All things which come of the earth are to be used with judgment..." (Doctrine & Covenants 58) and yet how many tree-hugging environmentalists do you find in the mainstream church? LDS doctrine teaches that members of the faith are to "Sue for peace, not only to the people that have smitten you, but to all people. Lift up an ensign of peace, and make a proclamation of peace unto the ends of the earth..." (Doctrine & Covenants 105) and yet the approval rating for President Bush and the Iraq war are astronomically high in Utah, the DOJ torture memos were written by LDS men, Romney (God help us) wants to double the capacity of Guantanamo, etc.

On one hand is found the theology of the faith and on the other hand is found is the heart of each believer. It is the heart which dictates action more so than the theology. Gordon B. Hinckley can stand at the pulpit and preach love and equality among all people of the earth, telling LDS people to be "kinder and better" until he's blue in the face, but unless each individual heart of each individual member of the faith turns that council into action...it makes no difference.

I am not about to claim that I live in perfect harmony with all doctrine of the LDS faith. I don't. I am claiming that many people exist in a cultural universe unrecognizable to the doctrine. Many times I wonder if we read from the same copy of the Book of Mormon. I can be cheeky or even snarky about this hypocritical disconnect but the truth is that at the end of the day it makes me really sad.

ISBN ### Inner Coherence

ISBN 978-0-8070-7726-9

My last ISBN ### post was eons ago in late August. I have been reading in the meantime but with all my travel and stress at work it's been primarily magazines on the run, friend's blogs in hotel rooms at night, and Sky Mall on the planes. Not exactly the Cannon, but between a National Geographic cover story on Pakistan, a self-guided meditation exercise in Spirituality & Health, "Women in Charge" from The Wilson Quarterly, and Cosmopolitan's 101 ways to skillfully [fill in the blank], I've been adequately entertained.

I will say however that I attended Eboo Patel's lecture and purchased Acts of Faith just in time. I read it over my weekend in Iowa and it saved me from yet another scan through Sky Mall and the temptation to order high-performance running sandals, Scandyna Micropod curvaceous speakers on sputnik spikes, or the full-height telescoping worktable that fits in my laptop case.

Acts of Faith is exactly what I needed to read right now. There is a lot going on in my non-work life lately that has yet to take shape, but is beginning to percolate. I know that talking back to this book will help me formulate the amorphous energy that's is as yet just hovering around me.

Patel's major thesis is a call to religious pluralism. He defines it in this way: "Pluralism is not a default position, an autopilot mode. Pluralism is an intentional commitment that is imprinted through action. It requires deliberate engagement with difference, outspoken loyalty to others, and proactive protection in the breach." I completely agree with his emphasis on action and have much to say about his qualifying statement: "There is a strong connection between finding a sense of inner coherence and developing a commitment to pluralism."

My observation is that people feel threatened by the idea of pluralism. More generally, people feel threatened by what is not circumscribed by their interpretation of their faith. This observation is true of people in many faiths, but I'll speak only about my most direct experience, people of the LDS faith. Somehow people feel that exposure to other perspectives, different versions of truth, new experiences, will detract from their faith and weaken their commitment. This fear is particularly prevalent in Utah's cloistered LDS community, but can apply, in some degree, to many organized religions the world over. Patel's phrase, "sense of inner coherence," resonated deeply with me and stands in sharp contrast to the fear of pluralism that I observe all around me. I can notice this pattern and understand it from an intellectual perspective - even from an historical perspective with the Mormon pioneers fleeing persecution and hunkering down in the mountains of Mexico in relative isolation - but yet I cannot relate in the least.

I struggle with the argument, for instance, that children should be entirely sheltered from "the world" (that *anyone* should be entirely sheltered from the world). In my opinion that does not at all respect one's faith. Rather, to me, that is the ultimate insult to one's faith. If you are a person of faith raising your child with certain values (not that religious people have an exclusive claim to raising children with values!) and you fear that at first exposure to *the other* your child is going to toss those values out the window...what are you saying about your faith and the values you taught your child? (Furthermore...the inherent right of each person to choose their own path trumps this entire discussion.)

If you are comfortable with yourself and confident in your faith, exposure to [whatever] is not something to be feared. Pluralism, seeing the value and truth in many faiths and in many ways of life (even actively seeking to know of that value), is not to be feared. Dr. Patel gave to me the exact words I've been searching for: "a sense of inner coherence" is essential for "developing a commitment to pluralism." Knowing who you are, loving who you are, and respecting who you are is absolutely required before you can comprehend, honor, and defend your beliefs. However, once on solid ground, you must be prepared to comprehend, honor, and defend the right of each and every person to believe or not believe as they will. This commitment has always been at the very core my faith, my identity as an American, my political agenda, and my interaction with the world...and all I can say to Eboo is "Amen."

Big Butts. Big Brains.

So between feminists making better lovers and a recent BBC report that curvy women are more intelligent than waifs...this is turning out to be my week.

From the report: "Women with curvy figures are likely to be brighter than waif-like counterparts and may well produce more intelligent offspring, a US study suggests. Researchers studied 16,000 women and girls and found the more voluptuous performed better on cognitive tests - as did their children. The bigger the difference between a woman's waist and hips the better."

...and then something about fatty acids on the hips and high concentrations of Omega-3 being found in healthily bootylicious women? Huh? I'm not a scientist and so this chatter about fatty deposits chemically impacting intelligence doesn't exactly rock my socks. What does rock my socks? The quite simple and probably dramatically anti-scientific but potentially sociological notion that curvy women have been out of mainstream cultural vogue for decades now and with all that spare time they've managed to develop, like, ya know, personalities, or something.

How many inane romantic comedies must Hollywood spew forth to adequately drive home their shallow point that the fat funny brunette wingwoman is always a bridesmaid slash best friend but never a bride. Why do you suppose the fat brunette is always so damn funny, or such a good listener, or everything the skinny blonde girlfriend is not? This voluptuous vixen has not cruised through life on her runway looks and along the bumpy ride she developed, see above, a personality. But what do I know? I'll leave the fatty acid theory to the researchers.

5:26 pm

Particularly Colorful Lunch

[Tacoma was my last out-of-state trip for while and so I'm beginning to catch up on all the work and life I've missed in the past couple months...but apparently my stressed out brain has devolved to snapping photographs of my salad. I really need a vacation.]

Thoughts bubbling to the top

A few miscellaneous things rattling around in my brain...

Support our troops!

According to NPR (and I forget what study they were citing) there are approximately 1,500 homeless veterans from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan now living homeless on the streets of America. Last year, on any given night, there were 96,000 total veterans sleeping on our streets. The wealthiest country in the world and we allow our leaders to spend our money on bombs and death and racial hatred? How about we support our troops by bringing them home safely and diverting the immoral war chest to programs that truly respect and honor our veterans?

Moral high ground?

Water boarding. Water boarding. Water boarding. You'd think it was his bloody glove or her little blue dress the way the media is harping on the term. I'm not bothered by the fact that this practice is in the news; in fact, I wish more of America's shameful policies would grace the front page as a catalyst to force our leaders to clean up their act. What bothers me is the debate that has ensued. Is it torture? Is it only "simulated drowning" and so it's almost but not quite torture. The history of water boarding, the definition, the specific techniques, and the roster of world leaders and governments that have used it over the centuries is well documented. I'm not going to redundantly make those points, I will, however, make the point that this false notion of "American moral high ground" has to stop. Are you kidding me?

I love this country. America is a beautiful idea and a revolutionary experiment in free will and democratic populism, but she is not standing piously alone atop this mythical high ground. She never did. Forget water boarding and the abhorrent way we treat our brothers and sisters in the name of the symantic "war on terror," do I even need to remind everyone of the massacre of Native tribes, African slaves, white flight and urban gentrification, rendition, Katrina, Guantanamo, the stalled civil rights and gender equality movements...? It is because I love this country and because I know we can be so much better than we are that I am so indignant at the false claim that we are just now, with water boarding finally breaking through to mainstream news media, loosing our moral high ground. We are human and struggling to figure it out and making it up as we go just like everyone else. The moral high ground is not ours to loose...it is ours to gain if we can view the world through the eyes of dialogue and respect.

Feminists have more fun...

From a published research Rutgers research study: "Psychologists Laurie Rudman and Julie Phelan carried out a laboratory survey of 242 Rutgers undergraduates and conducted an online survey of 289 older adults who had an average age of 26 and typically had been in their current relationship about four years." As it turns out: "...women who perceived their male partners as feminists reported greater relationship health and sexual satisfaction. [And...] men with feminist partners said they had more stable relationships and greater sexual satisfaction. Overall, feminism and romance do go hand in hand, the scientists say."

Duh. In the words of a powerful feminist archetype, "I love my country, by which I mean I am indebted joyfully to all the people throughout its history who have fought the government to make right. Where so many cunning sons and daughters, our foremothers and forefathers came singing through slaughter, came through hell and high water so that we could stand here, and behold breathlessly the sight; how a raging river of tears cut a grand canyon of light. Why can't all decent men and women call themselves feminists, out of respect for those that fought for this?" (Ani DiFranco)

If you are secure in who you are and confident that you deserve the world and then some...and then your parter shares that confidence and security...and then the two of you respect that power and energy in each other...of course your relationship and sex life will rock. Doesn't seem like rocket science to me, but thanks anyway to Rutgers for the data (and to my brother, a budding feminist, for emailing the article to me).

Random Tacoma Surprise | Hot Men & Hot Lesbians Blowing in the Hot Shop

Inside the steel cone-shaped tower at the Museum of Glass is the museum's hot shop (aka artist's glass blowing studio). Pulling stats from their website: The hot shop cone is 90-feet tall, 100-feet in diameter at its base, and narrows to a 15-foot opening. It's difficult to describe (and even more difficult to photograph), so check out the hyperlink for photos...but there is a 200-seat ampitheatre, a live play-by-play announcer prowling the studio floor with a microphone in hand, and gigantic projection screen providing both close-up and wide-angle video shots of the artists at work. It's out of this world. I love it.

The museum was hosting visiting artists from Australia who I'm told are quite famous in the art glass world...and who's names I can't remember without researching the website. The primary reason I can't remember the Aussies is not because they weren't talented or interesting, but rather it's because resident artist Gabe Feenan and I were busy making eyes at each other for the 45 minutes I spent in the hot shop spectator box. Other than the few brief moments I spent admiring the oddly sexy lesbian glassblowers (not a single straight woman on the studio floor...hmmm?) I was batting my eyelashes at Gabe...and I dare say he was batting right back. What a lovely Tacoma surprise.

Nice Glass | Tacoma, WA

The Museum of Glass and the Chihuly bridge, in the revitalized waterfront district of downtown Tacoma, were both completed after my last visit to the city...so you can guess where I spent my free time before heading to the airport this time around. I'd heard amazing tales of the museum from friends who've visited Tacoma more recently and I had to check it out for myself. I can now boast my own amazing tales because this excursion did not disappoint.


The exhibit Contrasts: a glass primer, by visiting curator Vicki Halper, runs through November 2009. I've never paused so long to ponder glass and I found the entire experience fascinating. The exhibit challenges the viewer to not simply say "I like it" or "I don't like it..." but rather it provides a vocabulary to describe the artwork before making a judgment. This description-first attitude is how I approach any exhibit (or film, etc.), but it was surreal to see these instructions emblazoned on the wall. I also learned a great deal about glass as art. For instance, a number of pieces focus on "appearance and formation" with words such as "natural/fabricated, hot/warm/cold, transparent/translucent/opaque, factory/studio" - while other pieces focus on the "aesthetic and iconographic" with words like "forms/surface, vessel/sculpture, useful/fanciful, art/craft." Vessels function, sculptures describe...and so on.

The northwest is generally considered the womb of the studio glass movement and Dale Chihuly is the famous Tacoma-ite artist at the center of it all. Almost better than the museum itself is the Chihuly Bridge of Glass. There are three parts to this outdoor, 500-foot, 24/7/365 art exhibit: the crystal towers (which you can see in my photos above), the Venetian Bridge, and the Seaform Pavilion (photos of both below). I've traveled to Venice and visited both Murano and Burano in search of beautiful glass...and who knew I would find a breathtaking rival in my own backyard.

The bridge passes over the 705 freeway, the high-traffic entrance to Tacoma. One side of the bridge is full of cubbyholes housing individual pieces of Chihuly's blown glass. This section is known as the Venetian Wall. The sun shining is a rare moment in Tacoma, but even without the sun blazing through the back of the cases, the bridge takes your breath away. I tried to take a comprehensive photo that would do it justice, but I couldn't capture it how it deserves to be captured. I recommend you check out the professional photos. The second half of the bridge is known as the Seaform Pavilion. As awesome as the Venetian wall is, I think this is the more magical half. It's magical because it sneaks up on you and attacks you with the brightest colors you've ever seen. You walk under thick panels of glass housing Chihuly's colorful glass interpretations of sea creatures and flowing water. I could spend all day under there I loved it so much.

Before the museum and the bridge came to be, Chihuly installed a number of pieces in the courthouse (previously the railroad's Union Station). My favorite is the massive half-circle window facing the waterfront.

I went into the museum gift shop intending to purchase a $1.50 postcard, or perhaps splurge $30 for a book of Maya Lin's landscape work (Maya Lin is most famous for designing the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial at age 21 and had a really moving piece in the current Mining Glass exhibit). I exited the museum gift shop 30 minutes later and hundreds of dollars poorer with a magnificent Kosta Boda vase tucked under my arm. Oops. It was a very KJBella moment...she knows exactly what I'm talking about. I don't regret it for a moment. It was love at first sight when, from across the room, my eyes locked on the graceful Olle Brozen vase. It's an Artist Choice piece from the floating flowers collection and it's just what my living room has been missing...