Problems with Facebook and Holland.2

Facebook: So now one superpoke option is (or, if there are infinite options, then one that has been applied to me) is "prayed for." I do appreciate/need prayer. But facebook is a very interesting way of letting that be known.

And my notifications have told me that I'm now owned by someone else as a pet. This is unspeakably distressing on multiple levels. A) Who I'm purportedly owned by (an old boss-ish person). Goodness, I hope this is a mistake! B) There is an owners manual; don't worry, I didn't check it out. C) A pet, for crying out loud! I don't even like them when they're really animals.

Warren: "How are the people?"

The Hague: Last night I went to a pub in the square outside of the Hague (the friend I'm visiting works there and we met his friends [note: all of my friends out to get interesting jobs in lovely places to entertain me while I'm visiting]). As I laughed and talked with all of his friends (interestingly enough, they were all men), I was absolutely entertained.

So the first guy was a philosopher working as a statesman (what a beautiful thing). When I told him I study political theory, we immediately went to a discussion of Plato, Augustine, and Calvin. Imagine my position! I really don't like Augustine being coopted by Protestants. This isn't fair! The thing was, this dear man wasn't even a Protestant! It took me about a half an hour to figure out where he stood on God (and you know, I have this procedure down to a science; it certainly shouldn't have taken me that long). God is a concept. What does it mean to exist?, etc. This poor man was a materialist who didn't allow at all for the existence of anything unprovable. The thing is, he was over-extending the bounds of reason by refusing to allow for the possibility of faith beyond reason.

The second guy was a piece of work: he was the most American-loving man I've ever met, anywhere. He would sing American "numbers" that I'd never heard of. Plus, he was conservative. He'd heard I was, too. So he had to check it out, and his questions came with literally no introduction: What do you think about Iran? Should we bomb them? Are you against abortion? Will you vote for McCain? Do you like Bush? (Imagine how hard it is for me, with my half-formed political opinions to answer.) Are you against gay marriage? (at this point, another guy had to repeat all of the questions: "Wait, I want to hear if from your lips: 'Are you against abortion?...' I felt like some sort of trapped rare animal that they were all poking at.) What do you think about Dutch men? (Me: "They're extraordinarily tall." He wasn't!) Then, my friend piped up: "She's against sex before marriage." And the second guy said, "You're against sex before marriage?!" Oh my, at this point, I couldn't take it any more. I agreed that I was and then noted that it was inappropriate for them all to discuss my stance on this matter. (Goodness gracious, this point comes up all too frequently now. While drinking several evenings ago, I proceeded to badger someone I'd only met a couple of days before to "start acting like a real Catholic and stop sleeping with her boyfriend." Repeatedly! This is so embarrassing--from a recent convert to a life-long Catholic. People who are prudes at heart probably shouldn't drink.) Well, back to the second guy. Our conversation ended on the potential that he would be visiting the U.S. (when doesn't a conversation end this way?). Anyway, he said, "I will call you. We can have a hamburger. That would be romantic." I hope he was being sarcastic. I don't think he knows that he loves the U.S. way more than I do, and that while he's renting a car to live out his dream of driving from one side to the other, I'll be traipsing about Europe.

The third guy was the only non-political person present, and I got him toward the end of the evening, when his speech was already slurred. He works for Shell. I brought up the drilling in Pennsylvania (I guess that's supposed to be top secret, but we all know it in PA). He wouldn't discuss it at all. I guess he signed some sort of confidentiality agreement. I hate those. I guess I do support people not telling me what was in them, because I would disseminate that information as quickly as possible to as many people as possible, but, nonetheless, I found it boring that he wouldn't tell me. He said after a couple of more beers, but the thing is, I was fairly certain he wouldn't be speaking English (possibly not even Dutch) at all at that point. So, to change the conversation, I asked about the environmental impact of drilling for Pennsylvania. Alas! He couldn't discuss that, either. To which I said, I was pretty sure that means it has a very bad impact and shouldn't his duty to me as a person override his duty to his company? To which he replied that if it were that bad, he would tell me. Therefore, I surmise that it is middle-bad.

Aww. The last guy of the evening was super cute (by cute, I mean endearing) and shy, and his English wasn't that good, which is, I'm guessing, why he was shy. OR it could have been that his English was good, but he was just shy. I didn't get beyond the basic questioning that began every conversation from him, because the clock was about to hit midnight (figuratively speaking; in reality, it was much later) and we didn't want to miss our train. But I couldn't leave him out of the story because I liked him a lot, and because he was also conservative, and because I introduced him to the idea for the first time that living near where you work is a conservative value (it scares me as to what the state of conservatism is in Holland since he'd never known that).

Holland: On Bicycles

"Can you ride a bike?" Not kidding--I got asked that. Just because Americans ride bikes as a leisure activity rather than for useful purposes, doesn't mean we can't! The Dutch don't realize that learning to ride a bike is a formative part of any American child's experience. Goodness gracious, I remember my parents arranging for older children to ride bikes at my house so that I would want to learn (I never was/am not now really much of a daredevil).

An American in Europe

The end of June to the beginning of August. Amsterdam, Krakow, Slovakia, (hopefully Budapest!) and Prague. Yes, I like Catholic Europe. Ideally there will be occassional reports. Pray for me.

Toast

Parker and I always maintained in college that we were "the same," even in areas where we were very different. But one way in which we were identical was in our obsession with Anne of Green Gables--we always fought over which one of us was Anne in our group of friends.

But Parker has a Gilbert, and that's Andretti (Gilbert is Anne's childhood friend who she marries in the end). First, Anne goes off to explore the wide world (think, Spain and Norway), before settling in her hometown with her people.

So today, at least, Parker, I cede "Anne" status to you. Your Gilbert is an accountant who races cars instead of horses, but this is only a modern re-telling of the best story ever.

Nothing is more beautiful than friendship turned into love, especially when this surprise happens at home, in the city in which you were raised. And now we are, appropriately, celebrating your marriage at your parents' home.

As country singer Josh Turner says [Myrrh made me cut out the effusive adjectives here describing him and his voice after laughing at them so hard that she couldn't stop], and he could have been talking about you two here: "The longer the waiting, the sweeter the kiss."

And now, please join with me as we raise a toast to Parker and Andretti at the beginning of their marriage, wishing them many adventures and many children! [I take great delight in the conclusion as I'm privy to the number of children they want to have and want to tease it higher!]

Good Old Listserves

I received a university email today, reporting a theft that occurred in my department:

"I am sorry to report that John Smith had his lap stolen from his office today. He had stepped out just long enough to get coffee from the Department coffee machine."

Sterns said, "Do you know him? You should email him and say something like 'I'm sorry to hear that your lap was stolen; that must make it difficult to sit down."

I think his first mistake, though, was to get coffee from the department machine.

I could have written this! Only it wouldn't have had anything to do with the aesetic life!

On Pregnancy

Not only is it bridal season, but it is also baby season lately. I am only beginning to realize what a poor deal pregnancy is--you can't smoke or drink and you feel hungover all the time (morning sickness).

Other things you can't do: drink coffee or tea (one of the delights of life), sit in the sun, eat anything interesting, have your body temperature get too high, or do anything besides sleep, because (surprise!) you're just tired all the time.

Also on pregnancy:

From what the cover charmingly proclaims to be "the first manifesto of the liberated woman," The Second Sex (don't worry, I have many critiques; my mom, on seeing me reading it: "Now you don't believe all of the things you read, do you?"): "This projection of herself [in pregnancy] is also for the woman the foreshadowing of her death. She expresses this truth in the fear she feels when she thinks of childbirth: she fears that it will mean the loss of her own life."

The Serendipity of Gmail

Myrrh has called for the institution of a new column that appreciates gmail's targeted ads based on particular emails. While I realize that no ads are ever serendipitous (for ads, by their very nature, are evil), this occasional commentary on those ads has to have a name.

For instance, in Myrhh (I spell her name alternating ways; at least half of the time, then, I'll choose the correct spelling) and my last correspondence, over an invitation to our house for My Last Hurrah in DC until August, Gmail chose this add:

__Missing You Love Poem__
Love Poem Ideas For Strained Relationships.
Try Our Love Advice!
LifeScript.com

The funny thing is that visiting lifescript.com, which I duly did, yields nothing remotely related to love or poetry (two things of great interest to me). Rather it is a website about Your Life. Your Health. Your Way. or Women's Health Information. Women's Health Issues. Women's Health Fitness.

What I'd like to know about is what unHealthy fitness people are talking about. And the love poems.

HT: Myrhh.

Ode to Little Gidding

Excerpts from the poem:

If you came this way,

Taking the route you would be likely to take

From the place you would be likely to come from,

If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges

White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.

It would be the same at the end of the journey,

If you came at night like a broken king,

If you came by day not knowing what you came for,

It would be the same, when you leave the rough road

And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade

And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for

Is only a shell, a husk of meaning

From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled

If at all. Either you had no purpose

Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured

And is altered in fulfilment. There are other places

Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,

Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city—

But this is the nearest, in place and time,

Now and in England.

If you came this way,

Taking any route, starting from anywhere,

At any time or at any season,

It would always be the same: you would have to put off

Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,

Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity

Or carry report. You are here to kneel

Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more

Than an order of words, the conscious occupation

Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.

And what the dead had no speech for, when living,

They can tell you, being dead: the communication

Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Here, the intersection of the timeless moment

Is England and nowhere. Never and always.
...

A people without history

Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern

Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails

On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel

History is now and England.

Serendipity and the Internet

airplane turbulence apology--During turbulence in an airplane is actually the ideal time to apologize or to recite any prayers you know by heart (which for me is shockingly few). I'm fairly certain I still haven't memorized the act of contrition.

eyes three whites--All of this makes me think of is egg whites. Eye whites? Three? Third Eye Blind?

postmodern conservative bourbon--This probably refers to the kind with ice in it (which, I will never deny, is made legitimate when it is, oh, five or six times the amount of bourbon I would ever think of pouring).

ts elliott--I have no idea who this is.


are armenians white?--My friends tell me (when I start a sentence like that, I always think of the character in the Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma who goes around saying, "I wouldn't call myself a good pianist, but my friends say that I can play tolerably well.") that my racism meter is callibrated rather too sensitively, which I always fancy a compliment. My feminism meter is calibrated rather sensitively, I'll admit. So the answer is, no one is actually white. Like a sheet of paper. That would be rather unattractive.

Dyslexia

Only one letter different: http://ladyofsilences.blogpsot.com/ (and oh so familiar).

Bridal Season Problems

Oh my goodness. Not to say I couldn't use help, but...

Buy a speech. Instant wedding speech templates. "Show the bride and groom how much they mean to you."

Unbelievable.

Beyond Saying Sweet

This woman will tell you where to go: "See where that woman in the green shirt is? Go find her and she'll tell you where to pick."

Another man: "Oh yeah, they're sending you over there where the young people pick."

Lenore to Sterns: "Why did they send us down here? Because the bushes are sparser? Because the strawberries aren't as small and sweet? Because they think we look young and don't know any better? Why did they make us split one row?"



The woman in the green shirt, to another group: "Here are three rows, and when you're done here, we'll find more rows for you."

Lenore to Sterns: "Why do they get three rows and we have to split one?"

Sterns: "They're Mennonites. And they said they were going to pick for most of the day."

Now I think that we all know that fortitude is not one of my strongest points. I am, however, deeply offended when people pick this out about me immediately. I like to think that they can't tell that I've been "citified" or was never properly a strong country girl. All that to say, I knew that if that lady in the green shirt, who was clearly keeping an eye on us (Lenore: "How do you know?" Sterns: "Because she was looking at me the last three times I looked up."), told us we couldn't eat the strawberries while we picked, then I was going to get out of there.

Mill Creek Manor

Emily: "You only have to confess your mortal sins."
Ilana: "What are immortal sins?"
...
The brother: "Wait quote me."
Emily: "What's your nickname? What's your favorite book?"
The brother: "The Power of One."
Sterns: "No! That's like chick lit for boys. He likes Where the Red Fern Grows. What is the main character of Where the Red Fern Grows?"
The brother: "I have no idea!"
Emily: "Name your top three books."
The brother: "How about movies?"

We settled on Braveheart.

Also: I have a pretty intense phobia of being pointed at. Every phobia has a cute name, except this one, which one would think is pretty common.

On Sickness and Health

At my Pentecostal church on Sunday, the focus of the meeting was on healing. Last night, I got sick.


Real live sick. (I'm a bit of a hypochandriac--Myrrh knows that when I hold out my forehead expectantly, I really want her to tell me if my forehead is warm; it never is.) We don't own a thermometer at Little Gidding, which is a good idea since I would keep it in my mouth all the time. Alas, we evidently don't even own one here in Williamsport. Which is a shame, because, as I said, I was actually sick.

From a law gossip column: Justice Scalia and SATC. I love it when the writer compares Chris Noth to a young Scalia.

So Dear To My Heart--A Folk Song

Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,

When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.

Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.

Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work

Some with a rake, dilly, dilly, some with a fork.

Some to make hay, dilly, dilly, some to thresh corn.

While you and I, dilly, dilly, keep ourselves warm.

Lavender's green, dilly, dilly, Lavender's blue,

If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.

Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, And the lambs play;

We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, Out of harm's way.

I love to dance, dilly, dilly, I love to sing;

When I am queen, dilly, dilly, You'll be my king.

Who told me so, dilly, dilly, Who told me so?

I told myself, dilly, dilly, I told me so.

Oh! Myrrh, you will love the lavender in this song. I agree with just about all aspects of the song: The aristocratic element, the agrarian element that exists but doesn't exactly include the people in the song, all of the flowers, the love aspect, etc.

SATC

"Was it everything you hoped for?" my friend, who I'm sure wouldn't want to be identified in this public forum, so I won't give her name, but her initials are Myrrh, asked sarcastically.

"Oh yes, and more," I said, through barely concealed tears.

It's true. It may have been the cosmos in between which we sandwiched the film, but tears were not lacking.

But it all started the night before, really. I was on the phone with Wendell (imagine! Wendell has a phone. Berry would not approve.). It actually started before this. I was on the phone with Whigwham (imagine! I've spoken with as many as 27 people in one day before). I suggested that he join Myrrh and I for SATC (see Myrrh, if I use initials, no one will know what movie we've seen). He said, "I'm not going to support them with my money, but I'll go if you buy my ticket." Now I realize that he was shamelessly asking me to take him on a date, but as this was such a significant event, I disregarded that. After a long pause (I'm not so rich; movies are expensive; but then again watching SATC with two of my dear friends was too much to pass up), I said, "Okay." He was surprised, to say the least, and a little caught (am I this stingy? or shall we call it thrifty?). But vaguely agreed to go. And followed that up with an email not only taking back his acceptance, but attempting to guilt trip me into not going. Thankfully, I've built up a strong immunity to guilt tripping over the years.

Anyway, then I was on the phone with Wendell, who asked me when I was leaving for The Land of Milk and Honey (from where I am happily typing this note while listening to the crickets and the stream flowing by; technically, the crickets aren't in the stream). And I answered, "Well, I was going to leave today, but I think I'll wait until tomorrow, because Myrrh really wants me to stay and go see SATC with her." Well, strictly speaking this was perfectly true, but Oh, the irony, if you know Myrrh and I. I, of course, am the one committed to this film; she anticipated not liking it very much at all (although in the end was very pleased and repeated over and over as we left the studio, "This film has such a good message; the film has such a good message." It must have been the cosmos.

The most delightful part of the whole evening (hands down!) was the fact that, much like the time that I decided that the apartment complex barbecue was the ideal place to meet men (they would live nearby, my primary qualification in a gentleman friend; there were, as Myrrh had anticipated, only older couples at the barbecue, which absolutely fits in retrospect, but hadn't occurred to me at the time), I got it into my head that we should dress up stylishly to go see SATC. What other way is there to see it? The things you need: many cosmos, cigarettes, hot shoes. Oh, we got this taken care of! Of course, for a Tuesday evening film, it is necessary to wear dresses and high heels, the highest we had. Myrrh pulled out at my prodding the polka-dotted platforms that I convinced her to wear, maintaining that her (green!) dress was a solid color and that all solid colors match other solid colors. I pulled out an old formal dress from the back of my closet, paired it with braided white heels and off we went.

Here I must emphasize it was a Tuesday night, and we were dressed to the nines. Not only was it the middle of the week, but it was also pouring rain and rather cold by the end of the evening. Both I and the wicked witch of the west melt in the rain, so Myrrh had to listen to my dying cries. Other people at the movie were in sweatpants. I'm fairly certain we were the only two in dresses.

But was it ever fabulous! Marriage affirming, can I say from the start. Forgiveness affirming. A lot of fun fashion. Lots of lovely female friendship. Loads of cliches. SHE WEARS A BIRD ON HER HEAD WITH HER WEDDING VALE, etc.

Graduation

It's sort of like a sacrament! It's a ritual that affects a change (granted, not on the soul) through/with (?) a physical sign.

Nicknames

As I've never had a real live nickname (one that was used with any regularity), I'm sort of jealous of people who have them. My name doesn't lend itself well to attractive sounding abbreviations, although some of my friends call me by my first initial, which I think is nice. Anyway, lately I've had a plethora of teasing nicknames.

It really all started with being called Buttercup with a Southern accent. This is due to that fact that I take Christ's command to "go to the highways and the byways and compel them to come in" to mean, "go to the highways and the byways and compel them to be friends with you." Meaning the limo driver. Anyway, there is a much longer story hear, but it just isn't the appropriate time.

This past weekend, when I was in the great state of Michigan, which is full of lovely lakes and lots of rural-ness, at the ancestral home of one of the forefathers of...(anyway, this story is getting long, too. But he did love Eliot and had a Christmas card from Eliot hanging on the wall!), I got two new nicknames, "Pyranha," for my cigarette-smoking abilities, and "anti-Calvinist bigot," a name that I sort of embrace.

On the flight home, the woman beside me, a lady with enviably white hair, said, "You have the sweetest face? Are you as sweet as your face?" Alas, as she was a woman and not a man, I couldn't use the tried and true, "Are you proposing?" to diffuse the awkwardness (I mean, really, what can you say? "I appear sweet; deep down I'm a very critical person"? A truly sweet person would never admit it. And so I didn't and quickly changed the subject.) All that to say, with nicknames like Pyranha and anti-Calvinist bigot (I wonder if I did go over the top with my anti-Calvinist assertions?!), I really think that my face and personality may be rather divergent. Alas if I go to heaven and my personality informs my face...

Pennsylvania: The Bible and Beer

Driving through Pennsylvania last week was a delight, as it always is. This time I noticed, in addition to the rolling green hills and the motorcycles, which were all over, I guess due to the fact that it was Memorial Day (motorcyclers evidently adore Memorial Day. Additionally, I noticed that they give a salute that involves waving their hand down from their side. Moreover, while I do not find grocery shopping to be a romantic activity, I do actually think that motorcycling is pretty romantic. Finally, my mother drove a motorcycle when she was young, not because she was a leather-wearing hippie chick, but rather because she was the only girl in her family. I'm proud of this about her.), the advertisements.


There were some fabulous ads that show the Bible-believingness of PA, in addition to the beer-drinking German roots. These include the Smirnoff ad that maintained (with layers and layers of irony) that "Parties cannot live on beer alone," the bold and true Yuengling ad, "Yuengling. Lager's first name," and an ad for the amazingly named, "Holy Spirit Hospital."

Guestblog: On My Home, Little Gidding

I love getting ahold of my friends' email conversations and illicitly posting them on the internet.

This is Margaret Aloysius to Stearns:

The great thing about Little Gidding is, though it's really not that large, it never feels crowded. Almost like a clown car in that respect. For instance, at this particular point in time it's me, Emily,
Myrrh, and Myrrh's brother. And somehow that works. I think it's because we're all on different schedules, but not radically different schedules. Or maybe Little Gidding is just magic. An aside - I heard only our collectively favorite priest ever ask Myrrh the other day if the Kings's compound in the liberal state is Big Gidding. Ha!

On the Religious Life

Cordelia, also known, more recently (hey, what good is a nickname if you can't change it from time to time?), as Margarita Aloysius is leaving to be a nun (not really, although she tells everyone that--she is actually going to be a sister, although not a sorority sister, which is somewhat worse) in August.

Anyway, she is allowed to bring five books with her (although she's already announced to me her intention to cheat and bring six--What sort of nun is she going to be?, you might ask, but I think she'll be a fine one as she hasn't pitched a fit at the other requirements [you should have heard me!]).

This all made me think, if I had to go away with five books, which ones would I take? Do join me, dear reader.

1. Collected T.S. Eliot. I would actually have to publish this myself as a comprehensive collection of his work doesn't exist. But I would collect it, and then I would bring it.

2. Goodness gracious, I haven't read enough and am far too young to be responsible for this question! I certainly don't even know the best works to read, not to mention I'm lacking the necessary commitment to them. I would bring huge books to get over the smallness of number, I guess--collected Plato and 3. Shakespeare's plays. I think that that would keep me learning and sane.

4. I do love George MacDonald's Lilith and, try as I might, I really wouldn't go anywhere for the rest of my life without Cry, the Beloved Country.