New blog!

www.eminihonde.blogspot.com will be my new blog. When my vice principal asked me for a nickname, I reflexively told him Emi. Although “Mily” (or in this case, Miri) is older, Emi is what all the Japanese Hallers used to call me. He was pretty delighted and told me that Emi is a fairly popular Japanese name too.

The translation of the blog name kind of means “Emi in Japan,” after the style of my Italy and Kansas blogs.

But, I will be keeping eminks (“em inks,” or “e-minks,” whatever you prefer).. I just will be departing from it for my Nihon-adventure.

I don’t have internet in my apartment, so I won’t be able to manipulate the blog much in the next week or so. I’ll be uploading entries at work (having written them at home) so I want to keep it short. I doubt I’ll look professional if I’m on blogspot all day!

(the missing entries)

This is just a notice that I've modified this blog so I can take it public again. I simply removed the GHP entries, and viola! Prepped for public consumption!

I've also taken this back to its original name, so it can sort of be what it mostly is-- an archive from my Kansas experience. Hopefully, I can add some retro material as time goes on.

Yeah, we'll see.

Disappearance Factor

It's difficult for me not to disappear when I'm at the Family Estate. I quickly get lulled into this sense of having "lots of time" to do things, to the point that I only actually do things when I can convince myself that I only have a few hours. I've had some more adventures.. I want to do an entry on my various travels within the state of Georgia, for one. I'll try to get to this before I head down to Valdosta, but can make no promises, as my "lots of time" feeling has also affected how much or how little I've really prepared my hall decorations and packing.

Speaking of GHP-- there's a pretty strict policy regarding blogs and internet content dealing with the program. For this reason, rather than stop writing, my usual MO is to just take my blogging underground. I'll probably continue to use this blog, but restrict readership. This means you'll have to submit a request for me to allow you to continue reading, at least for the duration of the summer. No worries! I just basically can't have it out there in the public eye where someone will see my candid report of my personal shenanegans and call the governor on me. Because, as we know, I'm pretty irresponsible. (/sarcasm)

I'm also really behind in my google reader and other things at which I suppose I'll play catch-up on my first floor duty, or something.

I'll have six days between the end of GHP and taking off for Japan. I envision those days as super hectic, a near-week in which I will have NO TIME for ANYTHING.. so I'm preparing like that, althuogh I will probably have to have or make time for something.

I kind of suck at packing..

Lawyer Date

I went on a date last night. It's been a while since I've been on an 'official' one, wherein the other party asked if I would like to go, and then we went. Usually, things are sort of arranged and assumed, or else they happen randomly, based on timing. People would treat me to dinner, or a drink, casual.

The Beau, as my parents called him back-in-the-day is classy-casual. I would dare to venture, always. Yes, I said my parents. And, back in the day. I don't see him often, these days.

Beau, L, and I get together about once every six months to serve up the tale of what's happened in our lives since our last gathering, and also to advise one another. We call it "Lawyer Time." Our Lawyer breakfast, actually is scheduled for tomorrow morning. This Lawyering has been a sort of tradition of ours since we graduated high school and each ended up in different states.. we all came back to our hometown in Georgia for Christmas, and usually at some point during summer break, before all dispersing again. We became adept at it by the end of college. Near the beginning, it was a little more upsetting.

Beau had a way of neglecting to call or write for the entire semester, especially early in our college careers. L and I were better at keeping in touch, being girls, maybe.. but having just spent our senior year of high-school all joined at the hip, I hated not being able to feel the love off him anymore. He went the farthest geographically, too.

Now that we're all out of college and in various stages of real-lifehood (L has a real job in NYC, Beau has decided to stay in school forever, currently in Washington state [though his summer is archaeological digging in the southwest US], and I'm putting off the grad school I think I'm going to later for a year in Japan... I told you we scattered far and wide!), it is a real comfort that we still find the time to reconnect. Even if it is the one span of a couple hours the morning after L gets in from NY in the dead of night, and just before Beau leaves for Arizona (literally, will get in his car and drive to Arizona from the restaurant).

The date was comforting too. This story has deeper roots. We were all a dream team together senior year, but L, Beau, and I all met in the 7th grade. L and Beau had known one another in elementary school, and when I encountered him lingering in my science classroom at the bell change, I began to rush to that class. When he dated L, I fed him helpful information, signing the locker notes "Incognito Mosquito." We went to the 8th grade dance together.

Embarrassment points: one zillion.

We also went to homecoming. He took me to junior prom. For all intents and purposes, we dated through high school. Except that I flatly refused to call it that. The short time we were official began like "Okay.. but what happens when we break up?" "We won't. I care about you too much for that." We're in the eighth grade, Beau, we are going to break up. He was my first kiss.

Over the course of the last ten years, we've had our requisite dosage of petty bullshit, of misunderstanding, of expectations set too high and fears about what we could or could not become. The term lawyers actually comes from the fact that at some point we sat down in the cafeteria with L and she was our 'divorce lawyer'... that day we decided we could never marry one another.

We made a lot of decisions with flair, and some even with finality. (Although I do have it written in an old journal, and I did happen to include the caveat "unless either he or I change pretty drastically.") I stormed and stewed and got fitful and got scared. I burned and brooded and yelled and bit my silent tongue. I daydreamed and despaired.

And last night he took me to dinner and a concert. Something old, and something new. We had fondue, which was one of the the most memorable things from junior prom night; I don't think he knew that, but it was where he wanted to go to dinner. I'd never been to a concert at the Tabernacle, but it was great, absolutely great.

I held his hand and we walked down the sidewalk in Atlanta.. a city so close to home, yet one I've never really grabbed for myself. It seemed fitting.

And I was just so damn glad to know that we're not done. I'm not necessarily where I want to be in several of my personal relationships. But I'm comforted to know that things change. Time moves ever forward, and change it all there is. There is the possibility that we'll look back on all this and smile sagely at the kids we were. The act of doing it right now makes me feel safer. I don't have to have all my ends tied up and my stuff sorted out. Beau and I are more on the same page, and understand one another more now than we ever have, I think. Not that we've "arrived," or anything, not that it's all "perfect." But it's pretty good.

Just because things didn't go the way I wanted them to, doesn't mean things won't be okay, perhaps tomorrow if not today.

Who's taller now?

Missus

I am not at the Butterfly Apartment, nor can I be considered "Em in Kansas," although I do like the sound of e-minks, or if you like, e-minx, for my digital escapades. I'm not sure yet what to do with this blog, so for now I'll just do what comes naturally, which is blog on.

I'm at my parents house, embarking on my first day as live-in housekeeper. I was in the midst of standing by the counter, scooping my lunch of chicken salad out of its fridge container with crackers (so college-- who needs plates? Or a table and chairs for that matter?) while simultaneously planning dinner/examining the available spice rack so I could go to the grocery store (so domestic-- I'm making chicken taco salad tonight) when the front doorbell rang.

One thing I have so far refused to handle is my parents' business. I may be the housekeeper, which leaves me the realm of food, cleanliness, and dogs, along with my personal penchant for letter-writing and other cute/frivolous pursuits of the reading and writing variety (like blogging). But I'm not sure I'm quite in a position to be answering their phone, for example, unless I recognize the number and it is my friend Kitchen.

So the doorbell rings. And I have to answer it because the guy can probably see me though the window, shoving triscuits into my mouth, unscrewing the lid on the jar of okra pickles. (My parents' food stock: always wonderful to me.) The windows are all open anyway, and so he can hear Jack and Karma bum-rushing the door, too (the windows are open because it is 68 degrees and all the flowers are blooming. Why, Georgia, why? Just to make me think it's silly to ever leave?). So I saunter out with a smile. His shirt says AT&T. He's probably the cable guy. "Are you Mrs. Lemmon?"

It sounds like "Mrs." anyway. There is a slight difference in pronunciation between that and "Miss" and I only learned the difference in the seventh grade because our English teacher was very particular about such things. She taught us well; apparently, in the south, people don't make much of the aural distinction. It was the second time in as many days that someone had asked me that question. Last night, Vanderbilt called and asked if I were (going by sound only) "Mrs." Lemmon. I blinked and wasn't sure what to say. Did they want to speak with my mother? Or, were they looking for me?

So, standing before the cable guy, I was just as stumped. My car in the driveway, its license plates finally home, I no longer look like a blatant out-of-stater. "Well, sort of," I said, making allowance for the fact that pronunciation is not to be dependable. He asked if I make any of the decisions around the house, which I've fully abdicated, so I told him no, and when I did he asked if that were Mr. Lemmon's thing. I blinked, realizing he must have thought me the young wife here in this neighborhood. I told him I was just back from college, that's all, and my parents did that stuff. (A reflex, but a lie by now.) And that Dad would be home later.

As I went back in to finish my chicken salad and finally bite into one of those okra pickles, I thought about how a lot of people my age ARE missus-es, and wondered what I'd do when I got married. I've pretty much decided to keep my last name, mostly because it sounds so cool. I'm not a major feminist or anything, but of the guys I've dated with any seriousness (or even among those I've dated without much seriousness), not one of them had a name I was dying to make my own. It might seem like a silly reason, but it's my reason. Apparently, people make big decisions the same way they make small decisions. Is it a sign of disrespect to a man and his family not to take his name? Maybe to some? Is it totally pase in this post-modern world? Will I always wonder whether the caller is looking for me, or my mother?

Visibles Later

It was great living in an apartment instead of a dorm room, so you could have more space, and move from place to place and still be home.

So.. now you have crap strewn across several rooms, instead of contained to just one.

Packing is.. going. I got frustrated and starting taking down the posters somewhat prematurely, if you're going by tradition. I think it felt like I wasn't making progress at all since it wasn't visible. Weird.

Just found a home for my bed in a very nearby house of a friend.. she has an empty room she would love to transform into a guest room. I would love to put off deciding what to do with my bed for a full year. Viola. If I move back to Kansas, I can totally just get it back from her.

Yeah, I said if I move back to Kansas. That is still up in the air, and not something I can even begin to think about seriously right now. I don't like to admit to being stressed out, but I can't ignore the fact that I locked my keys in the car twice yesterday and have been crying a lot, and randomly. I like to know that I can come back... as I wrote in my little freestyle ditty on pale orange paper: It's good to know there's room in Kansas for me; space in the wheat state where I can be free. But all I can handle right now are possibilities, not decisions. There's enough motion for me for now.

I react in ways that make my roommate say I show "no integrity." Maybe he's right.. I feel a little scattered; to be integera is to be whole, one unit. But if he means my actions and decisions and words and admonitions don't mesh into one another.. then he doesn't know me quite as well as I might have thought. When the ends of my rope are frayed, I actually do have a tendency to act out a little... always responsibly, as is my way. Those surprising words the other night were mine. "I can make all the terrible decisions I want. I'm leaving." I begin to feel pressed for time, and take action to do and say all the things I might not have the chance to do or say soon. I begin to feel like in a few weeks, none of it will matter anyway, because I'll be far away. I do a few things that seem on the surface uncharacteristic of me. But that's how I cope with the fact that it's hard to leave.

It's all good stuff I'm headed for, I know. I don't want to seem ungrateful, which is part of my hesitance to even admit to being upset. I'm going to see my family soon. On the way there, some really good friends. And then, GHP. And then? Japan! It's all good, all of it exciting and amazing. But the impending adventures still hang just above me, and that little part of my heart that gets mutinous every time I wrench it out of its new home is complaining again. How many times will you do this to me? I may be used to packing and moving. I'm also tired of it. Not enough, just yet, to stop it. But I can feel that mutinous part moving within me, slow and inexorable like the tide.

Hiddens First

The storage room off the patio would be full of seasonal things if we were what we like to call "real people." But since we are not yet that, since we are recovering college students, it is full of all the boxes and bags we've saved from the stuff we toted, the stuff that was sent us, and the stuff we bought.

We put it there and forgot; today, I bust it out again.

Before, I was freaked out by the proximity of the end-times. Now, they are actually upon me, and I've shrugged cheerfully, rolled up my sleeves, and begun to pack. I have a lot of experience at packing and moving. In 2007, when my life began its pattern of changing every three to six months, I began that pattern by physically moving somewhere in that designated time period. Years of dorm experience has made me fully capable of this.

Even more than I had realized, actually. I used to hate packing and moving, not only for what it meant (leaving), but for the physical pain and logistical nightmare it can entail. Last week I looked around my room and couldn't fathom where to begin. When I got back from Nashville yesterday, I sat down without even thinking and began on my nightstand drawers.

I developed a way of packing that was in line with my wait-til-the-last-minute-to-believe-you're-going mentality. Hiddens first. Clear out desk drawers, closets, under the bed... everywhere that you can't see at first, first. Then, when you go to sleep at night, it still looks like home, though it's slowly emptying of you. Your poster is still on the wall, and your calendar, and you can ignore for the moment that everything around you is physically now hollow.

It's a compromise I must have struck somewhere between the nightmare of actually waiting too long to pack, and the loathing of sleeping in an empty room.

I looked into one of my old rooms while I was at Vandy over the weekend, since Aa-chan lived on one of the halls we used to run. 168, bearing not even the faintest trace of me, my life, the suffering I endured there (it was a fairly rough year, junior). Such is the way of dorm life, and even apartment life. It doesn't take long for the stamp of energy to fade. It may have been achingly important to me at the time.. here I worked, there I sat, down there I knelt to cry.. but ultimately, a few months later, someone else filled it, all of me moved somewhere else. The only thing, then, that seems to bear one's stamp longer than physical spaces are the people with whom you spent time there.

Which completely explains my mad dash to spend time with everyone as much as I can in these final days. I can't say why today I'm content to clear the closet and nightstand, and maybe the drawers too. Today, the hiddens, tomorrow the visibles. I'm not even interested in my mad dash to make terrible decisions (because I'm leaving, or because it's May?) right now. Like I said.. it's a shrug, a rolling of the sleeves, maybe a passing thought of shikata ga nai.

Apocalypse

Someone just sent this lovely article to my summer-job listserv. Mosquitoes, loathed by me anyway, are overrunning the town where I'll be spending six weeks this hot-season. Time to buy that serious bug spray, the kind you can't use on babies or the elderly.

But it's alright.. because between this, other strange events, and OMG-Swine-Flu, I think the world is on schedule to end in 2012 like it's supposed to. If I survive, Georgia will be the place to be (I'm going to visit those standing stones while I'm in GA in a couple weeks).

I'm feeling that frazzled semi-world's-end feeling I get when I have to leave any place for some great length of time. Yes I want to go to Georgia. Yes I want to go to Japan. Why do I have to leave Kansas to do so?

Tonight is my last night of teaching GRE prep downtown. After that, I'm officially obligation-free. I'd pushed my official departure date to next week, because I thought it would "make more sense" to drive to Vandy's graduation from here than to drive to Belmont's from there. If you do the math, it actually makes the opposite of sense. I am starting to feel like I'm cheating myself of my last weekend in Kansas; most of the people I want to see will still be there next weekend when I am also in Nashville for Belmont's graduation/on my way to Georgia. I am not sure I'd even go, this weekend, if it weren't for my roommate who's kind of counting on it. I owe him more than that.

So, it's the end of this world. And yeah, yeah, whatever.. the beginning of the next. But I was never good at leaving any place, even for someplace better.

Half-Birthday

Once, I took a calendar and physically counted the number of days from my birthday to discover my half-birthday.

Yes I'm that exacting.

It's today.

Hurrah!

Freelance Educator, II

Tuesday, I got an unexpected call in the morning to go in to a first grade classroom that day around noon. Sub calls have become 'unexpected' on the whole, for me, as they season has waned. I've maintained the most tenuous of connections with the school system, but since my last day in the Latin class, I've considered myself finished. Sub assignments, then, come as windfalls.

I hesitated at first, because it was first grade, and that awful pair of days back in the winter was a first grade classroom too. But I figured, what they hell.. the school was the one I pass by very often on my walks. If for no other reason than it was practically in my backyard, I ought to give it a chance.

It was one of the best behaved first grade classes I'd ever seen. They tested and pushed a bit, as every group will do with a sub. They have to see what they can get away with. I've gotten used to that, and even gotten used to the idea that they will try to destroy me. With those exceptional kids who will make art pictures for me.

But there were a couple of crystal clear moments when we were all working together, all on the same page, and all maybe even learning something. They were smart. They were good. I was impressed. As much as I hate to admit it, I think it's partly because the area where the school is located is a somewhat wealthier area. You can tell it if you go walking and jogging around. The houses are nice, and there's a little lake back there, some nice property. You'll see kids on the front lawn running around with neighbors while their parents sit serenely on the porch, keeping a watchful eye. It's the American Dream Come True, and I love to see it in the afternoons. But it also means that these kids understand a little something about the benevolent dictatorship of authority figures. I didn't have to fight as hard to make them listen and try and do.

Also coulda been the para in the room.. who knows!

Anyway, the very next day I was switching gears in a big way, to give my 'guest lecture' at KU to two mythology classes. They're covering Ovid's Metamorphoses, which was the material of my senior thesis. I elected to come in on the day they read parts of books 7-9, which contains both Cephalus and Iphis. And I won't say who picked out the stories they were to read for that day.. or maybe even the days following that one... <.< I was ridiculously excited to talk about Cephalus, although I worried a bit that it would be outside their interest level (not their comprehension-- they are capable, just maybe not into it).

But it seemed to go pretty well, and was fun. Wednesday evening, as per usual, I had my GRE prep class, which also seemed to go pretty well. Another verbal session in which I try to balance "just learn more vocab," with "here's what to do if you don't know the vocab." In between, Erin pointed out that I'd spent one day teaching handwriting and algae to first graders, and the next teaching college. Who does that?

Freelance educators do? I got to say hello to Dr. Corbeill while I was at it, and when he heard I was giving a short talk on my thesis, he asked if I "still agreed with it." It was aptly timed, because the day before, I'd been both delighted with some parts of my paper, and despairing at others. I had to admit that I found much of it to be rather immature, despite the fact that I've been "away from academia" all year.

I haven't really, that's a total lie. While academia hasn't been my-whole-life this past year, I've still managed to swim in collegiate circles as usual. I thought about it on my way across the Wal-Mart parking lot, wearing yet another college sweater (this one actually a Vandy representation, although I have several others). But I've made non-college friends, too (a few nights ago I stayed up watching Curb Your Enthusiasm with Heath), and seen so many people well on their ways toward goals that have nothing to do with getting higher and higher degrees. Ultimately, more degrees may be the most fitting path for me (I mean.. who are you talking to?), but it's nice to know it was never ever the only way.

Suffenus iste, and umeboshi

I think that the way I learned my Latin poetry in high school was some kind of musical memory form of sheer memorization, which is odd because I'm not a huge fan of straight-up memorizing things. I still have these phrases stuck in my head though, in English, that are translations of things we went over in class.

There's a Catullus poem that starts out "Suffenus iste," and the English beginning is "that very Suffenus, whom you well know..." The poem itself, number "22" in the Catullus corpus we have today, goes on to say that Suffenus is a cool guy, no really, but he is a terrible poet, and if you were to just read his poetry, you'd think him a "goat-milker" or "ditch-maker." And yet he thinks he rules at writing. The end of the poem is a reflection on how we're all a little bit Suffenus, but each of us is unable to see the flaws he carries around in his backpack:

Nimirum idem omnes fallimur, neque est quisquam
quem non in aliqua re videre Suffenum
possis. Suus cuique attributus est error;
sed non videmus manticae quod tergo est.

Without doubt, we are all decieved the same, nor is there anyone in whom you are not able to see Suffenus. To each is allotted his own error; but we do not see the knapsack, for it is on our backs.

That, so it follows, is why it's so easy to overlook in ourselves what we can judge in others. We can easily see others' "Suffenus backpacks," and not see our own.

Conversely:

Also when I was in high school, I watched this show called Fruits Basket, an anime of ridiculous cuteness proportions that still reaches me in its way. Roommate has been collecting it in book form for several years now, and we get really excited when the next installment comes out. We have been known to call it "crack for girls (and Dre)" for its addictive properties. The umeboshi conversation is not, I think, actually in the books.

In the show version, the painfully good character Tohru (who is like, everyone's savior or something.. it's sick) notices that two characters constantly at war (cousins Yuki and Kyo) are actually each jealous of the other. She says it's because it is easy for each to see the good qualities of the other, which he envies, but is unable to see his own good qualities. She likens it to the umeboshi in onigiri (riceball), the little plum that is sometimes stuck into the back of it. You can't see your own sweetness because it's stuck in your back, although you can see it in everyone else's.

This one has fish flakes instead of umeboshi, but you get the idea. (Wikimedia Commons)

Last night, our conversation tended toward our enjoyment of seeking and seeing the good in others. In appreciating the shit that sometimes, other people don't really appreciate. Roommate sagely said, "The divine in me loves the divine in them." I smiled my childish smile and said, "Your umeboshi is showing."

Thursday, it was time to equip myself for the warming weather. I threw on my Porta-Portese three euro dress (roughly equivalent to four dollars, my sucker price) and dangerous flip flops, and set out toward Kohl's and TJ Maxx. I stopped on a whim, though, halfway there when I saw Plato's Closet. I got a couple of cute new dresses, snappy but casual, one green and one black.

Aww.

I got two new pairs of flip-flops, one of them fancy and with bronze decoration. I love bronze decoration because it suits my extremely pale skin and red hair. For the other, I had intended to buy my annual pair of shoes that wears out after its use is ended-- I like the thatch-top kind because they literally fall apart when their time comes, without turning smelly or allowing me to hold on to them past due. And mine had literally become dangerous. You may well ask, how could a pair of flip-flops actually become dangerous? Exhibit A:

Yeah, the thatchy part was coming off; I got these things in Valvegas last summer, as their carbon-copy brown version brethren were becoming dirty and torn up. But what, you may wonder, is up with that tape?

A piece of the busted glass that likes to lie around the apartment parking lot got lodged in the shoe, pushing its way up through, right along that black edging. I did not realize this is what it was, so thinking it was a rock, I tried to pry the thing loose. It cut up my finger before I knew what it was, and then I tried to get it out with small metal implements. In the end, I knew, I needed to get new shoes.

So I taped over the glass (it was never actually hurting my foot to begin with!) and wore the damn things a day or two more. Because I'm like that.

Experiment: Success.

It's been over a week since I've written, and it's not because there's nothing to say. Things move and change as ever they did, and I've explanations for some of them, interpretations of some of them.

I unexpectedly got called in to sub the other day, and I went quick as I could, without knowing what grade level I was even in for. It turned out I was a reading teacher, who pulled out small groups from second and third grade every fifteen minutes to a half hour. I loved it-- it was a lot easier for me than trying to control a whole roomful of kids.. being reading support kicked ass. I got to work with ESL kids (from Turkey and Chile) and the slower readers, I suppose. We read scripts and did rhyming words, and talked about adjectives. I also spent some time just floating around as in-class support for some third grade rooms. My favorite moment was Craig's guileless face as we listened to the assignment given and he asked, "Will you help me?" We went to the back table and wrote a poem. I promise I didn't write it.. I just asked him questions til he did it himself.

Otherwise, subbing has remained relatively quiet. I may go hang out at the Junior Classical League convention at LHS next weekend and be a certamen reader, or something. A sort of last little goodbye/hurrah with the Latin kids.

Teaching GRE is going pretty well now. I'm getting used to having a very small class. It was difficult, a week ago, for me to believe I was going to leave because I didn't have enough work, but now that my KC job has come to its natural endpoint, I certainly can. I have a lot of extra time, now. I should be spending my extra time thinking about what it will mean to pack up the stuff in my room.

But I don't want to. It's begun to sink in, and people have begun to ask me not to go. That in itself is pretty gratifying. That in itself makes me want to pronounce the Kansas experiment a success. When they say I've become associated to sunshine and light, when we stay up laughing and sitting on the porch, I know I'll miss this.

It's finally gotten into the 80s of degrees two days in a row, now, and I'm wearing what skirts and dresses I have, just for the fun of it. Most of them are in GA because I brought them back in the fall; I didn't think they would fit in the car along with the sweaters on the drive home. All the windows are open, naturally, to let in the air and light. Today, I'll go shopping because my flip-flops finally became dangerous, and I have a twenty earmarked for "something fun." ;)

I haven't even seen Roommate in a couple of days, because our schedules are so off. He began his training for the census job he'll have for the next chunk of time, and so is doing the 8 to 5 style thing. I only work evenings and weekends anymore.. and since I have nowhere to be in the morning, don't really see a problem with hanging out until 3am on a Tuesday listening to people play guitar. Once I get up, he's gone.

So I spend my extra time being an arguably lazy girl. But I submit that I'm being responsible to enjoy myself, so I won't regret the time I had left in KS.

Easter: the Other Important Thing

I said that two important things happened on Easter, and that the first was my return to facebook. This was literally the first, as it occurred at 12:00am as soon as it became Easter on the official.

The other was that I went to church.

It isn't that I've never been to church, or even that I never go. I used to go fairly often in Georgia, when I was in town. I attended Johnny's church quite happily because the pastor was so darn good, I didn't even mind that I felt like an outsider. They didn't make me feel like an outsider, I did that to myself, just to be clear. I liked then and still like a lot of Christian doctrine, but I'm missing some of the crucial parts that would make me feel comfortable calling myself an outright Christian. Still, pastors often have some really solid lessons, based on really solid goodness that I like to hear.

Anyway, at Easter's service I fretted about being "stereotypical" and "statistical" in my attendance, and pestered Erin until it was time for her to go up and sing. She encouraged me to "go and make friends," but I always feel a little weird making church friends, because I feel like I'm then making friends under false pretenses. Because I am there, they will be even more likely to assume I am Christian, and trying to live a good Christian life just as they are. And while I don't find it necessary to explain from the get-go that, "hi, I like your Christ, but not all of your Christianity," I fear that later when they do find out, they will feel disappointed or somehow cheated.

But once the lesson got started, it was about letting go of feelings just like that, about letting go of not feeling good enough. 'Letting go' in general is a topic that is good to teach me over and over again. She made allusions to getting new clothes for Easter, and talked about how important it was to discard that old stuff, citing three big areas that people tend to cling to.. "I am my family history," "I am what I do," and "I am what others do to me."

Twenty points if you can guess which one hit me the hardest. As a firm believer in personal responsibility, of course, it was number two! I've been wrapped up in this idea regarding D$ for a long time, actually, quite concerned with what how I handle this whole thing says about me.. what kind of person I have to be in order to do or say this or that. I got a gentle reminder that there's something bigger than me out there, something actually boundless.. and that love is never a mistake.

I'm still coming to terms with what has blossomed into genuine disinterest in what D$ has to offer.. but on Sunday, I knew that I'd forgiven him, and I remembered the corollary to that.. I recalled a little the beauty of just letting go.

This coming Sunday is going to be a sort of continuation on the theme. I think I'll go.

EmLem enters contest II

For this one I'm returning to stock photos from my life in Nashville.

This is one of my all-time favorite photos. It was taken by John in the fairytale garden and has been my desktop background ever since.

Nashville's Centennial Park has all the wonderful things that make parks great -- it has flowers, trees, a pond with ducks and geese, space to throw frisbees, historical markers... and a full scale replica of the Parthenon of Athens, Greece.

fall photos.. love the Parthenon!

Nashville's Parthenon houses the largest indoor statue in the Western Hemisphere, a towering image of Athena. Enourmous bronze doors outfit the front and back, and then of course there are the fluted columns, the pedimental sculptures, and the metopes to admire. You don't have to know anything about ancient Greek to enjoy the Parthenon or its tours and museum, and can learn a lot. There is also an art gallery inside. Prices range from $3.50 to $6, and the Parthenon is closed on Sundays and Mondays until June.

from across the pond

I've attended a few academic lectures in the Parthenon, as well as two plays-- one was a free staging of Medea complete with Greek-style masks on the back steps, and the other was the Metamorphoses, adapted by Mary Zimmerman. Other times, I've happily basked in the simply joy of having a giant Parthenon so accessible. Centennial Park is my favorite park for it.




Playing host to art and craft fairs in the spring, and Shakespeare festivals in the fall, Centennial abounds in laid-back beauty. For a refreshing jog or relaxing walk, consider the cherry lined pathway along the pond. The "fairy tale garden," so nicknamed for its impossible charm, is filled with all manner of blooms and is a popular spot for photos of pets, children, graduates, lovers, and friends.

a view toward fairytale garden

When in Nashville, don't forget to check out Centennial Park. Bring the kids. Located along West End Avenue, near 25th. Close to Vanderbilt University.

ducklings in the spring

Easter: The Return to the Facebook

By the time Easter rolled around, it had already been spring for at least a month. Or, this was the case everywhere else I ever lived. But as today's high of 47 testifies... that was not Kansas.

I'm not Catholic, nor even especially Christian, but when Easter came, it was like a springtime of sorts. Two important things happened. The first, I got back on facebook.

Now, those who use facebook are aware that it changed in the time I was gone. The changes are only surface-deep, though, as facebook still is what it was and does what it did.

L found this graphic and I wanted to borrow it for this post.

True to facebooking form, I loaded all of my spring-break-and-beyond photos in a series labeled after my latest DVD purchase (Lord of the Rings Extended Edition)... I like to make all the things I do and present fit together in a strange mishmash of meaning (I watched Fellowship on break with Joe, and Towers with Erin last rainy, crappy Sunday. Return should be in the mail, from Amazon). I looked at all the recent photos posted of myself and evaluated them based on spontanaity and attractiveness of myself in them. There is a sweet album of Joe's called "Why I 'decided' to take a year off" which stars me and includes photos of my alleged pregnancy. While the fact that this was posted on April 1st should help you out, just for the sake of family and friends, I want to say, don't worry... it's just something he tells his friends when they ask why he is taking the year off school.

When facebook first cropped up into existence, I've mentioned that I refused to take it seriously. But facebook got serious with or without my permission and now all kinds of people use it for all kinds of things. I missed facebook during my time away, but my life wasn't really the worse for not having it. I am, however, happy to have quick internetical access to what follows. Erin took a picture of me after I had just turned around from taking a photo of my own. The day was so bright and glorious I did this:


Incidentally, this is the picture I was taking just before:


So, in any case: huge fan of photo-sharing that occurs via facebook. It is also a handy reference for finding people's phone numbers or e-mail addresses if you don't have them on hand.

But other than that, when we turn to facebook in the darkness of night, in the lonely moments, searching for some kind of affirmation of who we are and who loves us, or when we mercilessly stalk our unrequited loves, or when we build ourselves a shell of wall-posts and inside jokes, the result is, to me, only ever sad. It only ever leaves me feeling more alone and less like I have anything of a life.

Now that I'm free to click that button at the top of my screen, I hope I do it less often.

Epistulae and news

For the second day in a row, we are blessed with moderately chilly rain here in the middle of the midwest. I was going to bounce around Loose Park and take photos for another "travel guide" kind of thing, but bouncing around parks in chilly rain is simply not my thing. Staying inside, writing letters, and contemplating life..? Ah, that is more like it.

Letter writing is something that comes in waves, for me. It is, in fact, the very thing that prompted me to start this blog in the first place. I had let the letters pile up in my little desk organizer, and when I finally dispensed with replying to all of them, I realized I'd written the same thing fourteen times and sent it to different places around the country. There's nothing wrong with this in and of itself.. but the whole reason I had let them pile up was a general lack of time to deal with writing. Remedied here.

Not too long ago, I bought a rainbow pad of paper. The pages are "A5," so they are large enough to say something, and small enough to never say quite enough. There are a total of ten colors, but here are seven spread across my coffeetable.

I later put six under the glass and made them a permanent color fixture.. because I like colors.

Anyway, they may make me write more, or I may just like to write more than I used to, when it comes to letters. I'm going to say my record is the letter I sent wherein I used one of every color of paper, front and back. I used to just give the news, but now that this blog does that, I get introspective and deep as well. It allows me to tailor my letters a little bit more when I don't have to spend any time giving the basic facts, maybe?

I make a list of all the people to whom I need to mail things on my whiteboard in my room. I tend to go in order of who sent me something first and work my way down, but that isn't always how it works out.

Anyway, I got some sweet new stamps that I'm excited about using. I had to keep myself from also buying a bunch of sunflower ones, being in Kansas and all. It was almost too cliched.

So, in general: things are going pretty well. I've settled into a sort of schedule and am getting better at these things I do. My GRE tutor student has, I think, improved, although her diagnostic wasn't terribly encouraging. My Latin tutor student has worked his way up to an A, which rules. My GRE class last week wasn't the most awesome thing ever, but I have a feeling this week will be much better. D$ has expressed some interest in being my friend (and it's different, this time--). Zig's has added me for Saturday nights as well, so my frustration at only being given four hours a week is assuaged. And, literally, the sun just came out as the clouds are migrating southward before my very eyes. The sunset side of the sky is pinkish.

EmLem Enters Contest

I'm working on a little bit of content for a website sponsoring a contest. It's a travel guide type of thing, and if you post content before a certain date, you are entered. They evaluate you based on quality, so I'm going to put up a couple of things from a few places I've explored. I want to post them here, too, especially so I can get a little feedback before putting them up for contest. Wednesday, when I had to work in KC anyway, I went foraging for good photos.

So, here goes!


Kansas City's Country Club Plaza, also known simply as "The Plaza," is an open air shopping and dining district south of downtown. But unlike the close spaces of some shopping streets, the Plaza admits much air and light, and has a warm character unique to the place.

clock, from creekside

Personally, I'm a fan of gardens and greenspace, and the inclusion of this type of beauty in the Plaza area is what makes it special among sites of entertainment, shopping, and dining. The south edge of the district is bounded by Brush Creek, which has cherry trees and benches along its walkways for anyone inclined to take a moment to enjoy the sights and smells. I parked along the water, but there are several free parking decks scattered throughout the area to accommodate visitors. The area is also well-signed for those attempting to find the Plaza.

How to get where you're going

path down to the creekside

view of footbridge, from alongside creek

Here I ate my lunch.

There is plenty of opportunity for comers to spend their excess coin in all manner of recognized stores, fine restaurants and cafes, and specialty shops. For me, the best things in life are free; strolling around the district enjoying the spring blooms proved to be a great way to spend a good part of an afternoon. Police abound on foot, making the place feel quite safe. People in the district are friendly: a businessman offered me directions and suggestions for my exploration, and out-of-town visitors offered to take my photo when they saw me clicking away at the water features.

This fountain reminded me of Rome!

There are several hotels in the area as well.

Mill Creek Park is right next to the Plaza, with soft springy running tracks and open fieldspace.

This rather large fountain at one end of Mill Creek Park was under maintenance work when I arrived, gearing up for the spring season.

Penguin Courtyard; note J Crew on the left, Urban Outfitters across the street.

The Plaza's fountains are part of what give it fame. It also boasts a collection of various sculptures tucked away here and there along the bright pathways. Schoolchildren even take field trips to the Plaza to learn about these pieces. The look of the place has an Italian sensibility, not only for the roof tiles, sidewalks, and water spouts, but also because of the sculpture. My favorite was the replica of a bronze boar from Florence, Italy; in Florence, you rub the boar's nose for luck. KC's boar had a shiny nose as well, and the plaque below it suggests dropping a coin and touching the nose for Children's Mercy Hospital. Some of the fountains encourage the tossing in of coins, like the Mermaid Pool which also takes coins for the Children's Mercy Hospital.

A man tosses a coin into Mermaid Pool as families relax around the sides.

Florence marketplace boar

By the Cheesecake Factory, blue lady sits at the edge of the Bacchus Fountain.

Fun statue near the river

Pomona Fountain, families, et al.

The Mediterranean look and feel pervade the whole area. Also, I love tulips.

Finally, the Plaza is close to free art museums and the lovely Loose Park, which deserve posts of their own.

soy milk

Last Tuesday I finished off my soy milk.

I've had a strange love for soy milk that I cannot explain. I like the taste of it, for some reason. Erin is lactose intolerant, so she generally has soy milk in her fridge. I would delight in the occasions when she would pour me a glass. Then I remembered, hell, I make my own grocery store decisions, why don't I have it in my fridge too?

I never did drink enough milk, because there's something difficult about it, for me. Still, I would actually eat cake or cookies to make myself want to drink milk because I know I need the calcium. And things like cake, cookies, poptarts, etc. always need a glass of milk beside.

So I bought myself some soy milk. And the next time I went shopping, I didn't. But maybe I will next time, because it's strangely delicious and has a slightly weird texture that I like.

I eat whole carrots as a side now, too. That's kind of another Erin thing I picked up.

This Is How We Live It Up In My Town

Every time I look down at my left big toe, I want to wash it off. It looks like I spilled ink all over it, or some kind of dark dirt. The stain, however, is not ink. It's a big ugly bruise I got when a girl accidentally tipped a stool onto it.

And for all that my toe hurts, my calves hurt worse for all the dancing I did. We went out to celebrate Thursday night when Roommate's co-workers invited us. I ran into an old co-worker of my own at the place we'd elected to 'check out.' I talked, laughed, and later danced with exuberance as though no one were watching. I only hope no one was.

Friday, I had to do something about the banana pops I'd begun to make Thursday in anticipation of people coming over to celebrate with us. I brought them to Erin's apartment to share with her household and their 'underneighbors.' We (three underneighbors, Erin, and I) then piled into Erin's car and went downtown to the Jazzhaus to see Russian Discussion, because Erin wanted to. And, now that I'm officially going to Japan, I want to live it up as much as I can in Lawrence, and spend as much time as I can with these people.

Brittany, underneighbor Nick, and Erin: The Night They Switched Shoes

We danced at the Jazzhaus, too.

Couldn't resist trying to take this photo because of the way these two guys are right in front of their respective Jazzhaus window silhouettes! Blurry, for no flash.

Later in the night (once the restaurant was shut down), Heath arrived to join us, because he knows the lead singer of the band. At some point at the Jazzhaus, I thought about how I'd spent two consecutive nights now with two different groups of friends, and had great times both nights. And neither, I may add, included D$. The ambivalence I feel at the prospect of having him back in my life is, I think, connected to this.

Because just think. A year ago, I didn't know any of these people, hadn't been to any of these places. And now I feel more comfortable with some of them than I do with people I've known for years. I'm not sure this means it would be like that any place at any time. I just like knowing it happened; I came, I saw, I made friends before it was time to go.

JET result

This morning, Roommate and I began complaining to one another about how long it's taken to get JET results.

"So I see that I have a new e-mail.. and when I go to check, it's from Borders. And I'm like 'I DON'T WANT A FREAKING COUPON!' " -Roommate

I was typing an email about thirteen minutes after we had this conversation. My mail showed a new arrival. Dogged, I clicked my inbox.

It was not a freaking coupon.

I'm in!

Repost: "Lessons from the 'Chench' "

I have been looking through a much older (, messier, less public) blog, and I've found a few things that inform my Kansas adventure, so I thought I'd share them. They will be labeled "repost" for convenience.

This one is actually from December 20th, 2007, just after I got home from Italy, and reconsidered all that I had learned in that great growing experience. The lessons were considered specifically from the different people I got to know at the Centro, the place itself lovingly nicknamed "the Chench."

Life lessons learned at Centro. And beyond.

Biz’s contribution:
It doesn’t make you a less reliable, serious, or studious person to party. Biz got me out of the Chench, out of my shell. She called me the life of the party, and whether or not it was the truth, it meant something to hear it. Biz’s contribution was a vision of more than just ‘the smart kid,’ and that’s a very valuable contribution indeed. She saw a spark of vivacity that cannot be contained just in the classroom. She saw ridiculously bad dancing, and laughter at the clink of glasses. She knew the value of party time and brought me along.

Brookie’s contribution:
You can master the universe. But you have to do it every day. Brookie also taught me the value of trying, as in, to look good. I have a tendency to not care very much how I look on normal days, and only try on days when something important is going on. But Brookie was classy, and she looked good all the time. Accessories and her own style, and I learned the value of putting in a little effort myself, and how it feels to be a little prettier on a normal day. She was her own master, unpredictable, but never outside of who she is. She smoked sometimes, but wasn’t addicted. She did the things she wanted to do, because she wanted them. But she was real, too. You can never master yourself (or the universe) once and for all. It’s an ongoing process that you have to keep up all the time. And, sometimes you won’t, but if you can keep your record pretty high, that’s all you really need.

Hannah’s contribution:
Both Hannahs, here. It’s okay to have a lot of feelings. We joked about it all the time, but the truth is, if you are it, you’ve got to own it, and if you do that, then it’s not a problem. I won’t ever forget when Flashface came back from her trip to Germany and told me she’d really missed me; again, regardless of how deeply true or not it may have been, it meant a lot to hear it. And telling Hanner random things about how I felt, just because she was my roommate and she was around.

Brookie’s other contribution:
We’re nerds. Neerrrrrrrds! But again, we are it, so we own it, and it’s all good.

G-Unit’s contribution:
It’s okay to want things that the general populous around you thinks is lame. Just because you are told you have to achieve, doesn’t mean you should give up your real dreams of what you really want to do and be. G-Unit just wants to get married and have kids. She doesn’t want to clamber to the top of her field. You can make your decisions for your own reasons.

Linda’s contribution:
Always look on the bright side of life. You don’t have to prove anything here. Life is about how you look at it. And people are really all the same, wonderful creatures inside. She said I’m a good person, and she believes I will go far.

Will’s contribution:
Never settle for less than you deserve, especially if you happen to deserve the best. Most especially if you know where the best can be found, and it isn’t outside your reach. Never back down when you know you can win.

Captain Cook’s contribution:
Uniqueness is a virtue, and she’s seen it in me. Some rare combination of deep-full-of-feelings caring dude. And, that people can be good people, but that doesn’t make them good mates. People have to figure things out in their own time. I can’t force that, no matter how much I want it.

Mr. Meyer’s contribution:
A recognition of good intentions. A laughing dismissal of explanation, and the observation that I have always been the optimist.

Kirsten ("the Manimal")’s contribution:
A lack of understanding at the failure of the badass; the belief in toughness and standing up for myself. Kirsten wore the look of total disbelief and near disgust twice for me. When she said “Don’t let creepy old men touch you on the bus,” and “Well you obviously can’t be best friends.” And, fanfiction. My own realization that I speak openly about what others tend to hide or pass over.

Raya’s contribution:
An example of everything I’m not, or everything I think I’m not. She was proper, rich, and wanted things just so. Thought almost exclusively of herself and could only manage one point of view. In her I saw my opposite, and was glad. I may not be proper, and I may not care about what is socially considered appropriate all the time (hence my nickname of 'The Creeper'), but I do care about what’s important, and possible, and how things truly affect people.

Carlyle’s contribution:
An expression of the power of distance and growing, but also a recognition of the difference a positive attitude and unwillingness to judge others poorly can make. I loved her, but she seemed so bent on believing the worst of others, which I never want to do.

(L’s contribution:
If people don’t love me for who I am, they can suck it.)

(Kitchen’s contribution:
When the time comes, you’ll know. You needn’t worry that it will never come, because if something is inevitable, it is.)

The Manimal is totally real. And now, so is the EmLem.*

The truth is, I always am what I always was, which has nothing to do with, all to do with them. They were able to bring out a lot of what was always there, what needed to be rearranged for a more comfortable, happy existence. I’m not someone else, even if I have changed. I’m just more myself, or a better version of me. Still awkward, still laughing about it. I feel, more now than before, safe in my own skin, and like this is who I’ve always, always been.. and I was just hiding it.

There will be someone, or maybe even more than one, who will love me for who I really am. Several people at the chench did. And knowing that I’m not too terribly hard to love for who I really am, all of me, makes it easier to tell those who can’t hack it to take their judgment elsewhere. Because the sad little girl that needed them is gone. The girl now on fire needs allies of her own. Don’t get me wrong, I still need people, I still need my friends. I still want to keep my friends from before. But I, like anyone, do not need to spend time with someone who will be undermining me, whether on purpose or inadvertently, who will be cutting me down for their own purposes or ‘for my own good.’

I recognize the danger in the tendency of my heart to get wasted and spend its time loving and longing what is essentially its poison.

every person has a poison
that they
will
take

And this, like so many other things, is something I both love and hate about it. For my own good I must stop, but that is not my only concern. But, it should be my first one. For my own good I must stop, but I don’t want to be ‘that guy’ who stops. Stops longing, in case against all odds it matters, in case it helps someone.

But it’s destroying me. I know that I must rise above it and yet am, at the last, regretful. I never knew how to let a good thing go. I never knew how to let go of anything that had any good aspect, or potential good aspect. I did best when I was forced. I do better in a relative dearth of choice.

This morning, I threw away another pair of underwear. Because they were stupid and uncomfortable, and weren’t serving well the purpose to which I’d assigned them. Maybe being forced to scale down is having good effects. Maybe gathering ‘just the essentials’ is showing me what is actually essential. And how stupid it is to hold on to things and pretend they serve some purpose when it’s suddenly so clear that they serve very little at all.

I’m good to others because it pleases me to do so. But, it should please me to be good to myself, and true to what I really am.

My mother has an orchid in the den that’s been blooming since she got it, months ago. Orchids are hard to care for, as far as I know. I used to think it was because they were wimpy plants that would die in the wild for sure, since they die so often under the diligent care of owners (so I hear, anyway.. they were not common in our house). But then I found out that the reason they do so badly in homes is probably because of their usual situation in the wild. They grow clinging to the sides of trees in the rainforest, and there they bloom. It is, merely, difficult to simulate such an environment in a pot in a house. They are, merely, built for a different kind of struggle.

At the Chench, we all made fun of one another for our foibles and tendencies. But we didn’t love each other any less. We knew we were the same, and that, I think, is most important. We knew that we had the potential to be any of the others under some other circumstance. We saw what we had in common and took it for granted to create the solid ground necessary to stand and duel playfully.

In the end, I was channeling “Ian.” In the end, I chose to emulate the young man I admired, whom I created. Maybe I created him because I wanted to be him, and knew I had something of what it took. Not carefree, but able to have fun. Judging, but not so harshly that he would ever cease to love. Believing, because he didn’t know how not to.

But isn’t that every one of us? People can isolate themselves from the universality of the human condition, but it will not stop being true of them. Perhaps Linda’s lesson is the furthest reaching. No matter where you go, people are people.

*Editorial note: Early in the program, I insisted to them that the "EmLem" was a figment of their collective imagination. They bestowed the nickname upon me and I was certain that they had simultaneously created this picture of me that was not, in fact, true. I later recanted with joy that "The EmLem is totally real."

Random Gifts

So I began the last entry by introducing the idea that I was organizing things. I said that one is music.

It is so.

I am preparing to convert myself to iTunes for a couple of reasons. One is that I am probably going to be the DJ at GHP again this year. My co-DJ last year was in charge of technology, partly because my computer has very little music (and even less LEGIT music) and partly because he rules. The Man has decreed that he will not be returning (I grow older and I question this Man, but I find myself at His mercy and will not yet march into His Office with rhetorical guns blazing until I have disarmed him against myself and my loved ones -- that is to say, I want my job back for one more year, and still want my friend and roommate to have a shot at coming with me!) this year. This is a bummer.

The other reason is I now have an iPod. You well know I would probably never buy one, but also would not be ungrateful to be given one as a gift. So, the Universe gave me one in the fall.

I'm really not kidding. I was taking one of my signature walks and I noticed this thing lying on the sidewalk. I put up signs so its owner might reclaim it. But honestly, it's the oldest form of the cheapest iPod ever made, the Shuffle. New Shuffles are the size of a postage stamp and come in sweet colors. What I have procured looks more like this:

Earphones and all.

But yes, it was free, and yes I am partial to throwing a bunch of music into a bin and letting technology randomize it for me. I thought I lost this little thing in October, and was at peace with that (easy come, easy go). But I found it a few months later under the seat of my car. I took it jogging with me a few weeks ago and kind of liked having it. It certainly saves the trouble of skipping CDs and the like, and is much more compact; mine has a low storage amount (512 MB), compared to later versions, but is still able to hold way more music than any CD.

I am a huge fan of the rough-and-tumble aspect of my fine little iPod. Cast down onto the pavement, having suffered who knows what kind of weather, it could not reasonably have been expected to work anymore. But work it did, and so I am glad of it.

(I am a bit smug about my collection of found and won items, including my grant-laptop, my found-iPod, and my won-Xbox360; this also extends to our furniture, discussed in a previous entry.)

Be Where Your Feet Are

I am embarking on a few projects of organizational proportions. One involves writing, and one involves music.

I have resisted converting my media server to iTunes because I did not have an iPod. I have resisted having an iPod because they are expensive, and I am resentful of all the people that wander around with those little white buds in their ears. Inwardly, I scoff at the need to always being multi-tasking, the inability to just be in one place at one time. For their offense, iPods went right up there with iPhone and Blackberry, and any other phone which makes it too easy to divide one’s attention.

It has become exceedingly important to me to focus, to simply be where I am. I sometimes even become anxious just seeing other people disappear from their physical surroundings (mentally disappear, anyway) as a handheld device absorbs their attentions. My cell phone does not send or receive text messages.. not because the phone itself is antique or anything like that. I chose those settings, I had the service turned off. Mostly because they cost 15 cents a pop, and my friends seemed to text without much thought to that. Understandable, as most people these days have plans which include texting. I am sure that one of these days I will incorporate texting into my life, because I can see the benefits of it. For now, if something is important enough for someone to contact me, it's important enough for a phone call. (/text rant)

Even when I was in college, it amazed me how many people would be half-absorbed just in the walk across campus. I had a few high-powered days wherein I, in the space of time running from here to there, had to make a quick phone call, but as soon as I noticed myself slipping into a habit of 'needing to be on the phone' while walking, I put the thing firmly into my pocket. That ten minutes, or even just five, became an important breather. A moment to just taste the air, see the squirrels, notice the latest changed of vegetation, and hear the birds and wind. To just look around.

It's pretty amazing the peace of mind that can come with that moment to regather the self. I feel that attention splitters really do fragment us somehow, that if one is constantly checking football scores, one is not immersed in the Journey concert one is currently attending. Some of us don't even need devices.. we can worry about homework and tasks left unfinished all on our own.

"Be where your feet are," Erin said once when we were at Zen Zero (appropriately named for the advice of the moment). When your mind is somewhere else, you are not in two places: you are in no place at all.

Early in my Kansas life, I enjoyed going on walks to explore the park areas near my home. As I got better at these long walks, I began also to jog a little bit. But I still liked the freedom feeling that went with the simple open awareness... just me, my tennis shoes, the grass and sky. I like where my feet are.

(Currently, I am sitting in a coffeeshop in the south of Kansas City. Homer's Coffee House, chosen of course for its name, has proved to be a lovely place for me to spend some time. Today is my "Kansas City Adventure Day" which will be explained in more detail later.)