When I was packing to move this most recent time, I was shocked to find out that if you start packing a month in advance and make steady progress right up until moving day, your stuff never multiplies. This surprised me because it always multiplies. Always. I thought I’d found the solution to the problem of crap multiplication! And then I started unpacking.
The problem, see, is that if it doesn’t multiply on one end, it WILL do so on the other end. I moved a week and a half ago, and I’m still opening boxes and going, “What is THIS?” And at this point, I really begin to question whether I need these things or not. Probably not. If my plan upon opening the box is just to stick it fully-packed in the top of my closet until somebuddy moves out and I can take over her room, then I have to doubt my need for those items. If, after 6 months, I have not looked at those things or thought about them; if indeed I have no idea what they are, I should just take the whole box, unopened, to Goodwill and be done with it.
This is the new plan. And it is now my life’s goal to defeat crap multiplication in both the packing and unpacking stages of moving. Maybe I’ll start a non-profit.
In the past 48 hours, I have gotten in two good workouts and sufficiently cleared out my sinuses, which I didn’t even know were full. I’ve also worked on evening out my tan a little bit, which is no small feat, let me tell you, considering the bizarre kayak burn I got two weeks ago. What had happened was that I put on sunscreen before I left my house, and then I put on a skirt over my bathing suit, which rubbed off some of the sunscreen. Then, when the water dripped off the paddle, it washed away the rest of the sunscreen, and 3.5 hours later, the fronts of my thighs were a color I did not know skin could turn. Seriously, they glowed in the dark.
They’ve turned browner now, and they don’t hurt or ache any more, so I’m all good, thanks for asking. But now I have these large, tan rectangles on one part of my legs, and the rest of them is still as pasty as always (“I do have pasty, pasty skin”). I’m going to have to add my legs to my no-farmer’s tan goal for next summer.
Anyhoe, I got a little sun on the backs of my legs yesterday, but most of my time on the beach has been spent in the water with my dad and sister playing with “Juicy,” the Nerf football that soaks up half the ocean and then feels like you’re throwing a watermelon. I woke up all sore on my right side today from throwing it yesterday, so today I switched to left-handed throwing to even it out. I’m told I look completely spastic throwing left-handed, but I’m ok with that. I am considering this my first 1/2 marathon training. And it was good. Next week: Just Dance.
In just six hours, friends, I will be on VACATION!! Sort of. And by the way, for your entertainment, I accidentally just typed “just sex hours,” but then I fixed it. Still tired. So in SIX hours, I’ll be on a little mini-vacation because I don’t have to work again until NEXT Monday night, so I’m going to the beach!! Now. Let me explain to you how the beach with my family works.
You wake up whenever you wake up, and you pour yourself a bowl of cereal. Then you decide if you want to put on your bathing suit and go to the beach, or if you want to just hang out around the house, or maybe if you want to go for a walk or a bike ride. You do that whenever you feel like it.
Then, when you get hungry again, you fix yourself a sandwich and decide what you want to do for the afternoon. You might read a book or take a nap or do any of the morning options (possibly again if you liked it enough the first time).
Then you can take a shower or not, and at some point, someone makes dinner. Usually it’s my mom, but only because I’m not allowed to cook because I’ll make something meatless, and that frightens people. I’m not complaining, though. My mom is a very good cook, and she’s extremely accommodating to my quasi-veganity.
The evening then goes in one of the following ways:
We go out for ice cream.
We stay in for ice cream.
And also in one of the following ways (in addition to the compulsory ice cream):
We play a game (usually Phase 10 or Mexican Train, but we’ve also been known to play board games).
We sit around and read.
We watch something on TV (I hereby officially vote for So You Think You Can Dance both Wednesday and Thursday nights).
We put together a puzzle. I am very bad at this and don’t really have the patience for it. I know that’s weird coming from an ESL teacher. I have a great deal of patience, but not for my own spatial ineptitude.
And then you go to bed. If you’re one of those people who’s bad at relaxing, you might not enjoy it, but I’m telling you, the beach with my family is GREAT. And I’m very much looking forward to being there tomorrow.
I really like to combine words, as you know, but only when I do it on purpose. Twice in the last 24 hours, I’ve accidentally combined words, coming out with nonsensical statements such as, “I want to move that book shafe,” and, “It’s good enough for Mao,” which, though nonsensical, is very entertaining. I just like imagining Chairman Mao inspecting my house with a white glove and finding it satisfactory.
But all that just illustrates how exhausted I am, and I don’t want to take a nap because then it’ll throw off the night sleeping, morning waking schedule I’m trying to set up. Plus there’s SO much stuff that needs to find a home in my bedroom, and if I’m asleep, that means I’m not putting anything away, and if I’m not putting anything away, that means I’m still living amongst mountains of boxes that are preventing me from accessing my dresser.
Sigh. I love moving.
In related news, being back in Raleigh is…weird. On the one hand, everything is familiar and somewhat normal. It’s almost like I never left. And on the other hand, things are new, and I’m trying to figure it all out again just like you do when you move to a new city. My schedule isn’t in place yet, I’m not in a rhythm, I don’t know where all my stuff should go, and I’m looking for new groups (community group, writing group, kickball group?).
I wouldn’t say I’m ecstatic about the change, but I’m definitely not unhappy with it either. I think I just need time to adjust and several good nights of rest in a row. But mostly the rest.
First of all, let me just clarify that it’s a to-do list of all the things I have to do in order to move tomorrow. I do not anticipate the list itself to be particularly touching or moving emotionally. That said, here’s what needs to be done today:
Strip the bed and the sofa (check).
Shower (check).
Eat left-overs (delicious check).
Pull hair out of the drains (disgusting check).
Take a few things to Goodwill.
Box up the few (literally, like less than 10) remaining straggler items in my bedroom.
Pick up the truck.
Pack up the truck.
Eat dinner with peeps.
Watch the drum circle.
Eat cookies.
Hang out.
Go to bed.
Looks like I’m off to Goodwill! And maybe I’ll do #11 here and there throughout the day.
I almost feel like I’ve snuck into Asheville, and now I’m getting ready to sneak back out. I finished up the semester tonight with no big fanfare or emotion. Just some certificates and paperwork and a couple of hugs. I loaded my books and my games into the trunk of my car, and I drove the 30 miles home for the last time. And what a relief that thought is! Seriously, y’all, I was not made for commuting. I can’t tell you how happy I am about driving 15 minutes to work through town instead of 30-35 minutes to work on the interstate.
Tomorrow will be different as I say good-bye to friends and see all my earthly possessions once again loaded up into the back of a truck, but I suppose I’ll deal with that then. For now, I’m going to aloe up my still-burnt legs and hit the hay, for tomorrow, the moving begins.
My brain is empty. There’s no activity whatsoever except for “Candle on the Water” playing as a sort of screen saver. My days are going something like this:
Wake up.
Sit on the couch.
Apply aloe to crispy legs.
Watch an episode of Pushing Daisies while I eat breakfast.
Catch up on email/facebook/twitter.
Shower.
Be convinced to do something that is not writing (hang out, run errands, watch a movie, etc.)
Watch Pushing Daisies while I eat lunch.
Apply aloe to legs again.
Write an article. Or not.
Pack.
Teach.
Come home.
Apply aloe.
Go to bed.
On a positive note, I’m seriously almost completely packed. On a more daunting note, my things still have not multiplied, and I’m beginning to be concerned. I have a theory that it only multiplies under stress, and since I started packing so early, I’m not stressed about it, and therefore it shan’t multiply. But we’ll see. If my theory turns out to be correct, that means I’ll have to re-write the stages of moving (and also a handy guide to moving), but I’ll let you know how the rest of the week goes. For now, I’m going to watch one more episode of Pushing Daisies and go to bed (I’ve already applied my aloe).
I live in a musical, if only in my own mind. There’s always a song playing in my head, always a lyric to fit the occasion, and if I had my way, we’d all burst into spontaneous, choreographed dance in the streets daily. The weather (natural lighting) would also fit our moods, and our outfits would always range from just a little over the top to holy sequins, Batman! This is my ideal world.
Unfortunately, the rats on the street don’t all dance around my feet encouragingly (Hairspray), getting mugged in New York is almost never a golden opportunity to throw caution to the wind and start from scratch (Thoroughly Modern Millie), and I fear most child laborers don’t psych themselves up for a long day’s work with a robust song and dance around the city square (Newsies).
The real world isn’t an ideal world, but I can create one by writing a musical.
This is something I’ve been talking about for a while. It’s an idea my sister and I had on our way to Mom and Dad’s house for Christmas one year. We were listening to Neil Diamond, and when “America” came on, we both heard it – really heard it in a new way – as an opening number.
Click play, then read on as you listen.
The strings start out low and ominous as we see the city, quiet and dimly lit in the early morning. Then as one, hopeful, sustained note plays, the sun begins to rise as the city comes to life. Husbands kiss wives good-bye as they head off to work in their suits and hats, women shake out rugs from their balconies, florists open their shops and sweep off their stoops, restaurateurs haggle with fishermen over the price of their daily catch, and as the bell chimes, we see a boat coming into the harbor, its passengers on deck, groggy and shivering, but hopeful as they catch their first glimpse of the Statue of Liberty.
The music picks up as dock workers and the ship’s crew begin preparations for the boat’s arrival, throwing ropes, sacks and crates in time with the music and readying the gangway.
A male passenger on the deck of the ship sings: Far. We’ve been traveling far, without a home, but not without a star.
Another passenger, surrounded by his wife and several children sings: Free. Only want to be free. We huddle close, and hang on to a dream.
Someone on shore sings: On the boats and on the planes, they’re coming to America. Never looking back again, they’re coming to America.
You get the picture. Characters continue singing lines of the song until everyone aboard and ashore is singing, “Today!”
The captain of the ship descends the gangway slowly singing, “My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Of thee I sing today!” Then everyone joins back in with the “todays,” and as they leave the boat and enter the immigration building, they stop singing until all that’s left onstage is one boy, looking at the statue, almost whispering, “Today.”
Just thinking about it is making me want to watch it. There’s just one problem: In order to watch it, I have to write it, and I don’t know ANYTHING about writing a play. I honestly don’t know anything about writing fiction. Listening to several Neil Diamond songs, I see scenes playing so vividly in my mind, but I have no idea how they are related to each other or how they’ll string together to make a story.
And that’s part of the reason I want to go to the Living a Better Story Seminar in Portland. Living a story means knowing what a story is all about, and living a better story requires the ability to envision it. That’s basically what you need to write fiction too, am I right?
And ok, so I lied before when I said there was just one thing standing in the way of me watching my musical. There are lots of obstacles:
I have no idea how to write a play. We’ve now covered that. I need writing classes/workshops/groups to help me.
I’ll have to get Neil Diamond’s permission to use his songs.
Once a play is written, I’ll need performers, a place to present it, people to design/make costumes and sets, a marketing team/plan/materials, and money to pay for all of these things.
Not to mention, once the show is written, I’ll need to concentrate all my efforts on getting it ready, which means I’ll need funds to cover my living expenses for a few months.
I want Neil Diamond to appear in the show as Brother Love of “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.”
I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’m hoping the conference will teach me a little about story-telling, but also about finding the resources I’ll need to do this (or any other big thing I might want to do). I’m hoping it’ll be an encouraging thing and that it’ll get my creative mind thinking about where to get the money to take the classes and pay the people to build the sets and make the costumes, etc. And I guess I’m really hoping it’ll teach me how to invite others into my story in a way that makes them want to participate and/or follow a big dream of their own.
Here’s a video about the conference for anyone else who’s interested. Wasn’t it so sweet of Don to make this for y’all? I’ll be sure to thank him properly if he picks me to attend the conference (I’m thinking cupcakes, but feel free to leave suggestions for how to thank him properly in the comments).
I want to tell y’all this story really fast before I go to see Iron Man 2 with my roommate. I don’t think I’ve already told it, but if I have, forgive me.
So my friend Rae was at this thing one night. I don’t really know what to call it. I’d say it was an open mic night if the performances were all musical or spoken, but they were not. They were all kinds of things including white, middle-aged, suburban women doing some kind of African tribal dancing, which was Rae’s favorite. And the whole time all these performances are going on onstage, there’s a dude off in a corner painting naked women. Not painting pictures of naked women, but actually painting ON naked women. Live. In public.
So somebody (I don’t know who. The MC, maybe, or the host, or a news crew. Who knows?) goes over to interview this artist in the corner, and here is what we now know of him:
His name is Moon. And he didn’t always paint on naked chicks. I think he did more traditional art before. Heck, he might have even done some commercial stuff. I don’t know. But he woke up one day dissatisfied, and he decided that the logical thing to do was to ask his paintbrush what it wanted to do. So he asked his paintbrush, “What do you want to do?” And the paintbrush replied, according to Moon, “I want to dance!”
I like to imagine that the paintbrush did some jazz hands there.
So Moon interpreted this to mean, “I want to paint on naked chicks,” and that’s what he does now.
This is not necessarily a story I want to write with my life, but seeing as I do not have that post finished yet, and this just came up the other day, I figured I’d tell y’all about it.
I was talking to Emily Furr Hogan about that summer (I think it was ‘98) when we did the BeeGees puppet show for the kids at Vacation Bible School, and Patty Astronaut TP’d the sound booth (naughty Patty). I’m not sure why we were so insistent upon making the theme of VBS that year disco when it was clearly space. I guess we just wanted to have it all. And we did. As the kids were arriving in the morning, we had “Disco Inferno” playing, and when we were put in charge of telling the Bible lesson that day, we worked up a very elaborate puppet show that involved both of us working at least two puppets AND a boom box, which is quite a feat when you’ve only got two hands, and one of them is constantly stuck up in the air. But we did it, complete with “Stayin’ Alive” intro music when each new character arrived on the scene and a duet of “How Deep Is Your Love” with Jesus and Peter center stage and two other disciples singing back-up.
I don’t know if those kids still remember that, but we sure do, so it got us to thinking…we should write Vacation Bible School curriculum! I’m pretty sure all you need is a theme, songs with hand motions to go along with the theme, cheesy videos to go with the theme, Bible stories that can be vaguely related to the theme, and lots of themed…stuff – name tags and cardboard cut-outs and workbooks and stuff.
I think we can do it, and here are my ideas for themes:
Roaring 20s – The VBS kids would learn to do the Charleston and steer clear of alcohol (like good little Baptists and prohibitionists). They’d also learn about freedom in Christ through the new-found freedom of women in the 20’s to vote, cut their hair short, wear shorter skirts and go to work. Then they’ll learn about how pride comes before a fall when we talk about the stock market crash of ‘29. And that brings us to…
The Great Depression – The kids would learn about the danger of worshiping idols and the certainty of God’s provision. The songs might be a little depressing, but I think the message would be powerful. All lesson materials would be printed on the backs of scraps of last year’s materials.
Woodstock – Message of the week: Peace and love, kids. That’s what Jesus is all about. Every large group gathering would be held outside in the grass. There would be no videos or mandatory hand motions, just music and free dance time. In craft time, they’d just be encouraged to let the paintbrush do whatever it wants to do (which reminds me of another story I have to tell you later…don’t let me forget).
DISCO!! – Clearly Emily and I already think this is a great idea. I mean BeeGees songs are already written in an ideal octave for little kid voices to sing them, and we’ve already demonstrated that “How Deep Is Your Love” is the perfect song to teach the reinstatement of Peter. We can talk about eternal life in heaven with “Stayin’ Alive” though we might need to Christianize most of the lyrics (not a problem, I’ve done it before). And we can learn to resist the devil with “I Will Survive.” The church is going to need a complete overhaul for this VBS week, though, with mirror balls, strobe lights and paneled floors that light up when you step on them. But oh my gosh how much fun would recreation time be? We’ll all do the Hustle and other groovy disco moves.
Awesome 80s – Every day, the kids will make a different piece of their totally tubular 80s attire in craft time. One day it’s a slap bracelet, the next they’re bedazzling a denim jacket, then they’re making some crazy asymmetrical sunglasses (to wear at night), and the next thing you know, they’re all decked out and ready to go to the lake or the high school football game! The theme song for the week is called “Jesus Is Totally Radical.” It’s upbeat and peppy and gets stuck in your head whether you like it or not.
That’s all I’ve got so far. I just think the cowboy and space themes are way played out, and EFH and I are just the gals to bring some fresh new ideas to the table. If you’d like to join us, feel free to share your theme ideas in the comments!
It’s Inevitable
