A jeopardizing library trip

Today I had a lovely morning and afternoon of sleeping in, going for a run, drinking coffee, and reading Life of Pi and making Spanish flashcards outside. Where I live, Jeopardy is on at 3:30 in the afternoon. I love Jeopardy and try not to miss it whenever I'm home. I came inside at 2:40 and had two options: either continue working on my Spanish flashcards go to the library. I figured I'd have enough time to go to the library before Jeopardy; after all, it's just down the road. I changed and left within ten minutes.

On my weekly trip to the library, I like to get a few movies and an occasional book. Since I'm rereading LOP right now, though, I only needed movies. Typically I choose one in Spanish, one drama, one comedy, and another from one of those sections. I found a couple Spanish films quickly, grabbed a random Johnny Depp movie as my drama, and ventured over to the comedies. Now there is a plethora of variations among comedies. There are romantic comedies, cheesy cliché comedies, dark comedies, satires, slapstick comedies, intentionally stupid comedies, unintentionally stupid comedies, vulgar comedies, and comedies that are really not even funny. I avoid most of these. Somehow, though, the comedy genre still produces pretty great movies. Without comedies, we would be lacking the touching humor of Dan in Real Life, the wittiness of Stranger than Fiction, the ridiculousness of The Princess Bride, and others like Night at the Museum, My Fair Lady, You've Got Mail, Up, Shrek, other Disney movies, PS I Love You, The Darjeeling Limited, Juno, Hitch, and many others. Today, somehow, nothing seemed appealing. I scanned all the titles, first from T to Z, then L to S, then backwards from K to A. Nothing. I finally settled on Big Fish just because it's Tim Burton.

In the middle of my hunt, I had utilized the library computer for the online catalog system. I didn't realize I had left my keys on the desk.

Just before I grudgingly selected Big Fish, I had checked the time--3:11. I had 19 minutes until Jeopardy. No problem. After making my last movie decision, I wandered over to the self-checkout. I have no idea why anyone would wait in line when they could use the self-checkout. For some reason, today there were lines in both places. After waiting, I scanned my card…and it couldn’t find my account information. I tried again. Success! I checked out one item. Good. I put the second item over the sensor. After a long delay, rather than continuing with my transaction, it printed my receipt. Bewildered, I gave it a quizzical look, scanned my card a second time, checked out one more item without issues, then it did the same thing again, so I switched to a different computer. The same thing happened. Frustrated, I separated my three already checked-out items and their three individual receipts from the couple other ones and awkwardly carried them to the regular check-out line. There were two ladies working. One was preoccupied with a family who was doing something long and complicated that involved both ends asking and answering an absurd number of questions. The other woman was in the process of checking out an enormous stack of children's books. I glanced at the clock on the side of the counter--3:20. The latter finished first, the mom and her three daughters walked away, and I proceeded. Before I made it to the counter, the alarm beeped, and the mom returned. She and her girls had three bags of books, so two of the daughters had to separately walk to the sensor and back to see whose books it was that set off the alarm. With children that are respectively about three and four years old, this is never a quick, simple task. Once they figured out whose bag it was, the contents had to be emptied on the counter and counted. 3:25. I'm normally not impatient about these kind of things, but this was Jeopardy that I was nearly missing.

Once it was my turn--for real this time--I explained to the lady what had happened, and she figured out the item giving me problems was none other than my Johnny Depp movie. Darn you, Johnny Depp. She checked out everything with only minor difficulties. While waiting, I realized I didn't have my car keys. As I frantically left to hunt for them, she called out, "Oh wait, did you know you have a CD on hold?" I had no idea, nor did I really care. I just wanted to watch Jeopardy. She made me check both sides of the reserve section, but my search was futile. As a last resort, she looked in the room behind the counters and found it, then had to check that out, too. Fortunately, I located and retrieved my keys quickly, as it wasn't the first time I had left them there. I drove home, making sure not to rush too much. Upon arriving at home, I discovered that Ethan had closed the garage door, forcing me to run around the house to get in.

And somehow, though it seems all forces were acting against me, I made it home in time for Jeopardy. 

Today's forecast

The weather is something typically discussed as the go-to subject in a desperate attempt to continue conversation or merely break awkward silence. Even the best of us fall subject to this. I catch myself mentioning the weather frequently, sometimes for this purpose, but more often because it's something I notice and either appreciate or abhor. Either way, I marvel at it. The frigid winds and abundance of snow of winter in western Michigan, the fresh scents and playfulness or torrentially depressing rains of spring, the scorching sun and suffocating stickiness of summer alongside the lake, or the crisp chilliness of autumn with an enhanced sound of rustling leaves in the winds due to their decay. On occasion, the world turns into a snow globe, a giant shower or sauna, or a desert. Perfect weather cannot be ascribed to specific conditions, but is subjectively based upon the individual--their preferences, circumstances, plans, and desires. For me, the weather was indeed perfect today.

It is supposedly 66* currently. I think it's warmer. Another thing about weather is it cannot be judged by the temperature. Factors such as humidity and the breeze alter the stated temperature considerably. I prefer to describe the weather by how it feels. Today, it's sunny with low humidity. It's warm enough to wear shorts and a t-shirt, but not hot enough to sweat profusely. A cool, light breeze ruffles the trees but isn't very evident when sitting still. That's the inexplicable wonder of the wind lately: when I move, it moves. When I'm still, it's still.

Thus far, I have loved today. I've spent a considerable portion of it outside, soaking up the much-needed vitamin D that is so lacking during the long winter months. Lately, I've been caught in quite the annoying situation. I have a substantial summer "to do" list that I'm excited to cross items off of, and I've been filled with ambition to accomplish some of this. Conversely, it's summer. I have little motivation to do anything. Usually, this results in me attempting productivity but achieving nothing, thereby crushing my aspirations while gaining little rest. Little else but frustration follows. Today, I decided to abandon productivity and just pursue relaxation and enjoyment.

The experience was delightful. I spent a few hours outside, first reading Psalms and Romans, then beginning to reread Life of Pi. I forgot how amazing that book is…more on that later. I wasn't quite as focused as I would've liked, though, due to the movement of the sun combined with the many trees in my backyard. If I want to stay in the sun, it forces me to migrate every few minutes as the shadows shift. I start first on the deck, then eventually move to the ground near the deck, then to the edge of the yard. It's a huge inconvenience. Once, I was driven inside by a shockingly large bee that took a particular liking to my face. Later, I took Winston for a walk, during which he stubbornly and persistently insisted upon thoroughly sniffing and showering every single tree we passed, as if some other dog has just marked it as his territory and it was Winston's noble duty to investigate and reclaim it.

My day concluded with a game of Scrabble at Starbucks, a Skype video chat with Jessie and friends, a terrible game of basketball with my dad and brother, a little more Life of Pi, some writing, and quite possibly a movie now. Overall, I'd say it was highly satisfying. I like it. 

Accidental witness

Today, I had to go get a drug test to be rehired for one of my jobs. It was annoying, but not a big deal. When leaving, I debated over which way to take to my next destination, the library. Option A: The more direct but more busy street with lots of lights that I avoid at all costs, or Option B, the indirect but slightly less busy street that I prefer. I had good music, the weather was nice, I wasn't in a hurry, and I was feeling patient, so I chose A.

I was driving along, one hand on the steering wheel and the other next to me, happily bobbing my head to M.I.A. from the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack, when a Jeep coming from the opposite direction made a left turn in front of me. He was completely justified in doing so--this affected neither me nor anyone coming from my direction. From the road he was turning onto, though, a black Suburban raced down at probably about 40 mph--fast for a commercial/residential street--and rapidly approached him. After seeing the Jeep pass in front of me, I did a double take as I saw what was coming. "She sees him, she's won't hit him...Oh shoot, she's gonna hit him."

The front corners of the two vehicles collided, the second sending the first spinning, its back end smashing into a concrete barrier, until the front finally hit another cement wall that prevented it from moving further. The driver's seat flew backward, and the man sitting in it wore a look of sheer terror as he spun in circles. About halfway between the initial impact and the halting collision into the wall, his eyes closed, and he looked almost peaceful. The other car swerved around the corner and stopped.

The next few moments consisted of a flurry of pulling over, jumping out of my car, checking on everyone, and calling the police. Everyone was alive and nearly unscathed, but really shaken up. Four terrified children were crammed into the back seat of the Suburban, with another young teenage girl in front with the driver, whom I assume was their mother. I stuck around until the police and firemen came, gave them my contact information, described what I saw, answered several questions, and went on my way.

It scared me, but that doesn't matter. I can't help but wonder how it affected the drivers and their families. Is this going to change how they view life, knowing that catastrophes can happen so unexpectedly? Where were they going? What was going through their minds at the time? Will they be more astute drivers? Do they have the money to repair their cars and pay for the ticket? Do they have insurance? Especially the lady with the five kids in the car...though she was going much faster than she should've been, I'm concerned about what's going to happen to that family.

It's so crazy how an incident at a small intersection, so minor in the grand scheme of the world, can dramatically change someone's life.

To write or not to write?

About half an hour ago, I wanted to write. I wanted to actually keep up a consistent blog about the multitude of my miscellaneous musings (maybe even including my love for alliteration...). Then I took my dog for a short walk around the block and lost most of that desire. I'm not sure what it was that drove it from me--maybe the fresh air helped clear my head of the absurd ambition, or maybe rolling my eyes and cringing at the way Winston yelps the entire time squelched my inspiration.

I don't quite know anymore. I don't want to start and not keep up with it--I'd just end up not writing any more than I do now, but feeling like a loser because of it. If I don't, though, I might wonder what could've come of it.

Thoughts?

Too much talking leads to a cluttered mind and a need to listen

Last week Friday, a week and a half ago, I returned from my missions trip to Mexico. I excitedly rambled about all my adventures to my grandparents, who picked me up from the airport. The following day, I had dinner with my other grandparents, whom I proceeded to tell about the trip. The day after that, Sunday, I met a friend at Panera and shared all my stories with her. When I finally came home, my parents wanted to hear about it. Wednesday night at church, several individuals approached me, asking how Mexico was. On Thursday, my third set of grandparents came to visit, and, at their request, I informed them of everything that happened. Friday, I talked via Skype to another friend about it. Yesterday, I gave a presentation during my church service of all that I did and learned. Today, I wrote thank you letters to all who supported me, narrating the many highlights of the trip.

I loved Mexico, but I am so tired of talking. Not just talking about my trip, but talking in general. I like talking--I do a lot of my processing verbally and I like telling stories--but I love listening. It's been a long time since I've just listened to someone else without having a discussion or contributing words of my own. I'm sick of hearing my voice (both out loud and in my head). I'm ready to hear someone else for once. I don't mean listening to music or a sermon, watching a movie, or reading a book. I'd like someone to talk to me. I want to get to know another person, hear their stories, understand their life.  

According to Rebecca West, an Irish critic, journalist, and novelist, "There [is] a definite process by which one makes people into friends, and it involve[s] talking to them and listening to them for hours at a time." I've done the talking. Now it's someone else's turn. 

Oh Mexico, how I miss you

Things I miss about Mexico:

-Speaking Spanish
-The best team ever
-Laughing hysterically many times per day
-Fantastic car rides
-Amazing food
-Sun and warmth
-My host family
-Z11s
-Sleeping in hammocks aka hamacas
-Daily conversations about who has pooped and who hasn't
-Great music
-Liturgical prayers
-Reflection times
-Rooming with Aleka
-Speed bumps
-Lizards
-Packed yet relaxed schedules
-Constant learning
-All the people from La Iglesia Bethel, especially Israel and Itsel, and also Victor
-Waking up early and journaling at the church
-Late-night futbol and voleibol games
-Singing
-Writing hate notes to team members
-Learning about the justice issues of Mexico
-Playing with kids
-Sharing and discussing what I'm learning with people who are experiencing the same things alongside of me
-Team games like Dixit, trivia, and Psychiatrist
-Being outside for most of the day
-Jordan's quotes
-Aleka's laugh
-Eric's sarcasm
-Banashak's wisdom
-Yolanda's songs
-Ben's excitement
-Chelsea's blonde moments
-Nikki's peace
-Josiah's insight

Things I love about being home:

-My coffee
-Wearing pajama pants
-Family
-Clean bathrooms
-Toilets that can handle flushing toilet paper
-Showers with normal water pressue
-The ability to communicate fluently with the people I'm living with

...And that's about it.

Can we please go back to Mexico?

Chinese poetry without the Chinese

I just finished the very last class of my sophomore year of college. Oh my goodness. The class was Humanities Seminar, in which we've spent the last two weeks reading Kenneth Rexroth's English translations of ancient Chinese poetry. It's really quite fascinating. It abounds with themes of seasons, changing, nature, sense of loss, longing, acceptance, darkness and light, all with an overarching sense of tranquility.

Assignment of the day: We had half an hour. We had to go outside and write our best imitation of the Chinese poetry in keeping with the themes and tones.

I wrote poetry. After Creative Writing my freshman year of high school, I vowed never to do so again of my own accord, unless it was intended merely in jest. Though I winced at the thought of this task, it ended up being almost cathartic. Here's what I came up with. It's a bit melodramatic, just as I perceive most poetry, but oh well.

Seemingly overnight dark red leaves
Sprung from bear branches outside my
Window, the window that provides
A glance into my home that has
Become so dear. The eviction is inevitable,
Mutually agreed, but still seems so cruel.
Within a week, everyone will flee,
Rejoicing, welcoming the escape from a
Place they claim to love. But I will climb
The sheltering limbs of the tree
Outside my window, and stop,
And respectfully mourn the death that comes
In this beautiful season of new life.

It's no masterpiece, but having read the poems in the book for class, I was able to replicate the general style and feeling. What's most important is the sense of accomplishment.