MrsQohelet: Finding Q

I Have Moved

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 02:08:00 +0000

Hi Everyone!

I've decided to defect over to Wordpress, leaving all the unstructured vitriol behind here at "Finding Q" and turning over a new leaf at "Sarah's Journeys".

If you like, come and visit. If not, don't.

If you're an old friend looking for me - you'll find me there.

Peace,
Sarah

http://sarahsjourneys.wordpress.com/

Teh Ceiling Catz Ebbidense

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 19:01:00 +0000

An reed teh commenz, too!!1! LOLZ!!1!

Paris Sucks

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 21:32:00 +0000

Runway models are dying to get jobs, because they're starving themselves.

After a rash of deaths in the last year or two, some EU countries are requiring that models have a healthy body fat index...

Wall Street reports that one model, Ali Michael, (i thnk she was undr wt last yr) gained 5 lbs and... couldn't get any runway gigs this year!!!
-- she could only land a Japan gig.

go figure.

Paris... women are dying to get there.

unfortunately, most of the complaints i've heard about paris this year have been related to the FUR!!!!
-- how dare we kill animals. killing models seems so much more humayne...

I can haz Vegas?

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 21:59:00 +0000

bwa ha haaaa... vote for me and send me to Las Vegas!

More on the online Poker Cats Contest

Me and My Dad's Email

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 18:02:00 +0000

I get a lot of emails from my dad, but he never writes (or wrights) any of them. My father is a Right-Wing Republican MSN/CNN-Ditto-Head. He has a gun collection, lives in the Virginia mountains and is a card-carrying militia member. And... he knows how to use a computer, so he churns out recycled Right-Wing Propoganda better than a million monkeys at zombie-bot typewriters.

[Note: in hindsight, this may not be terribly fair. So please note, my issues are with the extreme nature of the emails I get. Not... um... necessarily with my dad. ;-) ]

For the most part, the emails are either really cute or complete bullshit. So, I let my sleeping Wolf lie. But every now and then I get one that really pisses me off... and I reply. I should know better -- he's just my dad and he's trying to make sure that his little girl gets some good information in her (since I shouldn't trust all the left-wing propoganda I get... like NPR, BBC and the Associated Press. They're all pink-o commies.)

So, here's the trainwreck... please feel free to rubberneck my email angst:

.................................................................

... [it's one of those "unpublished letters to the editor" that some wise Newspaper Editor didn't print and some xenophobic retirees figured they'd convert into a chain-letter.]

Written in response to a series of letters to the editor in the Orange County [Florida] Register:

Dear Editor:

So many letter writers have based their arguments on how this land is made up of immigrants. Ernie Lujan for one, suggests we should tear down the Statue of Liberty because the people now in question aren't being treated the same as those who passed through Ellis Island and other ports of entry.

Really? well, that's an extreme point of argument, but I can kinda see Lujan's point.

Maybe we should turn to our history books and point out to people like Mr. Lujan why today's American is not willing to accept this new kind of immigrant any longer. Back in 1900 when there was a rush from all areas of Europe to come to the United States , people had to get off a ship and stand in a long line in New York and be documented. Some would even get down on their hands and knees and kiss the ground.

of course... because they had been sleeping in disgusting quarters packed like rats in the lower decks of ships for weeks without proper ventilation and food. People DIED trying to get to the US... even then. Nowadays they die in poorly ventilated 18wheelers and pray they won't die from the heat in the desert or that the police won't inspect the truck before they make it to Detroit.

They made a pledge to uphold the laws and support their new country in good and bad times

Yup. and the DIDN't have to wait 3-7 years without income in order to pass an immigration test that the average 12th grader would fail.

They made learning English a primary rule in their new American households

Bullshit. There are 4th generation Italians in Philly who still speak Italian and Jews in Brooklyn that still speak low-German (Yiddish) at home.

and some even changed their names to blend in with their new home.

or was it that they NEEDED to in order to get jobs.... hm....

They had waved good bye to their birth place to give their children a new life and did everything in their power to help their children assimilate into one culture

true... for the most part... of course, this was before cell phones and email. When you traveled 10,000 miles from home 70-100 years ago, you HAD TO wave good bye forever. There would be no turning back.

Nothing was handed to them. No free lunches, no welfare, no labor laws to protect them. All they had were the skills and craftsmanship they had brought with them to trade for a future of prosperity.

Just like our Indian friends have programming skills, Just like our Japanese/Chinese/Korean friends have business skills, Just like our Mexican friends have farming, maintenance, factory and construction skills...

Most of their children came of age when World War II broke out. My father fought along side men whose parents had come straight over from Germany , Italy , France and Japan . None of these 1st generation Americans ever gave any thought about what country their parents had come from.

Bullshit. They were fighting BECAUSE their parents had FLED from the fascism that was developing in Europe... they were fighting because the UNDERSTOOD what they were up against.

They were Americans fighting Hitler, Mussolini and the Emperor of Japan.

yup

They were defending the United States of America as one people.

yup

When we liberated France , no one in those villages were looking for the French-American or the German American or the Irish American. The people of France saw only Americans. And we carried one flag that represented one country. Not one of those immigrant sons would have thought about picking up another country's flag and waving it to represent who they were. It would have been a disgrace to their parents who had sacrificed so much to be here. These immigrants truly knew what it meant to be an American. They stirred the melting pot into one red, white and blue bowl.

Preach it, sister.

And here we are in 2007 with a new kind of immigrant who wants the same rights and privileges.

of course.

Only they want to achieve it by playing with a different set of rules, one that includes the entitlement card and a guarantee of being faithful to their mother country.

um... actually - they want to be given the opportunity to become Americans legally... but our Immigration Offices are too disorganized and underfunded to handle all of the poor, huddled masses who earnestly yearn to be free.
WE are the ones who are dishonoring our American Heritage of providing a safe haven for those who yearn for freedom and the opportunity to provide for their children.

I'm sorry, that's not what being an American is all about. I believe that the immigrants who landed on Ellis Island in the early 1900's deserve better than that for all the toil, hard work and sacrifice in raising future generations to create a land that has become a beacon for those legally searching for a better life . I think they would be appalled that they are being used as an example by those waving foreign country flags.

Really? I think they would be appalled that the US is now closing its borders and refusing to give immigrants a chance for freedom. But I rekon, it's all just conjecture, eh? Most of the Ellis Island Immigrants are dead now, and their white middle class children and grandchildren have become xenophobic.

And for that suggestion about taking down the Statue of Liberty , it happens to mean a lot to the citizens who are voting on the immigration bill. I wouldn't start talking about dismantling the United States just yet.

True. Now, if only we could put a Statue of Liberty in Miami, and in S. Texas, and in S. California, and in San Francisco, and in Seattle, and in Buffalo NY... That's it.

What we really need is a Statue of Liberty in EVERY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.

... but then, that's just MY Opinion. Shame it won't get published anywhere anytime soon. Except maybe... online. :-)

(signed) Rosemary LaBonte

AND MrsQ

Peace.

What a Wreck!

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 18:02:00 +0000

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I've got a story for ya...

It was the best of times.

It was the worst of times.

It was a dark and stormy night, when a green car being driven by a woman was rear-ended by a dude from New Jersey. (the sexist image from iStock photo is so close, yet so far...)

- - - - - - - -

Bad News: I was in a car accident with two kids in the car last night.

Good News: Everyone’s fine

Bad News: The car may be totaled

Good News: We could use a new car

Bad News: I wasn’t at fault, but I don’t have car insurance

Good News: It was Jim’s Car

Bad News: It was Jim’s Car

Good News: It happened on a Jersey Bridge so it won’t take points off my PA license

Bad News: We’ll be down to one car for a little while

Good News: We just got AAA+, so maybe they’ll spot a cheap rental

Bad News: This is going to be really annoying

Good News: I’d rather be annoyed than in the hospital.

Overall, I'm counting my blessings. There were many MANY things that could have gone much MUCH worse last night. I might just write up the full story of God-incidences once I have the time... and once the pan out.

I'm still worried about many things yet to come, but we got a call from a "3rd party representative" who indicated that the other party will be paying for damages. (whether this means that lawyers were contacted by the Jersey driver INSTEAD of an insurance rep, I don't know...)

But, I'm back, it's a new year, and we're all healthy.

So, I am thankful.

------------
PS: I don't feel guilty about stealing the image because it's sexist. Serves 'em right. :-P

Advent Update

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 12:35:00 +0000

Howdy folks!

I know that some of ya'll actually read my blog. Why you do this, I haven't a clue, but just so you know -- I haven't given up or given in, but I have to put my internet connections on hold for a while (get it? its a joke...)

See, we've moved many many times, and I know that I HATE living in an unsettled, disorganized, messy home with an inconsistent schedule. I loose things, forget things, and let people down. Yuk. Also, knowing that we may only be here two years, I didn't want to let settling in drag out. Why take a year to unpack when I'll just have to pack it up again another year later? So, I gave myself a timeline. I wanted to be completely unpacked, functioning smoothly, and settled in by the end of the year. Why? Because I want to have people over for dinner from time to time next year, and I know we won't do that unless we're settled in. Also, I have these kids who are growing up and needing attention. I have to help them adapt to city living just as much as I have to make sure that I'M adapting to it. This is rather time consuming and draining.

So, there it is. I'll be back...
-- but probably not until after the Mummer's Parade.

Peace Out!
MaMaQ

_______________
photo note: The bassist, the green queen and the lion. It oughta be a c.s. lewis book. picture brought to you by the Greater Overbrook String Band. (notice the mandolin in the background. good Irish city folk, yes?) See them live on New Years day... then have dinner over at my place just a short drive away!

Two... no... more than twenty truths

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 02:09:00 +0000

11/28/07 Note:
Not only did this post prove to be an interesting intellectual and emotional exercise, but it was very useful for me in my present situation. Having recently moved my family from a sub-urban community where we hit spiritual wall after spiritual wall, to a painfully urban community where we have an honest and loving spiritual community willing to accept us and walk in faith with us... we're all experiencing a bit of a collective mind-fuck. I had become a bit lost in the stress of the situation and forgotten myself. By rattling on so below, it helped me remember who I was. Cool, eh?

Oh... a friend from ages past contacted me with a question or two and I realized that I'd gotten something wrong in my facts below:

The fellow I went to Sr. Prom with probably wasn't an actual son of a witness relocation programme -- rather, he had a very Irish name and a very Arabic physique, and his deceased father was from a mostly unknown background... so the relocation story was a fun one to hang onto during those painful teen years.
Yes, my mother worked for the CIA. She was initially posted in the DC Post Office, updating CIA addresses from Postal Service address index cards. She had two international assignments that I know of, but retired when she married (to an Arlington Cop) in order to settle down and make babies. I love my mom.

And in other, more mundane news:

I'm trying to get my kids into a private quaker middle school.
Because he'd rather read a book than play touch-football or basketball, my older son isn't fitting in on the asphalt playground.
I work at a University because I'm sick of the corporate world... and a friend just pointed out that if I stay where I am, the kids will get a free University education. Bonus!
I like neo-monasticism, but I know I'm too selfish for it.
My family plays games from time to time (clue, upwords, Apples to Apples, crystal chronicles...), and they're often our best family nights.
My tiny little city apartment is starting to grow on me...
I have an air mattress, anyone want to come and visit? :-)

<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>:<>

Two Truths and a… what?
And now -- more information about MrsQ than you ever cared to know and never cared to ask:

I’m not a fast thinker with a quick retort – but I can usually come up with a really good zinger once I walk away. This personality trait has often saved me from terribly embarrassing situations wherein I might have found myself eating crow -- having crossed those lovely social boundaries for standard/formal socially appropriate behaviour. BUT, it does mean that if ever WANT to be the life of the party, I have to prepare my jokes in advance.

Case ‘en pointe: Two truths and a lie. I've been very boring at this party game many times. I’ve had such a freaky life, I ought whip off some real zingers… but in the moment, when an odd group is staring at me, my strange life seems very normal and I toss out the silliest things... like "last night I ate Potato Chips" or "I have a cat named Zippy." Dumb stuff. Then, later on, I'll think of something cool I should have said.

So, here’s a list from me, about me, and for me:

I took voice lessons in Virginia from a renowned Japanese Opera Singer.
My brother is an FBI Computer Forensics Special Agent.
I was a girl scout, but quit when they brought in Mary Kay.
I’ve lived in 12 zip codes in the past 15 years... but I'm a home-body at heart and I've always hated moving.
I miss my free time, and I often resent being a 'working mom'.
My grandpa invented Hogan Alley at Quantico.
I’ve gone to therapy with a Hollywood Psychologist.
I've been to Fishnet, Creation, and Cornerstone - but I missed Soul Fest.
I once owned an Iguana named Maximilian Weber Draco.
My father-in-law is a (recovering) crack-addict.
I’ve peed in bushes.
I’ve been the only female in many Ultimate Frisbee games.
The president of Goshen College used to be my pastor.
I once took a road trip from Virginia to Maine.
My Mainiac boyfriend dumped me on that road trip (and I still haven’t forgiven him.)
I’ve performed in bars, coffeehouses, concert halls and recording studios.
My "maid of honor" was a gay male friend.
I've always wanted a tattoo, but can't decide what to get.
I got married during my first first-trimester.
I was mistaken for a native Turk in Istanbul.
I’ve been to the site of ‘Mary’s Ascension.’
My mother was a CIA agent.
I almost fell into the Grand Canyon.
My first date was inter-racial... in KKK territory.
Like a vampire, canines grew out of my gums instead of incisors.
I want my husband to teach abroad more than he does.
I'm a Peace-Church Christian.
I’ve studied German, French and Turkish.
My sister-in-law has a PhD in Cello Performance.
I find that most Christian men are sexist and self-centered.
By writing the above on a post like this, I'M being sexist and self-centered.
My grandfather’s left hand was shot off by a rifle accident.
I resent being a woman in a man's world.
I turned down a job in Harvard’s Arts and Humanities management office.
I’ve flown a plane.
I've never read the bible (w/ apocrypha) cover-to-cover, but I want to someday.
My dad’s an ex-cop.
My dad quit the force when his partner was shot and killed.
I've eaten fried squirrel's legs, but I prefer steamed calamari with wild mushrooms and heirloom tomatoes.
I was offered (but did not accept) a bribe by a Korean MATheology student.
I’ve visited Dr. Miroslav Volf’s home and met his adopted baby boy.
I camped in Asateague, where ponies act like animals.
I don't really have any friends with whom I can confide serious concerns.
I have two incredibly intelligent sons.
I think that any government representing more than a few thousand people will sustain itself before it will sustain the people whom it is supposed to serve.
I’m a (fairly inactive) site administrator for a large Christian News Blog.
I have never used birth control pills.
I’d still like to open a coffeehouse and fair/trade shop someday…
I have successfully quit smoking, but I still keep gum in my purse.
I have poison ivy... but I'm trying to to scratch it.
I think God has a sick sense of humor.
I am almost blind and my retinas might detach someday.
My dad quit his Irish Cop gig after his partner was shot dead in a bank robbery.
I think I oughta' loose 15 pounds.
My husband is a vegetarian, but I'd eat venison every day if I could hunt it.
I live in an 'up-and-coming' black ghetto in Philadelphia.
I went to my Senior Prom with the son of a relocated witness.
I was a pretty good shot with an automatic handgun when I was a kid.
I'd have breast reduction surgery, but I'm too proud of my modesty.
I think that owning Mercedes SUV with wood interior is a sin, punishable by death.
I'm a pacifist.
I'm an artist stuck in an accountant's body.
I often dislike who I am... but like the person I'm trying to become.

... well. Those are all true. So, if you want a lie, you'll have to make one up about me. Just don't start any seditious rumors, okay?

_________________________________

10-23-07 That was fun! Here's some more exhibitionist info!

I have two sons, born in '96 & '99, and most people are surprised when I introduced them -- they say I look too young to have kids.
I'm in my mid-30's, but most people think I'm in my mid-20's... or younger.
I was once trained in non-violent crisis intervention, with the same course used with Chicago Cops.
I once learned some gospel tunes from old black folks on a southern plantation... at a mission on the plantation site.
When my girl scout troop went to Savannah, GA and one of the girls was caught shoplifting, they put me in her hotel room... I think they knew I was the only one who wouldn't be mean to her.
My kids are too smart & I worry it will cause problems for them.
My grades always suffered because I would over-extend my extra-curricular time.
I have lots of arguments with God.
I have always wanted to garden, but have never had the land to do so.
I wanted to be a Park Ranger when I was a kid, because I preferred spending time with nature than with people. (note the irony that I now live in the city...)
I am not afraid of people, so folks tend to (mistakenly) think I'm an extrovert.
I had a small town paper route and would sell my extra papers for cash.
I used a stick shift tractor mower when I was a kid.
I think that most "Christian" church-goers in the US aren't really believers.
I believe there is scriptural evidence of Women preachers, leaders, missionaries, etc.
I believe that gender inequality is a result of the fall, therefore a woman's ability to preach will be consistently under attack by all humans with whom (for whom) she ministers.
After having lived in Los Angeles a while, I can typically differentiate between Chinese, Japanese, Korean and other SE-Asian cultures.
I consider myself a Christian first, a Mother/Wife second, and an American... um... fifth? maybe?
I have often wondered whether my inability to recall proper nouns is the result of severe head trauma I received during a bike accident in '80.
I love quilting, but don't have the space or the time to do it.

Franciscan Fancies: Squirrels and Dealers pt.2

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 16:57:00 +0000

Okay – now about that squirrel:

At first, I considered the squirrel stare-down like the increasingly familiar Hood Stare-Down… but now I’m not so sure.

See, in order to park my car next to my apartment entrance, I need to turn down a small one-way street where quite a bit of drug dealing activity transpires. There are corner spotters watching when you turn onto the street, a small group of dealers sitting on chairs in front of an empty lot and across from a small alley (merchandise getaway) and additional spotters (bodyguard back-up) on a porch down the way. They are always there and they run a smooth operation.

They make eye contact because they’re looking for a drop. I make eye contact because I’m a southern girl who smiles at her neighbors. So, I make eye contact and smile. It’s in my nature. But I don’t stop and give them a ‘handshake’. Poor fellows. At first, they seemed confused by this. Then they began to recognize my car. But recently there were a few busts in the hood, and they hang out up the block a little further away.

[Pray for these folks. They really oughta do some time for dealing in this shit. May God let them go to jail instead of… the alternatives. Jail time would be grace compared to overdose, murder, or worse.]

Anywho – I’m the new kid on the block here, politely invading the local territory. We’ll just have to get used to each other, won’t we?

But then... then… I wonder…

Maybe I’m the squirrel. But if I’m the squirrel...

Who’s the figure in the window?

Who am I flicking my tail at?

The dealer? Maybe. Maybe I’m the smaller fish here. Maybe smiling is my way of flicking my tail and it ain’t gonna do any good.

Or, maybe… maybe I’m flicking off God. Maybe I’ve been a little too angry at God lately. Maybe I’ve been resentful that God brought me back to Philly. Maybe I’m pissed off that my kids have to live on this street with the dealers. Maybe I’ve been in an insufferably bad mood -- barking, flicking my tail, jumping around – because I’m pissed off at God.

Woof. (or shall I say “bark”?)

I really need to get over this and start trusting Him, don’t I? Sigh

Well, I might have had a Franciscan-like humbling experience in my spirituality, but at least the squirrel outside isn’t making so much noise.

Franciscan Fancies: Squirrels and Dealers pt.I

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Tue, 02 Oct 2007 01:43:00 +0000

Today I stared down an angry squirrel. There may be much to learn from our little friends.

My workspace is now in a small office on what was once the porch of a very large Tudor-style stone and timber Manor that was donated to Eastern University back in the 50’s. As such, I have windows that open, light switches in strange places, and an old wooden window that now opens into the office next door. It’s very VERY different from the padded walls and canned air of the cubicle dwellings in which I’ve worked these past few years, for which I am very VERY grateful.

So, given the beautiful fall weather, the sunshine and the cool breeze, I opened my window this afternoon. A huge pine tree is just outside, keeping the building cool and shaded on sunnier days. Its lovely branches frame a gorgeous view of a winding tree-lined road and a beautiful stone gatehouse, peaked in Spanish-style terra cotta tiles. The Intramural Ultimate Frisbee team sometimes practices here, but usually the only humans to cross the view are the tattooed and blue-haired students walking to campus from the train station down the road. The late summer breeze blows, crickets chirp, and birds sing their farewells.

Then, I heard a strange croaking sound, like the rhythmic gagging of a hoarse accordion with a hairball. I looked out the window, but couldn’t find it. A coworker passed by and stopped, asking if I heard that strange sound. Only after standing and looking up into the tree did I see the culprit.

A squirrel stood on a branch that reaches by my window. It was holding a huge acorn in its mouth, was flicking its tail, and was glaring angrily into my office.

Before I began working in this little room, it was an empty storage area and hallway. Because it was used for storage, the blinds were pulled and kept closed for years. When I inhabited it this past month, I dusted things off, opened the blinds, ordered quite a few desk supplies and started working. It’s nice being a new box on the org chart because I can create my job from scratch rather than filling someone else’s shoes.

Unfortunately, it also meant that this poor squirrel had never seen nor heard of humans so close to its lair. I stood there and watched the squirrel. It looked startled to actually see another creature, particularly one of a human sort, staring back into its beady black eyes from only three feet away.

Then, it spun around to face me, took a hunched position and began barking its squirrelly snarl with much ferocity and tail wagging. I didn’t move other than to cross my arms and wait.

The squirrel lunged forward an inch, spitting so furiously that I felt it would surely loose its acorn. I only tilted my head in thought, wondering how long it would continue.

Then the squirrel froze. It jumped to the side towards the trunk and just out of sight, but I leaned in to look around the trunk at it. It sulked backward slightly… turned… and leapt to another branch, scampered up the trunk and jumped out of sight above my window, fleeing my terrible and unwavering human stance.

Now, all I hear are the crickets. I’m sure my little friend will be back. But now it knows it needs to share its space with creatures that are very different from itself.

Today's Sanity Rating: LOW

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 27 Sep 2007 17:40:00 +0000

"Millennium Hand And Shrimp."

-- Foul Ole Ron

About Fear: Change Bites

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Mon, 03 Sep 2007 22:53:00 +0000

We went to Virginia to hang out at my parent's place for the weekend. This was a good thing, because I could chill out, debrief with an adult other than my husband, and be somewhere where I wasn't surrounded by boxes I should unpack. Besides, Mom usually has encouraging things to say.

This morning, as I was gathering our things and packing our bags, Mom told me that while she was reading her little devotional for the day she was thinking of me. She said that --

When you're afraid, it makes it harder to be see the many blessings you have.

Ho yeah. Ain't THAT the truth. I've been struggling with my fear ever since we moved in. I'm constantly afraid that we're going to run out of money, that we'll be robbed, that our car will be stolen, that the kids will be attacked... These concerns have completely consumed me. They are real concerns... but this does NOT mean that I should live my entire life in fear. I cannot allow fear of that which I cannot control - to control me.

Am I still angry? Distrustful? Yeah. Am I still afraid? Yeah.
-- but I have a place to start. I can start by remembering my blessings. I can try to spend more time being thankful and less time being afraid.

Photo Note:
Jim Hodges, Don't Be Afraid, 2004, inkjet on vinyl, 17 x 67 feet, displayed at the Worcester Art Museum courtesy of the artist and CRG Gallery, New York

-- We saw this very cool mural while it was on display in Massachusetts. It's a compilation of the handwriting of UN Officials writing "Do not be afraid" in their own languages.

The Latest Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 14:01:00 +0000

This week Jim started teaching.
Next week I start working.
The following week the Kids start school.

I still don't know why I'm here and I'm still having a hard time trusting God and trusting Q. But, undoubtedly, once I start working I'll be too busy to think about anything than the daily emergencies at hand.... life will consist of 1) 2hrs traffic/day, 2) a complex 40 hr/wk job, 3) family & household housekeeping.

This week, the car broke down AGAIN, the cat pee-ed on my quilt AND my jeans, and I'm having to go to my retired parents for financial help AGAIN in order to have enough cash to pay rent.

--- I'm really trying to find the silver lining here...

On Making Home:

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 03:28:00 +0000

When does a house become a home?
- when you start cooking instead of ordering pizza?
- when you know where to find clean underwear?
- when you start hanging artwork on the walls?
- when the cat finds the litter box?
- when your kids know where their toys are?
- when the teevee's hooked up?
- when you sleep in and wanna skip church, but your kids make you go?

yeah... life is funny.

Today we rested. I only unpacked five boxes. :-) They were the CD's, so it was fun.

I must confess that I am an incredibly materialistic person. I love being surrounded by my things. I love my artwork, my spaces, my places, and the little nooks I call home...

But how do I call them home?

Zippy the wondercat has been marking the apartment. This is not fun. But, she wants HER smell around instead of the previous cat's smell. Now, on the awful part of little Mrs.Widdles, she is trying to mark her territory while remembering why she needs to pee in on dirt. BUT, I have to wonder to what extant I'm also peeing on my territory.

Do I also need to mark my territory?
How do I mark my teritory?
Why do I need to mark my territory?

Well: Yes, with spatial aesthetic, and because I'm a human mom.

... I'd unpack it further, but I've been unpacking too much lately.

Have a nice day!

PS: found a bank, got an interview at Eastern, picked up the kids from Grandma, hung out with my brother for an afternoon, found a taker for our old brio table, cooked a meal that the family could eat (the last one was too hot-enchiladas), chatted with an old college contact who's now up to his ears in urban ministry. Good stuff. There are a lot of people here that I want to introduce my kids to. Peace out. :-)

"Blake" and the Humanist Psalter

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 22:53:00 +0000

I actually really enjoy reading poetry. I never have time to, unless I'm reading something to the boys, and I can't write poetry for crap, but I really enjoy reading it. A while ago, my aforementioned Atheist friend gave me some of her inspirational poetry. She had kind of created a Humanist Psalter for herself. I thought the idea was so cool, I photocopied her little collection...

But, though I read it through a few times, her Psalter did not bring me any cheer these past few weeks. It seemed hollow and painful that in our darkest most desperate hours we have only ourselves to rely on. Why? Because I know I'm weak and that in my weakest hour all I really want is to lean on someone who is stronger than me.

Anywho...

While reading the New Yorker today, I came across this one:

BLAKE

I watch William Blake, who spotted angels
every day in treetops
and met God on the staircase
of his little house and found light in grimy alleys --

Blake, who died
singing gleefully
in a London thronged
with streetwalkers, admirals, and miracles,

William Blake, engraver, who labored
and lived in poverty but not despair,
who received burning signs
from the sea and from the starry sky,

who never lost hope, since hope
was always born anew like breath,
I see those who walked like him on graying streets,
headed toward the dawn's rosy orchid.

--Adam Zagajewski

(Translated from the Polish, by Claire Cavanagh)

Now THAT's something I can cleave to:
People before me have walked my path, the path of urban poverty, and not only have they survived, but they lived joyfully and left a legacy of beauty. So, today I look to William Blake and to the God he loved, for in God there truly is hope - even when the world is hopeless.

Stability - part deux

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 16:09:00 +0000

I've been trying to figure out how to explain my rant about stability... but haven't come up with much. It all still kind of stinks. Last week was pretty evil. Many things went badly.

Presently, the boys are in Virginia, visiting my parents and their cousins. It was great to see my mom, if only for a few hours. I thought she'd hate the city and the neighborhood we moved into - but she was a huge ray of sunshine. She reminded me that we only planned to live in this apartment 'transitionally' until we settle into a real home. She loved the winding wooded roads through the city parks and how close we were to quaint old neighborhoods in need of renovation. In fact, she saw investment potential and spoke about our future 'somedays' when we move into one of those huge fixer-uppers down the road and renovate it into something wonderful.

I love my mom.

Meanwhile - I'm unpacking as much as I can... but it's really tough trying to fit the round peg of our lives into the square hole of our place. It's incredibly discouraging to be surrounded by chaos. It's distracting and frustrating... the last thing I need when I have to focus in order to look for work.

But - the most difficult and painful of the unknown variables of our children's lives is the question about their school. I know I've been spoiled by the public schools of Massachusetts, but by now we would have received their teacher assignments and school supply lists. Here, the principal will only meet with me the week before school starts to even discuss the 'complex situation' of their class sizes. In fact, she said that she may not even know until next week whether she'll be getting another 3rd grade teacher to accommodate their heavy enrollment.
-- AND, it's a k-8 school on a tiny campus. Middle school kids and be really mean... and in the city, being tough is a valid means of survival.

Have I just destroyed my children's innocence?
Have I just thrust upon them the school of pain that will toughen their souls and teach them hatred?

--------

Prayer Requests:

I need a Job.
-- God, please guide me to the right one and prepare a place for me.

The boys need safety.
-- God, please protect the boys and teach them how to love, to laugh, and to play joyfully, even in difficult times.

Our Home needs to be a Safe Place.
-- God, please make this little place be a safe place for family, where we can relax and feel loved.

Stop Aerial Gunning of Wolves

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 02:34:00 +0000

Cause everybody's lookin' for somethin'...

The Petition Site: Stop Aerial Gunning of Wolves

Why? Because we humans are able to learn how to safely coexist with species unlike ourselves. Granted, we sometimes have difficulty learning how to safely coexist with persons of the same species as us -- persons of different ethnicity, age, gender, etc -- but we should still try. As such, we should try to live at peace with our surroundings and with the non-human animals around us.

Peace Out,
Mrs Q

Stability

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 09 Aug 2007 14:56:00 +0000

What is Stability?
Security?
Safety?

Where is trust and faith?
Truly, the world around me is sinking sand - but where is the rock?
Where are the fruits of the spirit? The kindness and joy of faith?

I came here hoping to find a rock to stand upon, but I'm feeling crushed at the moment. I forsee only pain, strife and insecurity - there will be no stability. Rather, I will have only the stress of tumultuous and accident prone living. I hope I am wrong, but I simply see no end to work without profit, pain without gain and the dull ache of nagging fear for my family.

Naked Pastor recently wrote about the thin line of purity, but I feel that when I attempt to stand in that line I corrupt it and it am left feeling battered.

The clock ticks and I am too exhausted to move... yet everything seems to depend upon me. Whom shall I depend upon - God? I am so worn and broken. Maybe God could unpack my apartment, do my job interview, spot me a few thousand bucks so that I can pay another month or two of rent and find me a cheap parking place in center city?

Today, stability seems like an elusive myth, a fairy tale, and a carrot that taunts every breath, movement and decision.

Sorry for the brain farts folks. Stinkiness happens.

Update: Lo I depart unto the land of "Center City" to interview on the 19th floor of a Corporate Banking firm.... well, going there will be interesting. It will be very interesting if they consider me for the position. Oh, and on the way to the center, I must go unto the area CVS for hose (I couldn't find mine). The adventure continues....

Journal 12 - Livin' inaBox

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 09 Aug 2007 13:24:00 +0000

Well, I'm surrounded by boxes, not sleeping well, we're all stressed out, the car blew a radiator last night, I don't think the folks from Arcadia U want to hire me, and today I have an interview for a high power job I don't really want with a woman who spent most of my phone interview telling me why she didn't think I was qualified. The kids clothes are currently stored in trash bags and my own clothes are in boxes... somewhere. There's no where for them to play inside, and we can't just send them outside because we don't know how safe it is out there. I'm not used to hearing traffic, booming music from cars and the occasional emergency siren. I'm not exactly feelin' the love.

I'm actually feeling very much like an old donkey who's been pulling a heavy coach with a team of big mean horses... and I just sprained an ankle. But I gotta keep it going or else someone might shoot me. Then, who will raise those little donkeys that someone keeps telling me I have back on the farm somewhere... I hope those little donkeys are okay... whoever they are. Where are they again? Who's raising them? No time to think... must keep pulling.

I'm at that age where I can feel my face begin to wrinkle. I always wanted laughter lines, but lately I'm feeling like my face is just starting to droop... it's like the skin is slipping off the tense muscles of my face and despair is making its mark upon my road map.

Dang - it's 9:30... better go find some clean interview clothes... and some make-up.

Journal 11 - Arrival in Philly!

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 02:38:00 +0000

Well - we made it.

This is a wild little place, and quite different from anywhere else we've lived. We have to watch the metered parking on one side of the street, and have to be concerned about the safety of our cars on the other side. Two blocks over, there are huge beautiful old homes. One block back, there are burned out lots and dealers. The neighbors in our building are teachers, social activists and musicians. The trash cans and the winter thermostat are communally shared. The lot is overgrown and covered in weeds... and I am excited about the opportunity to play in the dirt and plant flowers.

It's an old 1800's home, with 14 foot ceilings and a built out kitchen with a sky-light... which naturally keeps the hot air away from the common room. Very nice, since we moved in during a heat wave. The people who lived here before us left us some a kind note with their address, a lamp or two, and some odd little items like wind chimes and cleaning supplies... And the property manager asked us if we'd like to go to a Philly's game with his small group. We turned him down, but only because we're exhausted from the move. In fact, at the moment - I'm the only one awake.

Well, tomorrow will be yet another adventure - so I must go inflate the mattress and crash for the night.

Peace Out,
MrsQ

Move Journal Ten

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Sat, 04 Aug 2007 03:00:00 +0000

A Perfect Ten.

Tomorrow, Saturday, the truck comes.
We actually have most of our crap packed.
We'll leave for Philly on Sunday, so we'll be able to sleep in our empty apartment.
The kids don't hate us... yet.

I wonder how' they'll like the place?

Packing bites. But, Q & I have finally figured out how to survive the chaos. He does odd jobs - contacting utilities, running errands, taping up boxes, packing his books & clothes. I do most of the rest of the box packing, taping, labeling. It's better this way. To each our own.

Oddly, this past week, we've been respecting one another's space much more than in the weeks past. I figure that before we still had seeds of doubt. But now, we're well beyond the point of no return. There is no time to reason why or if - there is only room to DO. Therefore, we place one foot infront of the other and trudge along.

Oh - I left my job this week. People were actually in tears about my departure. I'm going to have to send Christmas cards to these people. It's strange, but when people are in desparate situations, the loss of a cheerful friend is... really sad. Oh, and my boss... well... the man looked so sad. For the past few months, I've practically been running the department. He has no idea how I've been keeping things together, and there are a billion things that need to be put into place in order to standardize some crap... and now I wont be there to make it happen. Sorry dude. Seriously. What he doesn't realize (being new to the Corp) is that there's usually 70 - 90% turnover each year... so folks will adapt. it's what people do.

As for I and my household... we're movin to philly. My landlord asked me for my phone number today for the 'compound directory'... holy crap. We've joined a Mennonite Compound in a Predominantly AfroAmerican town. Toss in my Irish heritage, and you've got a Pacifist Afro-Celt Living System in Olde Germantowne in Philly. Sweet.

Dang - I hope I don't hurt myself tomorrow. I've had too many Chiro appointments this past year... well -- hopefully they did their job and I'll have better posture this weekend.

Peace Out,
MrsQ

PS: I got a facebook invite from an old friend - one I'd wondered about for years. Apparently he's in Switzerland?!? Freaky.

Move Journal Nine... Number Nine...

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Wed, 25 Jul 2007 03:19:00 +0000

Two weeks from Philly and all systems are GO.

I've put my job hunt on the back-burner while I befriend the cardboard, tape and black marker. I've remained fairly consistent to my '3-box/night' goal for a week now and we're still bookin.' (cause that's just how many books we own.) I'm tying up lose ends at the office and talking up the move with the boys. And (thank God) Jim and I are panicking/fighting less and packing/playing more.

About the Boys
They're bummed out that they haven't seen the place yet, but I've drawn them maps, described the area, and told them about the neighborhood & people we've met in the area. They're starting to get into the swing of packing by looking over their room and deciding what toys/games they could do without. We have wonderful sons and I love them dearly. Also, Q is doing great at encouraging them to play and to go outside of our increasingly cramped and dusty apartment. I love my hubbie, too.

About Packing
Designate space for packed boxes. Tape the boxes well. Having like items in boxes is nice, but unnecessary - especially when taken to excess. (IOW - packing a box of books is good. anxiously packing of box of your entire collection of reformation history is a little excessive/compulsive. put down the box and step away from the tape whacker.) Stuffed animals make great padding. Mark each side with the room of destination &/or a general description. Mark the top with a more detailed list of contents. And most importantly - If a box is heavier than our younger prophet, it's too heavy. (80 lbs)

About the Office
I work with and for strange people. My immediate supervisor can't seem to read the writing on the wall and hasn't yet realized that 'best-case-scenario' project management will get his arse nailed to the wall. Fortunately, he's in GA for most of this week. Meanwhile, the Evil CEO has been pleasantly distracted by extended relatives at his Cape Cod Summer Home, so he's to busy yachting to give us daily firedrills and rabbit-trail busy work. So, I can actually focus on wrapping up stuff that I need to do in order to feel like I've effectively closed shop and fluffed the next for the next person.

About Mah Hubbie
While faced with impending chaos, it is human nature for us to try to obtain control over our situations... including those around us. This ain't the best thing for a marriage. Also, we tend to get edgy in our speech, which also ain't the best thing. Solutions? Wish I had some. For me, I try to make sure I eat and sleep so as to avoid Psycho-glycemia. Also, I try to set realistic goals (3 boxes/night) and then to play when I can. I also try to make sure that I listen to the boys. Even if I don't feel like discussing the latest pokemon, it's important to them and I should respect this. Finally, I tell my husband that he's "a wonderful man and that I love him very much". He hears this line many times a day. It's almost automatic and often said in tired monotone, but it's still important to say it. Sappiness Soothes the Savage Spouse.

About the Job Hunt
It is very VERY hard to keep myself off of my job list sites for new stuff... but if I go there I'd spend time there, and I can't afford to spend time on that right now. But, the time will come again. I must be patient. I hate being patient. Sigh.

Hangin' in there!

Hedonism & Faith in Oneself

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Fri, 20 Jul 2007 02:59:00 +0000

Faith is about RELEASING power to a higher being...
not about cleaving to one's social power until it constipates your community.

Sin, in curvatus in se, is being turned in upon yourself. It's olde Augustine's definition of sin. I rather liked that definition, because by the time I had gotten around to formally studying theology I had already decided that Sin is Greedy Self-Centered-ness.

So what? Well, this doesn't speak well for the majority of American Christian groups, does it? Ever heard that "if YOU were the ONLY person to exist, Jesus would still have come to die just for YOU!" How about all that "Health and Wealth" bull on TBN? We have worship music in every style, congregations for every race and class, and enough Christian Stores and Christian Sub-culture that you may NEVER have to inconvenience yourself by befriending an un-churched non-believer. We are an American Christian Culture... in Sin.

We want to do church OUR WAY... But isn't Church supposed to be a place where we can bring others? A place where we can get mobilized for ministry and where believers can be discipled?

We are Armchair Christians who like to fight over the remote. Me-me-me-me... 'I'll let you pick the channel only after I'm not watching my show.' And so we go to church to be entertained. We gather with people just like ourselves in order to reinforce and justify our faith in ourselves.

Unfortunately, we are to be created anew in the image of God...
Not to create a community in the likeness of our own image.

Lookit!

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 12:07:00 +0000

I've been Simpsonized!

New England Churchiness: a case study

noreply@blogger.com (MrsQ) — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 11:44:00 +0000

I was emailing back and forth a bit this week with some congregational ex-patriots, fellow cast-aways of the faith, and I figured that this one was generalized enough to post. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Howdy Friend,

Oh yeah - you're right - not EVERYONE is like that [economically/ethnically prejudiced] around here in [Town], but I do think that there's a higher proportion of 'discriminating people' in this area than in many other places I've lived. BTW - It's funny how words change, isn't it? My dad used the word 'discriminating' as a compliment for someone recently and I kind of shuddered. He meant it in terms of having 'discriminating taste,' or the ability to make wise decisions, but I'm used to hearing it in terms of prejudice and institutional discrimination. Weird, eh? As for the New England situation, we've bumped into lotsa 'townies' with a strong sense of pride for their frugality and good old practical thinking... just the kind of 'discriminating sense' that my Dad was speaking highly of. Unfortunately, anything - when taken or applied in excess - can become a problem. And in this part of MA, lots of 'non-townies' with 'new money' have moved into the area and threatened the old way of life. Good old frugality isn't as productive anymore. Well, for many of the 'old timers' at First Baptist, this resulted in a kind of back-lash in discrimination-to-excess that started to look like the kind of discrimination I'm more accustomed with.
Therefore:

folks would only consider 'Townie' painters & antiques dealers for the church (I actually heard the term used when discussing subcontractors).
weird transplants like us weren't accepted until we could prove we had useful talents (which kind of hampers church growth)
outreach programs were not supported (we can't trust outsiders, anyway)
community programs unlike those of the past were not attended
we had excessive complaints that 'things weren't like they used to be'
people who voted with old money held greater 'authority' (of course, we didn't have many 'new money' families who could out-donate them, did we?)
the suggestions of the young &/or poor were not heard
inter-denominational events were not trusted
multi-cultural events were discouraged (one or two folks openly spoke out against bi-lingual services)

... of course, was this EVERYONE in Town? Certainly not. This was only the case for a large bulk of elders at our church. When the praise band did some of our most 'rockin' soul tunes,' one or two old men the church were actually dancing! They LOVED the loud music! But most people looked at us with fear and even outright anger. ([Mr.Elder-Man/ChosenOne] would often pass along anonymous complaints about our music at tell us to keep it mellow, slow, quiet and traditional.) It was really hard to stand in front of this crowd each week, because some people would look at us with big grins while most people were watching us in fear and horror. So, I'd grin back at one person, turn to look at another pew and be meet with evil glares... Which is why I eventually shoved my hands in my pockets and started singing to the clock on the back wall. It had a benign face.

BTW - Just so you know, most churches do more than meet on Sunday Mornings. This is the ONLY group I have ever hung out with that ONLY met once a week. Granted, the ladies' bible study would gather from time to time, but that was IT for additional community and discipleship (and I didn't fit in there because I was the only Working Mom). Most places I've attended - even the little churches of 30-50 members - had study groups and fellowship groups that met at other times... There'd be enough groups so that people could find something of interest and participate in Christian Fellowship! AND a significant part of the church would participate in one or more of these groups. Both We[zlo] and [Jesuit-Spy] tried to form these groups at our church... but very few people attended and some folks would even complain about them. I KNOW that there ARE churches (even in town) of people who live out their faith in God and their trust in the Body of Christ - the Fellowship of Saints. I know that there are churches where people love and encourage one another, where they reach out to one another with kindness and joy...

So, hang in there Friend, you are loved and you will find a fellowship of believers. I'm sure of it!