A Single Layer

If you're going to share your special version of the good news, aim for convenient timing. If you see a woman in her backyard, she might be at leisure to receive you. But if you can clearly see that she's in her backyard cleaning out the cat litter box, that's just not good timing. Moreover, if you realize she's been dealing in cat waste, it might not be the most dignified thing to ask her to handle your holy Scriptures. I would personally prefer to wash my hands before I held any Bible, especially after such activity. If I didn't know that yours was translated with specific text manipulation, inaccuracies, irregularities, and the like, I might have refused the offer. One other point of decorum you might consider. It's not exactly good manners to invite someone to have a seat on their own property. It's my house. I'll sit down if I damn well please, thank you very much. You are no rabbi for me to huddle at your feet on the patio steps. Ahem. Anyway. I do

All I want from life is to see this movie.

Thanksgiving 2009 I want to be writing in my journal, but I burned my finger on the gravy and can't hold a pen properly. Typing is easier. Stuffed, of course, on turkey and two kinds of yams and mashed potatoes and green beans and rolls. Dad and I walked for about fifteen minutes beforehand, collecting red leaves on First Street. We'll be frosting cookies in a bit, as soon as we can pop the dishes into the second dishwasher load. I took some blurry pictures of the table before dinner. Tried to take a picture of myself in the cornucopihat. Blurry. It is the day to be thankful, and I am. I am thankful for my parents, that they're interesting every day. That they don't freak out when I pour gravy on myself for no reason. For being steady. I am thankful for my sister in Africa, for finding joy and living as fully as she can wherever she is. I am thankful for my sister in California, for being more faithful than nature. For both of them – for loving me like I'm

I drove to the desert yesterday. Many apologies to all those who didn't know I was coming and were subsequently ignored. Though none of them check this blog - at least not to my knowledge - so it hardly matters. Spent almost two hours at the Noisy Starbucks while Tara finished her shift (hello Tara!) and wrote two scenes while I was there. Minus the roar of the flyguard, it really is a productive environment. And the egg salad sandwich was very good. Better than the sandwich was seeing Jenny again. I last saw her leaving from her wedding in a fancy car, white dress billowing, cries of 'hoorah' and all that jazz. She inspired me to make quiche - not that I've followed up on that inspiration yet, but I will - and we had a miniature wine tasting. The wine wasn't miniature. It was just... well, I guess there was nothing miniature about it. Anyway. On my way out of town, I talked briefly with Spencer about logos and design and design philosophy and blogs and business and

this should in some measure counteract the last link i posted regarding blogger culture. i hope. a little. perhaps.

http://insaeculasaeculorum.blogspot.com/2009/11/scene-from-sunday-school-i-would-be.html

i would beat the dust from her like a rug at noon-- like a rug in the yard against the sun hanging. i would beat her with racket or with rod and, like the dust from a mummy, all that is not-her will fly like so much sand into the forgiving air, the breeze like balm breathing the not-me away. this is my mercy-- (what i really want to do is touch her forehead with the gentle tip of a finger, gently push, and from her skin see blow these particles, as though this small gesture were an unforeseen gust.) 250905

When the water hits the tips of my suede boots, speckling them with unwanted rain, damaging their seams, their soft, with storm, I smile. I life my face to falling heaven and laugh. Who will ride through storm thinking to suffer not will wear a flinching fear for person and possession. Who will wade through water holding high the precious things, lifting above the stream the dear things, knows not how to love them. He loves who holds amidst the suffer, who hand-in-hand allows both comfort and decay to come. He loves who worries not, nor fears, but smiling at the gorgeous Good, lets fall upon the smallest of concerns the great unconcern of Nature. Even so far loving life, laughs slightly, though with pity and with pain, when the great Race of Man hits heavy, beats and falls upon the body or the heart. Yes, even so will I, though small and weak of frame, with much or slight to lose, wear wide upon my heart the happiness of rain. (written in Edinburgh, after being caught in a storm - Fe

For those who still check this blog even when I go a week without posting anything of interest or relevance, I thank you. I'm intentionally ignoring people lately, and it's very hard. I feel rude. I prize the face in front of me more than the job that needs doing in the other room, and there are a lot of faces in my life. Today, I will return to them, even if only for a little while. Because today is Patchwork! After church, I'll be heading to Santa Ana with mom and sister to fritter away all that money I don't have (heaven help me). Perhaps there will be pictures to come? Perhaps... Yesterday was my brother's birthday. I think it's time to stop calling him a boy and start calling him a man. He's tall. He's old. He's got a fancy car and a realish sort of job. Happy birthday, Nathaniel. I miss you.

There's a lot of noise happening outside my house right now. They're working on pipes or something. There seems to be a motor involved. My coffee's cold and I have a million things to do in the next six hours. I don't know why I'm blogging when I have nothing much to say. Just a way to fend off the onslaught of the hours. The hours... the hours.

This just in! I actually started browsing the link in the post below (yes, the one i posted two minutes ago), and found this : Patchwork is coming to Long Beach on November 29th!! So... yeah, I'll be there, too.

It's been over a week of my silence. I'm sorry about that. Been very busy with a lot of stuff I'm just not gonna go into here. Life is good, I'm alive, things are well. And aren't I descriptive? I'm typing this on my sister's laptop, because I just spent half my weekend here. Headed home in an hour or two after a shower and deciding which sweater to steal from her for the week. Next Sunday, we'll be headed to Santa Ana for Patchwork , where Tara will be peddling her beautiful wares! I foresee a whole lot of Christmas shopping going down. Hopefully by then I'll have my paychecks all sorted out (forgot to cancel direct deposit when I closed my F&M account last week. oops!). Meanwhile, I'll be working absent-mindedly, writing furiously and guiltily, and trying to be faithful to everyone else in the meantime. Being faithful to people can be complicated. How do you choose between two opposing forces? How to you respect lines honestly and healthily

by G. K. Chesterton Other loves may sink and settle, other loves may loose and slack, But I wander like a minstrel with a harp upon his back, Though the harp be on my bosom, though I finger and I fret, Still, my hope is all before me: for I cannot play it yet. In your strings is hid a music that no hand hath e'er let fall, In your soul is sealed a pleasure that you have not known at all; Pleasure subtle as your spirit, strange and slender as your frame, Fiercer than the pain that folds you, softer than your sorrow's name. Not as mine, my soul's annointed, not as mine the rude and light Easy mirth of many faces, swaggering pride of song and fight; Something stranger, something sweeter, something waiting you afar, Secret as your stricken senses, magic as your sorrows are. But on this, God's harp supernal, stretched but to be stricken once, Hoary time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a dunce. But I will not fear to match them-no, by God, I will not fear, I will learn y