Scrupulology: 2013

8/16/13

Lessons Learned from a Big Nothing

Our Colorado mountain spring water was spiked with something terrible this summer. At least that is my hope. I can only hope that some sort of covert biochemical sabotage was responsible for a phenomenon I experienced these past few months- much to my frequent irritation and chagrin. The aforementioned phenomenon was a social one, and went something like this:

ENTER MAN, mid-50’s, white, upper-middle class, dressed in Sunday clothes picked out by his wife, at his ease meandering around the Church narthex following mass

MAN sees GIRL, early twenties, home from college for the summer, well put-together, affable, and trying not to talk to anyone.

MAN: WELL, look who it is!

GIRL: Oh, hi there! Long time no see!

MAN: WELL, what are you doing back here? Freeloading off of your parents I see. HA! Ha! Ha!

GIRL: Aha, caught me red-handed.

MAN: WELL, I hope you at least have a job this summer?

GIRL: Well, I work two jobs at school, so I’m actually not working. (GIRL braces herself)

MAN: WHAT? WELL, freeloading and no job! What are you teaching these girls, Traci?

(MOTHER perceives the apparent distress of the helpless GIRL, swoops in and whisks GIRL away whilst uttering some sort of congenial apology for her daughter’s ostensible laziness of spirit)

SCENE.

I am sure that you think I am kidding right now. But I’m not. Two church men, a cranky old lady at Panera Bread whom I have never had the displeasure of actually being acquainted with, the podiatrist. I’ve gotten this spiel from all of them. The podiatrist, people! You don’t know me! You look at people’s feet for a living! I could say some things about you too, man.

It seems as though the vast majority of the people I come into contact with are under the distinct impression that, because- HEAVEN FORBID- I did not have a job this summer, I have accomplished nothing for society, and probably never will.

Well, you know what? I am tired of people looking at me in that pitiable way this summer. I am tired of people turning askance as I try to recover the conversation and describe all the things I have been doing this summer. That’s not what people want to hear, I know. It is much more convenient for them to write me off in the little space they afford me in their consciousness- Erin Dempsey: unemployed, not up to much.

Reader, if you don’t mind, or in the off chance that you are wondering, here are some of the lessons that my summer full of nothing has taught me.

I can not only run a marathon: I liked running a marathon.

Elephant seals have little joints in their fins that make it possible for them to scratch themselves in the most FREAKISHLY human way imaginable. And they throw sand on themselves to keep cool. And they are momentously lazy.

Have you ever seen a great tree in the mountains that is still alive, yet most of its trunk has been hollowed out and blackened at its base? Now I know how that happened.

I know NOT to miss the last exit before the Bay Bridge.

Hostels and B&Bs are the best accommodations for travel.

Sometimes, it is necessary to quit something.

Do not serve something that does not serve you.

I might finally be closer to understanding some of the best advice I’ve ever received: Don’t complain. Be flexible. Don’t complain. Be grateful.

Rereading a book is not a waste of time.

I cannot endure living in a two-story condo by myself.

I will train my future dog. Very, very thoroughly.

There is no rush to do God’s will.

Patience, above everything, patience.

Utilize job boards. That’s right, suckers. I might not have had a job over the summer, but I’ve already got two lined up for the school year.

Start saving, now.

I can grow plants from seeds, and actually keep them alive.

Be filled with joy. Joy in all things.

I do not want to have nice things when I am an adult, I want to travel instead. I want to raise my children to appreciate simplicity and to embrace new experiences.

My marriage will take precedence over my children.

I will take the time to thank God.

I can can. Syntactically awkward, but the jam is not.

I see a future in serving God’s Church.

I am done worrying.

And I have more. But that’s ok, I’m sure you have places to be. Suffice it to say that I wasn’t up to much.

7/5/13

The Leaf

The bridge is made of wood; old and mossy. Under the bridge, a small stream flows, cool and shallow. You can see the fine blond sand at the bottom. A yellow aspen leaf, edged in red and black and dappled with dark spots floats atop the water. The leaf approaches a smooth sandbar, which divides the stream in two. It seems to sense the division, the dichotomy it faces. It vacillates, hesitant, for a moment. Then, with sweet grace, it surrenders and drifts to the left, contentedly. My heart clinches a little for the leaf, and for all of us. But it does not seem to mind. It continues quietly along the way. It passes beneath my feet, and I turn to see where it will go. The two rivulets join together again, as the sandbar sinks beneath the surface of the stream.

4/16/13

Beauty

Call a fuchsia cashmere sweater luxurious. Call a pair of chandelier earrings exquisite. Call particularly well-applied eye make-up alluring. Call cascading, waist-length hair lustrous. Call a light and toned frame petite. Call a straight, pearlescent smile inviting. Call slender, well-manicured fingers delicate.

But do not call them beautiful.

It is time to reclaim this word. It is time to make it sacred again. It is time to restore its deep meaning. It is time to re-capitalize it. She must be personified again: Beauty. She dwells within each one of us. But her Phantom runs rampant through the beauty isles of every Walgreens and Sephora we enter. Her Façade looms over us from every billboard. Do not be fooled by her.

True Beauty is like the moon. At times, she cannot be seen. She dwells within a secret. She reveals herself slowly. Her radiance bathes a dark world in calm light.

Light cannot be bottled and sold on the shelf of some store.

3/25/13

Wow.

So…here’s my declarative. Taylor Mali is a bard: hard core.

Amen.

2/23/13

MiTunes 17

This song brought tears to my eyes before I even noticed it was pulling at my heart. This song makes me long for my homeland. Maybe some day a boat will take me there.