adventures at Cair Paravel

Josh is lying on the floor mumbling about how if even he was getting up there in years he would be happy about not being married yet and rejoicing that it's God's will for him. Kara is challenging him. Jessica is curled up in a pink blanket on the couch. Andrew is doing something or other with his cell phone. I am surfing the net on Kara's laptop and exclaiming at all the things on Kara's blog that really shouldn't be there.

Thankfully the subject is now on chili. Andrew is saying my chili is good. Kara is saying in a voice that sounds like she is rolling her eyes, "You have to say that."

Now Kara is deciding to go home. Perhaps we should.

Would you like to know...

...what happens when Sara has been reading poetry (and writing about it!) for too long? Observe carefully...

First, she will do something like introduce her blog to a Shakespeare sonnet she randomly came across while looking for something else. (She would post the poem she was supposed to read, and what she wrote about it, but it takes a bit more thought and interpretation than this one, and blog readers are not known for sticking around forever to finish lengthy, scholarly posts. In fact, I would not be surprised if some of you do not last through a line or two of Sonnet 116).

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


Then she will rejoice because she does not think Shakespeare is in error (this time...don't get her started on "Nor Marble Nor Gilded Monuments"). She will look up I Corinthians 13 and think about the kind of love God wants us to have. Then she will remember the kind of diligence God wants us to have. She will look up diligence on an online dictionary and find that it means "constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is undertaken; persistent exertion of body or mind." She will remember her homework. She will find out what diligence is in French. "Assiduité". Interesting. She will remember that she has a French test on Friday. She will bid her dear readers "au revoir" and hit the publish button.

(Did you find out more than you really wanted to know?)

God is good

I praise God that although the weight of this....

1. One chapter of Organizational Communication theory to read and comprehend fully enough to take a quiz on
2. Ditto for a chapter of Food and Nutrition
3. Two chapters of The Odyssey to enjoy fully, yet remember in enough detail to discuss in an intelligent manner.
4. A French test to study for.
5. A small mountain of online French homework to complete.
6. "Part II" of a novel to read and get grossed out by.
7. An essay to write. Rats. Forgot about that until I started this list....oops.

...weighs heavily on me because I should have done most of it yesterday and some of it tomorrow, I am still rejoicing. Why? Because my God is amazing. One evidence of this is that I am updating my blog from my now-perfectly-working computer. I don't understand why my computer works perfectly tonight. Yesterday it wouldn't even turn on, and I spent an hour talking to tech support (45 minutes of it on hold while reading a thriller/murder mystery for anthropology...) Last night it finally made some noises and stuff when I hit the power button, and today, it's back to normal completely for no reason whatsoever. The Dell people really thought I had totally messed it up.
Wow.
I know that God is not awesome because my computer is fixed. He is wonderful and all-powerful whether or not my technology is behaving the way I would like it to. But I wonder if I would be as thankful if my ENGL 237H midterm were still stuck in the confines of a non-operating hard drive. I would like to think so. I would like to see the world the way Jesus did, as Pastor Long preached tonight. However, the total depravity of man (also explained from the pulpit today) gets in the way and makes us dissatisfied when we can not see tangible proofs of God's unceasing care for us.
This week, I would like to be thankful, praise-ful and rejoicing no matter what happens. I would also like to be diligent and get all my stuff done which is why I am going to bed now.
Good night, friends.

I'm in a computer lab in Beering Hall...

I was going to update my blog last night. I really was.
But then something horrible happened. Between stirring the Mexican chicken I was preparing for dinner and writing my mom an email, I managed to spill a glass of water on my laptop. Nothing happened at first. I sopped up the water and went on with life. But then a few minutes later I turned back to my computer and the screen was blank. Then it shut off and no amount of cajoling and pushing the power button would induce it to return to its happy previous state.
Currently, my laptop is lying in pieces on the coffee table, thanks to Josh and Andrew who came over with screwdrivers. I'm hoping it will dry out and work fine. However, this means my insightful post on lessons learned from ANTH 379 will just have to wait. It's sort of in my head but not enough that I can spit it out right here, right now, especially since I really need to research some stuff for French class.
Tonight, Liz, Mia, Patrick, Andrew and I are going swing dancing at Fountain Square in Indy!! It should be fantastic!
Advice for the day: Keep anything liquid far, far away from your laptop.

stealing the limelight

So, my dear sister has embarked upon an ambitious plan to have a blog. Thus far, her writings have been very amusing, but I wonder what she is going to write about when the flurry of excitement dies down. Right now all I have to do is walk in a room where either she or Kara is and they will start madly giggling or grinning ear to ear. Perhaps when events like....



It is sort of late at night, but it feels even later because Sara is sick, she has been up since way too early finishing homework she didn't do over the weekend, and she knows she has to get up to be at work at 6 am the next day. Not to mention she knows her father went out to dinner with a boy, and that boy's roommate (JOSHUA MICHAEL BRIGHT!! AHEM!) is IMing Kara things about the boy shutting himself up in his room with his guitar and such. Sara decides the day is over and goes to bed. Just as she is drifting off to sleep her phone rings. It is located on the floor, and Sara briefly considers yelling really loudly so Jessica will come answer it. Instead, she does the non-lazy thing and jumps out of bed (nearly getting a splinter in the process) and answers it. She isn't quite awake. It's Andrew. He is saying things about getting a milkshake. Sara thinks he is crazy. She's asleep.

Meanwhile, downstairs, the three roommates have caught on to what is going on upstairs (Shingle Paradise feels huge but there isn't much privacy). Sara stumbles downstairs once she has gotten off the phone. The roommates are insane. If they were molecules, they would definitely be in the gaseous state, bouncing off the walls. Sara wakes up. The roommates convince Sara to call Andrew back. She does. He says he will be there in five minutes. Sara yells loudly to the ceiling, "Help, now I have to figure out what to wear!" Kara calls, "Don't worry, I'll help you!" and sprints up the stairs. Jessica, who is IMing Mrs. Wegener on Kara's laptop, shouts, "His mom says he won't care what you wear!" Mia is the only sane one.

Sara throws on some clothes and finds her purse. Andrew arrives. They go to Steak n Shake and have a grand time. Sara even brings back half of her milkshake for her sister, who was whining about ice cream earlier in the evening. When they return Sara gets exactly four hours of sleep (she had to stay up a little later talking to Amber) and goes to work. She is not tired, but she does have class in less than an hour and she is wondering why she is updating her blog instead of doing homework.


...stop happening, Jessica will make her blog be about herself. But for now I suppose I get to steal the limelight.

late afternoon brainramblings

I want to rise above
Like fizzy bubbles shoot heavenward
In a tall glass of diet Coke




But first I need a nap.

did you know...

...Odysseus means "hated by the gods"?

...it only takes one minute to make a really good tortilla with melted mozzarella and barbeque sauce in the microwave in Beering's basement?

...even the most suspicious person can only spot a lie 60% of the time?

...Splenda is not metabolized by the body?

..."lesquelles" means "which ones?", feminine, in French?

...my handwriting gets progressively worse throughout the day?

Purdue certainly is providing me with a rich education. All those facts were learned in one measly day. Imagine what wealths of information are in store for me tomorrow!

Would you like to hear about my weekend? Good, because you're about to. There is another version available at Kara's blog for those unable to stand my random tangents.
It started with a normal enough plan. Go to Bloomington with Kara, Mia, Jessica, Josh, Andrew and Patrick to ride a 35-mile bike ride (65 miles for the guys), stopping on the way at my house to eat some dessert prepared by my mom and pick up some stuff. After missing our exit and accidentally directing Andrew to go the wrong way down a one-way street (yeah, we wondered why that car was beeping at us), we arrived. And stayed a bit later than we perhaps should have, since we didn't get to the Wegeners until around 11:30. Anyway, the next morning we started out on our adventure. Let it be stated right now that I thought riding 35 miles was crazy from the beginning and wasn't sure why I was able to be talked into it. However, after we had gone 14 miles to the point where the two rides separated, I talked myself into something even crazier.
That's right. After the guys left, Kara and I couldn't resist. With happy grins we took off down the road....the 65-mile road, dragging my poor sister along with our lofty plan. By lunch we had actually caught up to the guys. I could leave it at that and let you all praise my excellent biking skills, but the truth is that Andrew had a flat and as a result they were still at the break tent when we panted up. They seemed rather surprised to see us. That should have been a big clue.
The guys took off and we tried not to die under the shade of a lovely tree. Finally we dragged ourselves up and pedalled off slightly faster than we'd arrived. Parts of the route were wonderful. That would be the downhill portions. Parts were quite torturous. That would be the uphill parts, especially the ones designated "The Alps" by some insightful Hoosier Hills people. We didn't make it to "Mt. St. Helens." At 54 miles, as the very last three people on the ride, being followed by the supplies truck, utterly worn out, we surrendered.
The snack station people gave us the three bananas and Powerades they had saved for us and told us we'd done a good job on those clunky mountain bikes. We smiled wearily and gratefully rode up Mt. St. Helens in the back of the truck.
Let's just say that evening I had difficulty getting up off the couch. Yeah, it kinda hurt.
Sunday we attended Church of the Good Shepherd and ate a delicious meal prepared by Mrs. Wegener, who is one of the best hostesses I know. It can't be easy to have six collegiate bikers (and one "Miss Mia") overtake your household for a weekend. Then we started on our way to Lafayette, with detours to the Brights' and to attend Southside Reformed Presbyterian Church's evening service. We arrived at the Long's just in time for Fireside Chat. Laurie came up, which was absolutely fabulous. I miss my Indy gals. The evening ended with a last-ditch attempt to get some online French homework in before midnight.
Now, Kara, Jessica and I are going to go deliver a late-night birthday gift to Patrick Daniel Blue, who is twenty entire years old.

life in the vegetable bin

I met an onion on the road today. It spoke of pointy things and horses (I remember the horses part as I looked out the window and floated in the trees and lost all interest.) It added prefixes where none belonged. When will my life be post-onion I asked? It gave me a sheet of pink on which was writ the worst quiz grade I have ever received. And then, what joy!, my life became post-onion (at least for today) and I settled comfortably into a chair designated happily for Intro to Short Poetry (honors) where we talk about things that don't make sense, but in a decidedly non-onion way, and where quizzes are not pink nor graded 5 out of 10.

let me introduce you to some poetry...

Yes, I have been reading poetry for a good portion of this evening. I don't think you will doubt me when you are done reading this post, if you even read all of it. After having a grand time jumping on the trampoline, eating stuff, and feebly attempting to do homework, among other things, at the Kesslers with my roommates and other CORPS people, I started reading stuff for a paper I am supposed to write on this sonnet by Shakespeare (wow that's a long sentence):


Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.

I think he is being a bit presumptuous here. I agree that poetry is probably a better monument than stone, but he ends up actually praising poetry (and thus indirectly himself) instead of whoever he fleetingly mentions as being the subject of the sonnet. We don't even know who it is or what she's like (most people assume it is a woman). Quite by accident I stumbled upon someone else who feels as I do, Archibald MacLeish. He is harsher than I am (maybe because he's a better writer :-)) but his point is much the same. Here is his poem with the same title:

"Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments"
by Archibald MacLeish
The praisers of women in their proud and beautiful poems,
Naming the grave mouth and the hair and the eyes,
Boasted those they loved should be forever remembered:
These were lies.

The words sound but the face in the Istrian sun is forgotten.
The poet speaks but to her dead ears no more.
The sleek throat is gone -- and the breast that was troubled to listen:
Shadow from door.

Therefore I will not praise your knees nor your fine walking
Telling you men shall remember your name as long
As lips move or breath is spent or the iron of English
Rings from a tongue.

I shall say you were young, and your arms straight, and your mouth scarlett:
I shall say you will die and none will remember you:
Your arms change, and none remember the swish of your garments,
Nor the click of your shoe.

Not with my hand's strength, not with difficult labor
Springing the obstinate words to the bones of your breast
And the stubborn line to your young stride and the breath to your breathing
And the beat to your haste
Shall I prevail on the hearts of unborn men to remember.

(What is a dead girl but a shadowy ghost
Or a dead man's voice but a distant and vain affirmation
Like dream words most)

Therefore I will not speak of the undying glory of women.
I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair
And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders
And a leaf on your hair --

I will not speak of the famous beauty of dead women:
I will say the shape of a leaf lay once on your hair.
Till the world ends and the eyes are out and the mouths broken
Look! It is there!


And then there's me, who cares not if you remember me, or whoever praises me in poetry (not that there's been anyone yet!), but that you remember the reason I live: my Savior, Christ Jesus the Lord! Forget Shakespeare. To Christ be the glory forever. Somehow that would not fly with my English professor, though, so I must get back to work.

musings over a bowl of oatmeal

This morning I came across something cool in Joel chapter 2: "'Yet even now,' declares the Lord, 'Return to Me with all your heart...and rend your heart and not your garments.'"

I love artistic use of language, and when it portrays a message as important as this one, it's even more beautiful. This serves as a reminder that I need to make sure my heart and mind are pure before God, even if everyone thinks I am already "all spiritual." God sees what man can not see.