The flying nuisance circles the room, buzzing around, landing, and flying again
Trying on my own politic
I’ve always assumed that if you are a Christian, you vote Republican. No one ever told me this directly, but it’s something I’ve picked up from sermons, articles, and Christian rhetoric. Recently I’ve been refining my faith and asking difficult questions about what I believe
White People Talking About Race
It seems kind of ludicrous to have a conversation on race in a room full of white people. How can you begin to understand the issue with only one race represented? I suppose that wasn’t the thrust of the gathering, but the topic came up. It was at a reading of a very intelligent and respected author. I wondered if he saw the foolishness of a crowd of white people talking about race. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, at least there is some dialogue. It just frustrates me that segregation is so ingrained in our lives. I walked back to my truck and passed people of other races that seemed a million miles away from me. Our circles of interest are radically different. This has been going on for ages, and I wonder if the trend will continue. The intelligent and respected author suggested we rely less on labels and concentrate on people. He said you can’t love a labeled group. But you can love a person. Perhaps that’s where the change needs to start. Little things like that. I wonder if the day will ever come when I can walk into a restaurant and the color of some one’s skin will be an attribute like any other I would use to describe them: tall, short, blond hair, red hair, glasses, etc. Of course to each one of these a certain stigma is attached and it seems rather hopeless.
I wonder how Jesus saw people.
Strap Myself In
Last night my stomach went for a ride. I woke up to find my stomach reeling in a circle, like my whole body was being twirled at the end of a rope. It was the kind of feeling you get from a rollercoaster, but I wasn’t at an amusement park, I was in bed trying to sleep. After a few minutes sense returned to my head and I rested safely on my pillow. Just a dream. But what kind of dream are you having when your mind gets so bored with sleep it decides to throw your body around? And this isn’t the first time I’ve had these dreams where I can actually feel my body flying. Maybe it’s some crazy metaphysical thing and I actually am flying. Or maybe my mind just likes to freak me out. But there’s something odd about waking up because it feels like you were just dropped from a 747. It’s not exactly a feeling that resonates with a good night’s sleep. Maybe tonight I should strap myself in.
Can I Go Play in the Backyard?
My head is swimming in a sea of possibility. What happened to yesterday when I played in the backyard? Now it’s time for the dreams to come true and I just don’t know what I want to do or where I want to go. But I have to figure it out yesterday and sound like I know. The cover letter has to be perfect, not too stuck-up professional, not too slacker-creative. Then comes the interview where you have to know what you’re talking about and pretend you want to work for somebody you really know nothing about. Can’t I just go play in the backyard again? What happened to yesterday and when did I get so old so fast?
It worked.
After a period of silence Paul couldn’t stand it any longer, “So
Some Days I Have It, Some Days I Don’t
And sometimes it just doesn’t work. I think you have to admit that. But that’s kind of what I like about writing. You can just play with it. My dad liked to build models and raise pigeons. I like to write. I’m not so much in love with sentences (as I feel I should be), as I just like to craft stories and words and watch something useful and valuable rise up from the mess of language. Some days I have it, and some days I just don’t.
The Grace You Can Get
But the warm rembrances faded and the siblings returned to the dark and stormy night. Blue flashes occasionally lit the kitchen, but otherwise Paul and Jeanie sat in a stunned silence.
“So what are you doing?” Paul ventured.
“What am I doing?” Jeanie repeated, with a hint of annoyance in her voice. She wasn’t sure what Paul meant by the question, but for her there was only one place the question could go.
“I don’t know, Paul. I honestly don’t know. I feel like I’m at the end of my rope, and maybe I am.” Lightning lit up the room again. “You don’t willfully move back into your parents’ house. It’s not something I wanted to do, believe me. But I have no other option.” She finally stopped, feeling like she could ramble on about the inevitable all night, like a dripping faucet that just won’t stop.
Paul merely nodded and sat there in the quiet. What was he supposed to say? Little brothers aren’t supposed to counsel older sisters.
Jeanie sat across the old kitchen table, her face buried in her hands, her heart longing to cry but her mind not allowing it. She wouldn’t stoop to that.
“Sometimes you need a fresh start,” Paul said before he could stop himself. He was the student who was never afraid to speak in class, but usually waited for a worthwhile moment.
“I’m sorry, that sounds kind of trite.” He faltered for a moment. There was something in her face that told him it was his place to be quiet and commiserate. He was also the kind of person who wanted to fix problems, not just listen to them.
“It’s okay. I’m not in a position to reject much of anything.”
The two sat there for a few minutes longer, the thunder echoing and the rain strumming on the window pane.
“I’ll take what grace I can,” Jeanie said.
I Could Use a Walk in the Park
College is an interesting time in your life. Your classes are your occupation, except that it never ends. Presumably when you enter the work force you are employed for an eight hour period. When it’s over, you usually go home. Sometimes you might work a few hours over if you have stuff that has to be done. But at some point you call it quits and go home. There is a vast separation between work and home, at least ideally. Of course lots of people bring thoughts of work home with them, if not actual work from work.
But in college you don’t have that leisure. Home is at college. College is at college. It’s one and the same. You don’t go home and get away from your classes and your work. It’s called homework for a reason. When your classes are over your books are still bearing down on you from their designated shelf. Your pile of work still sits in the corner, waiting to be done. When you climb into bed, what ever isn’t finished sits on your desk for tomorrow morning, to greet you along with the blare of your alarm clock.
Kind of depressing, isn’t it? And I only have one semester left. Ha! But seriously, I paint a picture of working for a living as a walk in the park, and college as hell. In reality I’m sure it’s not that way at all. College just seems like hell right now. I could use a walk in the park.
Slaughterhouse V
Isn’t it lovely to be sick on the first day of school? You’d think I plan these things. Well, at least I’ve set myself up with excuses to take advantage of.
Another book I read this summer was Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse V. I wanted to read it because that’s one of the more famous books by Vonnegut, and I remember reading another novel by Vonnegut in high school and really liking it. Of course Slaughterhouse V isn’t exactly an ordinary novel. Contrary to the sound of the title, it’s not a bloody slasher novel. It’s about the carpet bombing of Dresden in World War II, when the Allied Forces basically leveled the German city by bombing the entire city and forcing the city to burn to the ground. Citizens were trapped in bomb shelters and roasted alive from the intense heat. The devastation is comparable to Hiroshima.
Understanding all of that, you’d expect it to be a rather gripping novel that teaches you a lot about history. But I’m beginning to understand that Vonnegut isn’t a very predictable author. Slaughterhouse V has a very strange plot line, and for the first few chapters you’re not sure what’s going on. It’s a very interesting way to tell a story. I could explain some intricacies of the plot that you’ll find in the synopsis on the back of the book, but I think it makes it more interesting when you approach the book with little or no knowledge of what it’s about. By the time it was over I was a little surprised. It didn’t meet any of my expectations. But it made me think. And that’s why I read.