Books to Build a New Society

at the solar living festival last weekend I found an amazing publisher. a publisher that publishes books about sustainability, green design, environment and economy, renewable energy, education, parenting, activism.

for anyone interested in making wakes, here is a good place to start, or continue, to make a difference.

www.newsociety.com

enough PR.

Magnet lives

I spent the day yesterday picking up the pieces of my little Magnet. Literally.

In the early morning I woke up and started working, tracking down Milo's last name and phone number and address where my car had stayed the night. I was drowning in insurance policy numbers, phone numbers, police report numbers, addresses, tow truck numbers, license plate numbers, make model color and year information for my car, Milo's truck, and the Honda that hit us. I was so tired and hungry the night before that I hadn't thought to get this info.

So after some tracking down of all the scattered pieces, I rode my bike to the neighboring town to meet the tow truck driver. While I waited, I picked a few of the larger chunks of taillight and bumper and light bulb out of the street and took some pictures of the car. I inspected the undercarriage to make sure I couldn't see any signs of leaking from the gas tank, or any cracks in critical steel parts, but it looked like the bumper, lights, and tailgate took the damage.

We loaded up The Magnet onto the truck and the tow driver entertained me with stories of hit and run accidents, of old cars adorned with parts from a bunch of other cars from the pick and pull yard, and of fishing in Oregon.

At the body shop he tried to back The Magnet into a parking spot and cut it too sharp. The right front wheel came out of the brace and fell to the ground. It popped off the passenger side front bumper. It's a good thing it is plastic and the bumper just popped back in...

At Dibbles Collision, The nice guys, I waited for a bit then spoke with the receptionist that seemed to have a lot of little things that needed to be done and so would take a sentence worth of information, then do something else. Then one of the bosses took me out to look at The Magnet. He took one glance at it and said oh yeah that's totaled. So what you do is call your insurance. He takes a business card from his pocket) and tell them it is a total loss (he says total loss slowly and clearly and with an arrogant edge to his voice, and writes TOTAL LOSS in all caps on the back of the card and signs it. Then he gestures as if he is going to leave. So I asked him what he thought about the innards. Are they okay? Do you think the damage is just superficial? I don't think the gas tank is damaged; it is way in there. The damage is only to the tailgate and bumper and lights. But it has already done what it is supposed to do, and if you get in another accident it will be very dangerous. You should just take it to the wrecking yard and get yourself a new car.

He did not look at the innards. And this is what I would expect from an asshole that realizes he will not get paid for this job. And all the things he said, he said with an air of asshole factor, partly laughing inside and partly annoyed that he would have to take the few minutes needed to actually look at the car. And so I drove my totaled car away in front of him just to prove it rocks.

the magnet

This weekend has all come crashing down and I don't know how to deal with it. In fact it got to the point last night when jerry bonked me in the head I just stood there and started to cry.

Part I. Big toe prints

Friday night was a blast. I decided to celebrate after writing more than 8 pages and doing a ton of editing on my thesis. So we all went out. I stubbed my big toe. I left little red big toe prints on the sidewalk all the way to the bars. And all the way back.

Part II. Squish

I apparently attempted to fly by running down some stairs, missing a few and landing on my back. I squished my back muscle pretty bad and hit my forearm muscles so hard there is a bruise from my elbow to the middle of my forearm.

Part III. One-shoe McGee

We went climbing yesterday, but I could only wear one shoe. And I could only grip the rock with my right hand because of the damage I had done to my left forearm muscles. And I couldn't wear my harness because it hit my back where I had squished it. So I was bummed and I felt wimpy and lame. But it was still fun and beautiful and relaxing on the boulders overlooking the ocean.

Part IV. Trauma center.

On the way home we passed a terrible accident on the road. A motorcycle vs. who-knows-what sort of accident. The kind they surround with multiple fire engines and ambulances and cop cars so no one can see what happened. But we saw the man on the stretcher immobilized. And we saw the helicopter coming to take him to the trauma center in Santa Rosa. And I wondered about why I knew where the nearest trauma center was to this stretch of coast. I knew because that helicopter probably flew my grandma to that hospital.

Part V. hit

And as we turned into the driveway of Milo's house to drop him off, I heard tires screech behind me. I heard Andrew say 'turn, turn now'. I heard the impact. My feet flew off the pedals and my head hit the seat. I saw a flash of car out of the corner of my eye. I heard the car screech away. I heard Andrew and Milo say are they leaving? Did they just take off? Did they just hit us and take off?

I pulled out of the road. Milo and Andrew jumped out of the car. A neighbor had heard the accident, was already in his car and had seen the assholes drive off with a flat tire. So he turned around and went to find them. Then Milo went to find them.

Part VI. Run

They couldn't drive far with the flat tire they had from their wild ride into our car, then into oncoming traffic and over the curb, onto the embankment and back onto the road. They had pulled over to change the tire. Milo blocked them in with his truck. They tried to get away by going through the person's property but couldn't get out. They came back to where Milo was parked. The cops still hadn't shown up. The assholes tried to ram his truck. They got away. He followed in a high-speed chase, honking his horn. He tracked them to a horse ranch where they opened the gate, one of them got into a brand new fancy car with someone else. The other two disappeared. Milo came back home.

Part VII. Dispatch.

All the neighbors heard it. Some saw it happen. All of them called the police. Then all the people that witnessed the high-speed chase called the police, each telling a different story. The cops were confused. They should have been there when the assholes were changing their flat tire. They went to the wrong places. By the time they got to where Milo had tracked them, they were gone. The car was gone.

Part IIX. No paper trail.

If all our guesses are right, the 3 men in the car are illegal immigrant workers. And we suppose if they were caught they would be deported for reckless, and drunk driving, hit and run, etc. Though Milo got a good look at them, there were no identifying characteristics. They were Hispanic, short brown hair, and medium stature, not super muscled, dressed in Sunday clothes. He doesn't know which one was driving. Their supposed boss at the horse ranch would be charged for harboring and hiring illegal immigrants. And I found myself feeling bad. I don't want them to be deported. I want them in jail for a bit, along with the guys that helped them get away. And I want my car fixed. And I don't want to deal with it. but i'm glad everyone is okay, as far as we know.

Part IX. The magnet.

My car has two names: 1) the magnet 2) camy, short for chameleon.

1) we call it the magnet because it has been hit so many times. My dad hit a deer when it was pretty new, it rolled up and over the entire car, denting the roof and smashing the front. It has been hit in parking lots and on the street when it was parked. It has been in a hit and run in Fremont when a man turned illegally, rammed the driver side door and took off. It has been flooded with water due to a leaky seal in the back window. And it was home to a plethora of mold for a while. And yesterday it was hit again.

2) The chameleon is a reference to a hilarious Saturday night live car advertisement. It has luxury leather seats on the inside, a remote locking device, and an amazing anti-theft system. The car looks like shit on the outside.

My sister and I got the car in 1994 or 1995. She drove it for the first decade. I just got it a month or two ago. And we love that car. And right now it is sitting in Milo's driveway feeling wrecked and sad. And it is probably totaled because it isn't worth anything. And soon it will be on its way to the body shop where they will tell me that there is thousands of dollars worth of damage, and my car is worth less than $500. at which point I will smile and say thanks and drive (hopefully, if the gas tank isn't damaged) the magnet back to our house here. And the insurance companies probably won't cover it because our deductible might be worth more than the car.

Part X.

And my license expires in less than a week. And my car insurance policy has to be renewed on the 1st, and my health insurance expires on the 1st and one of my housemates is moving out and so I'll have to cover my mortgage... just a few more reasons to add to the fact that I really hate money.

The four-step program for unsatisfied housewives

Today I had my first informational interview with a local firm. I have to admit that I was overly excited about finding kick ass firms doing interesting work, and so when a friend blew off my interviews as if they were nothing I was defensive.

In Colorado I was unemployed for eight months. 8 months!! I landed in Boulder just as the economy was crashing in 2002. Public agencies cut funding for parks and recreation as well and science related positions. So I applied for bilingual teaching jobs and chemistry lab tech jobs and forensic autopsy tech jobs and coffee shop jobs and framing (art) jobs and grocery store jobs. And no one bothered to call me about my resume. And no one returned my phone calls. And no one hired me for eight months. I picked up temp part time jobs when I could including an apartment manager position and a brief stint as a carpenter for a theater set. Meanwhile I pretended to be domestic. I learned about cooking. I did the laundry and cleaned the house. I thought about all the checks I had bounced.

And though it seems funny to me now, I hated my life as the financially dependent domestic unsatisfied housewife. After coming out of my unsatisfied housewife darknessI decided that I would learn how to get hired. I would learn how to make people look at my resume. So I've developed a plan:

Step one: find kick ass firms

Step two: get them to talk to me in person

Step three: leave them with my resume and portfolio

Step four: annoy them until they hire me

So when I asked for informational interviews and actually got positive responses I was psyched. Step 1.5 completed. And today I've completed three steps of my four-step program with one firm. And in a couple weeks I will do the same at another.

suit yourself

inspiration from Jenn...

I'm on a mission to find funky undies. maybe mighty mouse or wonderwoman or ones with giant sparkly pink butterflies on the ass. Work clothes just don't suit me. It is a good thing no one is thinking of hiring me yet.

it's not like picking blueberries

I've been yearning for a good dose of u-pick blueberry farm. I've been missing the garden I planted in the spring and all the fruit it must be producing. I've been thinking about how much I want to prop up my tomato vines and trim back the leaves to let the sun transform them into juicy red orbs. or how much I would love to make jam or can peppers. But I'm in California where the plums and apricots have all fallen from the trees and the squash are in full force, but they are not mine to pick. And the apples? The trees are sagging with Gravenstein apples, each with their own halo of fallen fruit at the base. And so on Friday when a friend asked if we would like to join in on some apple pressing at the farm, I did not hesitate to say yes.

We got the fly-by intro to making apple juice and jumped right in. We spent the day taking turns climbing trees and picking apples (not to be confused with tennis balls), chopping and grinding and pressing them until they reluctantly separated into juice and piles of peels and cores and seeds. There were bags and buckets of apples in the morning. By the end of the day the buckets were empty, the jars full of juice and the wagon full of apple compost.

My clothes and skin were sticky with apple. And it made me smile. It made me smile because I had been craving some sort of purposeful summer project, like picking blueberries.

thanksgiving

I want to respond to the comments from the blog, son of a preacher man. Here is to hoping I have not offended too many people and become the hypocrite I don't want to be.

First, I believe that organized religion provides an incredibly powerful sense of community. a sense of community is severely lacking, in my opinion, in the united states. we are so isolated from those around us due to the over abundance of technology that we have forgotten how to be human. religious gatherings can be one of the few places you can find community and support.

Second, I would like to say that I believe the Bible to be an incredible historical text.
It is unfortunate that I never sat long enough to study the Bible, as there are many interesting and insightful passages in the Bible. But I would say the same of other religious texts that I am unfamiliar with. There is a giant black hole in my education where there should be knowledge about religion. So, any and all of you that read this blog, please fill me in if I'm missing something BIG. (other than faith)

Third, I must admit to being a very spiritual person, though my spirituality is much more in line with beliefs of many Native American cultures. I am constantly inspired by the beauty and power in nature and do not believe in one all-powerful God.

Lastly, I would like to respond to Julies comment:

"there is a funny thing about being thankful and organized religion; often one is told what they should be thankful for. not that you needed another hypocrisy to add to the list of many."

Many of the things you are told to be thankful for are legitimate things. Like food! And love. And, well, you get the idea. The point is I don't believe that people are (or can be) truly thankful for these things unless they have experienced life without or had some intimate set of experiences with others that caused a change in perspective.

One of the things I've learned from travel is life without many of the things we take for granted: clean water, safety, healthy food, education, support, and shelter. I've lived with people who sit and wait for the well to recharge before they can pull up contaminated water. I've spent a few nights without money and shelter in unfamiliar places. I've spent time with families suffering from malaria and malnutrition. I lived with a family in a home surrounded by concrete walls topped with shards of broken glass, guarded by men with automatic weapons. This is reality for many people on this planet.

What made all of these things tolerable were the people. The families I got to know, the life I have never lived, and the perspective it gave me. And despite the hardships these families endure they have community. They are thankful for the rain when it comes. They are thankful for the small portions of food they may have that day. They are thankful for their relationships with other people.

wading

After two weeks worth of work, feedback from Jules and Andrew and my parents, I finally completed my portfolio and resume. I had been dreading this task for years, but once engaged I was addicted to making it look nice and determined to say something meaningful. I had it printed day before yesterday just before a series of phone calls to prospective employers.

I have since been keeping in contact with one particular firm I am interested in, trying to set up an informational interview. I have also been looking into local design firms via projects they are involved in at a city planning scale. There is no good resource for locating Landscape Architecture firms. It is like an internet treasure hunt.

In the meantime I have been occupying myself with my thesis; re-emerging myself in books about preservation, time, weathering, patina, ruins, place. Wading through the writing I have done so far is painful but inspiring. I watch the page count creep up on the task bar as I write. I wonder how many pages it will take to cover the subject. How many pages will I have to print before I present? How much will it cost? Then I continue the endless process of editing and the page count creeps back down.

But the end seems closer than ever and crunch time is here. I hit panic mode several days ago. Panic mode feels bad but is good for production. And production is happening. But October may still come too soon for my taste. And work may not come soon enough to appease my sad unemployed bank account.

The loneliness of a new place is once again setting in, but I feel more prepared this time. I am occupying myself with what I need to accomplish before I can move on. The brief period of time spent as the crazy, independent, connected, grounded me of spring term seems far away, as do my partners in crime.

ballerina bovine

As we gathered our friends and stuffs for a weekend bike ride I noticed the holstein wearing a tutu clipped onto her bag. I knew there had to be a good story behind it.

Anna is a ski racer for the Croatian national team. She was out for a visit to catch some sun before many months of training in the chilly high mountain air in South America, then back to Croatia for more racing. She left today for the mountains.

I asked her if her cow had a story.

Of course! I'm a little too old to have a stuffed animal hooked onto my backpack.

When I first started to ski my coach told me: "Trying to teach you to ski is like teaching a cow how to do ballet."

She placed first at nationals on her very first try. After the race, all the participants randomly chose from the basket of goody bags. She reached into hers and pulled out the ballerina.

Anything is possible she said. Anything

The no-apple apple festival

Yesterday we rode our bikes to the Gravenstein apple festival. My boss had asked me if I was interested in working on Sunday as well, I said no in favor of spending the day with Andrew: the first day in more than 2 weeks that we would have to ourselves.

We loaded up on water and bike tubes and cash and headed out the door for the neighboring town via the bike path along the creek. I was happy to be biking for fun instead of work, and I internally challenged my thoughts about mixing work and play, and taking on more bike tours. I would rather work in my field. I suppose this is incentive to get an internship.

I was anticipating tables of apples of different varieties, apple cider and apple juice and apple pie and apple butter. There were tractors and historic engines and hay bails. There were people and craft booths and games. There was ice cream and lemonade and beer. There was apple juice. But there was only one kind of apple, and one stand with apple juice, and only 2 stands with apple-products galore. With a bit of disappointment we wandered the park in search of the hidden hard apple cider booth, but it did not exist. So we found the apple guy, selling apple butter and apple syrup and apple other stuff, bought some apple butter and apple-almond raspberry jam and headed out to the local winery for a taste.

And though we didn't find many apples at the apple festival, our kitchen table is covered in apples from Andrew's boss's trees. And the apple pie on the stove is delicious. And next year the apple festival better have more apple stuff or I'll start my own apple festival.

cowboy saves the day

For the past 2 days I have been working for a wine country bike touring company. Does this not sound like the best job in the world? I ride my bike, meet new people and drink wine. Then I get paid, tipped, and go home. The down side? Pushy, whiny rich people.

On Thursday I was in Oregon picking up Jerry-dog and debugging my computer when I got a call from a good friend. We have a couple that decided to change their itinerary and we need someone to lead a tour. I thought of you. I was super excited to bike and drink wine and make some money, so on a moments notice, I packed up my stuff, arranged to pick up my computer in town, and headed back to Santa Rosa. I got here around 11pm. I was wired from all the caffeine I drank to stay awake and so I changed my bike tires, filled my camel back and gathered all my biking stuffs before I studied my route map. Then I tried to sleep. It didn't work.

I rolled out of bed in the morning and met up with another guide to load the van and we headed out to Napa Valley. I worried that I wouldn't be able to keep up. They had asked me to do the tour because they were into cycling more than sipping and wanted a challenging ride. They had $6,000 titanium bikes.

I met them at the lodge and led them through the mountains beyond Calistoga to an old time winery. They grilled me about my guiding experience. I lied. I tried to check the map stuffed into my silly lycra shorts when they weren't looking. I don't know much about wine, I said, but I've been around this area a bunch. These things are both true. I just started working for this company this summer. Also true. I've led a number of tours, mostly private. Not true. Unless you count my bike adventures through the valley to orient myself. I did tell them I had not ridden this particular route.

The first hill lasted over 5 miles. The woman, Nancy, complained incessantly. She groaned and stopped and went and stopped and went and groaned some more. My favorite quote was this: I don't like to complain, but I don't like this anymore. I did my best to stay positive and tried to keep them both happy by showing them the map (I was secretly studying it simultaneously) and pointing out that it was all downhill after lunch.

The hills finally subsided and fear set in after a 10 minute break to change my flat rear tire. We were late, we were all hungry, they wanted a van ride, which they had agreed they wouldn't need (i didn't have a van), and we were 10 miles from lunch and at least 20 minutes late by that point.

I was relieved to see the final turn onto the road where our lunch was waiting. Nancy and I walked our bikes up the hill as I told her about how my mom likes to 'take her bike for a walk' up the steep hills in Canyonlands. She decided she would really like my mom. And she would. She was a great, fun lady when she wasn't falling into the money is power mindset. But I was thankful for the work and the excuse to spend an entire day on my bike. And it was nice to remember again why I hate money.

The old-time winery was in the sticks, nestled between hills covered in grass, oak and vines. The couple that owned and operated the winery also owned and operated a bed and breakfast and a racehorse ranch. Jim, the cowboy was quite a character. He told us of his days growing up in Hollywood, learning to ride, learning to train racehorses and hanging with the big dogs of the racetracks. We ate some great food fresh from their garden and exchanged glances as Jim talked. By the end of lunch both Nancy and I had deduced that Jim was a bit creepy after many comments about my fitness, my legs, etc. keep riding he said, you look great. It was time to go. Nancy and I walked away to fill our water bottles and she put her arm around me. Was it just me or was he a bit creepy? If you were my daughter I would have told him off! But you did a great job of being diplomatic about it. You handled it well.

And so she was my buddy, and we bonded over creepy cowboy guy. After a bit of cold water, wine, shade and some great food, we headed on homeward. It was all downhill from there. Except for the parts that weren't, and the flat tire 10 miles from their lodge, and the phone tag I played with the office and the other guide that was going to pick us up.

On Saturday I worked with the couple again only this time accompanied by a more experienced guide and the couple's eldest son and his girlfriend. They were ready for a break as they had been cycling all week, and I had worn them out the day before. There was much tasting of wine, and even more complaining from their son. My butt hurts, i hate biking, I'm going back to the lodge, this sucks... and on and on.... he threw the $1600 bike around like it was garbage, and told me: You know the stupid part is my parents think they are such good cyclists, but i beat them up the hill. He is 25, they are 52, and 53. The 'hill' was not a hill at all. He didn't make it more than 3 miles before complaining of how much biking sucks. He walked his bike up the road and into the parking lot at the end of the day.

And their attitudes wore on me. Their disrespect for other's property rubbed me the wrong way, and the constant sucking up made me want to puke. Learn to read a map, I thought, and spare the service industry. I still like Nancy, though. She rocks.

The other one

After the time in Charlottesville, we headed to Ashville NC to visit Andrew's best friend from UO. I went into it with as much of an open mind as I could muster, knowing that she wasn't super psyched that I would be there, and knowing that they are super close, and that she is good crazy, and well, female.

I went into the first night with a bang. I knew I needed to be comfortable and confident, and so we all went for food and drinks. Then more drinks. And we joked around and played pool and they teased me about going to church with his parents. And by the end of the night we were buddies ganging up on Andrew.

But by the morning our buddy factor had gone, and she was again staking her claim.

Just a week or two ago a partner in crime (PIC) and I were discussing male-female friendships and our theory that most male-female friendships involve one person being attracted to the other this may or may not have been a factor at some point in time, but as best friend had a boyfriend at the time nothing ever happened.

She was definitely staking her claim on his attention and presenting their closeness to me as women tend to do. I am guilty of this as well. I have done it. And I don't think the underlying truth is that this behavior is always caused by your attraction to the other, but by the feeling of closeness being threatened by someone else that may be close as well or getting closer. But as PIC and I were discussing, it doesn't feel good to stake your claim on the attention of the man in the middle. It doesn't feel good to make someone else feel less close or pushed away. And so, the other option is to make the other woman feel comfortable. To make sure you aren't threatening. She didn't back down, it isn't her style.

And to some extent I don't think men GET this. But I also think they probably enjoy this.

And it brings out a ridiculous jealous side of me that doesn't really hang out with me very often. And I hate it. I hate that someone else can make me feel jealous. I hate that I am finally in the position that Tim was 4 years ago. I hate not feeling as confident as I usually am about relationships. Because I've been where Andrew is. I've been where best friend has. I've not been here.

But I know how I reacted when I was in the other two places. And I know what drove me away from Tim in the end. And that scares me even more. And so I've made it a priority to do everything in my power to stay on the confident, non-jealous understanding side of me. But it is harder than I thought it would be.

But Ashville was beautiful.

Charlottesville

After a sleepless red-eye through Cincinnati to Richmond we were toast. Well-done, maybe burnt. Andrew's brother Gus picked us up and drove us the 50-some miles to Charlottesville where he lives with his wife and awesome-crazy 2-year-old Alex.

We demolished their back deck board-by-board and rusty screw by screw in the 90-degree swampy air. The project for the next couple of days was to redo everything on the deck except the underlying structure. Andrew worked with his brother while I slid between pulling rusty screws, Harry Potter and naps.

It is a little strange how much Gus and Andrew look alike. And Alex? A toddler Andrew running around the house. Admittedly, I was drawn to Alex partly because of his energy and enthusiasm and curiosity, but partly because he looked like he could be Andrew's. I was hesitant to admit this even to myself. That was my biology speaking. Logic set in later when, overwhelmed by 2 toddlers, an infant, 2 couples trying to control their children and grandparents watching the scene, made me realize again that children are the best birth control ever.

The chaos of the few days in Charlottesville was caused mostly by the presence of all of Gus's in-laws. The chaos was fun, however, because I spent most of my time during the day running around the house like a crazy woman with Alex. I'm pretty sure Andrew has taken on the role of being the crazy uncle that teaches nephews naughty things, just as I am the crazy aunt of my Alex that can get him wound up and give him back. If we ever do have kids, we are really in for it.

I spent the evenings meeting Andrew's friends from UVA, and I imagine it was like meeting anyone's friends, especially if they haven't seen one another in a while. They reminisced about professors and friends and ill-advised adventures. I listened. Good stories, long days, thunderstorms.

the two histories

On Monday I found myself at Monticello, wandering through row after row of veggies, with views only of vineyards and orchards and Jefferson's favorite trees. The house itself was incredible. Every detail was carefully designed, down to the triple hung windows that double as doors if fully open. His designs put most architects' work to shame and not because of the extravagance of the home, but possibly because of the amount of time he spent conceiving of his ideas and his respect for the site he inherited. The house was full of books and seed dryers and gadgets he invented. It was surrounded by his gardens, mostly experimental. He believed that one of the greatest gifts you could give to a country is a useful plant. He sent olive trees to the south, and cultivated many exotic plants. He kept detailed notes in his garden book carefully recording the phenology of his gardens.

After wandering through a bit of our history, the history we miss out on in the west, I met up with Andrew and we wandered through a bit more history: the UVA campus, or grounds, rather. We hopped fences and strolled down the Lawn and explored the oldest buildings on the grounds. We wandered through the gardens and past the new architecture building under construction. We nerded out about buildings and snuck into the library that resembles the library in Ghost Busters with its green narrow stairwells and maze- like layout.

The experience made me realized the difference between knowing a place (saber) and knowing a place (conocer). In Oregon I grew up on what was historically tribal land. I grew up in what should have been a reservation. The US government carelessly threw together three tribes that were historically enemies. The sold their land for money. They have no reservation. I grew up as a minority in a 80-90% native community. I grew up with stories of Captain Jack; we went to pow wows and herded cattle and raced horses.

every household must own a gun remains in the legislation of the town of Chiloquin. We had several. We had a couple bows and practiced by target shooting hay bails. We shot clay pigeons. I know cowboys, the real kind.

I don't know the east. I don't know the 'history' of our country. And so we met for the third time. The first: Nashville. The second: NYC. The third: Virginia, The Declaration of Independence, the home and life of Thomas Jefferson, The South.

son of a preacher man

I could go into detail about the Meet the Parents week. I could elaborate on the time spent with his brother and brother's in-laws and nephews and playing on the playground, or visiting Monticello, or the barbeque with his friends from UVA that was forced indoors during a wonderful thunderstorm that lit up the sky and soaked the ground. I could explain the great time spent in Ashville, NC with the scary-fun-crazy-threatening-engaged-female-best-friend, or his sister and his parents and his nephews and the home where he grew up and the boat rides. But those stories are for other blogs.

The thing I've been thinking about most is much bigger. It is one of the two things one should never bring up in mixed company.

I am dating the son of a preacher man, the brother in law of another preacher man, a brother to his very strict Christian sister. The one thing that scares me most about this is that I've had too many bad experiences where families manipulate one another to prevent them from making the 'wrong' decision.

One of the things on my perfect man list: similar spiritual beliefs. He is still perfect. He believes in the great lessons that religion can teach. He believes in community and family and he genuinely cares for other people. He always strives to be the best person he can be. He does not follow any organized religion. He does not judge his family based on their beliefs.

I may have a very limited understanding of Christianity in general but I know a little something: it is not about judging others. One of things I find the most difficult to understand is why so many Christians judge others. She isn't Christian enough, she is dressed in such and such a way, she is going to Hell, she is "blinded by Satan". Isn't that for God to decide? Isn't it our job to love thy neighbor? This is a principle of Christianity that I do believe in. I believe in caring for others, in attempting to be as non-judgmental as possible, in respecting other's beliefs and backgrounds and experiences. (Which sounds hypocritical out loud as I am judging others based on their ease of passing judgment).

It seems to me that many people are caught up in the details of religion and forget to live by the basic principles. Many are too busy judging and forget to love and forgive and be thankful. And it really must suck to think that your loved ones might be going to Hell. And it really must suck even more to focus on that thought so much that you forget to love those you believe to be blind.

His parents are the people who live by the basic principles of Christianity. They are open and loving and caring and non-judgmental. They are generous with their time, energy and resources. They are open and honest and wonderful people.

On Sunday Mr. Preacher Man lead the service. I did not take communion. I did not sing the hymns, I did not recite the prayers, but I did listen. I listened for the parts that we have in common as humans. I listened for the stories and history and principles that brought those particular people together on that particular day. And I listened for what I wanted to hear: the basis of living by a religion. And nearly 2/3 of the way through the service there were a few moments of exactly what I was looking for.

Three children walked up to the front and sat before us. The woman standing with them asked them each to name one things that made them happy that day or the day before. She said: When you talk to God, you will want to have something to say. A good way to start is to be thankful for the things that make you happy, for the people that support you. Each day write down three things that you are thankful for. Thank God for these things.

I'm not one to believe in said God, however, I do believe in being thankful for the things that make us happy, for the people that support us, for the privileges and opportunities life presents us with, and for the beauty in every bug's wing, every leaf or vine, every rock or rollercoaster. I am also thankful for the hard times because they give perspective. And each day Andrew thanks me for at least 3 things, 3 things big or small, when we crawl into bed at night. And I want not only to be thankful for these things but also to thank those closest to me, to let them know they are loved and appreciated.