Modern [In]conveniences

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate modern conveniences. . . indoor plumbing, wireless internet, cell phones, digital photography, etc. But some modern conveniences are, well, laughable. . . or I guess they create laughable situations. . .

I work in a building that has put in automatic toilets and sinks in the bathrooms. And while these are immoderately more sanitary, they sometimes don't work so well. I don't know how many times I've gone to the bathroom with the automatic toilet, and after I leave the stall the toilet proceeds to flush the entire time I'm washing my hands. Is it really that necessary? Aren't we wasting water that way? One morning, in fact, I entered the empty bathroom to the sound of a toilet flushing. And flushing. And flushing. I bet that thing flushed for ten minutes straight. Again, is it necessary? Aren't we wasting water that way?

Then there are those situations in which you find yourself laughing and checking to see if anyone is watching. . . After getting used to a self-flushing toilet and a self-watering sink at work, I find myself expecting those things everywhere I go. I go to the bathroom at home and then spend three or four minutes waving my hand trying to get the sensor to read that I'm done and that the toilet needs to flush. Hello! There is no sensor! It's not gonna do it itself!! I go to the mall or other business and wash my hands and I sit there for thirty seconds, waving my hands under the faucet to get the water to turn on. Hello! There's a handle! It's not gonna do it itself!! That's when I look around to make sure no one is laughing at you.

[Of course, then there are the times when it IS an automatic sink or toilet and you CAN'T get it to work, no matter how many times you wave your hand in front of the sensor. . . And you find yourself laughing because you know how absolutely ridiculous you look and you hope no one is watching. :) ]

A VHS Morning

So I got home last night from my best friend's house around 10:30. I had a thought that wouldn't go away rolling around in my head, so I tried to research an answer. Didn't really find the answer I wanted, so I went to bed around 11:20, which means I didn't fall asleep until probably close to midnight. Then, around 1:45 a.m., a loud clanging crash from my bedroom woke me up. My heart was seriously about to beat out of my chest because I had absolutely no idea what had happened [coupled with the fact that I have to wake up slowly in the morning, so my sit-up-straight-in-bed-terrified act doubled my pulse, I do believe]. I knew I hadn't moved, knocking something off the bed, and I didn't hear the cats scurrying [guiltily] around in the bathroom, but I knew that I was "safe" because I hadn't heard my bedroom door or the bathroom door open. But that was definitely enough to keep me wide awake for at least an hour, and since I left all my weekend work to the last minute, I had to get up WAY before the buttcrack of dawn to get that done. Boo.

So here I am, sitting at my desk, dog-tired and superduper hungry since I've been awake more this morning than my body's used to. A great start to a Monday morning. Wahoo!!

And it was just something in my closet that had fallen over. . .

Excerpt #1

In honor of the five year anniversary of when I shaved my head, here's a taste of one of the papers I wrote for a music class while studying abroad:

Where's the "Ma"?

Silence. A moment of silence. Tears stream down my face. It is September 11th, 2003, the two year anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the U.S. And I'm sitting in Japan, a country of my ancestors, a country we gruesomely attacked sixty years ago, killing my own ancestors, having a moment of silence for the victims of the U.S. terrorist attacks. I'm blown away. Japan, so forgiving of our sins, as Hiroshima clearly shows. Japan had a deadly earthquake only eight years ago, killing thousands. Do I remember? Do I even remember the date it happened? Did I have a moment of silence for all that they had lost? Of course not. Yet here we are, in a moment of silence—for us, in their country. Tears stream down my face.

Silence can be very profound and intense. In India, we were somewhat mobbed (at least it felt like it) every day by children and adults begging for food. Eventually, we pretty much learned to ignore them. Yet there were always the ones who tugged at our heart strings—maybe the very young children in tattered rags, maybe the old crippled and invalid. For me, it was those who never said a word. Tap tap [turn around]. Hand to mouth, hand to mouth. Silence. Turn back around. Tap tap. Ignore them, just ignore them. Silence. Deafening silence. Good, they're gone. So many things communicated, never a word spoken.

Silence can be a very powerful tool. We use it to honor, we use it to relax, we even use it to create tension. Silence can be found in music as well as everyday life: those two or three seconds between tracks on a CD; those awkward moments of the phone or on a first date when nothing is said; the sound of nothing you fall asleep to. Yet if you think about it, is there ever really complete silence? When you turn off the radio, you can still hear the hum of electricity. When everyone else is asleep, you can still hear the creaking of the ship as it rolls from side to side. There's always the sound of the other person breathing on the other end of the telephone, even when neither of you is talking. Silences can be both useful and disturbing. . .

The Exact Moment

Do we always know the exact moment change happens in our lives? Do we know the exact moment we turn from a boy into a man, or a girl into a woman? Do we know the exact moment someone in our lives changes from an acquaintance to a friend? Do we know the exact moment we decide upon a career? Do we know the exact moment we fall in love?

Sometimes, the answer is yes. Most often, it is no. I do remember the exact moment I physically changed from a girl to a woman, but according to society's standards, I don't know the exact moment I changed from a girl to a woman. I don't know the exact moment my best friend became my best friend. I don't know the exact moment I decided to take the career path I chose. I don't know. . .

And I don't know the exact moment my heart and mind started to go under a life-altering change. I do know it has been within the last three months, but the exact moment. . . ? I could spend hours upon hours searching my memories for the exact moment this change began occurring, but it wouldn't help. Quite frankly, it doesn't matter when this exact moment took place. The important thing is that this change is happening, and I don't know if I can stop it or change it back. It is huge, it is life-altering, it is utterly frightening, and I don't know who to tell. . .

[And no, I am not a lesbian. . .]

FOOTBALL!!!!!!!

Can I just say, Dude, that I LOVE football! I LOVE FOOTBALL!!!!! Any kind of football. . . the little tikes whose helmets are bigger than they are, the bigger tikes who start to actually look like a team [but not really =], the middle/high school tikes who live it day in, day out, and the ultimate football: college football. There is nothing better about college than the atmosphere at a college football game. And I'm so glad they play football in the fall . . . It is during this time that the weather turns cold and crisp, and if you forget your jacket or a sweatshirt, Dude, you are s.o.l. The leaves turn their colors, the days get shorter, and you start to see your breath. I absolutely love it!

I attended almost all of the college football games @ Averageville University when I was a student, and I can tell you that I've seen just about every weather possible. I've been to games so bright and hot that my face blistered. I've been to games where it snowed so much the players [and fans -- after we stormed the field] made snow angels to celebrate a much anticipated win. I've been to games so cold you huddled with complete strangers for warmth -- and had absolutely no problem with it. I've seen rain, sleet, sunshine, and snow. . . and loved every minute of it.

Tonight is our high school's biggest-rival-football-game. I'll come prepared with a love of the game, a voice to whoop and holler, and of course, Dude, my coat.

Dude...

You know those annoying little habits that you pick up from those around you? A couple of years ago, it was the word "like." I, like, have to go to, like, the mall and, like, my parents are, like, making me, like, go with them. I have finally broken myself of that one [although just typing that last sentence sends me back...], but I'm on to another one: Dude. My kids are constantly saying "Dude!" I try to be cool and say it right along with them, but now I find myself saying it to adults, too!! Just yesterday, an adult came to where I work and was standing in the doorway--I could see him through the glass window in the door. Since he's pretty tall, he filled the entire window, and when he opened the door and came in, I said, without much thought, "You scared me, Dude, 'cause you filled the entire window."

Oh, yeah...I'm cool.

Worth Fighting For

I have this book—I’ve read it three or four times—that I read when I’m down on myself or when I’m needing a pick-me-up. Each time I read it, I learn something new—about life, about love, about myself. It’s been a long couple of weeks, and I desperately needed to read this book again this last weekend. Here’s what I’ve learned: Love is worth fighting for. I’m not in love, nor have I ever been in love, but I know that what I have right now is worth fighting for. The look I see in his eye when he looks back at me is worth fighting for. The hugs are worth fighting for. The laughter is worth fighting for. The way I want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go is worth fighting for. The way I want to talk this out and work things through is worth fighting for.

Makes me wonder. . . am I worth fighting for?

The Eternal Itch

I have a spot on my back, just below my left shoulder blade--just out of reach--that constantly itches. Constantly. I mean, we're talking at least three years of an almost constant itch. I have tried to devise ways to reach the itch to scratch it, but it continues to itch. I'm sure my boss is laughing at me during the day, watching me on the video monitors scratch my itch like a big bear on the corner of a doorway. And it is starting to get really quite uncomfortable. I'm sitting on the bench coaching a game, and all I can think about is my itch and how I can't scratch it. I try rubbing it on the bench, which doubly makes me look like a fool, and I still can't get the itch scratched. Is God upstairs laughing at me day in day out, watching me trying to scratch my itch?