hello blog.

Hello electronic audience.  Its been quite a while since I’ve taken the time to jot down my thoughts.  There are several reasons for this.  First, I have been busy.  Two summer jobs plus support raising didn’t leave me with tons of leisure time, and the support process really just took a lot of energy from me.  By the end of the day, I just didn’t have much left to say.  Secondly, let’s be honest:  It was summer and not a lot was going on in my life.  Nothing worthy of blogging, anyway.  Thirdly, I saw the movie “Julie and Julia” at the beginning of August, and the perspective on blogging presented in the movie was convicting.  Julie’s sweet husband proclaims that blogging is fulfilling because its “all you all the time.”  Wow.  I felt narcissistic  for even having my own piece of the cyber universe here on wordpress.  Take all of these factors combined, and you get an empty blog.

But change is in the air.  Its WOW (week of welcome) here at Cal Poly, which means the air is abuzz with pre-fall excitement and the streets are filled with wide-eyed and (sometimes) inebriated freshman.  What a place.  I love it.  I also love that I have spent the last week with our SLO Crusade staff team planning awesome ways to reach every single student with the love of Jesus.  For the record, I love my job.

There have been several opportunities for me to write.  A few of the things I’ve wanted to write about were: Don Miller’s perspective on singleness, awkward phone conversations that happened while support raising, and all of the tiny miracles that make summer wonderful.  But I’ll do my best to keep you (my friends, family & support team) updated from here on out.  No guarantees on frequency of posts, but I am so very excited to share with you about how this life is unfolding.

gross

It has come to my attention that I wrote a post about food in between two stories about potty training. Thanks for keepin’ me aware, Katelyn!

j potty update

The other day when I was watching J and C, a new development in the J vs. Sawa war on potty unfolded. Here’s how it went down.  I had just positioned myself on the brown sofa, baby in arms, to deliver a much desired bottle to C. He was getting a little on the fussy side (a rarity for him) so I knew it was time to feed.  He took the bottle like a champ.  I was in the middle of patting his sweet, round back in hopes of a burp when suddenly he spit up all over the front of my shirt.  Great.  Oh well…at least infant vomit doesn’t have an odor.

I was still in shock of the spit up when notice J across the room.  He had been stationed at the dining room table (pre feed) to enjoy a snack of “peanut butter crackers” and sliced pears before I sat down to feed C.  I find this an effective sitting technique: feed both children at once, that way I can see the antsy 3 year old while I hold baby C in bottle position on the couch.  It tends to work out for me.

At first, I couldn’t even be sure that I had heard J say something, but the look on his face told me he had made an announcement.  I said, “What J?  I couldn’t hear you.”

The slightest, breathiest whisper escaped his lips: “I don’t have to go.”  Then his face went into number two production mode.  I knew it was on, and it was up to me to race him to the training toilet downstairs. Swiftly, I set C in his swing (didn’t have time to strap him in….don’t call CPS on me por favor) and ran to the table.  J let out a telling grunt as I plucked him from his seat and flew to the bathroom, toddler in hands.  As quickly as possible, I unbuttoned his pants to sit him on the pot.

The stench that escaped his batman underwear told me that I was too late.  To late to intercept the load.  I was bummed, but threw him in the shower for a quick spray down and gave him a fresh pair of underwear and shorts to put on.  Not wanting to appear disappointed or upset with the young boy, I lied through my smile  as I redressed him, “It’s totally ok J.  You’re doing great.  We’ll get it next time.” And miracle of miracles, we did get it next time.  But only because of my boss negotiation skills.  Yesterday, number two was safely deposited in the mini-john.  Hooray!

I do have to give it to the kid.  He sticks to his convictions.  Some may label it “denial” because he said he didn’t have to go poo when he was on the verge of doin’ the doody in his trousers.  But I prefer to call it conviction.  This little dude has learned the American way: stick it to the man, no matter what situation you’re in.  Maybe he’ll learn wisdom and honesty someday.  We can only hope.

empty

After writing 9,o00 words for my senior project in the last few weeks, my brain is empty of things to say here.  Excuse me while I search for a creative outlet.  Off to doodle and read Don Miller.  He always gets my creativity flowing. Even though our political ideologies don’t line up.

On another note, I feel empty of wisdom right now. A friend and I have been having some pretty heavy spiritual conversations lately, and I just feel pretty dry on answers.  Please pray for our conversations!

focus

Here is what the focus of my life has become, and will continue to be for the next 5 weeks (thank goodness for the quarter system!):

Ah, Senior Project.

nighttime story

We sat on the edge of the sea.  It was night, and our backs were turned to the water.  We could hear the sound of the waves breaking in the darkness.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and as we sat on the brim of the continent  the stars shone brightly, luring us to gaze into their infinite beauty.

As we sat, my eyes wandered up and up, wondering at the vastness of the universe, in awe of the Creator and his amazing creation.  I sent up a silent prayer of thanks when my wandering eyes caught a glimpse of Orion, who was stretched out in the sky directly behind my head.  The jewels of his belt glittered in the blackness, more brightly than they do when he appears above my inland home.  I could see his strong shoulders and his arms stretched out above his head, a constant guardian of the galaxy.  He was arrayed in the glory of the cosmos, and I managed to turn my head toward the sea to take in momentary glances of the constellation,  so that I might capture the image of his noble stature in my tiny memory.

Suddenly, I felt him move beside me.  We had been sitting cross-legged, listening to the story, half lulled by the rhythm of the deep at our backs.  He turned his body a quarter of a circle, so that he faced the water and me.  I watched him from the corner of my own distracted eye.  His eyes searched the night sky, and came to rest on Orion.  After a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed out.  In that instant, I knew his thoughts.  Did he know mine also?  I turned my face toward him and aligned my sight with his.

I wanted to whisper, “Orion is my favorite,” into his ear, but feared that my words would be drowned out by the crash of the black waves on the shore.  I feared too that perhaps he wasn’t thinking about the majestic Orion at all.  I doubted what I had been sure of only a moment before;  I doubted that I knew his private contemplations, and realized that I only wished that I could be acquainted with them.  Had I been bolder, more courageous, I would have leaned in to him and murmured of my admiration of Orion, my lips almost brushing his ear, just to be sure that he heard me over the roar of the sea.  But I kept my would-be utterance to myself, content to guess at his musing and to watch his soft, dark eyes probe the night sky.

It was enough to sit beside him and to enjoy the cosmic view.

pablo

dear pablo neruda,

i wish i had more creative energy right now.  your poetry is great.  i’m just pooped, and can’t come up with anything good to say about your poems.  i’m sorry.  hopefully the writer’s block will clear before tomorrow at 2, when the essay is due.  hope you’re proud of your beloved communist party.

con cariño,

sara

creative revelation

I was sitting in Ms. Avery’s 11th grade AP English class at SLOHS today, flipping through the literary anthology the students use when I came across a familiar poem from my own jr. year of High School.

T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”  captured my attention when I was 16, but I had all but forgotten what it was about over the last 4 years.  As I glanced over the lyrical poem today, I realized I really sympathize with Eliot.  He’s just trying to have a conversation at a party, ya know?  He’s sitting there,  trying to come up with stuff to say to this girl that gives him the heeby-jeebies.  The poem struck a chord in my own life and therefore I have chosen a new title for the story I wrote back in December.  Henceforth, it will be called “The Love Song of S. Beth Kelly.”

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin? …….. I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid. ……. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: “That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.”

Oh Eliot.  You said it, Baby.

Writer’s Therapy

I had a new most embarrassing moment this weekend.  And for the first time, I didn’t shove it down deep in my chest and try to forget what happened.  Instead, I embraced the situation and the most glorious thing happened:  I laughed about it.  Not an awkward, try to cover it up kind of laugh, but a real laugh.  A laugh that affirms my human nature, and establishes my need for a Savior, cause let’s face it:  I am far from perfect.

I’m going to post the story here.  I changed the main subject’s name, just for privacy.  Who knows.  Maybe I’ll tell you who its about if you ask me.  I’m also still working on smoothing out a few rough sections…for reader friendliness, of course.  Sorry its a little long for a blog entry. Without further adieu, here’s the story.  Hope you enjoy.  Tell me what you think of it.

Working Title:  Read this for a laugh.

            On December 6, 2008, I was invited to attend “A Holiday Happening at the Higuera House,” which was an elegant black and white Christmas party at the home of a few of my friends from SLO Crusade.  I really only knew Kellye and Maureen, but the rest of the hostesses seemed great too.  I was especially excited because the people hosting and attending this party were the kind of people that I wouldn’t even dare to talk to when I was in high school.  Heck, I even still have trouble with these friendly, socially normal, Prom queen and football team captain breed of people. They are so beautiful, so charismatic.  They are so great.  I think that’s my problem with them.  I get so nervous that I’m not worthy to be with them and I end up acting like a fool.  Thankfully I’m getting less awkward…I think. 

            Anyway, adding to my nerves was the revelation that the object of my secret attraction, Handsome Friendly Man (or “Handsome” as he’ll be referred to in the internet version of this story) was to attend the party, according to the facebook invite that Hannah read off to me.  The day before the party I went out and found a pretty black party dress downtown…black knit cotton, long sleeved, knee length with the biggest ballet scoop neck you have ever seen.  I loved the way that my strawberries-and-cream skin was set off against the soft black fabric, and the way that my golden locks waved down and brushed my collarbone suggestively.  My big ole calves protruded even more than usual thanks to my Goodwill black pumps, which called out a grown-up sounding “click-clack” as I walked across the pavement into Gretta, my silver VW Jetta. My jet black eye liner perfectly accented my deep blue eyes that peeked out from beneath my long, fluttering lashes.  I looked good, and I felt even better. 

As an added bonus, my favorite dance jam of the season streamed across the radio as I drove up to the sweet little Higuera House.  I could feel the pulse of the bass as Lady Gaga (oh Lord) crooned, “Just Dance.”  I knew it was going to be a great night.  I checked my lip-gloss in Gretta’s rearview mirror one last time, swallowed down my nerves, and walked into the party a fashionable 45 minutes late.

The first people I saw when I walked through the door were Hannah and Cole. What a relief.  Some people I know, and who always make me feel like myself.  Then I saw Brook and Kellye, who complimented the homemade dessert that I brought with me.

“Those look so good!” Kellye exclaimed as I said hello.  “What are they?”

“They’re called Doo-Doo Drops!” Brook called out before I had a chance to answer.  The truth is, they really did look like lumpy animal droppings…but don’t let that deceive you.  They are some of the best cookies ever!

 I quickly recovered, chuckling, “Well, while that’s what we usually call them, I decided that that’s not a party-appropriate name for them.  Tonight they’re called ‘boiled chocolate oatmeal cookies.’”  Now I’ll admit, that’s not much more appetizing than “Doo-Doo Drops.”  Note to self:  come up with a good name for a dessert when attending a formal party.  To make matters worse, I had brought the cookies on a cardboard Dixie plate…again not thinking through the formality of the evening.  I set the cookies down on the counter as Kellye directed me, and then I saw him.

He was standing and talking with two of his roommates, but he turned my way as I slid my cookies onto the counter and into the sea of sweets displayed there.  My heart did what felt like a triple back flip as his handsome face looked my way and called out,

“Hey Sara Kelly!  Good to see you!”  Why does it sound so great when he says my name?  I looked into his eyes, and hoped I could utter a response in the midst of my school girlish fluster.

“Hi!  Good to see you too!” I replied, coolly moving into a conversation across the room from him.  The rest of the evening I did my best to keep an eye on where he was so that I could slide into conversation with him whenever the opportunity presented itself.  I casually found myself in his conversational circle a few times, but only once for an extended period.  I stood directly across from him in the circle, admiring his playful dimples, his stylish skinny black tie and his deep rolling chuckle. 

Brook was great carrying on conversation with Handsome and Kate.  I kept thinking to myself, “She is so great.  How does she think of all of these interesting things to say?”  Meanwhile I was struggling to pay attention to what was happening around me, thrown into a mini nervous break down each time he glanced momentarily into my eyes.  I tried my best to interject interesting commentary when there was a lull in the conversation, but to no avail.  Everything I said was pretty dull, and only seemed to lead to a dead-end in conversation, rather than to spur on meaningful and witty comments from my peers.  However, my nerves were saved by the fact that other conversations of the evening were more successful.  I learned a lot about both of Handsome’s roommates that attended the party.  I consoled myself by thinking that talking to the roomies was almost as good as talking to Hadsome himself….yeah right.

After an evening full of laughter, conversation, and introductions to lots of interesting and handsome people that was entirely draining for an introvert like myself, I was ready to head home.  Two gender specific dance circles were forming in the living room and I thought to myself, “This evening is about to take an awkward turn.” I was spot on.  Quinn and Jen were attempting to teach Brook and I how to dance in the girl section of the room, when suddenly Michael infiltrated our circle.  That’s right: a man was dancing next to me.  On a side note, I bend my knees too much while I dance, according to Jen.  Thank you for your instruction Jen; I would never want to look like a poser on the dance floor. 

It was time to make a quick exit before too many males took note of my lack of dance skills.  As I went to the bedroom to recollect my purse, I noticed Handsome putting on his coat.  Perfect timing.  In my mind we would walk out together under the stars, exchange a humorous yet meaningful moment and bid each other goodnight.  It would be a perfect ending to a festive night, and would leave us each with an eagerness to get together again soon.  Maybe my first mistake was over-thinking the situation.  I made my way through the crowd to the front door, giving my thanks to our kind hostesses. 

As I stepped out into the crisp night air, I became giddy over the idea that I would have just one more moment to talk with Mr. Handsome.  He followed me out the door, saying, “So you’re heading out too?”  To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember much of the conversation that followed as I was overtaken by the fact that I had won his undivided attention, even if only for a fleeting moment.  I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the house and turned to face him.  I could only see his sturdy outline against the porch light of the house, facing me.  Even though I couldn’t see it in the dark, I could hear his smile in the sound of his baritone voice.

The moment of our departure arrived as his roommates left the house and drew near to us.  A pause in the conversation signaled our adieu, and he, in the friendliest manner, leaned toward me to give me a good-bye hug.  Now, I should let you in on a weakness of mine (aside from the lack of dance skills, of course):  I am fairly awkward at giving and receiving hugs, especially from men.  Not only am I an awkward hugger, I get especially strange as I think, “He’s about to touch me!” each time Handsome leans in to give me his salutation. 

Too much thinking about this moment did me in on this dark December night.  I turned so that our hips were side by side (Why? I have no idea…no good hug could come of this now).  I blame what happened next on my extra height given to me by my fabulous Goodwill heels.  I was two to three inches taller than normal, and reached around to give Handsome an already forced and clumsy squeeze.  Then the worst happened.  I felt around in the dark and ended up, somehow, with my own arm over the top of his, reaching around to his far shoulder as our bodies both faced Higuera Street. My mind raced and reprimanded my body, “What are you doing!?” This was not the goodbye I had in mind.  There was clearly no recovery from this point on.  All I could do was surrender in defeat, so my mouth mumbled,

“Whoa, awkward hug!” And to my dismay, I heard him answer me,

“Yeah, for sure.”

The starry night and touching farewells of my fantasy vanished into thin air as we quickly let go of one another and said good night.  I also managed an equally feeble and uncomfortable “Merry Christmas” as we parted.  Seconds later one of the roommates approached me, offered me a “Merry Christmas,” a chocolate covered peppermint candy, and a fully warm and friendly hug.  How I could go from such an awful hug to a perfectly normal one in such a short time is fully beyond my comprehension.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t even properly thank Handsome’s roommate for his generosity since I was so caught up in my own inept hugging finesse. 

I click-clacked my way back to Gretta and drove off into the night.  Despite the frigid night temperature, I turned up the air conditioning along with the volume of the radio, in order to drown out my embarrassment and cool my flaming hot cheeks.  I made it home without further incident, and blurted out my humiliation to Hannah and Cole as soon as they walked in the door.  It felt good just to confess my own ungraceful behavior to them.  All I could do was cling to the hope that I would see Handsome at least once more before we returned home for Christmas break.  All was not lost, as I said hello to him at church the next morning.