All My Gettings

Just enough

Posted by alea at 6:22 PM

You wouldn't think you could turn to New Era for an example of a beautiful poem. Or maybe I wouldn't. But at any rate, below was a contest winner back in 1991. It feels right and true to me, in addition to also being simply lovely. Kudos, Mary Lynn Bahr, kudos.

The Comforter

They say the fire falls swiftly,
Breaking adamant hearts, neatly
Dividing joints and marrow
For sterile reassembly.
Pure, molten personality
Will cool into new symmetry
As crimson years bleach into snow
And melt out of memory.

I kneel and cringe, expecting
Ecstasy and quickening,
Ambush by wrestling angels,
Annunciation that compels
Belief. Tonight only snow
Falls, half an inch, just enough.

Pancakes with syrup traps

Posted by alea at 5:10 PM

I could never really believe The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It wasn't the presence of fauns or the magical furniture that transported kids to a world where it was always winter but never Christmas. It wasn't even the talking Lion and the silly story of him dying and coming back to life (as if anybody could believe something like that). But, I was willing to accept those things. Suspend my disbelief and all that. What I could not look past was the Turkish delight.

Edmund sells the entire world out for the treat. However, in real life, Turkish delight resembles nothing as much as it does squishy, solidified perfume. Nobody (and I mean nobody, even British children on wartime rations) would do what he did if Turkish delight were on offer. Other sweets, sure. But waffles? I would sell my own foot for waffles. Seriously. I love them. That's what the White Queen should have lured him with.

Which is what this story is leading up to. My mother the other day threatened that we should change our Christmas breakfast tradition. "Have something new this year," she suggested. See, from well before when I was born, my family has had what we call strata every year on Christmas morning. It's a breakfast casserole with eggs, cheese, bread and cream of mushroom soup. So many happy memories are tied up in strata: being too distracted by presents that I had just opened to eat any of it, learning that mushrooms are not gross, having everybody around on Christmas morning, all eating the same thing year after year . So, even if I were not the most change-adverse person I know, I'd be appalled that this tradition is under attack. This, people, is the true war on Christmas.

However, my mother followed my whinging question, "what do you mean 'something new'?" with the phrase, "maybe waffles." Oh my goodness. My culinary weakness. My achilles intestine, if you will. The suggestion, though probably false and most certainly not likely to happen, created a real inner crisis for me. Is it better to keep with traditions of tasty food or buck them for the holy grail of breakfast breads? I'm sure the contortions of my soul were evident on my face. Which is why my protesting, "Naw, I think we should stick with strata" probably didn't sound too convincing.

So, family, if you come over on Christmas morning and find that waffles are on the menu, I'm sorry. My hand was forced. The flesh is weak. I was tempted beyond that which I was able to bear. And, if you're too upset to eat yours, I'm sure I can find them a happy home.

Squirt me twice, shame on me.

Posted by alea at 5:26 PM

After my very cheap, but nice and shiny water bottle from Walmart broke on the second week of my using it, I decided to upgrade a smidge. I shouldn't have been too shocked that three dollars does not ensure that your water bottle straw will actually be functional. But I was. I hate it when I turn out to be cheap rather than thrifty.

However, I was delighted when I found this guy at Target for under ten bucks (paying more than ten dollars for shaped plastic designed to hold water strikes me as borderline insane). He's so pretty. It's like drinking from a giant sapphire! He's not quite as big as I would have liked, but he still gets the job mostly done. And, considering the fact that I am never more than probably 100 yards from a drinking fountain, I will probably survive with his low capacity. Though I did have a moment of panic during the BlizZion panic about being stranded in my car all night by the side of the road with only this scant bottle to ensure I staved off dehydration. [Yeah, I know there would have been ample snow around me and that snow is somehow water and probably potable AND that dying of dehydration over the course of one night is unlikely, but still!]

So, I'm pleased with him for the most part. Except. Three times now I've flipped the little nozzle to take and drink and water has come gushing forth from the straw. Not a little water, a LOT. All three times, I've been sitting down, holding the bottle over my lap. Which means, it's looked like I was a candidate for the medicine whose suggest that your over-active bladder is getting in the way of your pursuits like attending live baseball.* Which you know, you can't really say, "my water bottle just exploded all over me!!!!" when someone looks at you askance and then notices that the very water bottle is still in your hand, decidedly un-exploded.

I'm sure somebody sciencey could explain how these times were always after the bottle had been sitting for a while during extreme temperature changes (like overnight in my car). And that water somehow gets sucked up the straw by "physics", that darkest of the dark arts. And somebody more rational would learn, after the first time, that you should always unscrew the when first using the bottle for the day. But me? I'll stick with this: a blogpost where I complain about a problem and/or laugh at myself for how astounding dumb I can be sometimes. I mean, who can't work a water bottle, for heaven's sake?

*Herpes medication=kayaking; bladder issues medication=watching baseball. What does that mean?

No, this is an epic fail.

Posted by alea at 5:29 PM

So, Katy Perry, while you probably live a pretty wild and crazy life, I’m guessing nothing you did “last Friday night” actually counts as an “epic fail”. Likewise for those of us who lack the money and fame to really fail spectacularly. As such, below are some situations for which the term “epic fail” is actually appropriate. Most others, turns out, are more just “quotidian fail”. Please advise.

A guy in a secret valley promises you eternal life if you stay awake for seven nights. But, you fall asleep right then and end up snoozing away the entire week.
There’s a gal you’ve been sweet on for ages. But she’s still not over her last lover. Then, one day, she agrees to marry you if you can best the other applicants for her hand at an archery contest. Not only do you fail to string the bow, you also get hacked to pieces when the lover you assumed dead mysteriously shows up right then.
Despite proving your fidelity to your husband by walking unscathed through fire, people talk. Who knows what you really got up to on that island? Your hubby, wanting to set a good example, gives you the boot. So, you’re forced to raise his two sons in the forest dwelling of a scribe. After they’re grown, they get to go back and live with their dad, but you do not.
There’s a monster that terrorizing your kingdom. You manage to kill it, but in doing so get mortally wounded yourself.
You fall madly in love with a visitor to the land you rule. However, he’s got other things on his mind and, despite seeming to be really into you, ends up splitting right after you go all the way. The fact that he eventually founds a city that will utterly destroy your kingdom is just more salt to this wound.
For some reason, you want to marry this girl who can throw a boulder further than you dreamed possible. Your best friend manages to make himself invisible and help you convince this lady to marry you. But, your wedding night take a turn for the unromantic when she ties you up and leaves you alone until dawn.
You think the best way to get back at your father-in-law for humiliating you is to beat your wife (his daughter) and leave her for dead. Since this is sort of not cool, he challenges you to a duel. And you lose.

Like a rabbit, but more quavering and jumpy

Posted by alea at 11:51 AM

I don't do scary. Not even a little bit. I fundamentally do not understand the appeal of going to one of those commercial haunted house things (I have never been. I will never go. End of story.). Or intentionally viewing a horror film. I'm far too nervous about my everyday life to add additional fuel to the fire of my fears (pyre of my paranoias? conflagration of my concerns?). Some people don't believe me. They assume I'm just sort of nervous, that these things don't affect me that much. Or that I'm like most people who say they don't like horror films but they watch them anyways, squealing and panicking and then letting it go the next day. For me, the uneasy feelings don't dissipate with a new dawn. Or ever, for that matter. In case you might not believe me, here are three examples to show just how little I can handle the frightening.

1. Last fall, in my hell class, we spent a day talking about the horror genre. Not watching any movies, mind, just talking about them. Even this circle of remove wasn't enough to insulate me. The class ended and I realized my jaw hurt really badly. Turns out, I had been so uptight I was clenching my jaw the entire fifty minutes. All just because we were only talking about scary things.

2. I can't ride Indiana Jones at Disneyland. It makes me too nervous. Even the approach, through those purposefully darkened faux caves sends my heart rate soaring. This last September, my nephew wanted to go on the ride when I took him off just the two of us. So I did it, all the while trying to keep my breaths very calm and digging my fingernails into my palms. Then, the only way I can stand the actual ride is to close my eyes the whole time. And I do mean the whole time. I tried opening them once and instantly regretted it. Should I point out that my nephew is six? And that it's probably just about his favorite ride? That's right, I can't handle something that doesn't even make a six year-old flinch. Relatedly, I'm pretty sure hell for me would be having my eyes forced open while riding the Halloween version of Space Mountain. Not over and over again, just a few times, really.

3. I am addicted to Bejeweled Blitz. Like, a lot. Well, the last week or so they themed it up for Halloween. I could handle this for the most part. Except, the usual clinking sound when you start a new game was replaced with one of those throaty, evil laughs so commonly used by ghouls and other nasties in old timey horror works. Without fail, every time I'd click to start a new session (which is really quite often), I'd feel my insides tighten up. And it would usually take a good ten games before the slick feeling went away. All from one creepy laugh. A creepy laugh that was a surprise in neither timing nor quality.

Yeah, see? I really am that timid. Pretty sure if I ever have to face anything really terrifying I will die of fright. After, of course, wetting myself and crying a lot. Let's hope that my worst nightmares stay safely far, far away.

Over and over and over and over

Posted by alea at 1:33 PM

You know how you find yourself senselessly using the same word over and over again? For instance, you could go a really long time without hearing or even seeing the word comport. Then, one day, you wake up and use it four times (aloud--the silent times are countless) in just a few hours? All of a sudden, the word seems so apropos. And even when it's strictly not, you use it in hopes that nobody will call you out on it. (See, for instance, the time I referred to re-frosting a cake to "palimpsesting" it). But then, you start realizing how often you're using it and feel foolish.

This happens all the time to me. Surely, I'm not the only one (c'mon, a guy's neuroses out and tell me it happens to you, too.) Of course, when it does, I then start using a series of less and less common synonyms for the word. So, if you start hearing me say "appropriate", "in keeping", "harmonize", "cohere", and "befit" in the next little while, just remember, it's only because I can't help myself. And hey, at least my addictions come without too many side effects, right?

Death, despite being proud, inspires a good verse

Posted by alea at 10:43 AM

Because I'm deeply strange, I sometimes collect things that I think would make excellent eulogy components. Like, stuff to quote on the occasion of the death of a loved one. I suspect this has something to do with the little Puritan preacher living inside my brain. You know, the guy who sees Jesus everywhere and wants to make everything a sermon. That guy. For instance, Hayden's Those Winter Sundays? Tragic magic.

So, I'm adding a new one to my list. I came across it in a compilation of Kay Ryan's work. Check it out:

THINGS SHOULDN'T BE SO HARD

A life should leave
deep tracks:
ruts where she
went out and back
to get the mail
or move the hose
around the yard;
where she used to
stand before the sink,
a worn-out place;
beneath her hand
the china knobs
rubbed down to
white pastilles;
the switch she
used to feel for
in the dark
almost erased.
Her things should
keep her marks.
The passage
of a life should show;
it should abrade.
And when life stops,
a certain space—
however small —
should be left scarred
by the grand and
damaging parade.
Things shouldn't
be so hard.

Be prepared (with ties)

Posted by alea at 5:19 PM

This Priesthood session of conference marked the 15th year I've been attending them. I haven't missed a single one of those sessions. Even when I was living in Edmonton and getting to the chapel it was broadcast to meant taking a light rail and then two buses and leaving home an hour and a half beforehand and then skipping out during the final song so I wouldn't have to wait an extra hour for the bus.

But, I almost didn't go last Saturday. I didn't get a very good night's sleep on Friday. I went to work on Saturday and felt hazy and fuzzy and generally in no state to pay attention for two hours while sitting on a hard chair. Also, I have so much homework all the time, it seems. So, y'know, seriously solid reasons, is what I'm saying.

I did end up attending, though (and glad of it, too). I went because my sister called me to let me know my brother-in-law was at a loose end, what with his family being away. She wondered if I wanted to head out there and go with him. And, for a bonus, we'd get to go to dinner afterwards! She hesitated, though. The phone call took place just after five, meaning I'd have less than a hour to make it across the valley.

"You'll probably need to go home and change..." she started, as we were figuring out the arithmetic of getting me there. Then, she realized who she was talking to and said, "wait. No you won't."

See, one of the many benefits of wearing an oxford everyday and keeping a tie about my neck or the spare one in my car. Not only do I look super trig all the time, I'm constantly prepared for any church function! I'm not sure this is what the Boy Scouts were trying to teach me, but, hey, it served me well here.