Blessings

When I am feeling overwhelmed, whatever shape that may take, I found this morning that when I write down, in a numeric list, all the things I’m happy about and thankful for, my heart changes its murmurs of complaint into hums of joy. I chose the word “murmur” on purpose because it can be so imperceptible that its tone can carry on for days, weeks, without being addressed by the tender but steady voice of loving discipline within, the Holy Spirit. I chose the word “hum” on purpose too, because it is not an overpowering noise, a shout for joy (though perhaps it ought to be!), but it is a distinct change in tone from the downcast murmur. A hum is upbeat, lighter, less preoccupied with (or perhaps even consciously and freely oblivious to) one’s own disappointments, longings, lackings, disappointments. Those things just aren’t light!

In other words, being thankful, especially making record of it and revisiting it, can loosen the chains of complaint, concern, and just general cloudiness of accumulated worry. Thankfulness, the magic bullet to revive the sunshine contained in the heart’s desires.

Week 8

So here I am, at the end of my summer in New Orleans. I have five more workdays; I moved in for the last week with my other intern friend, C. I have two papers to complete, and still four interviews. Prayers for productivity, availability of the subjects, chutzpah for me where there needs to be chutzpah.

This past weekend was outstanding. C and I enjoyed dinner at Pepperoni's, where it was chess night on Friday. Then watching the Olympics opening ceremony with three kids at close range! Then breakfast at the greasy spoon on Magazine, Slim Goodies, with the people I have grown to love most this summer-- six of us cozied up in one small booth. Man, I love that man, T. I am proud of him when I bring him around my friends, and I admire everything about him.

With a full stomach, we three ventured out to a family reunion, which I enjoyed about an 11 on a 10-point scale. I couldn't stop smiling, seriously. A relative of T's said, "it's a good sign you're here." Which of course made me beam.

After some leisurely reading and an enjoyable night spent with C, my summer buddy, here I am at Monday, in the work routine. One more week. I better make it happen! I'm excited to be here, still, or perhaps especially, now. I can see the direction of my project aimed towards the finish line!

Colloquialisms

Phrases spoken to me by coworkers, that I want to remember and carry with me and use in my own language:

"Her parents are off the grid." (Her parents can't be contacted worth a darn.)

"I'm out straight." (I'm busy.)

Week 6: A Rainy Friday Morning

Outside the office,

Consistent rain
smooth as mocha
and a scintillating sky
iridescent as a prism
alternates light gray and navy black

time slides by
bringing night nearer,
faster

and we are all calmer
and more playful inside
we who should be working
because the morning storm makes
us happy to work
and we're a family in here,
cozy under the fluorescent lights and A/C,

Here,
Inside the office

Father-Daughter Bonds

Last night I went to a really charming little theater close to my house, Prytania Theatre, to see an independent film, Beasts of the Southern Wild. That movie made me think. It's told from the point-of-view of a very tough, fearless, observant, lean-with-words, black 6-year-old girl, who lives with only her father, who is a drunkard with a heart problem. They live in backwoods Louisiana in shacks. Their bond is both fiercely strong and extremely dysfunctional. The little girl is exposed to life's hardships too early and too raw-ly. But, she loves her father with her full heart and emotion. The two go through a storm together -- the suggestion is that it is Katrina -- and her father stands firm, resists evacuation, escapes the disaster relief place. This is how he teaches her to cope and respond to chaos and tragedy: not with cooperation, but with self-assertion. There were moments in the movie that made me think of my dad and me, just that abnormally strong father-daughter bond.

My office mate commented that gender plays an interesting role in this movie-- how the little girl is called "Man" by her dad, and the only females in the movie are androgynous. The fictitious town of Bathtub is mostly all male, and the one scene with womenly women is towards the end, and my officemate A. says it represents "maternal reconciliation," where all these forsaken Bathtub girls find their mother-figures, who strengthen them with maternal embraces and by exemplifying strong motherhood. Interesting also to consider the moment when this scene occurs: after most of the main girl character's trials and her dad's falling health. (I'd like to discuss this movie with my professor of gender, I.!!)

So much about this one movie that I haven't yet processed. I'd like to see it again. It's visually outstanding as well. And to top it off, I got to enjoy the movie alongside my roommates who I increasingly adore, L. and S. S. especially is very insightful into these things. Last night she pointed out to me how lots of New York Times articles (they get the print Sunday edition delivered) are sociologically focused, such as the article on class and marriage that was on the front page this past Sunday.

Summer in NOLA has been far more than I ever could have hoped for or asked for.

Best Friends

I like a conversation that makes me think. I also like honest conversations. S. and I were discussing today what makes for a real friend, and we concluded it had nothing to do with being in the same stage of life. She's married and has kids, though only four (?) years older than me; I, on the other hand, spend most of my time researching and writing, planning my next steps career-wise, and daydreaming about my future family. But this matters not. When we talk, she can easily relate anything I am going through to what she's going through. I love the good talking partner who remembers details and can draw careful parallels to what you're going through. How distinct this is from dishing out raw advice, or talking about yourself all the time, or simply not listening by talking over you and blatantly interrupting you. I've experienced those things lately too, and they help put in stark contrast the powerful blessing of a real friend who listens closely, gives you things to think about, and who you walk away from feeling enriched, and even built-up. Better off than when you went into conversation. As S. says, "we mutually benefit each other" -- I rather agree.

Now, to apply these "who is my real friend?" dynamics to a significant other. D, a father-figure in my life, says, along with my mother's advice too: "Marry your best friend." That's awfully convicting; and they're trustworthy sources, insofar as they both married twice, and married their best friend the second time around. I used to think that idea was so romantic, "the second time around" (I blame you, "Step by Step" opening credits song!). Now I think it is very complicated. I do regard my significant other as a friend, maybe even best friend. We are able to reflect together, be honest together, go deep together in analyzing ourselves, our lives. On the other hand, the communication isn't exactly the same as it is with a girl best friend. I'd say communication is often a struggle, even if it turns out to be productive and needed. I feel that mutual understanding sometimes has to be earned through the work of hearing the other out, seeing their perspective, and discerning what is good for the two of us. Saying what I mean, without offending; not minimizing and not over-reacting, either; getting to the honest answer in the most tactful but direct way, too. Building up and encouraging, but also saying what needs to be said. Perhaps this is a measure too of who you spend the most time with, care most about, and have the most at stake with (eww, dangling prepositions). Of course, communication is going to be more difficult when the emotional bond and dependence is stronger, and the time spent together means a lot bigger mutual repertoire to draw on. In other words, T. and I share a massive library together now, so communication now draws upon much wider shared understandings, shared memories, shared hopes and dreams.

The Kiss-or-Kill

I learned this theater terminology from a friend I had coffee with at PJ's yesterday afternoon. I wanted to write about it because it captures life's paradoxes terribly well (an oxymoron right there to fit right in!), in such a tidy little pithy phrase.

Basically, it means that a life situation has reached a point where a path must be taken that is not a middle ground. Of course, we all wish for the kisses!

Week 4

I am undebatably (indubitably?) a little behind on my blogging. Here are two pictures that capture some fun moments I've enjoyed of late:

Two weekends ago, my fellow intern C. and I explored the downtown New Orleans area. We took the streetcar, visited the carousel bar at Hotel Montelone (where the Southern Sociological Society conference was just this past March!) -- a fancy bar with live jazz that literally rotates at about 0.1 mph -- and checked a number of must-do's off our list that night. Here I am on Canal Street.

Last Friday, three of my coworkers and I went to a hoppin, chic Vietnamese restaurant called Magasin. (See photo below to see why I say "chic" -- how do you like the simplistic use of a red jar to make an artistic focus within a set of clear jars?) I had eggplant and rice, which had a sunny side up egg on top of the jasmin rice which was delectable when I punctured the yoke and mixed it in. Such savory food, and I felt healthy afterwards even! It was too hot for the soup, but that's what E. and T. both love best from Siagon in Jackson.