But mine.  It seems drull, and dumb, and pointless.  

I start the same stories over and over again.  Truthfully I keep trying to tell the story of how the man and I met and came to be in love.  I write it down because it’s so fun to remember, and I want to remember, because remembering conjures up the old feelings, and those feelings are so precious to me.  I remember what I was wearing the first time he kissed me: black leggings and an oversized USC sweatshirt.  I hate USC.  He had a mustache and it tickled.  I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was kissing my friend.  I felt the urge to laugh and cry.  He was so certain and I was so scared.  There were these two weeks where no one knew what we were doing and I got no work done and even snuck off on lunch breaks to be with him.  I would do just about anything to have those two weeks again.  They were unreal.  So much fun.  One night in particular where we stayed up nearly the entire night taking turns playing our favorite songs and telling stories and fighting over who’s turn it was(as usual I cheated and played more than one song on my turn).  He played Steve Earl, and Richard Buckley, and Leonard Cohen.  And I played Patty Griffin, and Ray Lamontagne, and Martin Sexton.  And I was crazy about this one song, by The Black Keys guy, Dan Auerbach – When the Night Comes.  And i thought it was so romantic, and he thought it was so sad, for reasons beyond the song, because it captured all the unknowns about us, all the doubt I had, and so even now we can’t really listen to it together.  I remember, I let him hear a few recordings of me singing, and he kept them and played them when I wasn’t around, and i found them on his ipod.  I had a gigantic pile of stuff that stayed on one chair in his living room for two weeks, and when I took it all away, and finally packed the stuff back in my car, he said he felt so sad to see the chair empty again.  I was convinced that he was too good for me, and wrong for me, and that I should run.  And I did, in fact.  I flew.  I flew to Seattle and it was there, on a very lonely day, seated outside a used bookstore, that I figured out I had to be with him.  It took me another 5 hours to tell him, and one very forced date with a stranger who I thought should be “the one” for me to realize I was too scared to choose what was so obviously right there in front of me.  Him.  And I remember driving in the dark, mostly lost, trying to find my grandmother’s house in the middle of nowhere, and we’re on the phone, and I’m telling him that I’m stupid, and an idiot, and that I’d love for him to keep me if he was still willing, and luckily, reluctantly, he was.  I barely survived the next two days until I flew back to LA and he met me at the airport and we stood a long time hugging, nervous like we had just met, though it’d been years and we said Hi, like strangers in love do, like in the movies, and we held hands.  And I forgetting the best part, that a week earlier, when we were a secret, we snuck out to dinner and this old, old man was our waiter, Andre, and he spoiled us and brought us extra food, and told my Him that I was so beautiful, and then, unexpectedly, Andre said something so poignant and I can’t remember the exact wording, but it was so tremendously heart wrenching that both Him and I had teary eyes.  What was it Andre said?  I just remember the end — She loves you.  And my Him, he hesitated, and looked a little crushed, and I turned red in the face and Andre reiterated, No, I’ve seen the way she looks at you, she really does.    

I did. And i do. 

He said that night that he’d never tire of holding my hand and even on our worst days, he still does.  

Beginnings are so fantastic, arn’t they?  We’re so lucky to have beginnings.  

I have a belly ache tonight, and the flu, and a headache.  But I got to sit with a few friends and laugh so hard that I felt like I might die.  Laughing makes me grateful and sickeningly nostalgic.  

Ok, there’s my attempt at re-entering the blogging world.  I hope I didn’t make you barfy with my romance memories.  I’m a a total sucker for romance.  I pretend to be very brave, and aloof, and too sophisticated.  But I love it.  I gooey, gushingly love it.

I should put a song on here to finish this self-indulgent madness.  i need a really sappy love song.  I can’t decide between a Randy Newman, Bob Dylan, or Patty Griffin song.  Bob Dylan.  Though there’s no great version of this song.  Someone still needs to cover it good.  But for now, I’ll put Adele, though neither of us like her voice too much, but she seems sweet, and I used to sing this to him, and so, 

I found one, but I’m not rich, so I don’t get it. Boooooo.

From Plum Pretty Sugar

I had a margarita and watched the final two episodes of Friday Night Lights tonight and damnit, I’m not ready to say goodbye.  It may be the little bit of liquor I drank, but really, it might just be FNL.  I’m struggling to find a comparison.  I like Mad Men, but not more than FNL.  Pushing Daisies was a comedy, right?  Right.  So, doesn’t count.   Dexter was great, but I will not choose a show about a psychopath to be my favorite.  I don’t like what that says about me.  Plus, it wasn’t. Then there was Battlestar Galactica and the ended nearly ruined that show for me.  There were parts in the beginning and middle that were pretty great.  But I SO could have given that show a better ending – don’t get me started.  I have very deep unhappy feelings about all that.

What else is there in the drama category?  I never got into Lost.  Alias was ok.  I’d still like to see The West Wing.  I liked 90210.  And there was a time where I was really obsessed with The X-files.  I had a big fatty crush on David Duchovny and his big nose.  My So Called Life was great.  Oh and Sex in the City — that’s up there on the favorites list.  Pretty far up there.  Oh, and I really liked Quantum Leap.  What?  Is that not a drama?  Seriously, nothing funny about these guys..

Ok, I think I’m going to commit to these four shows as my longstanding favorite dramas.

1.  Wonder Years

2. Felicity

3. Friday Night Lights

4. Sex in the City

Did Wonder Years throw you off?  But seriously, how freaking awesome was that show?  I want to start from the beginning and watch it all again.  I never saw the ending.  I just couldn’t.  Which is actually the purpose of this post.  Endings. Show endings.

Tonight I watched the ending of FNL.  Oh my, I don’t know what to do with myself.  I love them.  (translation – them means characters). I absolutely love them.  Like I know them.  Like they are my real friends and my real life.  Meh.  But, spoiler alert, here are my opions regarding the last episode:

1.  Matt and Julie back together and in Chicago:  PERFECTION.  I love me some Matt Saracen and missed him a lot on that last season.

2.  What the hell is Gracie-Bell gonna do in Phillidelphia, right?

3. Tyra and Riggs — eh.  Just, eh.  I gotta be honest.  I love me some Landry.  And, uh, remember when Landry KILLED someone for Tyra.  Commmmmmon!  I would have liked to have seen her come back for Landry, not Riggs.

4.  Which brings up the point — way to forget about Landry in the end there.  He was by far one of my favorite characters.  He should have got Tyra.  I’m standing by that. Uh, KILLED A MAN FOR HER.  And so damn funny.  Landry was the crap.

5.  Riggs on his land.  Good stuff.  And though I hated Lyla – that may have made a better ending since SO much was built on them getting together.  So, I’m on the fence about Riggs and who he should have been with.  Maybe no one.  Maybe he should have been left dangling out there for all women to long for, for all time.

6.  Coach in Philadelphia.  I liked that he was with High Schoolers.  That’s the right answer.  He should never be a college football coach.  And the woman empowerment part was really great – good for Tammy getting her dreams.  But there was something real sad about them being away from their community and starting over and losing all that Texas goodness.  I get it, but I always feel a little weird when shows end that way.  Like how everyone leaves their New York apartments in Friends.  Or Cheers closes down.  Why can’t stuff keep going just the way it is? But I get it – they had to move on – everyone was OK now — Julie had stopped being a whore, Vince and his mom were on track, the panthers had been restored, Riggins was back and doing good, and Buddy had his boy, and Jess got her family and her dream job.  Good stuff.  But it just seemed like the Taylors should have been those teachers — the ones that stay with high schoolers forever.  But none-the-less, good plot twist and way to go, Eric.

7.  I like the whole Riggins family blending with what’s her face and Luke.  That was all very sweet and good and perfect.  But Luke in the military?  Booooo.

8.  Glad they ended on the Taylor’s.  Would have loved the montage to include EVERYONE — Smash, Street, Lyla, Tyra — the whole shabang.  And where the hell was Gracie Bell?

9.  Way to little of Riggins in Season 5.  Way too little.  Common.  And then he’s all greasy haired angry Riggins for the final two episodes.  Boooo.  Stupid prison ruins everything.

10.  I think I like the Lions better.

Bye Friday Nights.

Texas Forever.

Back in 92, the LA riots exploded up the coast, over the farmlands and into Richmond, where I lived in a pale blue house on Yuba Street with my mother, father and two older brothers.  I remember some things.  I have forgotten others.  I don’t remember driving through the worst part of Richmond in our old red Toyota, but my mother says we stopped at a light, my father was driving and we kids were in the back, and a group of black men carrying bats came at us and my father ignored the lights and speed to our small house where we baraccaded ourselves inside, pensive and quiet, watching through a small t.v. what man was capable of.

I do remember going back to school.  I had a 6th grade science teacher that I didn’t like.  He made fun of religious people on a daily basis and said anyone who believed in heaven was stupid because what was so great about sitting on a cloud for the rest of eternity.  Then he rambled on about naked cherubs and harps.  I sat in the front row and thought he was talking directly to me, making fun of my family that went to church each Sunday and prayed for meals and did all the other “stupid” things he mentioned.  I fumed while he spoke.  He usually gave the “religion is worthless” speech as an intro to whatever Carl Sagen show we were going to watch.  He loved Carl Sagen. He loved talking about Carl Sagen.  Carl Sagen was his god.  During the riots a group of black teenagers jumped him and beat his skull in.  He didn’t come back and I felt guilty.  As though my inner fear and hatred were particles that escaped through my pours and mingled in the atmosphere with the fear and hatred of those black youth that kicked his skull into the sidewalk.

I don’t remember if we had days off of school, though I’m sure we did.  And I don’t remember if my parents went back to work, though I’m sure they had to.  I have the memory of waiting for them in the house.  Did we stay away from the windows?  Did my mother say that?  She would say something like that.  She probably had to work, because we had no money, but she probably worried herself sick if she did.  That’s what she does.  Still.  She worries and protects.  And my dad.  I remember feeling safe because my dad was there.  And I think of him now, how he was then — so skinny — what could he have done?  He must have weigh, I’ll guess,  130 pounds.  But my dad,  I can’t explain him, I like him more and more the older I get.  I don’t know how to explain the calm in him.  He flows.  Sometimes he fights the flow.  But mostly.  He gets in and he flows.  And all of us around him wrap our arms around his neck –  terrified.

I’m sure there are other stories from those few days.  I’m sure my brothers remember more.

London, you poor girl, with all your beauty.  All those ancient stories.  May God help us all.

Me and Jen.

I didn’t even know I subscribed.

I’m trying to figure out how to unsubscribe now.

But I don’t remember what God feels like.

I don’t remember what quiet feels like.  Or confidence.  Or reassuring joy.

I have a memory of lying alone on a big, green field and I am staring at the sky and I am quiet.  Two birds keep joining and separating and joining again and something about their search feels like a message from God to me.  I used to do that a lot – go out to fields and lie down and listen for God.

Maybe I’m afraid of what I’d hear.  Maybe I’m afraid of what I wouldn’t hear.

The world is big.  Green and blue and red inside, like us.  And bodies unite and life forms inside a woman’s core.  And there is music, and lyrics, and words, and the sound of a loved one’s voice.   There is the softness of skin, silk, satin.  There is uncontrolled laughter.  And the taste of sugar and the taste of salt.  And sleep.  There is water, and dirt, and black skies.  And the possibility of more universe, more to be known.  And there is forgiveness and communion and surrender.  And there is hope.

God is there.

I am small.  And when I reflect on my selfish actions, my hateful desires, my refusal to embrace joy — I know I am sinful.  Or whatever word works.  Broken.  In need of help.  And God is there in the sleep, in the skin, in the laughter, in the voices, and music, and water, and deep, red dirt.  And I am redeemed and healed again and again without even knowing.

Amen?  Amen.

coach taylor.  hottest coach ever.

2. Sewing lessons.

3. Maybe back to school.

4. Write some music.

5. Write some stories.

6. Take some photos.

Every time I watch that show I feel uneasy.  The womanizing.  The way Betty treats Susie (the daughter).  And the one female that has a job besides a secretary, Peggy, well, she’s not that likable.  In fact, she plays dirty, sells out the other girls, and is kind of a bad person.  I know we’re supposed to feel a bit bad for her because she does what she does to survive in a man’s world, but honestly, I still think she’s pretty nasty at times.

But really, they all are.  It’s that show.  Like the movie, Magnolia.  You know everyone is dispicable, and yet you want them to be OK because you get the back story and glimpses of humanity.

Tonight’s show was particularly hard to watch — lots of cheating and poor Susie being treated bad.  It got me thinking, for such a long time I’ve had this hope — I hope I get to have girls, or at least one.  I know lots of people that want little boys – and I get that – -boys are pretty great — funny, and quirky, and fascinated with everything.  But I’d love to raise a girl to feel strong, and capable, and smart, and assertive.  Even if the rest of her experiences say otherwise – at least in our home, she’d hold her shoulders back.

I used to be so ashamed to be a woman and I hope my “imaginary” daughter never feels the weight of that gender shame.    I carried deep beliefs about my gender:  that we weren’t allowed to lead, that we weren’t as smart, that we were over-emotional, that all we did was nag and control, and that men would follow us.  A professor of mine once asked us to explore the question would we rather be a man — and at the time – I said I would.  I barley had to think about it.  Of course.   And I meant it.  I felt confident that all the dreams I had for my life – the kind of profession I really wanted — I could only have if I was a man.  If I remember right, no man in the class said he’d rather be a woman.  Unless he was making a stupid joke about how it’d be nice to have boobs.

I don’t feel that way anymore.  I simply love being a woman.  I really do.  And I’m so glad my brain has been rewired and I don’t hate my sex anymore, or see us as less than.  No, we’re incredible.  We have the capacity to make life inside of us.  We have the capacity to collect the brokenhearted.  We have the capacity to heal, and lead, and create.  We are strong, and capable, and present.  We make the world FULL.  I secretly think God might prefer us to men.  That might be complete heresy.  I try to make it my practice not to say what God thinks or likes as if I have first hand knowledge.  I just sense, I guess i FEEL, very loved and honored as a woman, not by church, or my culture, but by God.  It’s something internal that I can’t describe – just a deep delight I sense he has in all of us – all those moms in church, praying for their kids, and driving them all over, and serving men that suck and won’t change.  Man, when I think about the sacrifices my mom made for me.  I don’t even have words.

And lastly, I am so grateful to all the women that went before me.  All those poor gals that lined up to fight for the right to vote, or drive, or have a job!  And all those women that endured constant sexual harassment in the workplace before the law finally got on our side.  And now, all of us women that continue to fight for equal pay, God bless all of us.  We’re worth it.

My education was a bit left of center, but still Jesus-centered. But not bible school! I didn’t go to Bible School and I’m a bit of a snob about that, i know. But, there’s Bible school — where the recipient learns one brand of Christianity and is fed answers to questions that most people arn’t even asking. Hmm, that may have been too harsh – but, I hate being grouped into that category. That type of education makes me really uncomfortable – it feels like it’s a process of creating clones, rather than thinkers. I didn’t have that education. I had a Christian theological education, which, in my opinion, was a scholarly, holistic exploration of the many facets, traditions, perspectives, and opinions that permeate the Christian and Jewish faith. A theological education, when done properly, in my lowly opinion, teaches people how to ask real questions and hopefully, instills a humility that allows the individual to admit, there may not be a knowable answer. That whole process of deconstructing ones tightly held belief system can be disillusioning to many a student, as it was for me, but it can also be freeing, as it became for me. God ceases to be a controlled substance that does exactly as your God-box allows, but instead becomes an infinite, untamed, engaging, mysterious entity that is present throughout the world, and in love with his WHOLE creation.

Why am I talking about this now? Well, I feel the need to introduce the notion that not all Christians think alike and that in reality, there are many streams that flow from the starting point of JESUS.

I’m thinking of this because of something Pat Buchanan said and because last week I read a few articles about a pastor in Seattle who tells his congregation and the world that the Jesus present in our society today is a feminized version and that the real Jesus was very male and masculine, and that women should still not have leadership roles in the church and that Reformed Theology is the real truth (some for hell, some for heaven). The article talked about this pastor’s church community, how they were all tatted up and the service was more like a U2 concert than anything else, and that thousands show up every Sunday to hear this guy, even though the theology is fairly conservative and there’s lots of talk about hell.  This is nothing new — this is why I stopped going to mainstream churches — you can dress it up as “hip” as you want — but it’s the same OLD, not-so-good news — God hates who he hates, many are going to hell and men are better.  Boring.

It just, it just doesn’t feel right to me. It’s so not how I’ve experienced the world, or God, or community, or women, or even good men. I hope the Kingdom of God is much more flexible, lovely, animated, diverse, eclectic, and womanly than some have conceived.  And I know a lot of good men that feel the same way.  It would seem, in the teachings I’ve read from Jesus and others in the OT, that God was a bit more concerned with how we treat each other, with the needs of the marginalized, with challenging greed, and with stirring up a revolution centered in self-sacrifice and humility — than he was about well, sex, sex, and sex.

But, back to the point, oh to be humble and self-sacrificial. If we took all that fervent Christian energy and funneled it into self-reflection, what would be become of the world? If we questioned every step with the wondering, “was I humble? Did I put the other before myself?” Would we need to be right? Would we need women to be weak? Would we fear change? Would we feel threatened by another’s opinions, beliefs, traditions, upbringing? OR, would we just SHUT UP and try and love our families, and our neighbors, and our friends, and our enemies?

I am no saint, ask anyone that really knows me. I am quick to stick my foot in my mouth, hot-headed, opinionated, impatient, and complain too much. I am not the loving, forgiving, non-judgmental, non-condemning Christian I would like to be. Not at all. And this post is merely a bunch of words and feelings and experiences streamed together into an opinion, an opinion that I carry deep in my heart- the opinion that, I wish a lot of Christian’s would shut up (myself included).

So, we arrive at Pat Buchanan.  I will address him personally now.  Pat, why, OH why, did you choose to say ANYTHING in regards to the mass slaying of 68 young, vibrant, hopeful teenagers in Norway this week besides, “I’m SO sorry this happened”?  Why? WHY would you think it OK to use this terrible tragedy to discuss the validity of an INSANE man’s ideology regarding Islam and multiculturalism? Why? SHAME ON YOU. Shame on you. I am horrified by your actions.

But, awful as this atrocity was, native-born and homegrown terrorism is not the macro-threat to the continent. That threat comes from a burgeoning Muslim presence in a Europe that has never known mass immigration, its failure to assimilate, its growing alienation, and its sometime sympathy for Islamic militants and terrorists. Europe faces today an authentic and historic crisis. With her native-born populations aging, shrinking and dying, Europe’s nations have not discovered how to maintain their prosperity without immigrants. Yet the immigrants who have come – from the Caribbean, Africa, the Middle East, South Asia – have been slow to learn the language and have failed to attain the educational and occupational levels of Europeans. And the welfare states of Europe are breaking under the burden.[...] As for a climactic conflict between a once-Christian West and an Islamic world that is growing in numbers and advancing inexorably into Europe for the third time in 14 centuries, on this one, Breivik may be right. – Buchanan

As Simon Maley said on Media Matters in regards to Pat’s blunder, “A good rule of thumb for political commentary – or life in general- is that terrorists are never right.  People who go on mass shooting sprees are never right. The man or woman who lights the fuse on a bomb that blows up a government building is never right. Their actions are wrong, and the ideas that motivated them are wrong.”

Amen.  Just shut up, Pat Buchanan.  Shut up.

I could say more about Jesus, and Christian theology, and American politics, and tollerism, and what COULD be.  But I’ll just take my own advice at this point and shut up.