Emergence

"So, everyone asked me to stand up and read the poem. And I wasn't shy because we were trying to act like grown-ups, and we drank brandy. And I was warm. I'm still a little warm, but I have to tell you this. So, I stood up, and just before I read this poem, I asked everyone if they knew who wrote it to please tell me.

When I was done reading the poem, everyone was quiet. A very sad quiet. But the amazing thing was that it wasn't a bad sad at all. It was just something that made everyone look around at each other and know that they were there. Sam and Patrick looked at me. And I looked at them. And I think they knew. Not anything specific really. They just knew. And I think that's all you can ever ask from a friend."

-- Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower


--

I was scratching Ajax's belly when I told my dad that when I get my own place in Omaha, I might get a dog of my own. Dad said that could be a good idea, as long as my landlord was okay with it, and I said I knew. Then he said that if they get another dog, it won't be a Bichon Frise like Ajax.

"Why not?"

"I've never seen a dog this needy. They were bred to be lapdogs, sure, but I have never seen a dog whose sole ambition was to be in a person's lap."

It made me think a bit about what makes someone needy (as opposed to affectionate), and that made me think about something I have tried not to think about in a while: my family got a dog two years after I went off to college, and the running joke for a while was that Ajax had "replaced" me. I don't think about it much anymore just because it's silly to take a joke like that seriously, and it's hard not to think about something like that without taking it seriously. But maybe there's something of me in that dog, or vice versa, that is a bit cloying.

--

Went to my baby sister's soccer game this evening. It took place in an open field not too far from our house, down a hill from a Jimmy John's and Burger King and the Chinese restaurant where I got my first job. The sky was as big as the atmosphere and the sun made twilight behind clouds. It was pleasant.

And for the first time, what I suspected would happen, happened. I began to second-guess my decision to stay in Omaha for a while. I began to think about the field and the big sky and feel trapped inside all this space. It's moot.

Then I remembered that I was seeing my baby sister's soccer game, which is something I haven't been able to do in a long time, and then I met the boy who wants to date her. Then Nebraska seemed not just all right but good, and I remembered that any place, even a hometown, takes time to get back into. I may have to go a few months without working in a theatre. I should prepare myself for that necessity.

--

My mom's wedding dress was ruined by a local seamstress, so she took the dress, along with my sister and my lola, five hours into Iowa where her cousin could work on it. (Her cousin is a seamstress herself.) She appraised the garment and said that the damage was too much, they would have to start over. It would take an entire day, maybe more. Welcome, emergency.

Long story short: my mom, sister and lola are in Iowa tonight. There are two days until the vow renewal ceremony (essentially, it's the wedding my parents were too poor to afford 25 years ago), and a dress is being stitched overnight. Crisis averted.

Isn't it romantic?

--

My middle sister, the one who went to Iowa for the night, has been suggesting I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and so far, it's pretty good. (Yet again, I'm unable to resist the call of another book.) It's full of honesty and simplicity. It's been a perfect fit for my mood the last few days: tired, a little listless, retrospective, and--oddly--focused.

Lately, I confess, my pursuit of Orthodoxy has slowed. It's no excuse, but life keeps getting in the way. Vacations. Wedding. Family. Driving. How to keep the fast? How to hear the Liturgy?

In some flailing attempt to make myself feel better about this, I have downloaded a lot more Orthodox podcasts tonight. I'll listen to them, in lieu of something better, whenever I can.

--

There was this place we went in Washington, that stretch of gray coastline. Two rocky islands, topped with dense forest, stood about a mile offshore. There was the hint of brown and green amidst the black lines of the cliffs, and white crests exploding all around. Dead trees all around us, smooth rocks lain like walkways in the sand. Cold moisture. No sun anywhere. Some Asian backpackers and our bearded tour guide and us and no one else.

The guide told us on the bus that the Indians who live here believe spirits live on those islands, and that is why they hardly ever venture out there. Standing on the beach, feeling chills, contemplating the scrape and shatter of the ridges, there was no question as to how the tribal wise men looked out to the sea and perceived the emergence of earth, and thought it sacred.

--

Everything is going to be okay.