a study in curly haired boys

It's no surprise to most that I tend to develop crushes on pianists. Like him, him, him and, of course, him.

But, I'd like to take a moment to mention my first piano-man crush. I think I was about four years old. His name was Keith.

He was, in my mind, the perfect man. He liked animals. He had an amazing voice. He had passion. He loved his wife and kids. He was funny ("Would one of the angels like to go out and get the Lord a hamburger and a Coke?"). He was feisty ("Jesus came to your door, you've left him out on the streets."). Plus, my dad loved him.

The other day, I realized this childhood crush may have influenced me to crush on other pianists. Namely, my husband. Notice the following:

The similar album covers:

The similar plaid shirts:

The similar hair:

What strikes me as most similar about these two pianists, however, is their pure, unadulterated, passionate love of Jesus. My opinion may be considered biased but I can easily say that I haven't known anyone who loves Jesus more than my husband. It oozes from him. He reads scripture about Jesus and and is moved to tears. He reads poems written about Jesus and is moved to tears. He talks about and to Jesus like he's in the room. Jesus is the last person he talks to before going to sleep (although sometimes I try to give Jesus a run for his money). Jesus is the first person he consults before a major decision. And he has passion. Lots of it. Like Keith. Like Jesus.

Come away, come away, come away with me, my love
Come away from this mess, come away with me my love.
- Keith Green

Take me away, take me away with you
Take me away, take me away with you.
- Andrew Gazaneo

80's elves...why not?

The legend continues.

have yourself a merry little christmas

I've been feeling a little sentimentalicious recently. In light of this, here's a little tally of my favourite and not-so-favourite Christmases through the years.

Worst Christmases Ever
1990:
My first experience with illegal activity. I was in grade four, miserably failing the chapter on Roman numerals, and plagiarizing my parents' signatures to fool Miss Hamilton into believing they had checked my homework. Then the Parental Unit found out. Not only did I learn the word "plagiarize" that year but I experienced the fear in believing that this exempted me from receiving Christmas presents...thankfully, my assumption was unfounded. Also, I later won a "Most Improved in Mathematics" certificate after my parents kicked my ass bum.

1996
This year scored both worst and best in an unparalleled, pubescent, angst-ridden Christmas. My worst memory comes from performing in the Pep Squad (it's what you think) at Malvern C.I. to "Sleigh Ride" by TLC in outfits straight from that scene in "Mean Girls". *hangs head*

2005:
This was my first and only Christmas spent away from home. Which would be bad enough, except that it was spent in Korea - a country fond of mixing Santa, Hello Kitty, Jesus, and Chinese New Year into one very confusing holiday season. I went to church on Christmas eve with friends and we sang Christmas carols together. While Jack Snot nipped at my nose.

Best Christmases Ever
1980-1998:
Any Christmas involving my aunt Dodie seriously rocked. She owned a miniature town including miniature EVERYTHING that you would find in a town. Ice rink, chapel, school house, carolers, and nativity with oversized baby Jesus (he was from a different set than the carolers...kind of like a Hulk Jesus in comparison). Also, she used to take me to the Bay on Queen to see the Christmas windows. Also, she attended St. Paul's cathedral on Bloor which still has the most beautiful Christmas eve service I've ever experienced. Also, she had Christmas crackers and I liked the paper crowns. Also, she used to wear a brass brooch that was a jingle bell. Also, she won at Christmas.

1984:
I was four years old and wore two Christmas stockings on my feet, which came up to my hips. I can vividly remember taking to stockings, going into the hallway, pulling them on, and thinking, "This is funny. They're going to love this." It was the first time I can remember doing something conscious of my audience. They loved it, by the way. And took photos.

1996:
Little known piece of blackmail fact: my brothers and I used to dress up as Santa's elves to help divvy up the presents on Christmas morning. Grandad = Santa. Sarah, Simeon, and Seth = "Strawberry", "Blueberry" and "Plumb", respectively. The details of how committed we were to these characters isn't necessary, nor is it flattering, but I will say that in 1996 I tried to be Sarah for Christmas morning and there was an insurrection. Blueberry and Plumb left me threatening notes, gave me withering looks, and confettied my bedroom with hundreds of hand-decorated strawberries in an attempt to bring me out of retirement. They won.

2001:
There was an brilliantly organized (due to the social coordinator) yet poorly attended (due to the snow) Christmas banquet for the Erindale Varsity Christian Fellowship that does not warrant going into, but driving home in Nik's car with Dan, Thea, Joey and Lina to "Song For a Winter's Night" was a mini Christmas miracle. I think it was the last time all of us were together for Christmas.

2003:
After finally (and begrudgingly) repaying my parents for outstanding university tuition, handing over what little I had saved for my first apartment in favour of becoming debt-free, I trudged to meet the landlord to let him know I couldn't afford the first and last month's rent and he'd have to give the apartment to someone else. When I met him, he handed me a card with my name on it. It was from my parents, who had visited him first, and paid for first and last month's rent on my behalf.

2007:
Being engaged at Christmas was the equivalent of drinking wine in a vat full of kittens. Or, if you don't like wine or kittens (as much as I do), picture two of the most wonderful things in the world and combine them. Andrew and I were double- and triple-booked with events to attend and suffering from epic head/chest colds but none of it mattered. We amused ourselves with emails like this:

2008:
If being engaged and celebrating Christmas at the same time was epic, I can only imagine how being married at Christmas will register on the scale of epic-ness. Highlights so far have included picking out a tree at IKEA, decorating said tree, and, of course, prepping, posing, and snapping the above holiday portrait (which has, at this moment, 49 comments on Facebook). Now that Andrew has shaved his moustache (must be pronouced: "moo-staaahh-sh" with dirty, French accent), let the married holiday fun begin!

peace on earth, good will to men

Economic downturn. Layoffs. Terrorist bombings in Mumbai. Disgruntled parliamentary coalitions. Child soldiers. Inner city shootings. International war.

I am prone to like the world I live in. I am prone to believing the best in people and situations. I am prone to expecting the best...even if I read, watch and experience the worst.

I am prone to take this verse literally:
"But where sin abounded, grace did much more abound." (Romans 5:20, good ol' King James version)

Or, for those who don't use "abound" regularly in conversation:
"But sin didn't, and doesn't, have a chance in competition with the aggressive forgiveness we call grace. When it's sin versus grace, grace wins hands down." (bite-sized Message)

Or, my personal favourite:
"But then Law came in, only to expand and increase the traspass [making it more apparent and exciting opposition]. But where sin increased and abounded, grace (God's unmerited favour) has surpassed it and increased the more and superabounded." (Lois and Jessica's favourite, Amplified)

And, so, Frank Sinatra reminded me today:

And in despair I bowed my head
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men."

- I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day

also

For other similarities, click here.

ode to december fourth

This time last year I sat at this desk. I typed at this computer. I answered this phone. I felt this sunshine pouring in this Carpet Factory window. I dawdled the day away, waiting for 5:00 p.m. to mark the end of the work day and the start of Tuesday's date night.

The night before had been our first annual BWV Christmas gathering at 518 Jane, where life was the party. The tree, oversized, had been tied unceremoniously to the ceiling with a piece of string to prevent it from falling over. Covering it were Dollar Store ornaments that we had decorated (and, in most cases, smudged) with Dollar Store glitter glue. Someone had tied ribbon around Audrey Hepburn's neck and she was frantically searching for a solution, explanation, or hostage to solve her irritation. One of the Secret Santa gifts had been a set of suction-cup dart guns which handful of 20-somethings were now shooting at each other, running around the living room, shrieking, and hopping on the furniture in a state of maddened holiday glee.

Andrew and I sat on the free, floral 70's couch from Craigslist in that living room, tired and happy, watching our friends feign dramatic, suction-cup-related deaths. When the mood and couch shifted we watched half of "It's A Wonderful Life" before everyone headed groggily to their respective apartments and beds.

So I would add to the list that this time last year I was also a little sleepy.

What I didn't know was that 5:00 p.m. would bring about a bizarre series of events and culminate in a life-altering question.

Since then I have learned many lessons. I learned one can buy wedding dresses direct from China off of eBay for $50. I learned that bad news is no respecter of bachelorette weekends. I learned that honeymoons make one really hungry and really tired. I learned that it's much better to finish thank-you cards right after the wedding. I learned how to live with a boy. I've learned the interior of the local IKEA.

I learned that I am not the center of the universe. I learned how to love someone more than myself. I learned that everything means nothing if I ain't got him*. I learned how to love and how to be loved. I learned how to forgive and how to be forgiven. I learned how to be one.

This time next year I know I will have learned all of this over again, and so much more.

* "If I Ain't Got You" by Alisha Keys

my pearl

reception desk, right arm, torso,
ablaze with late autumnal sunshine
shoulders release a shiver
back eases
into melted mid-morning daze
reflected in twenty-six inch screen
glowing with the warmth of a greater orb
my pearl
that mischievous eye
outshining the chips of coal that frame it
my pearl
breathes, whispers, gossips
tells tales of submersion
of being kissed alive
from grain to gem
like me

sugar plums are dancing in my head

Y'all know I like to fight social injustice from time to time. The message above is my latest kick: Advent Conspiracy. Check it out.

On a related note: I did it again. I can't believe I've been at the same job for longer than a calendar year. I think this is the first time.

time [mis]management

How did this happen?

alias squirrel

This is the squirrel that's been working the 2nd and 3rd floor windows (possibly more...we have to confer with the other offices below us), over three years, going by several aliases.

Chubby, Steve, Frank, Larry, Fatty.

Whatever his name is, he's going to have an easy winter ahead since he's been getting handouts from the creative team, account team and digital team.

30 before 30 revisited

I tripped over this ancient blog post a while ago.

So, here I am, 28 years, 5 months, 16 days old. I still have a little while to go in completing The List. Problem is, since writing this post the first time around I have only managed to complete #7, #11, #16, #19, #20, #26, #29? (I married one - does that count?) and, of course, #30...which means I still have nearly 80% to complete in just under two years.

Unfortunately, buying a house, being a youth pastor and having a child aren't on this list (silly 2007 me!) which would have made it easier to finish, since they are milestones I'll most likely hit before I'm 30 anyway.

1. Take dance lessons again.
   
2. Get my driver's license.
   
3. Perform in live theater again.
4. Visit ESL teacher-friends in B.C.
5. Watch the Nutcracker live.
6. Organize and attend a 10 year DTS reunion at Holmsted Manor.
   
7. Attend a Coldplay concert.
   
8. Visit my grandparents in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
   
9. Take vocal lessons. Preferably jazz.
10. Upgrade my B.A. to an honours.
    
11. Promote 24/7 Prayer (preferably a Boiler Room) in Toronto.
12. See my grade 6 teacher, Miss Huberts, again.
13. Visit the twins I used to babysit, Dylan and Taylor, when I was a teenager.
14. Find my pearl earrings.
15. Finish my tattoo.
16. Get into the habit of saving regularly.
17. Write and publish a book.
18. Host a proper, large-scale house party. At my own house.
19. Do a wine tasting tour in Niagara.
20. Get a credit card. Use it wisely.
21. Spend one weekend in seclusion and silence away from the city.
22. See Venice and Florence.
23. Do a day at the spa.
24. Read The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky.
25. Volunteer with a homeless ministry downtown.
26. Do a Healing Week.
27. Go on a trip with each of my brothers, specific to them.
28. Scuba dive.
29. Promote and support local artists, musicians and performers.
30. Get married.

addict

My name is Sarah Aubrey Gazaneo and I'm a poetry junkie.

Ever since that fateful night, over fifteen years ago, when I couldn't sleep, slipped out of bed to snatch a pencil and piece of paper from my desk, and scrawled my first poem in the dark, I have been an addict. I've just completed my third (unpublished) book of poetry which would sound impressive if you weren't aware of the tawdry verse that fills most of their pages. Especially the first one. Preteen angst, mostly.

Those tear filled nights, those epic travels, those introspections, those seasonal colours, those unmentioned grudges and those first-time experiences wouldn't have been half as exciting, however, if I hadn't captured them in poems. Plus, tediously feeding my contemplations through the eye of poetry greatly diminished the risk of lashing out. Often the task of writing brought low every mountain and hill, raised every valley, made the crooked roads straight and the rough ways smooth.

I'm still torn between the cathartic nature of poetry (I mean, we all feel better after a bowel movement but we don't publish the results) and its art form. I still feel embarrassed, like a third-grader who has had a painting displayed on the family refrigerator but is old enough to recognize its substandard quality, when my poems are aired. And yet, as my brother would dryly point out, I voluntarily blog about them. And email them to close friends. And, when the illusions of grandeur are particularly strong, attempt to have them published.

I told you, it's an addiction.

Alan R. Wilson wrote this brilliant article on the addiction of poetry in the Globe's Life section a few days ago. He laments:

"Distressed, overwhelmed, resigned to my fate, I joined a university writing group. The experience was more like AA meetings adjourned to the pub, where confessions and drunken suggestions poured out."

Fifteen years of this habit have not been enough to break me of it. I still write, I still share, and I'm submitting six more to be considered for publication. Shortlisting these prized six revealed two comforting aspects (defenses?) of my poetry:

1. My skill is improving.
2. Graciously, the improvement has occurred as I enter into what I expect to be a long, delicious season of writing about one man, one romance, just one, my hubby. Twenty-five poems and counting.

so soft he is with me,
gently, so!
i am lace
i am memory
i am crème brûlée

fo eva, eva

I like the state of familiarity that has settled upon our marriage.

I was recently pondering about the sheer amount of time a married couple spends sleeping - just sleeping - beside each other. Sharing the same bed. Breathing the same air. Wrestling with the same sheets. I wonder if that, together with the the act of making love, the plans for the future, the raising of children, accounts for the way couples gradually meld together over the years. All those hours, multiplied by days, weeks, years, spent completely at rest, sleeping, side by side. I figure since our minds, spirits and souls remain open while our bodies take a break (hence methods of nocturnal hypnosis, a là Chandler trying to quit smoking), this marriage-bed-osmosis has something to do with it.

This article, in the Globe Life section, entitled: The Science of a Long Marriage, which referenced the famed, 50-year, Newman/Woodward marriage, included this quote:

"There is scientific and psychological insight into the benefits of long-term marriage, and the reasons why marriages that survive often become better as they age. In the long run, marriage is a state of being that suits, even enhances, human biology, experts say."

I was scrumptiously reading my copy of October edition of Vogue when I came across an article written by Christina Thompson about her 20+ marriage with her husband. who delineated such a beautiful piece of prose it stuck in my mind for weeks after reading it:

"These days my husband and I have a lot in common: three sons, the dog, and two happy decades spent in each other's company. We are entwined in the way that only two people who have spent half their lives together can be. I love his peculiar ingenuity, the way he can make anything from scratch; still marvel at the circuitous pathways of his imagination; am still impressed by his phenomenal strength, as breathtaking at 47 as it was at 25. These qualities...have gradually become as familiar as my own hand."

Don McKay's words come back to me nearly two and a half years after Andrew first bought me his book of poetry:

I want memories that germinate
I want to spread the shed years on us as a mulch.

bottom's up!

A great link from Andrew, about social drinking in the UK. Makes ya wonder...

Quote:
In a nation of the chronically ill-at-ease, alcohol is the lubricant that eases the pain of frightening social encounters, an essential prelude to relaxation, to joie de vivre and even, at times, to rudimentary conversation.

don't litter

Discovered on a garbage removal website:

What type of junk do you have?

Please note: We can take anything that two strong people can carry, dolly or wheelbarrow out of your house or yard, except for certain items that are difficult to dispose of in your area.
Unfortunately, we cannot accept:
Paint cans with kitty litter in them

big fish

You might be a big fish
In a little pond
Doesn't mean you've won
'Cause along may come
A bigger one

- Coldplay (Lost)

furry friend

Not more than one day after I, Yield's friendly receptionist, sent out an all-staff reminder to the tune of:
...did Miguel leave his window open 1/2 a foot.

In the morning, I discovered this flurry of activity in and around Chris' office:

Dion developing a complex labeling system (what he does best):

With attached sign:
And handy peep-flap:

Revealing:

A rather tired and annoyed raccoon, in the rafters of the office:

Dion and team had placed a ladder for the raccoon's convenience, and place a piece of pizza on each rung to highlight the route. Poor raccoon didn't catch on. I tried coaxing him down with Joy, standing precariously on Chris' desk, but to no avail.

In the end, animal control was called and the travesty heightened:

In case you can't see the raccoon feces and urine crop dusting Chris' office, just take his word for it:

"Everything that could've been pissed on,
has been pissed on."

Jamie was kind enough to draft up this email by the end of day, referring to Ali who has left for a 3-month hiatus:

And this is why I love my job.

sabotage

september 22, 2008

when all around the peace decamps,
when time itself, antagonist,
turns half way 'round and seeks to kill
the hope I have for things I've missed.

when in my soul fatigue descends,
when beaten by the slew of thoughts
that plague me with their biting ways
reminding me of things forgot.

when words from others me deride,
when comfort is illusive still
provoking me to live the lie
that dreams of mine go unfulfilled.

when all my heart is desolate,
when all at once I push aside
the arms which curve around my fears,
in silence ask me to confide.

when he, despite all my defense,
when I am spent in fruitless tries,
entreats to soothe unmentioned wounds,
to wipe the tears I haven't cried

when sweet surrender finds me, soft,
when time for all my pain atones -
it slows itself to let me know:
this world is dark; I'm not alone.

honeymoon revisited

Matthew 11:28-30

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."
(thanks, Jess)


Psalm 23

God, my shepherd! I don't need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.

Even when the way goes through
Death Valley,
I'm not afraid
when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd's crook
makes me feel secure.

You serve me a six-course dinner
right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
my cup brims with blessing.

Your beauty and love chase after me
every day of my life.
I'm back home in the house of God
for the rest of my life.

I've been pondering a lot about 'peace' recently.

Paul's letter to the Romans outlines that salvation is marked with the knowledge of "the way of peace" (3:17), that "the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace" (8:6), and that, if it is possible (disclaimer #1), as far as it depends on me (disclaimer #2), I should "live at peace with everyone" (12:18).

Everyone? Forever, ever?

Don't get me wrong, I don't go around finding it incredibly difficult to be at peace with people. Being at peace with myself has been an interesting journey but even most of those angels have been wrestled and I'm now entering my blessing.

But the way of peace, controlled by peace, and living at peace with everyone does not yet define who I am.

Recently, my mover has been surfacing and I feel more like the infamous words of Tybalt describe me better: "What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word."

Will "the peace of God, which transcends all understanding...guard [my] heart and [my] mind" (Philippians 4:7) only after I reach an end to my own understanding?

Why is it that King Asa of Judah (2 Chronicles 14-15), whose "heart was fully committed to the Lord all his life" enjoyed the luxury of fortifying Judah's cities "since the land was at peace...no one was at war with him during those years...for the Lord gave him rest" only after he demolished the Cushites and violently cleansed the country of idols, even disposing of his own grandmother, the queen?

What of Ezekiel's vendetta against prophets that soothed Jerusalem with "visions of peace for her when there was no peace" (Ezekiel 13:16)?

Isn't it Jesus that says (in the same gospel of Matthew, only one chapter earlier than the scripture from Jess): "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword"?

Does, as Jess often claims, the Lord have a both/and character instead of a either/or character?

I am tired, worn out, and burned out on religion. I want to recover my life. I want to take a real rest. I want to learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I want to live freely and lightly.

Amen.

oye mi canto

Take me... only for what I am
You've got a right to speak your mind
You've gotta take a stand

No one... has the right to say
This is right or that is wrong
It isn't just one way

Find common ground
Go in between
Things aren't always what they seem

Someday it'll be alright
Changes happen overnight

People, let's give each other room
If we're gonna work it out
We better make it soon

Love is... love is such a common word
When it's pride we mistake for love
Isn't that absurd

Why always take
The upper hand
It's better to understand

Someday it'll be alright
Changes happen overnight

Someday it'll be alright
Changes happen overnight

Oye mi canto
Oye mi canto
Oye mi canto
I believe in love but with no conditions
Oye mi canto
And giving in sometimes
Doesn't make it submission
Oye mi canto
Hate is so common it's almost tradition
Oye mi canto
Come on let's leave it behind
And make that transition
Oye mi canto
Oye mi canto
Oye mi canto
Oye mi canto
Oye mi canto...

- Gloria Estefan

autumn

The sigh of summer wheezes through the trees,
Too weary of its brazen, heat-stroked song;
It rests a beat and crumples to its knees
And with one hand it passes the baton.
A cooler breeze now lifts our morning heads
From pillows where we dream of warmer days,
It carries coloured infants to their beds
From branches where they once were apt to play.
Among the echoes of this season's dirge
There never was a sweeter anthem known:
A sense, despite the winter's future scourge,
That present joys are presently full grown.
Beauty shines from autumn's finite face -
Resplendent cornucopia of grace.

autumnal

I know I'm a little early. But I woke up this morning and a breeze blew through the kitchen window that didn't smell like summer anymore. It made me sneeze. My husband reminded me to wear something warm.

"I'm wearing a cardigan."

"Will that be enough?"

When I reached work and bent down to pick up the Globe and Mail from the front door a red-brown leaf stared up at me from the ground, as if to say, "Yes. It's that time again."

I've always loved the fall. Part of my love stems from an unabashed nerdiness - fall meant school and I loved school. Fall means Back to School shopping. Fall means stationary. Fall reminds me of Anne and Gilbert on The Bridge:
and of Kate and Paul's engagement last year two years ago:
and of High Park:
and of the annual Trinity College Book Sale:
and of the Woodbridge Fall Fair:
and of taking glamour shots on the side of the street in Anyang, and of playing in piles of leaves with my brothers on the front lawn, and of walking through the Glen Stewart Ravine on Thanksgiving day with my family, and of sitting on the grass at Erindale Campus eating my lunch between classes, and of the fireplace at Malvern, and of Bash the Pumpkin celebrations in the Rhema building of the YWAM base in Cambridge...

This morning, as I snuggled with my brand new husband, I knew this autumn promised to be the best yet.

simply the best...

...better than all the rest.

finish this sentence

i am: wifersizing.
i think: things will be OK in the end.
i know: that I'm loved.
i want: to be at rest.
i have: a surplus of friends.
i wish: for eternal perspective.
i hate: deception.
i miss: summers spent up north.
i fear: fear itself.
i feel: at home.
i hear: internal narrative.
i smell: damp pavement from the open window.
i crave: reality.
i search: for poetry.
i wonder: about the supernatural.
i regret: wasting time on regrets.
i love: Andrew's scent.
i ache: when I've spent too much time at a computer.
i care: more than I let on.
i always: dream.
i am not: boring.
i believe: that heaven is conspiring in my favour.
i dance: because its easier than words.
i sing: absentmindedly.
i don’t always: assume the best.
i fight: bad grammar.
i write: to iron out the wrinkles.
i win: some.
i lose: some.
i never: use the word "never" without wincing.
i confuse: my husband.
i listen: to the wind, to the wind of my soul.*
i can usually be found: if you search enough.
i am scared: that my dreams mean more than I think they do.
i need: touch to feel connected.
i am happy about: prospects.

Yoinked from this random blogger.
* Cat Stevens, The Wind

reign of love

So excited am I.

As no one I'm sure will recall, seeing a Coldplay concert is #7 on my list: 30 Before 30.

And tonight, at the age of 28, I can cross it off my list.

I remember Andrew going to see them when they were in Toronto last - a week before We began, and while I was in Britain listening to "Fix You" and "Kingdom Come" on repeat...just dreaming of seeing them live.

I feel my time, my time has come.

Reign of love
I can’t let go
To the sea I offer
This heavy load

Locusts will
Lift me up
I’m just a prisoner
In a reign of love

Locusts will
Let us stop
I wish I’d spoken
To the reign of love

Reign of love
By the church, we’re waiting
Reign of love
My knees go praying

How I wish
I’d spoken up
Or we’d be carried
In the reign of love.

- Coldplay

#104: girls with bangs

If you see a white woman and you are trying to figure out if she liked or just merely tolerated by white people, the best thing you can do is to get a quick look at her haircut. It is a known fact that white people love women who wear their hair with bangs that hang straight down.

A number of very popular white women have worn this hairstyle including Joni Mitchell, Jane Birkin, Jenny Lewis and every girl ever photographed by Vice Magazine or the Cobrasnake. (Note: it is a good idea to familiarize yourself with these two things as they are both beloved by cool white people. Follow up note: these same things are hated by cooler white people).

Many people associate this type of haircut with children and people looking for the most efficient way to get hair out of their eyes. But for white people, this simple haircut makes a bold declaration by saying that the wearer is artistic, deep, and has probably dated a guy in a band that you like. Of course, as with many things loved by white people, simple often means expensive and these haircuts usually cost upwards of $100.

It is essential that you know that this haircut is more than a mere fashion statement, it is an important cultural marking. Throughout the world, many cultures feature ceremonies to announce that a girl has become a woman. For white people, the haircut-with-bangs is an important symbol that a female has completed her transformation from a nerdy girl to a cool woman. In fact, if you went to high school with a nerdy white girl who moved to a big city, there is a good chance she will show up to your high school reunion with one of these haircuts.

When you are introduced to a group of white people, it’s a good idea to befriend the girl with the bangs. She’s probably the most popular.

(yoinked from Stuff White People Like...thanks, Jon Long!)

the vision

This version of The Vision, slightly altered but still amazing, was put together by Dave Carrol's team at Freedom House, Brantford.

"young husband"

june 12, 2008

we are so new
floundering
in the blinking dawn
of our oneness
standing on shaky legs

your nighttime sighs,
still foreign,
lull me
as does the shape
of your roman head
on pillow

my body is shy
i'm tickled by your love
unsure
of how to have or hold you
or what to do

these days, so new
perfect
our verdant bed
cacophonous, symphonic
orchestral tuning


What is there to know?
All this is what it is
You and me alone
Sheer simplicity
- Kings of Convenience ("Know How")

navy blue

"I'm so glad you're here, Anne. If you weren't I should be blue...very blue...almost navy blue. Dreams and make-believes are all very well in the daytime and the sunshine, but when dark and storm come they fail to satisfy. One wants real things then."

- Miss Lavendar Smith, Anne of Avonlea

springfield

1 + 1 = 1

A co-worker asked me if things were different now that I was married.

I replied, "Well, I wake up to a man sleeping beside me, for one."

Not many people pretend to understand that Andrew and I hadn't lived together before we were married. Fewer believe that we hadn't slept together. So, yes, there are a few changes now that we're married; more (and more commonplace) than most of my co-workers could imagine.

1. Sometimes the bathroom smells of cologne.
2. Sometimes the kitchen smells of bleach.
3. There are boxers in the laundry.
4. I'm always well-fed.
5. Even at lunch the next day.
6. If a clap of thunder wakes me from my sleep I feel a hand on my arm letting me know it's OK.

While researching the first year of marriage I came across some of the reasons why, however, there are perhaps fewer changes than my co-workers would expect. Considering our first date consisted of us delving into deep heart issues, our second date had us both in tears, within the first six months we had discussed birth control and over the course of our two-and-a-half relationship we had mastered the completion of a teacher's college education, an extensive road trip, a period of unemployment, two Freshwinds, the birth of a 24/7 week of prayer, the birth of a live worship CD, a parental hospitalization, a pastoral resignation, fourteen (or is it fifteen?) weddings (four of which we stood for), the amalgamation of our cell groups, and leading the youth of an internationally renowned church, I figure we had covered more than most couples do in the first year of marriage. We had laughed together, cried together, prayed together, fought together, traveled together, plotted together, driven together, walked together and breathed the same air for long enough that marriage was a pretty easy step, all things considered. Being that we had grown into best friends somewhere along the way there haven't been many differences in my life since we've been married.

Except, of course, for the fact that I wake up to a man sleeping beside me.

announcements

I just realized that our wedding made the TACF video announcements the Sunday before. We were so busy we didn't have time to watch them until now. Thanks, Salivation Nations!

i'm wife

I ’M wife; I ’ve finished that,
That other state;
I ’m Czar, I ’m woman now:
It ’s safer so.
How odd the girl’s life looks
Behind this soft eclipse!
I think that earth seems so
To those in heaven now.
This being comfort, then
That other kind was pain;
But why compare?
I ’m wife! stop there! - Emily Dickinson (1830–86)

one month

1 month.
30 days.
730 hours.
43,829 minutes.
2,649,743 seconds.

I'm not sure how I managed to score the best man on the planet but somehow I did. And in one month's time I'll be able to call this man - this kind, handsome, Godly, benevolent, strong, gracious, sexy, brave, intelligent, witty, confident, charming, intuitive man - my husband.

"Things aren't so tangible and sayable
as people would usually have us believe;
most experiences are unsayable,
they happen in a space that no word has ever entered."
- Ranier Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

april showers

April's a funny month.

It's full of hope and promise and expectation. And change. And uncertainty.

A lovely friend of mine was lamenting, recently, what we have now deemed The Anne Syndrome which is taken from the lines:

Anne Shirley: Why do people have to grow up and marry, change?
Gilbert Blythe: Oh, you'd change. If someone ever admitted that they were head over heels for you, you'd be swept off your feet in a moment.
Anne Shirley: I would not, and I defy anyone who would try and make me change.

Tomorrow marks five weeks until the wedding. The thought of being married makes me feel all gooey inside - like when you're at the top of a very high part in a roller coaster, about to plummet, and you can't squeeze the railing in front of you because your hands just won't work.

I researched past Aprils on my blog and discovered that in 2006, when I was allowing my heart to thaw and learning to trust, and in 2007, when I was contemplating a life spent with Andrew and wondering when it would happen, I was no more sure of my future or what it would hold that I am now.

April is unusual. Crocuses are sprouting up beside dirty, leftover mounds of snow. The change in sunlight invigorates and confuses us. We're ecstatic about the warmer weather, but hesitant to put our parkas into storage yet.

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven
- The Byrds, inspired by Ecclesiastes 1:8

pensive

Things I'm wondering about today:

• Ashlee Simpson said, in regards to her recent engagement to Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy, "We're past the honeymoon period...It's just a really awesome thing." How odd is it that couples are constantly using the term "past the honeymoon period" prior to ever having been on a honeymoon...or having been married?
  
  
• On the TTC, three signs are posted throughout a bus or streetcar to encourage patrons to seat themselves first at the back of the bus to allow more passengers on. The first of which says: "Step to the rear", the second: "A little Further back, PLEASE!", and the third: "THANK YOU for moving back!"
  

1. Why would they use a word like "rear" if the general population of Torontonians would either a) not understand, or b) never use it over the simple word "back"?
2. Why is punctuation missing from the first sign and present for the next two?
3. Why is "further" capitalized?
4. Why are we yelling "PLEASE" and "THANK YOU"?
5. Who edited these stickers before going to production, printing off thousands of them to be posted on every bus and streetcar in Toronto, and broadcasting the their inefficiency?

• On a somewhat related note, I recently found an animal activist group on Facebook that sparked a very heated debate. Someone commented about the misuse of the words "they're" and "there" in a previous commenter's post and tempers flared. The response, from Clint, was:
  
  "You're right this is an interesting topic but if communicating with people who don't use proper grammar irritates you so much then what are you doing on facebook at all? I mean come on, surly you've come to realize that this is where grammar goes to die, so why can't you just learn to accept that and listen to what people have to say and not how they say it?"
  
  Is that true? Has grammar died? Has it been bludgeoned at the hand of MySpace, Facebook, and texting ("how r u 2day?", "gr8!")? Strange how I found this much more disturbing a fact than the animals being discussed in the forum...

I love you, grammar. Please don't leave me.

"I'm sure those families are hoping for that kind of star power..."

Breaking News: Plight Of Missing Hikers Will Make Great Movie

daddy

I love this picture of my friend, Craig, and his little daughter.

It's how I see God holding Kate in ICU right now. And how he held me yesterday when I really started to miss her.

You'd have to know Craig to truly appreciate this photo. I traveled with him as part of a mission team that spent three months in India. He's wildly hilarious, totally adventurous, extremely hip, passionate, sensitive, and intelligent. He's a photographer, a husband, and a father of 27 years of age. Not exactly what comes to mind when we think of Father God...which is why this picture struck me.

He's his girl's daddy. She doesn't know that he's 27, that he's fallible, that he's human. To her, he's all the strength and comfort she needs. She doesn't seem the least bit concerned that he's carrying her, single-handedly, across a dubious path of rocks over a stream. And that's the point: he's carrying her, single-handedly, across a dubious path of rocks over a stream.

He doesn't have her curled up in bed reading her a story, although I'm sure he does that too. He has her in the Philippines, out to see the world, out to conquer a stream, out to experience risk and excitement and uncertainty.

And that's how he's holding Kate in ICU right now. And how he held me yesterday when I really started to miss her.

98%

Andrew and I don't have time to shop around. In fact, Andrew and I don't have time for a lot of things which is why we forced inspired our bridal party to spend Family Day assembling our wedding invitations. But I digress.

We went to IKEA on date night to pick out furniture for our new apartment. In the "As Is" section, we came across a couch. But not just any couch.

IKEA's top-of-the-line couch. At a 98% discount.

As we drove out of the parking lot, after having also purchased our bed (on sale), our box spring (on sale), our mattress (on sale), our duvet (50% off), two bookshelves, and a slipcover for The Couch, Andrew was still marveling at what we had saved.

"We just bought a couch for $25. A $1,000 couch for $25. I feel like we stole something. 98% discount. I need a cigarette."

[that's not Andrew...it's his stunt double, Jonathan Boerger]