Thursday, May 31, 2012
About Me
Have I posted this tumblr yet? I am a little obsessed since I am an INTJ (my Myers-Briggs type) and so it basically describes me. Especially the bits about sarcasm and emotions. If you want to understand the insides of my head and heart, peruse this tumblr. You won't get a full understanding, but you'll come out so much closer. If you are an INTJ (especially a lady one), read it! You will feel so much less alone.
DHQ
If you are ever in a bad mood, go visit an elementary school and spend some time with the little ones. I have been in kindergarten therapy once a week since getting back from Ohio and it is amazing. (By kindergarten therapy, I mean the small ones are my therapy. My mom is a teacher, so I go to her room and hope to be more helpful than disruptive.) The babble-y chaos of a kindergarten classroom helps with my days that consist of solitary distance learning. I generally find small children intimidating because they are breakable, belong to other people, and don't understand sarcasm. Then I spend time with them and realize they are just tiny people who haven't forgotten how to be enthusiastic about life.
I come into the room to a popcorn of "Hi, Ms. Beth!" I wave at one and another pipes up until I swear everyone has greeted me at least twice. Then I sit and do end-of-year inventory or other such work while life in kindergarten goes on. Somehow, five or six find their way over to me to ask what I am doing and tell me what they are doing. During free time, I have a few requests: Play kitchen with me! Read a book with me! Fantastic for the self-esteem. Also, I reached my daily hug quota (DHQ), something very rarely achieved, mostly because of my personal space bubble. Small children slip in easily, however. After only a few days in the classroom, I think I am going to miss these children when school lets out.
I come into the room to a popcorn of "Hi, Ms. Beth!" I wave at one and another pipes up until I swear everyone has greeted me at least twice. Then I sit and do end-of-year inventory or other such work while life in kindergarten goes on. Somehow, five or six find their way over to me to ask what I am doing and tell me what they are doing. During free time, I have a few requests: Play kitchen with me! Read a book with me! Fantastic for the self-esteem. Also, I reached my daily hug quota (DHQ), something very rarely achieved, mostly because of my personal space bubble. Small children slip in easily, however. After only a few days in the classroom, I think I am going to miss these children when school lets out.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Prayer Segment #9: Two Poems
These two poems were used when I was at Catholics on Call, a young adult discernment conference. (Which, by the way, was an amazing experience and one which I would highly recommend.) I use the last two lines from each to center myself throughout the day and remind myself that God and His Will are most important.
The Summer Day (Mary Oliver)
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean --
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn,
a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter.
If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things,
this is the best season of your life.
The Summer Day (Mary Oliver)
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean --
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Ten Thousand Flowers (Wu-Men)
Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn,
a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter.
If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things,
this is the best season of your life.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Day-Maker #63
This morning at 8:30am, I looked out the window and saw a man with a guitar in his hand walking from a neighbor's backyard to the street. Not in a case, mind you, just in his hand. I don't know what was really happening, but in my head, he serenaded someone last night, fell asleep in the grass, and just woke up. Earliest day-maker yet.
Ye Olde Games
No trip to the 'burg is complete without a stroll or two down DoG Street, preferably one by day and one by night. This past trip, I had both. My midnight walk ended in an awkward moment and an emergency trip to Wawa with Julia, so it felt like undergrad all over again. Daytime was more successful. I had some time to wander alone: I enjoyed to beautiful weather and sat on colonial steps reading Jane Austen. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Then, with company, I met a colonial person at an outdoor booth and learned how to play colonial games.
The first game I learned was "shut the box." It is a tavern dice-game that seemed well-suited to its purpose: it would be fun to play while sitting around drinking and chatting. I wished we'd had it the night before, when Julia, Ariel, and I had been out.
The next game was trap ball. This one was my favorite -- not so much because of the game, but because we made a spectacle. (I seemed to do that a lot this past weekend. In a variety of ways.) The game is like tee-ball without a tee. You launch a ball from a wooden trap into the air and try to hit it. If you are in the field, you try to catch the ball when it is hit, or throw it back at the trap. The game started out as one colonial person and three tourists, but we gained small children and adult people as the game progressed.
At one moment, I was enjoying watching a small, blond boy attempt to learn the game. Another tourist walked up to me and asked how old he was. With a start, I realized that she thought he was mine! Which, from appearances makes sense, but still surprised me. This last story is of "day-maker" length, but I'm not quite sure it counts as one.
The first game I learned was "shut the box." It is a tavern dice-game that seemed well-suited to its purpose: it would be fun to play while sitting around drinking and chatting. I wished we'd had it the night before, when Julia, Ariel, and I had been out.
The next game was trap ball. This one was my favorite -- not so much because of the game, but because we made a spectacle. (I seemed to do that a lot this past weekend. In a variety of ways.) The game is like tee-ball without a tee. You launch a ball from a wooden trap into the air and try to hit it. If you are in the field, you try to catch the ball when it is hit, or throw it back at the trap. The game started out as one colonial person and three tourists, but we gained small children and adult people as the game progressed.
At one moment, I was enjoying watching a small, blond boy attempt to learn the game. Another tourist walked up to me and asked how old he was. With a start, I realized that she thought he was mine! Which, from appearances makes sense, but still surprised me. This last story is of "day-maker" length, but I'm not quite sure it counts as one.
A Vindication of Fanny Price
[Note: All links from Wiki represent one reading of Austen. Pick up the books for the full story!]
Two smart, single young women, especially two well-read smart, single young women, will always have one entertainment and consolation at their fingertips: Jane Austen. I discovered this during my first few days at the College and it holds true for Shelly and me in Steubenville. She is seeking a Mr. Darcy. I don't have a favorite hero, but I am Eleanor Dashwood. Shelly believes that Austen comes second to the Bible in terms of truth (there may be some exaggeration here; I have not heard those exact words from her) and was not content until she fixed upon the hero right for me. Her choice: Edmund Bertram.
Edmund is (arguably, but this is how I would argue) Austen's most developed hero and a quality young man. However, if he is my perfect match, that would make me Fanny Prince.
Quick literary lesson for those who do not immediately understand the hilarity of that statement. Fanny Price and Edmund Bertram are from Austen's Mansfield Park. Fanny is considered Austen's "problem heroine" because she appears a weaker woman without the feminine wit and strength of personality that characterizes Austen's heroines. Edmund guides and develops Fanny throughout the novel, forming her taste and opinions.
I hope you are laughing now. When I offered this view to Shelly, she contested it, claiming that Fanny is one of Austen's stronger heroines and that I was not doing justice to her moral fiber. So I picked up Mansfield Park once more to reexamine Fanny Price.
I am about to write three words that are rare for me, especially concerning a well-formed opinion: I stand corrected. While Fanny's physical weakness and her timidity make her appear a weak character, I agree with Shelly's points about her moral fiber. Despite her natural meekness and desire to please, she stands up for what is right, even in the face of opposition from those she loves most. Although given the chance to vindicate herself at the expense of others, she chooses delicacy and charity. She bears pain herself, rather than seeing those she loves suffer. She lacks the almost modern edge that attracts smart, single young women nowadays to Austen's heroines; her strength is quiet, gentle, and unimposing. Yet it is strength.
As for Edmund, I can see the point Shelly was trying to make. I don't have to be Fanny Price (thank heavens!) to be suited for a man who will draw out my emotions and those quiet truths I rarely express. Because, yes, in spite of my loud opinionatedness, plenty of those exist.
Two smart, single young women, especially two well-read smart, single young women, will always have one entertainment and consolation at their fingertips: Jane Austen. I discovered this during my first few days at the College and it holds true for Shelly and me in Steubenville. She is seeking a Mr. Darcy. I don't have a favorite hero, but I am Eleanor Dashwood. Shelly believes that Austen comes second to the Bible in terms of truth (there may be some exaggeration here; I have not heard those exact words from her) and was not content until she fixed upon the hero right for me. Her choice: Edmund Bertram.
Edmund is (arguably, but this is how I would argue) Austen's most developed hero and a quality young man. However, if he is my perfect match, that would make me Fanny Prince.
Quick literary lesson for those who do not immediately understand the hilarity of that statement. Fanny Price and Edmund Bertram are from Austen's Mansfield Park. Fanny is considered Austen's "problem heroine" because she appears a weaker woman without the feminine wit and strength of personality that characterizes Austen's heroines. Edmund guides and develops Fanny throughout the novel, forming her taste and opinions.
I hope you are laughing now. When I offered this view to Shelly, she contested it, claiming that Fanny is one of Austen's stronger heroines and that I was not doing justice to her moral fiber. So I picked up Mansfield Park once more to reexamine Fanny Price.
I am about to write three words that are rare for me, especially concerning a well-formed opinion: I stand corrected. While Fanny's physical weakness and her timidity make her appear a weak character, I agree with Shelly's points about her moral fiber. Despite her natural meekness and desire to please, she stands up for what is right, even in the face of opposition from those she loves most. Although given the chance to vindicate herself at the expense of others, she chooses delicacy and charity. She bears pain herself, rather than seeing those she loves suffer. She lacks the almost modern edge that attracts smart, single young women nowadays to Austen's heroines; her strength is quiet, gentle, and unimposing. Yet it is strength.
As for Edmund, I can see the point Shelly was trying to make. I don't have to be Fanny Price (thank heavens!) to be suited for a man who will draw out my emotions and those quiet truths I rarely express. Because, yes, in spite of my loud opinionatedness, plenty of those exist.
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