I got this as an email signature from a military guy trying to sell me something:
"Those who turn their guns into plows will plow for those who don't."
First of all, dude, it's swords, swords in to plows, not guns. However, point made, weapondry into farm equipment-- secondly, it also says, "...and no one will make them afraid, for the LORD Almighty has spoken." (See Micah 4:1-6)

So, when the meek inherit the earth those who "haven't turned their guns into plows" just won't have any veggies.

a reminder from pk
(Who's pk?) Never you mind!
We went to the last slave grave yard in TN and we saw the following epitaph:
"Beloved mother and wife
she was the suns-
hinie of our lives."

I hope when I die someone will say that I was their suns- hinie.

a note from pk
"I mean, last week, to celebrate my temp job, I brought home jelly donuts from Krispy Kreme, because as I told you, my roommate has converted WWJD? into the much-loved-by-me phrase "Who Wants Jelly Donuts?" (which is, I believe, what MY Jesus would say). "

part of my horoscope
"Argument, or what you call discussion, is the skill you use most effectively. You know how to charm people and get them to lower their defenses while you prepare their defeat."

"I desire wisdom wealth
Breathe in the Spirit
Breathe out yourself."

My Degree
I finally made some money using my degree. I was at a party this weekend when the subject turned from Micky Mouse to Moses. (???) Someone mentioned the 10 commandments and the woman sitting next to me pulled $3.00 out of her pocket and said, “I’ll give this money to anyone who can name any commandment besides the first one.” I said, “Heck, I can name them all!” I rattled them off and she said, “We’re really not supposed to use God’s name in vain? I’m in big trouble.” I told her not to worry, there are lots of other cuss words she could use. When she found out I had a Bible degree she said, “You have that degree and you’re hanging out with HERE, with US?” I smiled and wondered if I should tell her that Jesus hung out in the most interesting places too.

Santa has a package. See Summer for details.

Barbie
So, I went to the “Midnight Masquerade” Saturday night. I was sitting next to some gregarious drama boys when this skinny blonde wearing a yellow formal walks by. One of the boys says, “Hey, are you supposed to be Barbie?” She says, “No, I’m ‘I dream of Jeanie’ . . . at a party.” I’m thinking that’s kinda random when he turns to me, looks at my black dress and pointy hat and says, “No offense, but you look like a witch.” I said, “No, I’m Barbie.”

Minis
Turns out “mini long horns” aren’t so mini. Granted, regular long horns are huge, so that means when you make a “mini” one they are actually just runt to regular cow size. I took pictures; hopefully I will be able to have them up on my picture site (PSA) soon so that you can live the experience too.

There were about 25 minis occupying a very small pen with one full sized long horn. They got their horns tangled up surprising less than one would expect in such close quarters. The most amazing thing was when the cowboys came and herded all the cows from a very small pen to a cartoonishly-ridiculously small trailer. Much to our wonder we watched the last miniature cow butt be pushed into the trailer, and the door closed. There were little noses, horns and tails sticking out of every window and crack. The trailer drove away and a half hour later the cows “stampede-ed” back to their little pen.

The minis did make a more impressive cattle drive than the big long horns I saw in Ft. Worth. There the cows come out, give the crowd an apathetic cow nod and meander on down the street followed by the cowboys who look equally disinterested in the whole affair.

The minis ran through the West End like mad bovine. They were preceded by cowboys and followed by the “Dallas Police Posse.” There must have been a man on horse for every cow. I guess one can’t really guess the mind of a miniature cow. You never know what kind of mischief size altered cows might get into next. I can see the headlines now, “Mad Minis Mutilate Mob in West End.”

Miniature Cattle
This is my newest quest. I must see some miniature cattle, more specifically miniature Texas long horns. Why must I see them? Because, they exist and I'm Shannon. I need no better reason. I have serious questions about these animals, as does my cow expert friend. (She would deny this title of "cow expert" but with a bachelors in agriculture and an SBC seminary degree, she not only knows about cows, but plenty about bull crap too.)

Questions that need answers:
How mini is a mini long horn?
What counts as a "long horn" on a miniature cow?
Does a mini long horn need a counter-wait on his butt to keep him from tipping over forwards?
Why were mini cattle created?
Are there miniature cowboys? (Do they ride miniature horses?)
Do full size cows make fun of the minis?
Would you pay to see an all out mini rodeo?

I looked on the net to find a picture of a mini long horn, but as fate would have it, none of the pictures would open. I took that as a definite sign, a sign that I should see these creatures in person. I suspect these cows may even surpass the Nigerian pygmy goat experience.

This isn't just out of the blue you know-- there happens to be a miniature Texas long horn cattle drive in the West End this Saturday. Not a miniature cattle drive, with just a few cows, but actually miniature cows.

Who wants to take me?
Come on ... you know you are itching to see mini long horns too!
Seriously, miniature cattle--I'm not kidding.

I just found a video here in the UTA science career and learning center called, "BRAIN SEX: sugar and spice" Hmmpt . . . I don't have any more to say about that.

“there’s no where you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be”
beatles--all you need is love

A study in Genesis or Things they don’t tell you in Bible college

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now, the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”

“Why was God hovering over the waters?”
“I don’t know.”

“And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.”

“If the light was good, why did he keep the darkness?”
“That’s a good question, I don’t know.”

My free lunch Friday Christians get alot of air time from me. I think its because I don’t want to really take advantage of their free lunches that I try to want to be involved with their other activities. But I’ve learned from my free lunch Christians that I’m a snob. They didn’t tell me so, they would never do such a thing, but I’ve realized that I am. Indeed, I am. But the food is usually good.

I went to a Bible study one week and snobbishly left feeling it was terribly shallow and uninformed.

I saw one of their banners on campus, their slogan for the year is “Live to Die.” I snobbishly thought 'that’s not the smartest slogan to have on a college campus if you want people who don’t know what it means to come to your ministry. College students don’t want to die, its not their thing.'

I read their news letter and snobbishly yawned at the most incredibly boring, trite and flat attempts of wit, humor and profundity I’ve read in some time.

*Sigh*

What to do with my free lunch Friday Christians? I’m sure they mean well. They are always nice at lunch. They know my name when I come in the door. This is where I wonder about my role in such situations. I take notice, but I’m not a revolutionist. I don’t
want to be, leadership seems to me disenchanting. Disenchantment is easy enough to come by without the hunt. Should I point out what I have noticed? Would it even make a difference? Would they be offended? What will it require of me? Most importantly, what
will it require of me? Am I ready to give it?

I don't think I am, not yet.

Emily and I do not endorse Bedknobs and Broomsticks

$100 shoes, faded out second hand jeans, a "Save the Elephants" T-shirt from Ching Mai, a 1970-something leather jacket and a homemade purse--- I vaguely remember brushing my hair this morning before I put it in a pony tale. Wine-tinged lip gloss

this is me today

There are days that are just muddled through. Days where at the end I sigh, and say to myself, “I made it through again.” There are days that go unnoticed and unremembered. We remember the good, we remember the bad, but I think too often we forget the living that happens in-between.

I celebrate yesterday’s living by remembering today.

Yesterday was not extraordinary.

I slept in, went to work, had a late lunch and got my winter clothes out of storage.

Then I remembered to live.

My friend and I went out to eat. We decided to get an appetizer and a desert. On the menu we found corn meal-rolled-deep-fried pickles and jalapenos. (This, you must admit is living.) Because my friend knew the waiter, we also got a free order of chips and salsa and finished off our meal with a deep fried cherry pie alamode. This is living with no concern for that night’s bellyache or tomorrow’s not fitting into my jeans.

Afterwards we went to our weekly community group meeting, and told our stories. Following the meeting, we all went to a fifties diner for milkshakes. White-rhinestone-jumpsuit-seven-foot-tall-Elvis was performing. As a matter of fact it was his birthday, and his entire fan club (spearheaded by his mama) was present for the celebration. Elvis sang “Amazing Grace,” because he loves Jesus, and we joined the fan club to sing “Happy Birthday,” because they love Elvis (and we just happened to be there).

There had been mention earlier in the evening about an old graveyard near my apartment complex. It was a place for unwed mothers, illegitimate children and orphans to be buried at the turn of the century. I wanted to see it. And what better time is there to visit such a place than a crisp, three quarter moon, mid October evening between the hours of 11:00 and midnight?

Sometimes living means visiting the dead, remembering the forgotten, pushing away dead leaves and grass from 100 year old graves. Sometimes it means wondering who mourned for Josephine, Edward, Lura and infant 17. Living means remembering our collective pasts, forgiving our collective mistakes, celebrating our collective present and anticipating our future together.

Yesterday was a good day to live.

She is the Creator: Rumi

There's a tradition that Muhammad said,
"A wise man will listen and be led by a woman,
while an ignorant man will not."
Someone too fiercely drawn by animal urges
lacks kindness and the gentle affections
that keep men human.
Anger and sharp desiring are animal qualities.
A loving tenderness toward women
shows someone no longer pulled by wanting.
The core of feminine comes directly as a ray of the sun.
Not the earthly figure you hear about in love songs;
there's more to her mystery than that.
You might say she's not from the manifest world at all,
but the creator of it.

There is no punch line, the story is in the telling.

One time I was baby-sitting this little boy, we were watching TV and a Depends commercial came on. He said, “My gramma uses those because she lost her blabber control.” I thought, “I know alot of people who have lost their blabber control.”

Free Lunch Friday with the Christians.
The lunch topic this week: “post apocalyptic literature class.”

The guy I was sitting across from said he was taking a “post apocalyptic lit.” class. Really? This sounded interesting. My first thoughts: 1. he was taking a class on the book of Revelation at a Christian school, which would transfer to UTA as a lit credit? (it’s possible) 2. He doesn’t know what “apocalyptic” means. (very possible) 3. There was an apocalypse and I missed it. (I’m not a history whiz, but come on!)

I decided to ask. “What kind of class is it?”
“Post apocalyptic. Apocalypse is like the end of the world or something.”
“Yes, I know what apocalypse means, I want to know how you are studying literature that was written after something that hasn’t happened.”
(he gives me a blank look)
“Oh, no, it’s like Fahrenheit 451 and The Postman, stuff like that.”
“So, it’s negative utopian fiction class?” (gasp on the inside)
“Yeah, I guess.”

This is big news in Shannonland! Negative utopian fiction is the preferred form of literature here. I’ve been talking about such a class for years now. Brave New World, 1984, A Handmaiden’s Tale, Fahrenheit 451-- these are standard classics for negative utopia, but are there more? Where are they? I need to know! I’ve asked around before, but you say “negative utopia” to most people and their eyes glaze over like you are talking in tongues or something. I’ve already started looking for info, but I haven’t found it in the class schedule yet. At the very least I need the reading list for this class. I’m going to have to call the English department Monday.

Quotes from Gustave Flaubert’s Madam Bovary


“Love, she felt, ought to come all at once, with great thunderclaps and flashes of lightning; it was like a storm bursting upon life from the sky, uprooting it, overwhelming the will and sweeping the heart into the abyss. It did not occur to her that rain forms puddles on a flat roof when the drainpipes are clogged, and she would have continued to feel secure is she had not suddenly discovered a crack in the wall.”

“ . . . since no one can ever express the exact measure of his needs, his conceptions or his sorrows, and human speech is like a cracked pot on which we beat out rhythms for bears to dance to when we are striving to make music that will wring tears from the stars.”

“But disparaging those we love always detaches us from them to some extent. It is better not to touch our idols; the gilt comes off on our hands.”

“Why was life so unsatisfying? . . . But if somewhere there existed a strong, handsome man with a valorous, passionate and refined nature, a poet’s soul in the form of an angel, a lyre with strings of bronze intoning elegiac nuptial songs to the heavens, why was it not possible that she might meet him some day?”

“ . . .for of all the winds that blow on love, none is so chilling and destructive as a request for money.”

I took the "death test" at http://www.thespark.com/deathtest/ this is what it told me:

Mark your calendar or Palm V. You can expect to die on:
July 26, 2051 (an idle Wednesday)
at the age of 76 years old.
On that date you will most likely die from:
Alien Abduction (22%)
Cancer (19%)
Heart Attack (14%)
Alcoholism (12%)
Third Degree Burns (7%)
Contagious Disease (7%)
Wow, I'm really impressed by the fact I have a better chance of dying from alien abduction than from cancer. Hmmm, my time watching X-files was well spent I see.

verily, I say unto thee, know thine own limits

I had a conversation tonight that baffled me. Generally I don’t feel quite so inept in conversations. I think I’m pretty patient and I’ve had lots of practice attempting to (and not doing so bad) understand not-always-clear conversations from people who don’t know
English well, are really old and/or senile are drunk, high or crazy (really crazy and off their medication,) but there is a guy in one of my linguistics classes who just . . . baffles me, every time.

I would like to point out that he’s a really nice guy. I don’t mean that in a generic way. I mean I intuitively know, for sure, he’s an honestly good person. I don’t even know how to express the fact that I believe that he is absolutely genuine in his goodness.

Usually when I meet people perceived as “really nice” I try to avoid them, like they are too goody-goody-syurpy-sweet-happy-lovey-lovey-fake for me to take for more than a few minutes in Shannonland. Shannonland is full of brutal realities laced with garlands of free
flowers the florist can’t keep over the weekend, sarcastic inside smiles, 30 year old discarded double-knit polyesters, hard candy and homemade gifts. I don’t have much room for sticky pretenders.

But this guy isn’t like that-- I would allow him in Shannonland if only I could understand what the heck was coming out of his mouth. He looks like a together person, well groomed, his clothes match-- it’s not his accent, it’s standard American, but when he starts talking I get the sensation that his words aren’t coming out in the proper order. (I’m not the only one who thinks so, the girl who sits in front of me turned around and asked me if I thought he was on drugs.) He takes long pauses in the middle of his sentences, which makes me think that he is formulating something profound, but when it comes out I find myself thinking, “I know its English, but . . . WHAT IN THE WORLD?!”

He approached me tonight to comment on something I had said weeks ago. I hardly remembered what he was referring to--a question about a linguistics technique for formulating structurally correct questions. Once I figured out he was referring to,
he started talking about how people are drawn to him, how is mother is depressive and how he’d been thinking about my question for a while. I was trying to figure out how these subjects related, but I found my mind wondering to other questions like, “IS he on drugs after all? or maybe I am and this conversation is the result of a bad trip.” After a while I just agreed with him. I don’t know what I agreed to. He wished me a good life as a missionary (did I say I wanted to be a missionary?-- I don’t remember that) and we departed. He is a odd duck, an odd, odd duck.

Odd Duck--here’s to you-- keep’em guessing!

I went grocery shopping for the first time in over a month this weekend. It wasn’t as fun as I had hoped it would be. I was feeling rushed for time, and there were way to many people in the store. But at least I have some food in the kitchen now. (Added bonus, I got paid $7 to take a survey and tell them that I didn’t think their new product was a good one.)

Where to put the food in the kitchen was another challenge in my ever-so-interesting life. I was the last one to move into this apartment. Everyone else has a full size cabinet to keep their dishes and food in. Being last, I got what was left over in the way of storage space-- a shoe box sized space above the sink, which I can’t even reach with out a chair, and a sliver space next to the oven. In a regular kitchen this would be the place you keep you baking sheets and really skinny skillets. I don’t have baking sheets or skinny skillets.

So after careful consideration, I decided to put my dishes and food in the dishwasher. It’s good storage space. I’ve never seen anyone use it and it’s just taking up space. I thought about telling my room mates about my decision, but for some reason I found a cryptic pleasure in the idea of them discovering it for themselves.

I was informed this is classic passive-aggressive behavior.

The passive-aggressive life is good.

Leading Lipstick Indicator
"Coined by Leonard Lauder (Chairman of Estee Lauder), it follows the idea that when a consumer feels less than confident about the future, she (or he) turns to less expensive indulgences such as lipsticks. Therefore lipstick sales tend to increase during times of economic uncertainty or a recession."

Did you know there was a lipstick indicator? Indeed, I've seen this more than once. I don't think my lipstick buying habits would lead to this conclusion. Lipstick is expensive (when you live below the poverty level.) L'Oreal lipstick costs $6.99 a tube. Admittedly, it's a lot cheaper than going to the hair salon (I get my hair cut once every three years, so whatever) and cheaper than buying an new outfit (unless, like me you shop at second hand stores on sale days.) I try to keep my lipstick buying habits under control-- but tonight, I had to buy some. There was a sale (don't you see, I had to do it!) It was L'Oreal buy one get one on the "Endless" line. It is supposedly an 8 hour lipstick, but I have my doubts. The good news is it goes on very smoothly, smells good (tastes good) and has great color. This is my recomended purchase of the week. It's right up there with my globe lamp from a few weeks back.

I remember when I was in kindergarten I used to walk to school with my friend Donny. My mother never worried about us getting lost, because Donny knew the way. He had been to kindergarten the year before me too. In the autum, we would walk, crunch, kick-- splash through the fallen leaves. Northern PA in the autum is beautiful, the air is crisp the trees are abundent and the colors are spectacular. I would look for pink leaves as we walked along (which I could occationally find in the mix of reds, oranges, yellows and greens.) Donny would look for blue leaves, (which may be one of the reasons why he spent the year before me, the year with me and the year after me in kindergarten.)

I miss the leaves. I wonder if Donny ever made it out of kindergarten.

"There is an aesthetic pleasure in communicating cryptically."

"The Goose is in the Hat."
"Is the Goose in the Hat?"
"You know too much already!"
"Betty? Are you out there? Can you hear me?"