tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13955086173211127722024-02-19T01:13:19.027-08:00Random Sillinessyou have been warned...Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-85295142810673803342016-06-01T12:10:00.004-07:002016-06-01T12:10:48.744-07:00Wait, Moses Was A Founding Father?In 2014, the Texas School Board was getting ready to meet to pass a new set of curriculum standards for its Social Studies textbooks to meet. Although you may not have heard about it at the time, these standards would have significantly impacted what children are taught about the founding of the United States and its Constitution—and not just in Texas but around the country—since Texas is one of the largest markets for textbooks, many publishers write to Texas standards and sell the same books to school systems in other states. The changes proposed by the Texas Board of Education would have, among other questionable ideas, included Moses in the list of thinkers who influenced the Constitution and seriously called into question the premise of “separation of Church and State”.<br />
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These changes have been proposed before, and there is a reason that the folks behind them take this approach to spreading their ideas: as one advocate stated in her book One Nation Under God, “This battle for our nation’s children and who will control their education and training is crucial to our success for reclaiming our nation.” The bromide “our children are our future” is cliché but true, shaping that future through the values we teach them is a highly effective way of inserting our own agendas into that future. The faction of politically and religiously conservative, mostly “evangelical”, activists who take this approach to education have often done so with little attention paid them outside the arenas in which they operate, but the implications for the future of civic and religious understanding in this country could be enormous.<br />
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The event that brought this strategy to the forefront of my attention occurred in 2010, when the Texas Board of Education (TBOE, or the School Board) attempted to pass curriculum standards which made religion and history scholars, and Texas teachers alike, cringe at the level of disingenuousness with which they handled the founding of the United States. In their attempts to insert the notion that the US was founded by Christians as a Christian nation, they played fast and loose with both the historical understanding of who the Founders were, and with the clear trend of both the Constitution and the body of juris prudence since then establishing that the US government is and should be religiously neutral.<br />
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Examples of standards the TBOE attempted to pass include attempts to treat the Bible as inerrant and historically and scientifically factual, decontextualizing quotes from the Founding Fathers in support of the notion that America is a “Christian nation” , and inserting the Ten Commandments, Moses, and “Judeo-Christian law” as influences both on the Founders and the Constitution. The idea, says Chancey, is to “Christianize the American past” thereby “Christianiz[ing] the American future.” Justine Ellis confirms the goal of this approach: by linking Christian values with a Jewish and “Judeo-Christian” continuity, conservative Evangelical textbook consultants could make the case that American colonists were influenced by and a part of the same continuity, making the United States itself a product of this “linear trajectory” and, ultimately, of the will of God.<br />
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The underlying question I had when investigating the Texas textbook kerfuffle was “who gets to rewrite history?” We like to think of education being an objective presentation of facts, whether scientific, mathematical, or historical. And while there is some flexibility of interpretation allowed in the arts, we assume history is cut and dried—so the idea that Social Studies classes could be shaped to support an agenda may be a foreign concept. As I’ve pointed out, however, this is exactly what might have happened had the TBOE gotten its way, and still points to the question of who it is that actually supports that agenda.<br />
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Interestingly—or perhaps predictably—most of the advocates for the more questionable curriculum standadrds were not teachers or scholars or historians, but “concerned citizens” like David Barton, Don McLeroy, and Cynthia Dunbar. Their concern is that Christianity is being left out of the classroom, anathema since in their minds “America is a Christian nation”. But Barton’s degree is in Religious Studies, McLeroy is a dentist, and Dunbar is a lawyer who supports teaching creationism in science classes. These are not experts, and it seems terribly problematic to leave curricula in their hands. As Tom Barber, a publishing executive put it, “board members don’t know anything at all about content.”<br />
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Perhaps more interestingly, at no point in my research of this topic did any of the curriculum change advocates support their positions with any Biblical authority. They push for that authority to have a place in the classroom, they want Moses to be on the list of Thomas Jefferson’s influences along with Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau, but do not support their positions with Biblical texts. The use of the Bible is the use of an idea rather than a textual support. I came across vague notions of America as the new Israel or America as the promised land, but nowhere have I seen any reference to the Bible itself as an authority on this issue. Even the “city on a hill” quote is taken from the Winthrop sermon rather than the original source. These folks want “Biblical values” but cannot delineate what these are, or why they want them other than by a circular appeal to those values’ own authority.<br />
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But so what? Why does any of this matter? I have learned over the course of my entire education to think for myself; to question everything. When “Christian values” come up in the conversation, my ears perk up, and for good reason: I don’t want my religion, my God, my Bible used in oppressive, abusive, underhanded ways, particularly when it comes to educating children. I cannot support the use of Christianity to further a political agenda whose goal is to help those in power retain their own privilege and position.<br />
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No single blog post could contain the scope of the possible impact of this agenda; this, hopefully, was an introduction to one strategy. If you are interested in learning more, I am always available for conversation. Read my sources for yourself; ask me for more. Continue to think critically about what you hear in the news, even if it appeals to you at the surface level. Ask yourself: who is behind this (policy, activity, law, etc.)? Whom does it benefit? Whom does it hurt? Whom does it attempt to control? Why should this matter to me?<br />
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If you don’t ask the question, there is no way to find out the answer.<br />
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Sources:
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Rob Boston, "Texas Tall Tale: Religious Right Cowboy David Barton's Fixin' to Rewrite the Social Studies Textbooks in the Lone Star State (and Maybe Yours Too)," Church & State 62, no. 7 (2009).<br />
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Cynthia Dunbar, qtd in Russell Shorto, "How Christian Were the Founders?," New York Times 14 (2010).<br />
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Mark A. Chancey, "A Textbook Example of the Christian Right: The National Council on Bible Curriculum in Public Schools," Journal of the American Academy of Religion 75, no. 3 (2007).<br />
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"Rewriting History for a Christian America: Religion and the Texas Social Studies Controversy of 2009-2010," The Journal of Religion 94, no. 3 (2014).<br />
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Justine Esta Ellis, "Constructing a Protestant Nation: Religion, Politics, and the Texas Public School Curriculum," Postscripts 7, no. 1 (2011).<br />
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Shorto, "How Christian Were the Founders?." New York Times Feb. 14, 2010Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-86702581059823937692014-08-31T09:22:00.001-07:002014-08-31T15:31:10.149-07:00Doing a New Thing<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well--a new old thing. </span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Thinking I might have to revive this old spot in an effort to help myself process all the new things happening in my life. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I imagine there'll he a post about my dad at some point--maybe not soon. I expect mostly posts about seminary things. Learning things. New people. New things. Hopefully mostly good things, but there'll be some uncomfortable and frustrating things too, I'm sure. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I hope you'll walk with me. </span></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-48566343105059621902011-09-21T19:58:00.000-07:002011-09-21T20:06:02.621-07:00Just a thoughtI love the Bible. I believe it is the 100% true, inspired, revealed word of God. But, I also love science, so it REALLY UPSETS ME WHEN PEOPLE TRY TO USE IT AS A SCIENTIFIC DOCUMENT!<br />
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Science is not a thing that is "to be accepted on faith". That's not the point of science. Science is the "systematic knowledge of the physical or material world gained through observation and experimentation" (Random House Webster's College Dictionary, 2001). Faith--at least what I understand faith to be--doesn't really have a place at the scientific table. Maybe the confusion comes when we, as believers, must reconcile that which we perceive with our own senses with what we believe in our hearts to be true. I get where that can cause some cognitive dissonance. I get that it might feel like a betrayal of the things we believe, that it might feel like everything we hold dear keeps getting smaller, or less relevant. But I just can't get behind the reaction that causes people to turn off their brains. God gave us our brains, and I just can't believe that, given that, we're meant not to use them.<br />
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(I also believe that faith and reason are <i>not</i> mutually exclusive. I know there are some things about God that are mysteries and always will be, but I hope to understand, <i>with my brain</i>, all the stuff I believe that <i>can</i> be dealt with by a rational mind.)<br />
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Questioning is as much a part of faith as it is a part of science, and the result is that when we question, we get closer to the truth. When we question our faith, the conclusions we reach are so much stronger for the questioning. When we question established scientific law, we end up with the copernican system and string theory and yes, Darwinian evolution. And it. Is. Beautiful.<br />
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And please don't tell me that science is "just a progression of people being wrong". That's sort of the point. Our whole **** civilization has basically operated on the same principle. When we question the world around us, we learn. And if we never find the absolute truth about it, that's okay. At least we never stopped learning.<br />
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In my world, the places where faith and science meet are so, so beautiful, and the God I believe in gets bigger every time I make a new connection, or read about a new discovery. I love the universe we live in, the universe God created, and <i>every single thing</i> I learn about it only enhances the vision I have of God as Creator.<br />
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Peace.</p>
Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-65450234497557834622011-03-17T22:44:00.000-07:002011-03-17T22:44:40.184-07:00Just so's everyone is on the same page...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">Turns out, I'm not moving back to California in any permanent fashion. At least, not yet. After a somewhat dramatic airing-out with my mum, the consensus was that a) I should probably stay in one place until I am finally (finally!) finished with my BA; and b) that they do want me around.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">So after laying some ground rules and deciding that a trip to San Diego was still in order (I have a lot of stuff here still, I'm guest preaching at my church on April 10th, and I have an important appointment to go to the next week), it was decided that I would come back to Jacksonville for all the same reasons I named when I moved the first time. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">I feel good about this decision. And, though I'm bummed that I won't get to spend more time with lots of good people whom I love, this is important. And I'm glad I'm not turning my back on that.</span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-59863351952945236332011-03-08T07:11:00.000-08:002011-03-08T07:11:29.833-08:00Blue Like JazzI just finished a new book, one which several of my friends have read, loved, and recommended to me, and that I hadn't read yet because of the title. Shame on me. The book is wonderful, if perhaps a little too stream-of-conscious for my taste; it really made me think.<br />
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So now my new dilemma is this: Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, and Bill O'Reilly are all beloved children of God, and I am not allowed to hate them. I think I just found my practice for this Lent.Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-43308532316921625662011-01-15T11:39:00.000-08:002011-01-15T11:39:03.975-08:00PsychoanalysisI knew it was going to be rough, moving home after seven years of being away, first in the Marine Corps and then on my own in San Diego. I knew it was going to make me feel as if I were 17 again. The thing I didn't know was how little I like who I was at 17, and how much I've grown since then. So maybe it's been harder than I thought it would be. <br />
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We're all trying to get along with each other; to be patient and flexible and make allowances. But we're not the same people we were seven years ago, and it's unreasonable to expect ourselves to have the same dynamic now that we did then.<br />
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It hasn't been easy. Besides all this loaded "I'mlivingwithmyparentsagain" angst, I miss my friends, my jobs, my community, and San Diego itself. But one thing, more than anything else--more than the cancer, more than my racist bosses--can trigger the worst feelings I've had since I've been back: My mom has this habit of gathering all the random things that I've left out--mail, a purse, shoes, whatever--and putting it in a pile near the door.<br />
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It makes me feel SO unwanted.Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-16089008671689831172010-11-08T11:36:00.000-08:002010-11-08T11:36:04.001-08:00Random, but not silly at all...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">Very early in the morning on September 12th, I wrote <a href="http://mindoflea.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-cant-keep-holding-myself-together-for.html" target="_blank">this poem</a>. It was one of those nights that you scream into your pillow for no real reason, other than the fact that your life has suddenly, just now, become overwhelming and you have no idea why. I really had no idea why... Nothing was different from normal. It was just a passing moment, and nothing more. But it <i>was</i> painful.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">Then, five days later, my dad was diagnosed with glioblastoma in his brain. I'll let you Wikipedia that if you want to be depressed. Otherwise, don't. Suffice it to say that it's a scary, uncool, depressing diagnosis.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">On September 12th, I had no idea what pain was.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">UPDATE:</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">My dad has been in chemo and radiation treatments for four weeks, and has just begun a clinical trial for an experimental cancer treatment drug, Avastin. He's doing really well with the treatments: he's eating well and getting plenty of rest, and he's able to get out and do things when he wants. He gets cold and tired more easily than he used to, and his head itches from the radiation, but on the other hand, he can tell people that he had brain surgery whenever he forgets something or does something weird. Which is handy, because that happened all the time before he had surgery, anyway.</span></span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-57423482266871305042010-09-14T20:47:00.000-07:002010-09-14T20:47:17.133-07:00Not dealing<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My dad had a CAT scan today. They found a mass in his brain. That is f*****g scary. I don't know any other details. It's killing me not to be there.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This has been the suckiest summer ever.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I CANNOT deal with losing my daddy. </span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-50269206317466141462010-08-17T21:04:00.000-07:002010-08-17T21:04:42.614-07:00Toby<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Um, okay, so I promised to write about my Toby Keith concert experience, because it was funny (even if everything was mostly to be expected). I maintain that my reactions of "Seriously, people? Seriously?" were all completely warranted.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So I wake up at like 6:30 or so from an epic nap after work, because I'd only slept for like three hours the night before, and I'm still on the cranky side of Lea. I still have to get a shower, get dressed, and eat something, though, and the concert starts at 7. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I do all of the above, and then realize five minutes down the road that I've left my ticket pinned to my cork board. Turn around, retrieve ticket. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">125 South was a quiet and delightful drive, until I had to fork over $4.50 for the toll. Why? Why does it need to cost me $5 to drive on this road? Oh right, because the entire state of California is not only about to break off into the Pacific, we're going to revert to the barter system while it happens because we're broke. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Get to the amphitheatre while telling Shannon that it's, like, 6 miles from the international border or something, and why the heck is there an Air Force C-130 parked by the infinitesimal hangar at Brown Field? Who knew.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Anyway, arrive thankful that I'm an hour late for the show, because there's very little traffic trying to park in the general parking lot. On the other hand, it means that the tailgaters now have something like a five hour head start on getting stupid before I show up looking for a space. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I turn into the back row of the dirt lot, and immediately regret not doing a three point turn right back into the row I came out of, because there are like 30 people in the aisle, partying it up. So, okay, now all of our objectives are exactly the same: get the obnoxious pickup truck with the sober chick driver out of the way of the party. I just want to park, and they want to continue being dumb. Our goals are one and the same, people! Can't we all just get along?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nope.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So this couple are like, joined at the hip, and preparing for a huge makeout session right in the middle of the lot. Dude looks up at me knowingly, and then goes in for the kill. RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FRONT BUMPER. So of course, I honk my horn. But I don't politely honk my horn, as if to say, "I know I'm inconveniencing you, and I'm so, so sorry, but could you pretty please move out of the way?" No, I push on my steering wheel with a constant pressure, and do not stop pushing until they flip me off and clear out of the aisle where I am supposed to be able to drive.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Okay, cool.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nope.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Some other dude, because I have clearly wronged his friends, decides to exact his revenge by standing in front of my truck. So I tell him to move. He tells me to honk my horn. I tell him to move. He levels his oh-so-intimidating gaze at me through my windshield. I inch forward, and tell him to move. He backs up a little, I guess because he's not wasted enough to think that a trip to the hospital would be hilarious. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Then I look out my window, and another dude, in solidarity with making-out-couple and standing-in-front-of-my-truck-guy, decides to moon me. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">SERIOUSLY? WE ALL WANT THE SAME THING! I want to get out of your way so I can park my truck, and you all want me to get out of the way so you can continue your drinking unimpeded by obnoxious sober people like me. What the hell?!? Just get out of the freaking road!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So finally, some girl with some sense, seeing as how I'm still slowly rolling forward into this guy, pulls the idiot in front of my truck out of the way, and I (with a final admiring glance at mooning guy's--well--moon) pull away and find a spot. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Grab my lovely blue straw Puerto Vallarta cowgirl hat, my purse, and my ticket, and proceed to the amphitheatre lawn in search of James and Tracy and Dave, who finally find me; set my purse under the lawn chair so that it's not completely obvious prey, enjoy Trace Adkins and Toby.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Halfway through Toby's set, this guy who had been standing not too far from us sidles up next to me, which freaks me out momentarily as he is quite large, and the boys have all gone to get drinks. He tells me that I should check my things, because the girl curled up next to us, whom I had thought to be asleep, has just been rifling through my purse and has thrown it back under the lawn chair. So much for my surveillance. I had been periodically making sure it was still there... : /</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I thank him, and check my purse. My wallet, camera, and iPod are all missing. So I crouch down next to sleeping-bag-girl and tell her that my purse is strangely empty, and could I please have my things back?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To which she answers, while trying to hide the things she took under the rest of the stuff in her bag, "I don't have anything, I didn't take anything."</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To which I say, "I just saw my wallet in there."</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So naturally I check her bag, and immediately fish out my wallet. I show it to her and say, "So you see this wallet, this one with my ID in it? Turns out it's mine. Can I check your bag?"</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't take anything, I don't have anything, you can look."</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So I find my camera and my music and I step back over to our blankets, put my purse under a blanket in the chair, and tell James, who is furious. This is the best part, because furious James trips me out. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">He goes and talks to her, and all she can say is still, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't take anything."</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Okay, chicky, okay. It teleported itself, I forget it has magical powers sometimes.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Seriously, people? Seriously?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I leave with no further trauma.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But... Seriously?</span></span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-89425898092571422982010-08-04T23:52:00.000-07:002010-08-05T00:10:00.198-07:00One year later...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">So last August, my rad friends Matt and Molly invited me to join them for the final leg of their epic 220 mile hike of the John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Sadly, I wasn't able to hike all the way to Mt. Whitney with them, as I strained a muscle along the way, but I did spend two days and three nights with them on the trail (and two days by myself), and had a blast.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I kept a bare-bones journal during the hike, meaning to eventually post it here. And so, in its not-so-entirety, it is.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">8/12/2009</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I'm sitting in a teeny little campsite somewhere near Baxter Creek on the JMT in Kings Canyon... The scenery is stunning, though it's freezing up here (somewhere shy of 10,000'). Molly is making breakfast, and I have a little time, so I thought I'd write about my first two hiking days.</span></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Day 1</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Taboose Pass to the JMT junction. The trailhead was somewhere in the neighborhood of 5K', and the pass was at 11,360'... 6K of elevation gain in 8 miles. I was dying. Hiking that trail ranks somewhere in the top 5 hardest things I've ever done. It was beautiful--the trail tracked a creek up into the mountains--and the eastern faces of these Sierra peaks are ruggedly stunning. By the end of the first hour, though, I was already wondering what I had gotten myself into. I started in scrub desert at 6:30 AM, and didn't make it to the top until late in the afternoon--sometime between 6 and 7. Twelve hours to walk 8 miles. Geez.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Matt found me when I was near the top, and generously traded his very light pack for mine so that we could make it down to meet Molly before dark.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">It was so good to see them both... We ate and chatted for a while, and hiked another .5mi or mile to a camp site near some unnamed lake. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I didn't sleep well, and woke up wanting at least a couple more hours of Zs... But we had to eat and pack, and get on the trail. It was a beautiful way to wake up, though.</span></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Day 2</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Just shy of Lake Marjorie to Baxter Creek... We crossed Pinchot Pass pretty early in the day, and it was excruciating, but getting to the top, with the glorious view, was reward in itself. Then it was back downhill, to the tune of 4,000' over a few miles. So my uphill muscles got all used up on the first day, and my downhill muscles on the second--</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">We camped uphill from Baxter Creek this night; we sat around the campfire for a while and slept under the stars. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Oh! And we crossed this crazy suspension bridge in the afternoon. It was a highlight.</span></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Day 3</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Above Baxter Creek to Lake Charlotte. Matt and Molly have been stellar. I know I'm only slowing them down, but they have not stopped encouraging and helping me to adjust. They pretty much rock, and I'm so glad they invited me along.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Today we passed some beautiful lakes. As I write this, we are perched above Rae Lakes, taking a nap/swim/shower/laundry break before we tackle Glenn Pass, which is no joke. Matt is sleeping, Molly just finished painting a postcard of the view, and I wrote some poetry.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">8/13/2009</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I'm sitting on a rock in the sun, surrounded by loveliness on every side, in the middle of a mid-morning break. I split up with Matt and Molly a little while ago, but I'll get to that. First,</span></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Day 3, cont'd</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">We left Rae Lakes after a few hours; Matt and I took a dip, Molly grabbed a shower, and we all did a little laundry. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">It was so pretty there.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">We had to make it up and over Glenn Pass that afternoon, though, so I led the slow trudge up to 12K'. I know my snail's pace was killing M & M, but they had nothing but encouraging words. Yup, they rock.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">The pass was incredible--this narrow spine of rock, with not-quite-sheer, but intimidating, drops on either side. It truly felt as though we were sitting on top of the world. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I ate my first Slim Jim in years up there, much to Matt's delight.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">We climbed down from the pass, and, since there was no water closer, had to hike all the way down to Charlotte Lake. This turned out to be the best "bad thing" ever: Not only did we catch a cutoff down to the lake (on a ranger's good advice), we also ran into our resupply guy quite fortuitously in the evening, meaning that we did our food exchange early, plus got to hang out with Doug and his friend Mike for the night. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">And, miraculously, there was a group camped nearby that had packed their supplies--to include a kitchen and a cook--in on mules, and we got to finish off the leftovers of their amazing beef stew, biscuits, and salad. It was fabulous. Last night was also one of the peak nights of the Perseid meteor shower, and it was a beautiful night for stargazing. We lay there for a while, "oohing" and "ahhing" at the shooting stars before eventually falling asleep.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">And, wondrously, it wasn't too cold.</span></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Day 4</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">This morning, we woke up, had breakfast, gave some of the resupply back to Doug to pack out, and headed out. I wasn't sure if my hip was going to make it--today is a 16mi day for Matt and Molly, and tomorrow, too. There was talk of taking an extra day to finish the hike, but I know Matt didn't want to do that. So I walked with them to the junction of the JMT and the Lake Charlotte trail, but I knew I was only going to slow them down--plus, I didn't want to be in pain for the rest of the trip, either.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">So I decided to hike out at Kearsarge Pass, and hopefully I'll be back at my truck--or at least to Independence--by tonight.</span></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Epilogue</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I made it up and over Kearsarge in decent time, even though, in addition to a painful muscle strain, my knee also started to ache badly on the downhill side. Two ladies on a day hike up to the pass and back kindly gave me a ride to my truck at the end of the day, and I drove back to San Diego that night.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I have to say, I was pretty proud of myself, even though I didn't finish. Matt and Molly couldn't have been better trail companions, and I'll always be grateful that I was able to tag along, and my first big hike will always be a standout memory.</span></span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-51911861351322036912010-08-04T22:47:00.000-07:002010-08-04T23:53:02.918-07:00Blue<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">I love all my married friends, and all my parental-y friends, and all their kids. For real. But just for right now, I'm feeling a little bit like the token single pal. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">It won't last.</span></span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-33541727956483318142010-06-19T19:04:00.000-07:002010-06-19T19:04:08.701-07:00What are those stages, again?My sweet, amazing, beautiful grandmother, Yvonne Lumpkin Morrow, passed away today. She was eighty years old.<br />
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I can't begin to describe the loss to my family. My grandma was one of the best and kindest people I have ever known, and I owe her a debt I can never hope to repay. <br />
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I hope I can be half the woman she was, and I hope I can make her proud.<br />
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Love you, Grandma.Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-69669321389374025372010-06-03T00:27:00.000-07:002010-06-03T00:39:13.371-07:00Baccalaureation<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I submitted my application for admission as a transfer student to the University of South Carolina this week, and I hope to submit apps for the U. of San Diego, Pitzer College, the U. of Idaho, and either Boston U. or Duke this month, too. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Basically, I'd really like to graduate from college as soon as I possibly can, and SDSU won't admit me until the fall of '11. Meaning that I wouldn't graduate, at the earliest, until the end of 2012. But USC (if I get in) will admit me for the fall semester this year, and I could graduate by the end of 2011. Which is a year and a half earlier than I had estimated. So, that's a prospect I can get behind.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">The problem with this idea is that it involves leaving San Diego, and I have about as much desire to do that as I did the last time I was pondering moving. Admittedly, this plan has a timeline with an end in sight, but it's not much easier to think about moving (and tearing up all the roots I've finally put down here!) than it has ever been, even with some pretty significant motivators.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I guess I have to practice what I've been preaching to some friends lately and trust that God will point me in the right direction.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Do you think that Google can be God's instrument?</span></span></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-52348710596308981582010-05-24T00:26:00.001-07:002010-05-24T01:22:25.992-07:00I know, shut up.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O9O29vBLqns/S_orVqjfLKI/AAAAAAAAAfs/WRF__Y1HtgI/s1600/Michael+Emerson.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O9O29vBLqns/S_orVqjfLKI/AAAAAAAAAfs/WRF__Y1HtgI/s320/Michael+Emerson.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474735948222639266" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I think that Michael Emerson--the guy who played Ben Linus on </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Lost</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">--is adorable. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I mean really...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">How can you not just want to smile back at him? Forgive me for my fangirlishness; it will only last through this post. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I'm watching him on Kimmel right now, and I can't get over how sweet he looks. He's all smiles, and laughing at all the jokes, and I'm pretty sure I'm mixing the actor and the character up a little, because I kind of feel like, "Aww, it's nice to see him happy." I think I'd probably feel the same way if Alan Rickman were in his Snape costume on a late night talk show laughing it up.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I'll be the first to admit that Benjamin Linus was--erm--flawed. And pretty unattractive. But I pitied him, and was pulling for him, pretty much from the beginning. Like, "Poor Ben. He's had it rough. And he's adorable. Let's give him a happy ending."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I loved Ben's ending, in both timelines. And, bonus, when I see Michael Emerson with a smile on his face, I can smile back and believe that Ben is happy, too. </span></span></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-38545298678147382712010-02-24T23:39:00.000-08:002010-03-15T21:36:34.303-07:00Reaction Paper #1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.boston.com/community/photos/raw/McCawSunburned.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 609px; height: 772px;" src="http://www.boston.com/community/photos/raw/McCawSunburned.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#006600;"></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#006600;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><p class="MsoNormal">I really love physics, and am continually amazed when pure science collides with other, seemingly unrelated interests of mine.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>On Saturday, a series of photographs titled “Sunburn” captured my imagination by their fusion of beautiful photography with scientific thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The process is deceptively simple:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The artist loads a homemade, large format camera with photo paper and takes an extended exposure picture.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Over the course of several hours, the sun not only transforms the negative into a positive, but literally burns a hole or a path into the paper.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was mesmerized by this method of allowing the process of photography to be performed by the sun itself.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It spoke to my analytical mind and my “wanna-be” scientific imagination.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I already admired photography for its ability to capture a sense of time, from single moments to several hours, on the page; it had never occurred to me before this that the process of taking a picture—of exposing film to light—could be pushed to achieve this effect.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The three pieces, particularly “Sunburned GSP# <span style="mso-spacerun:yes">358</span>” made me more aware, for a while, of how great an impact the sun—and light—have on our lives on a daily basis, and how important light is in art.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The sun, as the subject of the three photos, seemed to be screaming from the frames something to the effect of, “Here I come!” and reminded me of the myth of Phaeton stealing Helios’s chariot, driving the sun across the sky and eventually losing control.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The burnt edges of the solar path on the photo paper reminded me that the world is wild, and we only think we’re in charge.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The visible effect of the physics of taking a photograph also made me wonder about how to push my own drawings out past the edges, and although I doubt I’ll be burning holes in barrier paper this term, it is enticing to imagine the possibilities. </p><p></p></span><p></p>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-78957887299231879802010-02-21T22:53:00.000-08:002010-02-21T23:13:30.108-08:00Drama, drama, drama<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">It's everywhere, man. My roommate (who is awesome, a good friend, and a good guy) and his girlfriend are having issues, and for some reason I am involved by default. I don't like it; I don't actually have anything to do with their relationship, and it makes me feel bad that the roomie has to duck and weave through this minefield of feminine crazy, and that he has to worry not only about his relationship with his gf, but also, a little, with me.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">And then there's church drama... Not at my church, by the grace of God (although I'm sure there is drama there all the time, just not drama I'm aware of or invested in), but bad situations for my parents in Jacksonville and my best friend's parents with a church in Illinois. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">It all makes me very sad.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">My heart especially hurts for my mom, who says she's okay, but who is in a situation that is anything but. And to be told that it's God's will that everything is this way, by people she loves and respects... Well, I guess it has to be said that I can totally empathize with my dad when he says he'd like to go and tell them about themselves. Not that I think that should happen, of course, but I know where he's coming from. Injustice of this kind "gets my back up" as we say in the South... Or as I like to say, makes me bristle. Kind of like the time when some drunk chick at a concert kept whacking Mum and I wanted to deck her. The girl, not my mom. Not that that's an exact metaphor, but I think you'll know what I'm getting at. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">We're fighters. Like, to the miserable end, when it's us against the world, in a totally un-winnable situation. And we know it's not going to turn out like the Karate Kid or Rocky. When it's more like Million Dollar Baby. And it's hard to have to back down from a fight when the adrenaline is rushing through your body, when you know that the right is on your side... But I supposed maybe it's better to walk away than to end up paralyzed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-86047712976810948942009-12-06T22:19:00.000-08:002009-12-06T22:37:40.388-08:00Promises<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">So, I said that I was going to write about the opening of the student exhibit at the Mesa art gallery, but that was kind of lackluster, so I won't. Not really. I mean, it's super cool that my drawing is in the show... I love that I'm getting better at drawing, and that my hard work was rewarded. It's just that the opening was a little anticlimactic. Getting chosen for the show was the good part, and I really was excited about that for like a week. But then the high wore off, and now it's just my picture (framed really shoddily) hung in the corner of the junior college art gallery. Whoop.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I don't even remember the last time I wrote anything here. I guess it was like, in August. I've been neglectful. But I really have been busy: Marian had the twins, and I started my first full semester back in school since 2003... Plus, I took on two jobs in addition to the one I already had. Which is great, but it all keeps me really busy. I kind of miss my summer of goofing off. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">In addition to all the day-to-day busyness of my life, I keep taking on additional stuff. Like hosting a gingerbread house building party this weekend. It was a blast, but I let a lot of stuff slide last week as I was getting ready for the party... And I didn't do any work over my Thanksgiving break, so I'm still behind. One of these days, I really am going to learn time management. You'd think I'd have it down after the whole USMC experience, but no: time management there was pretty much contained to one 14-hour period at a time. I need to learn to plan ahead.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Fortunately, I'm more dedicated to success this time around. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I think I'm a little pensive because I'm tired. It'll pass.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">The gingerbread party was really a good time... Once we finally got around to actually building a gingerbread house. My initial vision did not at all become a reality, but with lots of help from a dedicated team of material engineers, we got all the pieces done by oh, about 3:00 PM. Next time I'll be much better prepared. I had no idea how labor-intensive making gingerbread was! </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">See, the original plan was to fabricate enough structural pieces for each person or couple to build their own house... But there was no way that Andy's single-rack oven was going to be up to the task of churning out a dozen houses in an hour, so we completely revamped and built one big mansion. Which turned out looking like the projects, but hey, we weren't expecting the gingerbread man to set up residence anyway. And the ants would be happy even if it had no roof at all, right?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Pictures are forthcoming... I think Andy's followthrough bone is about as effective as my own. In other words, maybe by Easter.</span></span></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-12193888338408770212009-07-21T23:45:00.001-07:002009-07-21T23:47:09.027-07:00MeanderingsI started a new blog this week to consolidate my poetical ramblings. You can find it here:<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://mindoflea.blogspot.com/">http://mindoflea.blogspot.com/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you'll take a look and leave a comment. Please be nice, I'm an amateur!</div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-68090043723104741152009-07-14T00:17:00.000-07:002009-07-14T00:46:15.300-07:00Madness<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I spent one summer in shouted arguments with my mother,</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">All of which I regret.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Not because she was right</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Not because I was right</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">But because neither of us listened to the other.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I spent two weeks that summer with sixty other kids</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Who were in love with God</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Some more than others</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Many more than I</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">And I admired them, and wondered how they did it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">And there was this girl</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">And she was one of them</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">It seemed as if she had it all together.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">She was in charge of devotions</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Of course.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">And she prayed this prayer</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">And it was beautiful</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">She was crying, and pleading with God to break us.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I could not figure it out</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Of course.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I spent the rest of that summer trying to solve it--</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Why ask to be broken?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I have heard it throughout my memory</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I have heard it from many people</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Be broken, and submit.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">The rest of that summer became the next few years:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Try as I might, I would not break.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I could not desire to be broken;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I could not ask anyone to break me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Submission should be the result of a choice.</span></span></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-18895387366010792742009-07-06T13:55:00.000-07:002009-07-06T14:00:03.314-07:00Method<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">I used to wonder, growing up, </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">What people meant by "breaking a spirit"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">And why they wanted mine. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">You hear it all the time:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"You have to break 'em"--</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Your dogs </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Horses </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Children--</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Why?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">What's so great about submitting,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Like the coyote at the bottom of the pack,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">To someone you don't even believe in?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">You hear it all the time:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"It's for their own good"--</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">To owners</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Breeders</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Parents--</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Why? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Who died and made you God?</span></span></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-31661484853909101022009-06-28T22:15:00.001-07:002009-06-29T22:18:14.200-07:00GrasshopperishIt's a pretty well-known fact that much of the last five plus years of my life has been about following directions. To those who know me well, that has been a bit of a running joke. Right--I'm stubborn. So, to those who know me well, the idea of me willingly submitting to authority was kind of a ludicrous proposition. <div><br /></div><div>I did, however, manage to make it through boot camp, some follow-on training, and four more years, give or take, of submitting to authority without any major problems. Heaven knows that I did my share of griping about it--along with being stubborn, I really really hate it when the people in charge are stupid, unreasonable, and illogical, which happens often. (I've heard this is pretty universal, unfortunately.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So it's been an adjustment for me, these last few months, to be part of a collaborative team. (Molly, feel free to stop here: church stuff to follow.) In the environment to which I am specifically referring, I'm the new guy. And I like to watch and learn. I mean, I like to learn by getting in and getting my hands dirty, too, but in a lot of situations--especially ones in which I feel like there are people who know waaay more than I do--I really like to take some time to see how things are done before I jump in.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the Marine Corps, this sucked: many of the people who were responsible for teaching me were terrible at teaching, or they sucked at the actual job, or they were just mean, which doesn't exactly make for a good learning environment. I know, it's the Marine Corps, and they're not known for being nice. But really, I wasn't going to learn anything any better or faster from some jackass yelling in my face than I was by just observing him for a while, and then trying it out myself, and then getting some feedback.</div><div><br /></div><div>So this collaboration thing is wonderful, in its way, because the others in the collaborative process are pretty fantastic. The hard part is that, since I still feel like I'm totally the new kid, I'd much rather still be in the "watching and learning" phase. But these people, being fantastic, sort of expect me to give input on various things. Like, for instance, my thoughts on the week's lectionary selections. And the new kid inside of me, who still really just wants to sit on the sidelines for a little while, wants to say, "How could I possibly have anything valuable or useful to say that you haven't thought of already?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The other crazy bit that is part of the hard part is that the two people I would most like to watch, and learn from, are--for now--a couple more degrees separated from this process than is useful in watching and learning. So it feels a little like I'm on my own. For the record, I'm emphatically not on my own in actual reality--I'm just saying it feels a little like that. </div><div><br /></div><div>And so yesterday, when I got a text message saying that our worship service was probably going to temporarily relocate across campus due to a maintenance issue, my first thought was, "Seriously?! Why, of all possible days, did it have to be today?" Because, even though I'm not alone, and I know it, and the situation was all but handled by the time I showed up, it only highlighted that the people whose direction I would have eagerly followed were a degree or two separated from the problem. And it will be like that all summer. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Disclaimer: One of the people who is "a degree or two separated" is in fact one of the people who handled the problem. But the conclusions are the same.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm used to being an expert; able to answer questions from many different sides. But I know exactly what, and how long, it took for me to get to that point, and to be comfortable with it. And it hasn't been that long at FUMC, and I don't feel like I have all the answers, or nearly all of them, or nearly enough, even. And, more than that, I don't feel as though I am in a place where I should be the one who is asked the questions. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even so, I discovered--as it was demonstrated in many small ways today--that I am going to be that person--or one of those people--at least for the next few weeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it trips me out and freaks me out and makes me smile a little, all at the same time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you God, for grace, and for opportunity.</div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-12258327175390356222009-05-23T08:14:00.000-07:002009-05-23T09:02:30.870-07:00This could turn out to be important...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Anyone care to contribute an opinion to the question of what field I should study when I finally make it back to college?<br /><br />I was hit with a bolt of inspiration last night while I was surfing UCSD's and SDSU's websites. At SDSU, it's possible to major in "Interdisciplinary Studies in Three Departments", and UCSD's colleges offer "Individual Studies" degrees. Which means, basically, that a student designs her own major (I've heard of this kind of thing before, but never really pondered how it could apply to me). So I thought, "What would I design?"<br /><br />I came up with some mash-up of Philosophy, Anthropology, and Spanish. Now, I'm not sure it's worth it to include Spanish as part of my degree, so I thought maybe a B.A. in Philosophy and a minor in Anthropology with some Spanish courses along the way. I mean, I have to take two semesters of foreign language anyway, why not add two more?<br /><br />Oh, and I want to take some studio art classes... Really, it's about time I added a little education to my drawing.<br /><br />Oh, and who thinks it's possible to go to </span></span><a href="http://www.warner.edu/heart/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">HEART</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"> for a semester as part of anthropology studies?<br /><br />Think I can do all that in two years? How 'bout three, if I only take art during the summer?</span></span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-57158925965240679732009-04-29T10:29:00.000-07:002009-04-29T10:59:56.004-07:00Holy John Donne!I don't really know why I was thinking about sonnets while I was trying to fall asleep last night, but I was. I've written two. I don't know how good they really are, I mean, I like them, but I'm a little biased.<br /><br />So I was trying to remember if an iamb went unstressed/stressed syllables or the other way around, and running through random first lines of sonnets that I can recite trying to scan them in my head, when I realized that they weren't all that consistent. That's poetry, I guess.<br /><br />Anyway, since I was on the subject, I turned on a lamp, reached up above my head, and pulled down my <em>Oxford Book of Sonnets</em>. I thumbed through a few pages and decided that the iamb went the way I had thought. And then I was reading some Donne, and turned this up:<br /><br /><span style="color:#006600;">Show me dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear.<br />What! is it she which on the other shore<br />Goes richly painted? or which, robb'd and tore,<br />Laments and mourns in Germany and here?<br />Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?<br />Is she self-truth, and errs? now new, now outwore?<br />Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore<br />On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?<br />Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights<br />First travel we to seek, and then make love?<br />Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights,<br />And let mine amorous soul court thy mild Dove,<br />Who is most true and pleasing to thee then<br />When she'is embrac'd and open to most men.</span><br /><br />It's one of the <a href="http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Holy_Sonnets" target="_blank">holy sonnets</a>, and I'm not going to try to explain it thoroughly, but it's about the Church: the bride of Christ. What struck me most was that last couplet...<br /><br />The Church is at her best--and most pleasing to Jesus--when she is "open to most men."<br /><br />True in the 17th century, true today.Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-73526247752030113592009-04-27T11:43:00.000-07:002009-04-27T12:00:11.696-07:00Or you'll fall for anything?<span style="font-family:courier new;color:#006600;">Occasionally I'm bothered by the fact that I don't know where I stand on lots of different issues. Other people so often seem to have everything figured out. They have firm positions and well reasoned arguments in support of those positions, whereas I'm barely figuring out that there's a problem that needs a solution.<br /><br />I didn't think that I was in such a bubble. Perhaps the problems we concentrated on in the Marines were just different... I mean, I had positions and reasonable arguments on such issues as women in combat and the invasion/occupation of Iraq and "don't ask, don't tell". And, in another former life, I had positions and reasonable arguments on such issues as hurricane preparedness and little old lady drivers.<br /><br />My mom has often said about me that I think I'm always right. I contend that there's no point in holding an opinion that I think is wrong. I believe strongly in keeping an open mind, and I've always been a fan of logical debate. I don't think I'm infallible, by any stretch of the imagination.<br /><br />But I do think it's important to know where I stand.</span>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395508617321112772.post-22057457972055168092009-04-18T18:50:00.001-07:002009-04-18T19:21:25.300-07:00Recent happeningsOn Tuesday, my good friend Becca surprised me by showing up at my shop... She's in town from Michigan to visit her BFF Mali, who is moving to NY in a couple of months, and had FB'd my mom to see whether she should surprise me or let me know that she was coming. It was a good surprise.<br /><br />On Thursday, we drove up to Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. We camped there--in the snow--Thursday night, and drove through the parks, catching the highlights (it was too cold for hiking!), and back down to San Diego yesterday. <br /><br />Great start to the weekend, if you ask me.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCn-kYSVnlrCBS8wfTCyS2kCbiMYrQPHGH_f8TL7jXUjj5P_LPnvY82vGqHJ4rZMk-DgAhxCEC5-7sfTzAvhxK-d4NXMLLRLJ0gJaOh9MY0a7PrS4g1e_nKW6YNSjh2auBz2kpphUBg-l/s1600-h/DSCN0031.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326219282832730898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCn-kYSVnlrCBS8wfTCyS2kCbiMYrQPHGH_f8TL7jXUjj5P_LPnvY82vGqHJ4rZMk-DgAhxCEC5-7sfTzAvhxK-d4NXMLLRLJ0gJaOh9MY0a7PrS4g1e_nKW6YNSjh2auBz2kpphUBg-l/s320/DSCN0031.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviv0u0ZmfZGtUI_u_0Q0gtCzpQaw8JSGEmz0c8VBSloqK8F6Xy5_lVhmU0qT-NZKpkM1TwZr2gxVJ-g_o43bn_xvEhXbHbsAyUOkzJC2IyXt6CsSTgylWQLv4fKVGT2a4Q_r_49CwE5JB/s1600-h/DSCN0026.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326219130940975490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviv0u0ZmfZGtUI_u_0Q0gtCzpQaw8JSGEmz0c8VBSloqK8F6Xy5_lVhmU0qT-NZKpkM1TwZr2gxVJ-g_o43bn_xvEhXbHbsAyUOkzJC2IyXt6CsSTgylWQLv4fKVGT2a4Q_r_49CwE5JB/s320/DSCN0026.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVC6i8txAAq80dw5wA1V9omZ5HB5KBr-H37aBDGwPCjdqHsAAA3XyYVnaVmPnefwPgTgSv167xmygbLwVngV8m_8adcsvfbaCJ5jB-eHxJGQwFuFIQDqKyWTmQjhIlYF8CeOlZ0OfXH2X/s1600-h/DSCN0028.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326218629933546706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVC6i8txAAq80dw5wA1V9omZ5HB5KBr-H37aBDGwPCjdqHsAAA3XyYVnaVmPnefwPgTgSv167xmygbLwVngV8m_8adcsvfbaCJ5jB-eHxJGQwFuFIQDqKyWTmQjhIlYF8CeOlZ0OfXH2X/s320/DSCN0028.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Then today, I went to Mira Mesa to watch Karen's son Ryan play baseball. Ryan is a most awesome boy, and baseball played by 7 -8 year olds is always a good time, so I am happy to cheer him and his team on. Here are a couple of shots of "Ryan at the Bat"... Not striking out. I'm impressed with his batting skills, myself.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPB79MUhhZaraqNt-dsfrz1XrQnUYHdv9TkChvNzGVi8giINHw5sOFfZOfffro-yWe2klM_h4FzsBTtWjZ_bWwSEj6cwRKgPiZirRknLm1b2soP6BHLd3ReV0_rmbvmdpL287cOthOk1rv/s1600-h/DSCN0066.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326218262933313010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPB79MUhhZaraqNt-dsfrz1XrQnUYHdv9TkChvNzGVi8giINHw5sOFfZOfffro-yWe2klM_h4FzsBTtWjZ_bWwSEj6cwRKgPiZirRknLm1b2soP6BHLd3ReV0_rmbvmdpL287cOthOk1rv/s320/DSCN0066.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCeKzhkUCr4sCuCEZELmdrgHXfXV1X268lIXJVBdF-WsTRfjjZQJdoTtwdKGecdBt6Ff5Ww1J6RjYG0jcYns-FzTQgZXjIqvqfMYAYND3qvj3naII-wGmxEWLwbP57NUiSbXECD9zf-cl/s1600-h/DSCN0061.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326218101593757042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCeKzhkUCr4sCuCEZELmdrgHXfXV1X268lIXJVBdF-WsTRfjjZQJdoTtwdKGecdBt6Ff5Ww1J6RjYG0jcYns-FzTQgZXjIqvqfMYAYND3qvj3naII-wGmxEWLwbP57NUiSbXECD9zf-cl/s320/DSCN0061.JPG" border="0" /></a>Oh! And yesterday I got to chat with someone I haven't talked to since January, which was also a nice surprise. I'm excited about possibilities again, though I'm not sure where this one is leading. For now, though, I'm content with good influences, enthusiastic support, and crossed fingers.</div></div></div>Lea M. Boothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208132196405706237noreply@blogger.com0