Sunday, January 30, 2011

Bowling Pin Lamps & Stained Glass Windows

Last night via craigslist, Todd told this woman he'd come pick up a pair of free, vintage bowling pin lamps. (For the church office, not the house. Still, it feels like something out of A Christmas Story.)

The lady lives in an area called Spanish Lake, which is probably 20 minutes from us. To get to Spanish Lake, you have to drive through parts of North Saint Louis, including Bellefontaine Neighbors-- both of which sound kind of ritzy... because both places were. A long time ago. Now it's mostly sad empty shops and run down mansions and cemeteries-- until you cross the county line and then it's pretty livable.

Anyway, so we're driving through North St. Louis and we pass a sprawling, iron-gated cemetery in the hills that is probably two miles long. I mean it goes forEVer and the grave markers at the tops of these hills are like shrines. HUGE. I've never seen such a thing. On the same road, we passed a plantation house that is now a museum, all white with huge columns and a wraparound porch.

Driving through places that that makes my imagination go crazy. What would it have been like to live here just 150 years ago? I wondered this aloud to Todd as we drove past the plantation house. "Can you imagine what it would've been like if we'd been born 150 years ago? Into the same families, just a different time?" Suddenly I was trying to work his character into a party in Gone With The Wind. (He cracked up when I told him what I really wondered is what HE would've been doing, because I'd most likely have been working in somebody's kitchen.) As we drove, I proceeded to make up a story about him being some charming farmer's son who made friends with the right people, did okay for himself, ended up in Texas trying to buy some property for farmland, having dinner at this property owner's house and falling in love at first sight with one of their servant girls and then spending all his money instead trying to buy her away from this man so she would be free and he could take her to the North to be his wife and start a church. :)

Anyway, so we finally made it to Spanish Lake (which is nowhere near as lovely as the name infers), picked up the lamps disassembled them and put them in the trunk, and headed home. On the way back, we detoured to take a look at a house Todd had found online. As we drove into the neighborhood, the first thing Todd pointed out was a house across the street from the one we were looking at. It has imposing, 12-foot doors out front, that are set with some kind of dark metal and glass.

We parked in front of the house we'd come to see, got out and were poking around the front yard when a man in his sixties spoke up to us from across the street. He asked if we were interested in the house and told us we were the first people who had shown any interest in years. He said if we had questions to let him know because he lived across the street.

In the house with the doors!

Todd had driven by the house before and had been admiring the doors for days now. So he mentioned to the man how much he liked them and the man said, "Well they're handcrafted stained glass, I made them myself. That's how I make my living. But you can't even see them properly right now." Todd asked what he meant. The man asked if we had a second and invited us inside.

Stained glass of course, is only visible from the darkest side. So outside in daylight, you see nothing but chunks of darkness, set between wooden and metal slats. But inside? It looks like this.

Un. Believable. Mr. Frei told us that his family has been in the business of stained glass since 1898 and has set windows in churches, cathedrals and basilicas all over the country, including half the churches in St. Louis. He's the 4th generation to own the business. His front doors were handmade over a period of 9 months and each door weighs about 400 pounds. It took 8 men to set them on hinges. (To read the remarkable history of the Frei family, check out the website. Stephen Frei is who we met today.)

We ended up spending over an hour with Mr. & Mrs. Frei today, talking about gentrification in the city, about how the answer does not lie in running out to the county, about sticking to a neighborhood for better or worse, about real estate and rehabbing a home, about their family and their business, even about raising kids in the city (they bought their house as a shell for almost nothing back in 1977, before the neighborhood even had roads or sidewalks. They rehabbed it slowly while raising 5 children. All their kids are grown now and they are grandparents!) It was unreal, completely random and incredibly cool. The Frei's were so encouraging, yet totally realistic about the heartaches and irritations of home ownership and rehabbing a house while raising a large family. Their home is beautiful, if still unfinished in places. It has such a story, as do they, and hearing their about their experiences was like uncovering buried treasure. We were riveted.

Now. Those of you who are worried, hear this-- the Gentemans are not about to do something brainless and buy an old, jacked up house because they heard some romantic stories from a 60 year old couple across the street. But-- at this rate, that house isn't going anywhere quickly. Not for the price the owner is trying to get for it. So we'll probably set up a time to go walk through it, have the damages assessed by a friend of ours who's a pro and maybe-- just maybe-- consider the possibility when the time comes.

For now, we've made some new friends. And we had a wonderful adventure this morning on the two year anniversary of the day we met. :)

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Mockingjay

I just finished it.

I mean JUST. Five minutes ago.

I know I'm supposed to wait and give it a few days to marinate. And I know I will. In fact, I'm sure it will marinate longer than that. This is actually sort of an effort to snap myself out of it. To remind myself it didn't really happen.

"Real? Or Not real?" Not real. Thank God. It was-- whew. A LOT to take in.

It's hard when you really like something, to know it's going to end and that it might not end the way you want to. Sometimes you get a good surprise and a proper resolution (i.e. Return of the King). And sometimes you get some good resolution, but an ending that you have to talk yourself into being okay with. (i.e. LOST). Mockingjay is way more LOST than it is Return of the King.

Did it end the way I wanted it to? No. I don't think so. But maybe.

Did it end "correctly"? Yes. Maybe? Probably.

Am I happy about the way it ended? Um... sure. I guess.

Do I feel emotionally ravaged and slightly "mentally disoriented" about the whole production? Yes. Absolutely.

Do I think it's worth reading? Yes.

Catching Fire was definitely my fave.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Philemon

So Todd bought me this thing called a journible. Contrary to popular belief, it is not a furry, third-grade class pet type of creature; it's a journal that gives you space to scribe entire books of the Bible. It gives you space to write your own thoughts and questions too, but when you are finished with one volume, you've written out several books of scripture. A lot of people do them to pass on to their kids or just for self-reflection. It's just my first try, so don't know that I'm doing it for a particular someone or reason... I'm just using it for some bible study variety.

So this morning, I wrote out the book of Philemon. I'd listened to it on the way to work a few weeks ago, only because it was between Timothy and Hebrews. But I actually really enjoyed it!

The letter was written by Paul to a friend of his named Philemon. Philemon was a slave owner, (his slaves were indebted to him, they weren’t being held against their will) and one of his slaves, Onesimus, owed him a particularly large debt. Rather than continuing to work it off, Onesimus ran away. As he fled, Onesimus came across Paul who was in prison for the Gospel. Over time, Paul led Onesimus to Christ and the young man became like a son to him. Paul wanted Onesimus to stick around and be a help to him, but when he learned of his debt to Philemon, he knew Onesimus needed to return to Philemon’s house.

Paul penned the letter to Philemon and sent it home with Onesimus , explaining that Onesimus had given his life over to the truth of the Gospel and therefore been made new. He entreated Philemon to receive him now without anger, as something more than a slave—a brother. He used a little of his *OMP authority and just a smidge or two of guilt to talk him into it, and I can only assume it worked, since we still have the letter. Paul also tells Philemon in the letter that if he wants to continue to have beef with Onesimus, he should transfer that beef to Paul. Obviously Philemon decided against that too.

It never occurred to me until this morning how much the story in the book of Philemon is the same as the latter part of The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe. When Aslan forgives Edmund for betraying Narnia and his family and friends, he instructs the other Pevensie siblings to forgive him as well. Aslan insists that the slate be wiped clean and now that he has repented, Edmund’s folly and treachery is never to be spoken of again. He says anyone who wishes to speak of it again can take it up with him.

Paul is totally Aslan and Onesimus is totally Edmund. I like that.

(And I really like that the cd’s I have give you book backstory. It’s important and even interesting. Why else would I have listened to Philemon?)


*OMP is Old Man Power. It is possessed by older men who love Jesus and have led lives filled with integrity, kindness, courage, boldness and love.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Catching Fire

I'm doing pretty good with my resolutions. The Polish meal with Jeffrey and Marta happened on Tuesday and was a raging success. I made guwumpki and Marta made pierogies and Jeffrey brought chocolate cake and we all ate dinner and then Marta sang a Polish birthday song while Todd danced to it.

Also, between my Bible cd's, Journible-ing and reading, I'm getting better about making contact with the Word on a daily basis. Also, I officially got the job with Design Group, so that will definitely help me be the best Marketing Coordinator ever! (More on that in the next post!) And I polished off the second book of the Hunger Games trilogy on Saturday. I'm reading Mockingjay now.

Talk about a freaking page-turner. Catching Fire was devastatingly good. A couple of the twists made me yell out loud in my house or send out texts with multiple exclamation marks to people who have already read the books. I want to talk about it more, but I don't want to say anything spoilerific. I'll try to gush about it very discreetly. In white ink. Highlight to read.

I totally teared up at the beginning with the speech when all those people did the salute with the three fingers. I was a wreck when the thing happened because of the turkey. My heart broke into a million pieces at the Quarter Quell announcement. The Quarter Quell was so horrible. And-- I can't. I have to stop or I'm going to say something I shouldn't. But OMG-- devastatingly mesmerizing. I always tend to fall for the horrible, slightly bleak middle tale, so I should've known I would like this one. (The Two Towers is my favorite, Empire Strikes Back is my favorite, and Eclipse is my favorite.) Anyway, I still highly recommend this series. It's action packed and it's a really quick read. I actually think the movies might be pretty good. We'll see.

So... onward and upward with 2011. :)

Snowpocalypse.


I've never been to a third world country. I've heard stories though. About Americans arriving and riding in little rickeshaws through shantytowns and seeing all kinds of unusual, disturbing, unfamiliar things that make them appreciate how good they have it back home.

I'm not comparing Missouri to a third world country. And I'm not pretending that 10-12 inches of snow is the end of the world. I know there are people just a few hours North of me who would totally make fun of everything I'm about to say, but I'm still going to say it. I also completely understand that I'm being overly dramatic about this, but the Texas-flavored part of my brain got traumatized this morning and I need to talk about it.

A fraction of that "entering a third world country" feeling is exactly what I felt during my snowy commute to work this morning. When I got in the car? It was fine. My husband had cleared most of the snow from my little Honda and I navigated our never-plowed, snow covered street with relative ease, eventually coming to a plowed, more well-traveled street. It was mushy and dirty and lumpy, but navigable (I have used that word so many times this week. I hope it's real). I made it through some local traffic onto the highway, where I watched the car in front of me slide all over the entrance ramp. I followed suit in a less willy-nilly fashion, gripping my steering wheel.

I made it on to the fairly empty highway, managed to locate some lane-defining lines under the slush-laden road and began my usually 25 minute journey to CTA. The drive was uneventful for the first 5 minutes on the highway. But then. THEN.

Y'all.

It was horrible. I've never been so untrusting of other drivers in my life. No one knew where the lanes were. Everyone was just following ruts in the road. Cars were ambling down the highway in snow-covered packs, moving the way confused elephants would if they were forced to travel a long distance over arctic tundra. Top speed on my commute this morning? 25mph. With snow blustering through the air the entire time.

There were cars stranded, stopped in the middle of the highway. People wandering around on the shoulder, talking on phones. Police cars with lights flashing, not indicating where in the world they were trying to get to or who they intended to help. Lines forming at exit ramps, waiting on snow plows to clear the impossibly dangerous exits. Cars going nowhere, spinning their wheels in snowdrifts that were once entrance ramps. People with 4 wheel drive, flying like slippery idiots past the rest of us, slinging sludgy ice all over the place. Trucks pulling off the road to help nudge people from the snowdrifty quicksand of the entrance ramps. Tires spinning and spinning, just CAKED with snow. People trying to push their cars back onto the road, people sitting in their stalled cars on their phones, freaking out. I even drove past a car that was stopped in the middle of an intersection with the front tire hanging halfway off the rim. I have no idea what happened to that dude.

Part of me wanted to stop and try to help, but the majority of me was just shocked and terrified and could not even conceive of stopping my car until I was safe in the CTA parking lot. Maybe if I was a dude with a truck and nowhere to be... but I just couldn't. It took me an hour and 15 minutes to get to work. And when I arrived, I released a breath I did not realize I'd been holding.

You have to understand; possessing a mind that was programmed largely in Texas, I don't understand how the world continues to operate on a real-life schedule when there is that much snow happening. In Texas, school gets closed for like, an inch of snow. Sometimes less. Sometimes school gets closed just for slushy ice. You stay in your house. You scrape the accumulation off the car and into a small snowman, you put a snowball in the freezer, and that's it! There is no manuevering through the madness! There is no going to work!

At least there wasn't for me.

I'm not saying I can't adapt to this, I'm just saying it hasn't happened yet. Fortunately, my husband is not freaked out by any of this and has given me pointers on snow driving. I follow his advice expressly.

But I cannot even pretend to believe that I enjoy this aspect of life in the midwest.

It's 4 o'clock now and the sun is shining and the snow has finally stopped falling, but it is absolutely everywhere and it's time for me to go home. I can already hear two sirens.

As Mudear would say, "Oooo, Lord, I will come to thee."

Pray for me, y'all.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Back to December

I think the reason why this song is my favorite on Taylor Swift’s latest album is because it’s the closest thing to a real-life musical I’ve ever aurally witnessed.

In movies and musicals alike, there’s always a scene (or that wish for a scene) with an apology/declaration of love; a chance to say the things you should have said and still would say if only you had the person there in front of you one last time… the monologue that comes out when a character is lucky enough to get a second chance to say how they really feel or say they’re sorry. Everyone just hopes for those kinds of opportunities in real life. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat in a car and said, “If I could just sing/play this song to/for _____, I totally would.” You know you have too. And then, if you’re in high school, you call the radio station and request that the song be dedicated to a person who is more than likely not listening. If you’re grown, you just make an iTunes playlist and torture yourself with it.

Anyway--the best thing about “Back to December”? Is that that moment actually happens. And if you bought the record, you get to be part of it. Weird, but amazing.

The song lyrics immediately fill your head with a film-worthy montage of images. And you can pretend it’s fake because the people involved are celebrities. Granted, the boy in the song has a second life as a werewolf and the girl singing has a roomful of music awards and is on the cover of EVERY magazine. But the bottom line is that the content of the song is true and actually happened to real people. A 19 year old girl wrote an apologetic song for her ex-boyfriend and it got played on the radio and he heard it. So did a million other people, but that’s beside the point. She talks about specific moments in a real relationship—which is not uncommon for songwriters and their songs—but in this case, you actually know exactly who the people are. And if you can get past the fact that they’re famous and focus on the fact that they’re normal kids—its pretty incredible to listen to, even if it does feel the slightest bit voyeuristic. (But between facebook and reality tv, that feeling of voyeurism is next to normal and barely makes us flinch anymore.)

But, all that to say—flinch! Listen to some extremely personal songwriting, get caught up in it for a moment and let yourself sigh and secretly hope for a moment that someday Taylor & Taylor might get back together.

I did. :)

p.s. I'd post the video, but I don't like the boy who's in it. He isn't even tan. So just listen to the song, don't watch the video.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Say The Words

Even though stories that start with reluctant romance are my favorite-- they are exhausting me right now. I feel like romantic angst and tension is ALL around me as of late (in real life and in the stories I'm immersed in)... and from a story-lover's perspective, I really do enjoy it to some degree...

But man, can somebody just send me a montage of people owning the moment? Of both people saying I love you and then kissing and getting married and living happily ever after and staying married until they die-- of old age-- like in a country song?!

I need to see some happy endings. This kind of crap is what drove me to write fanfiction.

I mean... it's not crap. Not at all. God only knows who I'd be without angsty romance...

But I'm overloaded lately and it's bothering me.

Come on. In the spirit of the new blog... show me something less tragic.