It occurs to us that a new business model has emerged from the USPS. No longer the vanguards of “come sleet, come snow etc., etc.”, it now appears the Post Office is more interested in letting mail sort-of-kind-of get there whenever it’s convenient. We’ve had no less than three separate instances in the span of two weeks where relatively important pieces of mail did not arrive when even common sense had favored them with a “late” allowance. How a letter going twenty miles south of here takes more than a week to get to its destination, or why another item sits and waits across town in a sorting facility until a “2-9 day delivery window” expires, is beyond my understanding. How about a envelope sent “Priority” across the country, missing for a week and a half?
We can only imagine this is the new streamlined method of delivering the mail under budget cuts and rollbacks of service. Sounds like a model for success. Can’t wait ’til they start running healthcare.
Six weeks ago, I parked on the street directly in front of my favorite coffee shop, just off the Marietta Square. I park there regularly. So does everyone else who can nab the spot. There are no signs to indicate it’s verboten. No yellow paint along the curb.
Nevertheless, I walked outside a few hours later to discover a mute and unhelpful parking ticket tucked under my windshield wipers (just over the long crack that’s been holding out below my line of vision for years. I keep anticipating a windshield replacement, but so far the crack has remained surprisingly docile and out of sight).
I came to the court building to dispute the matter. I garnered my court date. I went back to the scene of the crime and took photos to support my innocent plea. (There was an unticketed car sitting in the spot. Please Note Exhibit A, Your Honor.)
An hour and a half ago, I arrived in court.
The lights are dim, the mood mildly annoyed but submissive. We sit, lulled by the monotone of legalese poured into our ears.
If I cared to admit guilt and plead for forgiveness, I could simply go up to the judge right now and negotiate my fine.
But innocence is more difficult. I am required to sit it out and wait until the city solicitor can meet with me—and the several dozen other self-proclaimed innocents—so I can present my few photos and make my case.
All of this for a $25 fine. Only unemployment makes the value of this time debatable.
The walls above the wood paneling are a depressing mustard yellow, a perfect color match to the dress of the lady currently speaking with the judge. Her garb features a riot of fleur-de-lis and swirls in black, white and something akin to the by-product one might find in an infant’s diaper. (Sorry: there are few other similes for this particular color.)
But there are no fashion cops here. Only one bored policeman ferrying in orange-suited inmates trying to post bail for their petty crimes, their wrists coupled in silver cuffs so delicate they might be finely wrought jewelry.
Disorderly conduct. Marijuana use. Solicitation.
Why am I here? Oh, right. $25. About a dozen cups of Caribou coffee.
I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning, and it’s wearing on me. David informed me yesterday he’d read (posted over a movie theater urinal, no less) that eating an apple does a better job of stimulating wakefulness than does a cup of coffee.
I heated up a mug of apple juice this morning to drink before I left the house. Tomorrow, I’m reverting to coffee beans.
Coming up on two hours. Still sitting here. Haven’t spoken a word but “pre-trial conference, please.”
We rarely watch television, but it’s Olympics season and we’ve had the tube turned on far more than usual.
Which means I’m actually watching enough commercials to be annoyed by them. I’m particularly adverse to this one for the Dodge Charger.
It exemplifies the worst in western views on manhood and relationships. If men dutifully endure henpecking and then bust out in supposedly-deserved immaturity when they can’t handle it any more…of course we’ll be a society of torn up marriages. No surprise there.
Your life is miserable, so you deserve a stuff-laden, mid-life crisis, by golly!
This morning I walked into the bathroom as Dave finished up shaving. “I shaved,” he said. “I got up at 6:30 to let the dog out. I put the toilet seat down. I like your Mom. I watched ice dancing with you last night. And I’m gonna drive the car I want to drive.”
“Really?” I inquired.
“The paid-off Honda Civic in our garage,” he affirmed.
I like free stuff. Yesterday I managed to score a coupon for a free bakery item at Caribou Coffee by filling out a survey on their service, plus nabbing a free hot cocoa from the gal who was doing test drinks for her certification. Then I used a handy coupon at Kroger for free golden oreos (double stuff!). And when the cashier at Old Navy neglected to ask me about opening up a charge account, I landed a $5 gift card.
Not too shabby for a one-day haul.
But none of my no-charge sugar rush compares to the ultimate freebie: God’s grace.
Free, yes. But as Deitrich Bonhoeffer reminds us: it’s not cheap.
That daily dose of grace I so desperately need doesn’t require me to go out and earn it. It isn’t contingent on whether I spend 12 minutes reading scripture or refrain from nagging my husband about the cobwebs hanging from our chandelier (we ARE rather past Halloween) or dispense words of wisdom to 2.5 friends during the course of the day.
It’s grace. By definition, I can’t earn it.
But it IS costly. It requires that I take it seriously. That I never forget God’s cost in the matter. That I place myself in a space to be changed, molded — frankly, to give up my self-ordained right to my own personal comfort zone.
Those free oreos don’t require much of me but a willingness to overlook the ingredient listing.
That’s what Philippe Petit called his breathtaking high wire walk between the Twin Towers, a quarter mile in the air. The coup.
The documentary “Man on Wire” tells the story of what was essentially an artistic crime, trespassing and entering, rigging the wire cable from rooftop to rooftop. But more fascinating than the drama is the man himself. Philippe was obsessed of a single glorious idea from the moment he saw a sketch of the planned towers in 1968 until he finally danced between them in 1974.
The towers existed–or would. That was enough. He had to do it.
Philippe knew no fear in pursuit of his goal, though apparently those around him sure did. And the 45 minutes he spent suspended in mid-air were a miracle to the people who watched. Even one of the cops who arrested him once he was back on terra firma couldn’t call him a wire walker. No, he was a dancer. Fully alive in the face of easy death. Scorning the consequences.
I want to live so fearlessly. To walk out on wires where each step is a miracle, a beautiful act of balance, hovering on the rim of the unknown.
For what it’s worth, and as far as this blog is concerned, 2009 will not go down in our books as the year of getting things documented, in spite of the many interesting happenings. It appears we’ve got the “buh” part of blog down–not so much the “log” part it. So, sorry to all of you out there who visit each day with bated breath.
This isn’t a new year’s resolution to document or opine more, since we all know what resolutions are good for, but if you’re gonna do this thing, you’ve gotta start somewhere. So here is a summing up of the year, as seen by yourses truly.
We thought we’d give it a kind of top ten, since we just love those bite-size bits. So in no particular order of rank (and thus making a top ten pointless after all), we submit for your amusement, the highlights of 2009.
10. Getting out of debt. This came as a bit of surprise, if you must know. No, we didn’t follow any kind of hardcore Dave Ramsey plan (though we love the guy, and if we were in debt again, we’d listen to his advice), but we just threw money at our debt and when we looked up, it was gone. Perhaps that is hardcore, since we went into this marriage a year and a half earlier with an over $20,000 millstone around our necks, but it’s still hard to believe. Praise God.
9. Going into debt. Well, not personally, but as a nation. Truly, we were on this road already, but the current politicians decided to blast that Nitrous Oxide tank and race us toward certain financial oblivion. People more clever and better at numbers than us can better unpack what this means for the future, but why we count this as a personal highlight is it seems this is the first time in our lives we’ve actually had to pay attention to politics for longer than the presidential race season. Someone get Dave Ramsey to Washington!
8. Leaving jobs, starting jobs. Dave left a job in January to start another in February. He took a big pay cut and now works more hours per week (how does that happen?), but it’s wholly more satisfying work than dealing with gyrating avatars (no, seriously). Liz got laid off in the Fall and is unemployed for the moment – but picking up a good bit of contract work.
7. Haiti. Yes, technically this is a 2010 thing, but it reaches back into 2009 because we decided last year to write our first script together with Haiti as a backdrop. It’s a story inspired by some Ohio friends who spent an agonizing two years in the Haitian adoption process. Of course, right now our prayers are with the whole nation, and specifically with the orphanage connected to our friends.
6. Movies. On one hand, we can’t say this was a really stand-out year for movies, on the other hand we can’t say we found ourselves in the theater all that much. Maybe those two things are related… but here were the scant few films we thought made a good mark. (with several potentials waiting in the Netflix queue): Up, The Blind Side, 500 Days of Summer, Star Trek.
5. SNOW. You know you’ve met your soulmate when they share the same penchant for cold and snowy weather as you; when they, like you, roll their eyes every time the weather person grumbles about cold temps in the winter. Living in Georgia isn’t exactly prime for this, so we got our fill in the blizzard that hit the entire eastern seaboard just before Christmas. We also happened to be on the highway in the midst of it. A 9 hour trip became 31. But our spirits were high. And did we mention our dog utterly loves snow? 3 peas in a pod, we are.
4. Friends. It took a while for us to really settle into life here in Georgia, but it happened last year. It wasn’t as if we had a rough go of it, but getting into the groove of friends and ministry really didn’t happen for us until mid-way through 2009. Dave confesses to being reluctant to rebooting a whole new social and church life after 20 years in Ohio, but it’s coming along. We are a work in progress.
3. Act Three. The Act One organization for Christians screenwriters/filmmakers in LA has played a big role in our life together, since that’s where we met in 2002. This year, Liz was part of the flagship Act Three program with three trips to LA and countless phone conference hours, doing a mentorship with a woman who teaches at Pixar and USC. The resulting screenplay is under option. We’ll see if that makes it to a sale. She’s hit that magic tipping point of 10 feature length scripts, so she would be very, very happy to vacate the Land of Unemployment for full time writing instead of office drone.
2-1. Labor and the Fruits Thereof. This one is actually large enough to take over two whole bullet points, as 2009 was a very work-intensive year for our side business, Arclight Studios. Essentially that means Dave spent most of his waking hours in front of the computer from May through September, slogging away on essentially one large project. We realize this may have a connection to the sudden appearance of a social life late in 2009, but the work paid off in the end by providing a good nest egg for our next phase of family life: a house, kids, a larger, higher definition television. But lest we think it about stuff or plans, The Lord continues to bless us, so that we might give more.
The waiting is over. Christ is born! Of course this is true of every moment…but I love the yearly reminder.
We have a white Christmas in Pennsylvania, but we had an even whiter Christmas last weekend, traveling to Virginia. The 9 hour trip ballooned to 31 hours when we were stuck on the interstate in the teeth of a blizzard!
I am still a Christmas card slacker, but the Hansen year-end update will be coming your way soon. Until then…take joy!
One of the handy side-effects of unemployment is a chance for field trips (when I can be pried away from the online job boards and script projects).
This morning I volunteered a couple hours reading to second graders at Park Street Elementary near the Marietta Square. The favorite pick was Little Bunny Foo Foo and The Good Fairy, which I was required to read three times. Who knew that ear worm of a tune mom sang to me as a kid would come in so handy?
Little Bunny Foo Foo, I don’t wanna see you, catching all the field mice and bopping them on the head.
(The moral of the tale, for those who don’t recall, is: hare today, goon tomorrow.)
But I couldn’t help feeling, well, a little old. We breezed through a cute tome about a boy who takes his various pets to the library. When the frog landed in the card catalog, though, the kids’ glazed eyes reminded me that these kiddos don’t have a clue what a card catalog is.
The card catalog always held a certain mystique for me, the scent of polished wood and yellowed cards, a sort of massive paper brain housed right in the center of the library. I always wanted to take one of the cabinets home so I could place it in my room and fill up each of the fascinating little drawers with who knows what.
And forget Google, youngsters! We were our own search engines, with a little aid from Dewey. Was it elephants I looked up for that very first research paper in grade school, sorting through the cards and matching them up with worn spines on the shelves?
Oh, and we walked uphill both ways to school. In the snow. Barefoot.
At the end of the story, the library problem was solved when the boy left his pets at home to be read to by his well-behaved elephant. I suspect the second graders thought they were being read to by a dinosaur.
A depressing heading, to say the least, but despite this less than enthusing trio, we’re doing quite well. I keep being reminded that people DO read this blog and appreciate updates, so this is a bit of a laundry list rather than anything particularly creative or crafted.
As for a): Both Dave and I have been victims of a nasty cold for the past week, and we’re only now beginning to see the end of the tunnel. Our “adventures” this week have been trips to Walmart for Sucrets and a late-night walk yesterday to the Rite-Aid for some handy Rite-Tussin. It is almost insulting when reveling in illness to have a dog who is rather sickeningly healthy and enthusiastic to get out and run.
b): Despite being sick, I’ve been determined to keep on top of my marathon training schedule. This may be partially responsible for the illness in and of itself as I did 13 miles in a downpour last week… Logical conclusions aside, I took a nasty trip on the sidewalk during my long run yesterday and ended up with scrapes and bruises all along my right side. I’m eternally grateful for bandaids, neosporin, and a sympathetic husband.
c): Since the funding sources that kept my job alive finally dried up, I’m working a part-time/as-needed basis at Art Within for September and October, with guaranteed salary during November to help with an Art Within Labs. After that, our movie funding kicks in – or doesn’t – and it’s time for Plan B, or C, or… We trust that God knows what He’s about. The extra time is allowing me to explore other writing possibilities and to finish up my script for Act Three. Cool Beans coffee shop down on the town square has become my new office. David and I also have a passion project script we’ve been tossing around for months and hope to start on soon. More on that later…
We didn’t know whether Georgia was a temporary blip or long term. And we still don’t know for certain. But we are so grateful for everything God has worked in our lives this past year, from our finances, to our marriage to our skill and craft as artists.
Oh, and we have an official spare room with an actual (well, futon) bed now, so come visit y’all…you hear?
Remember summer as a kid, when the time between grade levels was a young eon? I still envy teachers who get that lazy summer change of pace (even though I know perfectly well how hard won and well deserved the time is). My summers were sadly marred by the TWO HOURS per day of garden work in which my sister and I were required to participate. Yes, of course it was character building. But just how much character does one need, anyway?
At any rate, as I marinate in the Georgia humidity, I find myself popping back frequently to those grade school summers in Virginia. Last week, we had a minor catastrophe at work. (Hang with me. I’m going somewhere. Promise.) The office mini-fridge freezer had formally frosted over, making it impossible for the freezer flap to shut properly, and thus, forcing the fridge door open. The result was a lot of weeping coke cans and quickly defrosting microwave lunches. And after the thawed-broccoli incident last fall, it was clearly a matter to be dealt with swiftly. I took on the icy build up with the most formidable weapon at hand: a paring knife. As I hacked away and the ice chips flew, I couldn’t help contemplating the lack of worker’s comp for my job.
Still, the cool snowfall was welcome, and it hauled me instantly back to the circa 1950s kitchen in the old farm house we rented while I was in grade school. The refrigerator was a venerable old Frigidaire, and, unless my memory is playing tricks, it lived in the back of the rather large pantry. It had a freezer, but that freezer had issues – as in the thick coating of ice that would slowly take over any actual freezer space. I’m sure it was a royal headache for my mother, but for my sister and me, it meant one thing: shaved ice.
When the time arrived for the inevitable defrost, my mom would scrape away at the ice, whittling it down, and depositing the shavings in a bowl. These ice shavings were for quick savoring before the Virginia heat reduced them to mere droplets. Those spoonfuls were pure, cold bliss, especially in a house less than aptly cooled by window units.
I’ve had a fetish for ice ever since – especially shaved or slushy ice – and my summer freezer is never complete without a box of corn syrup saturated flavor ice. I secretly covet a fridge with an automatic crushed ice device.
True, this may have something to do with that iron deficiency. But I prefer to attribute it to the Frigidaire.
It occurs to us that a new business model has emerged from the USPS. No longer the vanguards of “come sleet, come snow etc., etc.”, it now appears the Post Office is more interested in letting mail sort-of-kind-of get there whenever it’s convenient. We’ve had no less than three separate instances in the span of two weeks where relatively important pieces of mail did not arrive when even common sense had favored them with a “late” allowance. How a letter going twenty miles south of here takes more than a week to get to its destination, or why another item sits and waits across town in a sorting facility until a “2-9 day delivery window” expires, is beyond my understanding. How about a envelope sent “Priority” across the country, missing for a week and a half?
That’s what Philippe Petit called his breathtaking high wire walk between the Twin Towers, a quarter mile in the air. The coup.
