Picture It...*

I suppose I should tell you what I've been up to lately, fill in the blog blanks that busyness and procrastination have left here. Instead, I decided to procrastinate a little further with this mosaic-making game:

Me Imagining Me

Game inspired by the ever-inspiring BohoGirl. Here's how you, too, can play at home:

Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr search. Using only the first page of returned images, choose your favorite and copy-&-paste each of the URL’s into the Mosaic Maker (3 columns, 4 rows).

The questions:
1. What is your first name? (Kristy)
2. What is your favorite food? (Mashed potatoes)
3. What high school did you attend? (Lake Braddock)
4. What is your favorite color? (Pink)
5. Who is your celebrity crush? (Ed Helms)
6. Favorite drink? (Coffee)
7. Dream vacation? (Santiago de Campostela)
8. Favorite dessert? (Ice Cream Cake)
9. What do you want to be when you grow up? (Figure skater)
10.What do you love most in life? (God)
11. One word to describe you. (Stoic)
12. Your Flickr name. (Technically "krislynn9026," but "krislynn" turned up disturbing images of Zelda-themed weddings, so I just went with "9026.")

That is all. Back to your Wednesday afternoons. But let's meet back here soon, and hopefully I'll have something interesting to tell you. And if I don't - I'll make something up. You can count on me.

*"Picture it - Sicily, 1942. A young peasant girl is making lasagna..." Ah, that Sophia. We'll miss you, Estelle!

Sunday-Morning-Kristy Begs Monday-Morning-Kristy to Remember the Following:

Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;

Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.

Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,

If with His love He befriend thee.

(lyrics by Joachim Neander, 1680)

Book 'em, Danno

Here's what I've been reading since trading in my textbooks:

The Thirteenth Tale (Diane Setterfield): The writing isn't terrific, but after a couple chapters the plot sucks you in and keeps you hooked until the end. At which point you say, "Wait....what?" Yes, the final plot twist is a bit deus ex machina, but nevertheless this gothic tale is an entertaining read.

My Sister's Keeper (Jodi Picoult): This is the first Picoult novel I've read, and my initial impression is that the woman is capable of churning out what amounts to literary crack-cocaine. Not that I've ever tried crack. And you shouldn't either. I'm just saying that this book is highly addictive, so beware! After reading it, I loaned my copy to my roommate on a Friday. Sunday morning she emerged from her room in tears and flung the book back at me, upset by the emotional roller-coaster she had just ridden, upset by the medical ethics quandry that is at the center of this family drama and for which there is no clear 'right' or 'wrong,' upset over what happens at the end to these characters whose voices are so real, and upset that the book had to end at all. Unable to cope with the withdrawal symptoms, she's moved on to one or two other Picoult novels since.

People of the Book (Geraldine Brooks): A fictionalized account of the creation and preservation of the Sarajevo Haggadah. Brooks traverses modern-day Bosnia and Boston, Victorian-era Vienna, Spain & Italy during the threat of the Inquisition, the Australian outback and North Africa as she paints highly detailed pictures of the lives of those who may have encountered the Haggadah throughout its history. The author did impressive amounts of research (as evidenced by the lengthy Acknowledgement section at the end) to provide her readers with believable historical settings and insight into the various scientific disciplines that provide clues to the Haggadah's past. Plus she throws in a little romance, espionage, and a mother-daughter conflict, so really this is a book that has it all. Except aliens. And zombies. But pretty much everything else.

Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust (Nathanael West): These two short novels were the June selection for a monthly neighborhood book club I had intended to attend. However, I didn't get around to finishing them in time and ended up skipping the meeting. I deeply regret this, as I really would have liked for someone to explain to me why this book is still in print. While it was somewhat interesting to visit the worlds of 1930's New York (Lonelyhearts) and Hollywood (Locust), overall I just didn't "get" West's point in telling these stories.

Next on deck: Jhumpa Lahiri, Michael Chabon, Alice Thomas Ellis, and a Julia Cameron book on writing (for a writing class...taught by Ms. Cameron herself!)

The Power of Positive Thinking

Still working on my workaday attitude over here. Today I'm keeping in mind that I can either spend my cubicle-dwelling hours grumbling and whining about this job, or...I could dare to dream about better environs.

According to CheapTickets.com, round-trip airfare to Guatemala in September is only $355. I'm just saying...

www.traveljournals.net/pictures/4942.html

The One with the Fake Wall

Well, my attitude towards my job has been less than stellar this week. I'm afraid the novelty of Pimp Dog might be wearing off a little, so I tried to cheer myself up by reading through quotes from Blades of Glory. That helped some. As did this video made by a bunch of pranksters:

That office may just be my ideal place to work. They pull pranks, everyone says "WTF" (my favorite workplace slang), the CEO walks around in gym clothes - sign me up! A seemingly vast improvement over my current environment, where I've never experienced any pranks and can't recall anyone saying "WTF" even once, even in jest.

Also gym clothes are contraband here, according to the latest "Business Casual" dress policy that was circulated this week. I am convinced the policy was written by a middle-aged woman in Tulsa. (No offense to you middle-aged Tulsonians, but c'mon - you know how you can be!) Here at The Firm, the policy dictates, culottes are acceptable but capri pants are not. Also, socks or stockings must be worn at all times. Even in the summer?! Yes, even in the summer, Mrs. Tulsa decrees, because she clearly does not understand the smothering heat factor of a summer commute on the NYC transit system. Culottes paired with pantyhose may serve her well as she drives to work in her air-conditioned Dodge Caravan, but they would be the death of me during my morning commute. (Cause of death: ridicule & heat stroke.)

It crossed my mind that it might be hilarious to show up to work one day wearing culottes and knee-high argyle socks. With "dress sandals" - another policy stipulation. Kind of a "Look at what your rules have reduced me to!" statement. But then I realized that my fashion-conscious performance manager would be deeply offended by my outfit, and the policy expressly states that we should avoid making others feel uncomfortable by our clothing choices. Thus another attempt at hilarity bites the dust.

Gotta go - someone has just requested that I come help them organize and sort all the emails in their Outlook inbox. Do I sense a prankster in our midst!? Sadly, unfortunately, I think she is being all too serious.

Until the next time...

Remembering Helen

She had four older siblings (one of which was my grandmother) and four younger siblings – the very middle of a set of nine. They grew up during the Depression – nine mouths to feed when food was scarce – raised alone by their mother, after their father ran off to do whatever it was men ran off to do at that time.

Her oldest brother left, too, years later, when my mom was a baby; he went west after the war and never returned east. She lost her sisters: some too young and some in later years, late in life. Then her younger brothers passed, and Helen – the middler – remained, alone of the nine.

She had red hair – whether by genetics or by choice, I’m not sure, but as far back as I can remember it was red, and she kept it red until recently, though pushing ninety years old.

The closest I’ve come to seeing a ghost was when I saw Helen at a family wedding. It was a year or two after my grandmother passed away, and suddenly there she was - my grandmother - standing in front of me. After a moment of shock, I registered the red hair and realized that no, this was Helen – she shared my Mimi’s face, but the signature hair color was all her own.

My mom would call her “a special lady” with fondness and a smile; my uncle would describe her as “a tough old bird” and he meant it with respect. He got a kick out of her. When he visited her in the hospital last year, following serious surgery, he asked if he could get her anything and she replied, “Yeah, get me a beer.”

Come to think of it, the last time I saw Helen she was sitting across from me at the kitchen table that had once belonged to my grandmother, drinking a beer.

Are these, then, my only salient memories of this woman, my great-aunt? It unnerves me a little, to think that I am carrying forward not 88 years worth of remembered struggles and successes, not knowledge of her character or disposition, not stories of what she did during the war or what she thought of Elvis & Kennedy, but rather only…the image of a beer-drinking red-head.

I was about to get all dramatic, bemoaning memories lost to time and the fleeting, transient nature of our personal experiences in the annals of human history and all that jazz. Those lamentations probably stem as much from fear that memories of my own life will one day be lost, as from my uneasiness over missing memories of Helen. But while it’s true that our lives on earth are fleeting, our memories & the minutiae of our lives are not really ever lost, are they?

I may have only been given the beer-drinking red-head image of my aunt to carry forward, but another niece may know a story of Helen’s first job and first car, and her son knows what kind of mother she was, and someone else somewhere else remembers her sense of humor. Certain pieces of our lives – some big, some small – are deposited in the minds of those around us to carry forward. Perhaps a bigger comfort, though, comes in knowing that not one detail of our life is ever lost, but is instead collected, in a treasured sum total, in the loving mind of God.

Sinatra: 10 Years Gone

I let the month of May slip by without stopping to commemorate the 10-year anniversary of Frank's death. Luckily the USPS and TurnerClassicMovies commemorated plenty.

I wandered by this building a few weeks ago in the Village. Don't you think I should live there!? Of course, now that 'Sinatra: The Man and His Movies' month has come and gone, Frank's face has probably been paved over with a new underwear ad or something. Ah, the times, they are a'changing...

Salty Tears of White-Collar Rage

I haven't been enjoying my job too much lately. By "lately" I mean the past 6 or 7 months. Or perhaps more truthfully, off-and-on since 2002. This week has been especially bad, though. Or perhaps more truthfully, my attitude has been especially bad. I gotta work on that. The circumstances of my current career may be beyond my control, but my attitude and outlook while at this job - well, these are my responsibility.

So I'm trying to replace my internal running dialogue of discontent with a little levity, focus more on the good around me and not just the bad & annoying, and keep trusting that God wants to lift my spirit higher than these beige cubicle walls. Here are some steps I took today:

A) Listened Up: I traded in a soundtrack of my own whining for some tunes on Pandora Radio. Do you know this site? It's a free internet radio station that customizes play lists based on your musical preferences. I've got a sweet mix of The Weepies/Frank Sinatra playing now, with a little Keb' Mo' and The Frames thrown in for good measure.

B) Listed Up: Instead of laboring over mental lists of grievances, I'm going to be on the lookout for the humorous. Like today: called a midtown kosher restaurant to make a lunch reservation for one of my bosses. The recorded message that played in lieu of hold-muzak featured a woman with an Australian-ish accent describing the restaurant's offerings. She said their food was Mediterannean, with a "eunich Asian twist." I'm guessing the word she actually said was "unique," but I made sure to jot down "eunich." Because that was a whole lot funnier. Though not at all kosher.

C) Word Up: I'm beginning to resent the amount of head space that my work-related accounting terms and acronyms are occupying. So I decided to counter-act their clutter by adding a new Hebrew word to my vocabulary each day, via Akhlah's daily email. Today's word was "cat." Which brings me to #D...

D) Up Dog: I changed my computer's boring, standard desktop image to a tiled background of this Pimp Dog:When I start to worry that an Excel spreadsheet is about to make my eyes bleed, I take a little gander at this grinning velvet-clad canine and kinda can't help but grin back. I think I'm going to make frequent changes to my desktop going forward, so feel free to send me your best (and by "best," I mean "worst" and "most innapropriate") images and I'll get them in the rotation.

Turtle Butt Thursday

Where?

"If you don't know where you are going, you will probably end up somewhere else." — Lawrence J. Peter

Were I to sum up the major strands of stress I'm wrestling with lately, it would probably be worry over where I'm going with my life, career-wise, and worry over where I'm going in my afterlife, eternity-wise. I'm probably not too unique in that aspect. Aren't these the age-old anxieties plagueing people everywhere?

The thing is, the latter source of worry was something that, until recently, I thought I had under control. I was pretty sure I had the answers on eternity. I could have quickly produced a theological response backed with scripture references and C.S. Lewis quotes, if you had asked.

But recent events have left me feeling raw, fearful, angry, and many other emotions that maybe kinda indicate I wasn't so solidly rooted in that theological response as I had previously assumed. Do I really believe the Christian party-line I've been parroting for 10 years? Am I willing to give it intellectual assent, but not let it seep down deep into my daily actions/ beliefs/ values? Hmmm. I dunno.

But I'm working on figuring it out.

Speaking of Foreign...

Let's talk about Paris. Hilton. (Seriously? Yes.) Let's briefly discuss her new reality TV show, where 20 people will live in a house, have their lives taped, and vie to become Ms. Hilton's new best friend.

Paris spoke to the AP about her plans, and was asked just what qualities she is looking for in a new best friend. Ms. Hilton answered that she's basically looking for someone who can handle the many challenges that come with being the friend of such a high-profile personality. When pressed to elaborate on said challenges, she explained:

"Just being in the media, just someone who's not going to care about that, just someone who cares about me."

No doubt she's picked an excellent venue - reality television - to find a person who doesn't care about being in the media. Best of luck to you, Paris!

It's Out There & I'm Missing It!

What's "out there"? Oh, just the whole rest of the world. The English countryside, Krakow, Bali, lakes I've never seen, cheeses I've never tasted, fast-talking natural-fiber-wearing people I've never met. I'm stir-crazy for travel lately. Looking at pictures of foreign locales and reading OPTB's (Other People's Travel Blogs) doesn't help - vicarious living just isn't cutting it these days. I want to go, too!

If you don't hear from me for awhile, it could be because I'm real lazy about writing. Or...it could be because I snapped, quit my job, and jumped ship to Guatemala.

If we're being honest here (and I think we should be, don't you?) it's probably due to the former (i.e. laziness), but I like to believe it could be the latter - that I really could just up-and-go and let the world be my oyster: slimy and weird-looking (?). I want to believe the tethers of "fiscal responsibility" and "pragmatism" and "the weakened U.S. dollar" are not so binding that they can't be overcome and sidestepped, when heeding that siren song of the Open Road.

Until I decide to test those tethers and break free from the Land of Beige Cubicles, here I sit - holding out hope my passport will (soon) see the light of day again...

If I Had a River...

My friend, Bananas, was in town this week to attend a career workshop type-thing. She had to do a lot of exercises related to interests/strengths/goals/aspirations. You know the type - "If money were no object, what would you do with yourself?" That kind of thing.

One interesting question Bananas had to answer, and one she asked me as we walked home via Madison Avenue, was, "If you had $10 million that you had to spend on yourself, what would you do with it?" No giving it to charity, no paying off your parents' mortgage, no buying Vespas for deserving Italian nuns - you have to spend this (imaginary) money on yourself. What would you do?

We were waiting to cross 57th street when she posed this question - Tiffany's was one block away (oh, those coveted blue boxes!), stores filled with beautiful things by nearly every famous designer were within walking distance. But the very first thought in my head, the instantaneous idea, the no-question-about-it- this-is-what-I-would-buy image was not jewelry or pretty things, not a Rogue nor a condo, but: An ice skating rink.

Of course, of course, I would build myself an ice-skating rink, and be as happy-ever-after as this bloomer-ed Alpine chick. Skating makes me so very happy.

What I haven't seriously dissected before, though, is why it brings me such joy. What is it about this activity that makes me so readily willing to drop a cool (imaginary) $10 mil on it?

As I'm searching for career guidance, for vocational discernment, for a sense of purpose and that all-too-elusive "life plan," what can I learn about my love for skating that might point me in the direction of a fulfilling professional contribution*? What are the underlying elements that bring me joy, and what are the transferable skills I can take away from skating? That is, what can I learn about myself through this hobby that might also shed light on what type of job I would enjoy?

Well, I'll have to think about that and get back to you. I also plan to include some blog-posts detailing the arc of my figure skating obsession, from the early days until now, though that will be mostly for (my) entertainment value. Not too sure I'll be able to glean any vocational wisdom out of the sordid tale, but you never can tell.

Happy Weekend! Hope everyone has some activity planned that makes them happy, in an ice-skating sort of way.

(*PS - thanks to Bananas' workshop for supplying me with "professional contribution" as a wonderful alternative to the stifling word/concept "career" )

Diary of a Girl Without Commitments

Today is my 5th day of Freedom since my class ended. The last 2+ months made for one long haul; pretty much every minute of free time was zapped by course work, with every other minute zapped by guilt when I wasn't doing course work. A vicious cycle, indeed, which ended Saturday morning at 9am when I dropped all my course materials in the mail and began...the Rest of My Life.

So far the Rest of My Life has been going ok. It started with that fortuitous vacuum cleaner sighting, and continued with a walk in Central Park. I hadn't slept at all the night before, but the day was too sunny and too Spring-y to stay home napping. While traipsing around the Reservoir, enjoying the newly-flowering trees and counting the number of turtles I passed (22!), I came up with the brilliant and hilarious plan to compile a portfolio of pictures of animal butts. (PS-If you don't agree that this idea is both brilliant and hilarious, then you probably aren't sleep-deprived.) Please enjoy this sampling of my work, a photo I call "Double-Geese-Butt Shot":

The rest of Saturday and Sunday passed in a blur of productive cleaning and napping and recovery. I tested out my new M.O. of asking "What do you want to do right now?" instead of "What do you have to do?" It felt pretty good. Life felt pretty good, really - more interesting and hope-full than it has in a while. I took deep breaths. I took long walks. I stretched.

Sunday night my friend Bananas rolled into town for a couple of days, and we celebrated the Rest of My Life by eating good food & good pastries, and talkin' 'bout life, careers, Scandinavia, and of course, Kurt Browning. Leaving work Monday evening for a stroll up Madison Ave. with a friend, instead of rushing off to a coffee shop to spend quality time with my text books, felt great! More deep breaths.

Today, however, I fear the sheen of this newfound freedom is dulling slightly. I don't quite know what to do with myself, with my free time, and with The Rest of My life (ah, the $million$ question). Do I read this book, or that book? Job search? Watch a movie? Go to bed at 8pm every night? Take up oil painting and macrame and sign up for a tango class?

Now, what I really need to do, what my head & heart really need me to do, is a whole bunch of soul-searching, prayerful self-reflection. I'm not so good at reflection. It doesn't fit neatly on a To-Do list, because reflection often involves sitting quietly somewhere, not doing anything, ostensibly.

Nonetheless, there's no way around it. So stay tuned for more on what I've learned over the past few months, reflections on my future, and of course my ongoing struggle with time-management (now that sounds like gripping reading, doesn't it, people!? :)

Spring Cleaning?

This morning I saw a vacuum cleaner in a tree.

That's gotta be a good omen for something, right?

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Class is done. I am tired. But ready to write. You'll be hearing from me.

That's the (Right) Stuff

Just read on cnn.com that the New Kids on the Block are reuniting. I'm not particularly excited about this, but I thought you might be interested. 'Cause you were probably a big fan of theirs, back in the day. Me - not so much. I mean, maybe I had one (or two) NKotB tapes. And possibly the sheet music for their Christmas album. And I may have had a t-shirt with all of their faces on it. And also a keychain. But that's about it, really.

Oh yeah - and Joey McIntyre and I have the same birthday, almost. But that doesn't really mean anything (except that we were clearly fated to be together...)

Before you go judging me for the musical mistakes of my youth, I'd like to point out that I never owned this NKotB bedspread. But I'm pretty sure that Lauren, this girl who lived down the street from me, did. So if anyone is a crazed boy-band dork, it's Lauren. Not me. Let's just all remember that, please.