Jes and Ian

Ian and the crew had their annual Guy Weekend extravaganza at my place last weekend.  As I certainly couldn’t stay at the apartment, I decided it was high time for me to take my grandmother’s advice and participate in a poustinia–a personal religious retreat.

You’re welcome to read more about poustinia at the Madonna House website, but suffice it to say, it generally involves holing up in a room with nothing but you, some basic furnishings, a book on poustinia, and a bible. You eat bread and water/tea for the day and spend the rest of your time in contemplation.

Alright, alright! I know that most people would not think of this type of arrangement as all that fun. However, as a person who wanted to grow up and become a hermit, (albeit, I also wanted to be a contortionist, a ballerina, and a paleontologist), I like the idea of being open to solitude and simplicity. And with the clangor of numerous obligations in our lives today, I think most people can appreciate that a day without noise would not be a bad thing. What? Sit at a window and enjoy the breeze, you say? How can I refuse?

I feel like I could spend a great deal of time justifying this type of practice, whether it be to people who are uncomfortable with Catholicism, Christianity, or with just doing nothing. I don’t think it’d really get me anywhere though.

I really just wanted to write this entry because I enjoyed the time alone in God’s presence immensely. I also have found that coming home from that day has shown the time well-spent. I feel much happier, more present and appreciative with others, well rested, on better grounds with my spiritual life, and far less burnt out than I did before I went.  Though I still find it hard to stop listening to all of these various demands in my life, I am finding the time to have some quiet somewhere in my day. Whether it’s time spent listening to what my body is telling me, what my God is telling me, or what I am trying to say, that quiet time is paying off.

We really have lost touch with the joy of keeping things simple (says the girl who is writing a blog entry).

When we were on our way back from West Virginia, we invented a little game to help the miles go by quicker. Poke fun at the disgusting fast food establishments that grease up the sides of the highways. Here’s a list that we’ll keep updated. Some we think of as originals, some have been passed down through the ages.

Burger King: Booger King
Pizza Hut: Pizza Slut
Subway: Shlub Way
Taco Bell: Taco Hell
Wendy’s: Windy’s
Hardee’s: Fartee’s
Chik Fila: Sick Fila
Sbarro’s: Sbarfo’s
Roy Rogers: ‘Roid Rogers

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On March 1st, it became official that Ian and I had moved to a new place. Though I won’t talk about our new address, out of deference to my personal privacy (yay working in the human services field!), I will talk about our new place.

Not a lot of people got to see our most recent apartment arrangement, but until this month we had lived in a one bedroom (more like studio) apartment in a rowhome. Our bedroom and living room and office all merged into the same floorspace, leaving very little privacy and no room for more than two or three guests. It was a cozy clubhouse, without a doubt. However, as Ian and I have settled into our jobs and into life as a couple (we used to live with roommates), we were feeling like it was time to expand.

We were able to get a lovely apartment in a good neighborhood, with a living room, dining room, two bedrooms, and a study. We’ve got it arranged right now to where it’s more like two offices and one bedroom, but that’s more our style these days. I was able to get my cool old table from my parents’ attic to bring in for my craft and project table, and Ian was able to move his desk off of the dining table onto an actual desk. It’s really been a whirlwind move, motivated almost by a whim. Ian had mentioned an interest in starting to record again, and this was a prime opportunity for me to scratch that mild nomadic itch I have. Since college, I have not stayed at a place longer than two years. I would even say no longer than a year and a half. That makes this my sixth move in about seven years. Let’s do another experiment and see how long I can plant roots in this home!

It’s simple…

If you ever want to sell me anything, wrap it in green. There’s a good chance I’ll buy it. Not neon green or puke green. Moss green. Fern green. Pea green.

Just as the heat of Summer brings nostalgia for deep blues and fiery oranges of snowy Winter nights, Spring reminds me how much I adore green. It’s all around, beginning in the bud stages, light and pale greens, peeking out from winter’s husk of brown bark and dirt. They give way to brilliant greens as translucent leaves yield to warm sunlight. Vibrant and deep greens roll across marble-smooth hillsides of short, damp grass. Wispy tops on tall grasses form an ocean of pastely, Easter green that wave at me as I pass with my windows down. Dirty greens mix with mossy reds and lichen browns to paint the rocks at the edge of the stream. Pea green wraps the torso of my buddy as she tills the soil in our humble backyard garden.

And it grew…

We started with an idea mid-Spring last year and it pushed out a pretty good yeild. I say “humble” but our plot is actually rather substantial as far as backyards in our neighborhood go. We’ve got about 100 square feet. Enough to have 8 rows about 20 feet long. I’ve been so excited about this thing since early March that I’ve drawn up plans in Illustrator so that we can map out what would go where (pencil gardening, if you will), I’ve ordered loofah seeds online so that we can have free loofah all year long and I bought my best friend a pair of tank tops (mentioned above) to wear out while working beside me. Weeding, watering and watching are the fun parts of the work. The free food is merely a reward.

Breakin’ it down to the ground…

Moving your face to knee-level in everyday life is reserved for things like changing the cat box or tying your shoes; but for a short time each year it changes the atmosphere. Suddenly, on a still, cloudy day it’s humid and cool, you smell the dirt and the insects invite you in as one of their own (mosquitoes included). Once they reach the proper timber and pitch, the plickets of water pattering the evening-lit puddles on the trough floor give you an auditory signal that a given row has been saturated sufficiently. Witnessing things you remember as black specks on your kitchen table blossoming into entire heads of lettuce and cabbage, crawling across the ground and up the fence to personally hand you moutains of cucumbers, exploding into giant florets of broccoli and cauliflower is a reward only a child could top.

Of course, you can’t eat children…anymore.