2nd Grader: Lisa! I want to be your partner!

[Pulls away a second, touches my stomach]

2nd Grader: You have 2 stomachs!

Me: [speechless for a second or 2...] Why yes I do….

Fellow Mentor to My Rescue: I have 2 stomachs too!

[2nd grader feels her stomach(s) to confirm this]

2nd Grader: But I don’t. I only have one.

Me: You just wait till you get to be our age and you will have 2 stomachs too.

[2nd grader runs over to 3rd mentor to feel her stomach]

2nd Grader: But Rebecca doesn’t have – oh wait. Yes she does.

—-

design is not window dressing.

design is not about making things pretty.

design is about problem solving.

I don’t believe in shoving my beliefs down someone else’s throat (although, there are times when I really would like to) so I won’t be doing that here. It’s been my experience that if people want to know more about why I believe what I believe or even just what I believe, then they will ask. Sometimes it naturally comes up in conversation. In either situation, I’m more than happy to share.

But, I am definitely on the quieter side in sharing and I most likely will continue to be b/c that is who I am too! “Quiet Lisa” I’d like to think of myself as — of course, my close friends will say there is nothing quiet about me, particularly when it comes to my faith.

Now, c’mon now. Not every blog post will be about my faith. I’ll still continue with random silliness or air my complaints (that’s really what I’m best at) or even write about design (as I claim I will in my tagline). But here I need to be free to be myself completely: that is, a silly, good-at-complaining, high maintenance girly girl who happens to be a born again Christian.

Mmmhmmmmm.

—

I’ve decided that I use the word “beautiful” much too often.

I’ve described many things as “beautiful”: photographs, people, designs, technology, art. However, after reading Marilynne Robinson’s “Gilead“, I realized that I needed to curb my use of the word because what other word could aptly describe this book and do it justice? Not that my use of the word “beautiful” in the past was ever inappropriate but it’s a word I have over-used and by doing I think I’ve diluted it’s meaning and impact.

“Gilead” is a carefully architected piece of literature. It’s not the most fascinating book I’ve read nor is it hurried. Cautious and intricate in emotion, it’s comprised of letters from a dying minister to his young son. Hoping to fill the fatherless void that will be left by his imminent demise, the father details for his son their life story, their family history, his hopes for him, instruction, his own struggles and fears. He’s open, honest and humble.

Here are a few excerpts:

“So my advice is this – don’t look for proofs. Don’t bother with them at all. They are never sufficient to the question, and they’re always a little impertinent, I think, because they claim for God a place within our conceptual grasp. And they will likely sound wrong to you even if you convince someone else with them. That is very unsettling over the long term. ‘Let your works so shine before men,’ etc. It was Coleridge who said Christianity is a life, not a doctrine, words to that effect. I’m not saying never doubt or question. The Lord gave you a mind so that you would make honest use of it. I’m saying you must be sure that the doubts and questions are your own, not, so to speak, the mustache and walking stick that happen to be the fashion of any particular moment.”

—

“I do enjoy remembering that morning. I was sixty-seven, to be exact, which did not seem old to me. I wish I could give you the memory I have of your mother that day. I wish I could leave you certain of the images in my mind, because they are so beautiful that I hate to think they will be extinguished when I am. Well, but again, this life has its own mortal loveliness. And memory is not strictly mortal in its nature, either. It is a strange thing, after all, to be able to return to a moment, when it can hardly be said to have any reality at all, even in its passing. A moment is such a slight thing, I mean, that its abiding is a most gracious reprieve.”

—

Beautiful.

well, here i am, a little over a year later… and it’s been nearly 3 months since my last post.

why is there so much in between my posts? well, i haven’t been able to think of anything to write about! i mean, i guess that’s not entirely true. there are things for sure: silly things… serious things…. random things… senseless things… but then it requires time and energy and thought and… well, i’ve just been lazy. but since i do need to get back into the habit of writing/posting regularly…

may i present the return of the hc.

hc story #78: there once was a fish who had a lightbulb. the end.

I love to read. I always have.

When I was a child, probably around the ages of 5 or 6, I would write my own stories (as best as any 5 or 6 year old can), draw pictures alongside of them (in the style of the picture books I owned of course) and then staple the pages together so that it seemed like a real book. As I got older, books like The Secret Garden, The Nancy Drew Series, The Sweet Valley Twins, the E.B. White books, books by Beverly Cleary & Judy Blume were among my favorites. In high school my interest in books aligned with whatever was handed down in English class: Hawthorne, Emerson, Hardy, Shakespeare were the natural favs. I was never big on poetry (although, Robert Sean Leonard & Ethan Hawke did help pique my interest a bit there). And then in college, my interests became more philosophical and period-centric as an English major.

These days, my interests have taken on a wide range of genres: from the fun, frilly girly book (thank you Sophie Kinsella!) to historical fiction to biographies & auto-biographies to theology.

One of my newly favorite authors is C.S. Lewis. I remember reading some of the Narnia books in elementary school (I went to a private, Christian school for grades K-4), but my young mind could not possibly grasp the meaning behind the allegories prevalent throughout the series. In college, I read The Screwtape Letters, but again, it’s deeper meaning went over my head as did an appreciation for, what I’ve come to currently regard as, the genius of Mr. Lewis.

Over the last year, I’ve read several of his books, amongst them being The Great Divorce, Till We Have Faces, and a re-reading of The Screwtape Letters.  I think it was Till We Have Faces that pushed me into the Lewis fan club. The subtitle is “A Myth Retold” as it is a retelling of the Greek mythology of Cupid and Psyche, told from the perspective of Psyche’s older sister, Orual.

Throughout the book, the ugly Orual has an unhealthy, possessive love for her beautiful, younger sister Psyche, which, eventually, comes to harm Psyche. Orual is incredibly bitter over the fate met her and Psyche and hopes that, by chronicling her seemingly unjust tale, the injustice of the gods will be brought to light and rectified.

After laying out her entire argument before the god of the mountain who she finally meets at the end of her journey, Orual writes:

“I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?”

This, I believe, is the most beautiful statement and moment in the book. Whatever one claims to believe (agnosticism, atheism, etc.), I don’t think that it is possible for one to come to a different conclusion than she does at that moment.

That impossibility is what amazes me about Lewis: there is a remarkable depth of insight into the human psyche in each of his books which can be understood by all audiences and the conclusions reached by the end are seemingly incontrovertible.

I’m encouraged and inspired as I read and re-read his work and expect that the more I delve into his writing, the more of a fan I’ll become.

i had broken my left wrist. i was in a cast for 6 weeks.

—

when i was 12 years old, i twisted my left ankle getting up off the couch. who twists their ankle getting up from a couch? not thinking it was a big deal, i subsequently went out and rode my bike, aggravating the ankle injury.

i had to go into physical therapy for 3 months.

—

when i was 15 years old, i got a hairline fracture in my right shin bone from running track. i was not able to run for 5 months after that.

—

when i was 17 years old, i was playing soccer sans shin guards in gym class. some girl kicked my right leg instead of the ball. i collapsed immediately, unable to get up and walk. i was rushed to the doctor. thankfully there was no fracture but i had the nastiest black & blue, spanning from my ankle to my knee, along w/nerve damage.

it’s very strange to touch your leg and not feel anything.

—

when i was 24 years old, i decided to play flag football w/my church. they had a turkey bowl league established with other churches in the area. at the first practice of the season, i fell, hurting my left ankle. i was taken to the hospital the next day b/c my ankle was the size of a melon. i had not only sprained it but had torn some tendons. thankfully, though, i did not need surgery but was on crutches for a month and used a cane for 2 months after that.

this city is so not handicap friendly.

—

last year, i decided to train for a triathlon to get my sorry butt into shape. i injured my back (how i’m not exactly sure) and my ankle (from running) so that ended that.

—

a few days before christmas of last year, i went to the grocery store. the ground was incredibly icy and given my track record for falling and spraining my ankles, i was treading very slowly and cautiously along the ice in my snow boots. but even so, the ice won out: i fell. the funny thing is though, it wasn’t my ankle that i twisted: it was my right wrist that i broke. i was airborne for a split second and the first thing i hit when i hit the ground was my wrist.

that was fun: getting to the ER; the ER itself; being sent home w/out having seen the orthopedist; the orthopedist freaking out the next day for the ER having sent me home w/a dislocated-broken-in-2-places wrist; the surgery on christmas eve; the metal plate; the loud hospital room roommate on christmas eve; leaving the hospital on christmas day; the scar that i will have for life; the physical therapy; the newly given ability to predict the rain…

good times.

—

a few days ago, i was in a bit of a frenzy trying to get somewhere and ran to hail a cab. given my state of mind, i was not paying attention to where i was running, lost my footing and fell. my left ankle completely gave under me twisting and spraining. as my ankle was collapsing, my right knee came down and hit the sidewalk… a bit… hard. i’ll spare you the details but it was not pretty. my ankle swelled to the size of a baseball and my knee, well… let’s just say that it hurts.

we’ll see how long this one takes to heal and if i’ll be able to do the 5k i had begun to train for in november.

something tells me that this won’t be the last time i injure myself.

How do you commemorate the XX* years of your older sister?
Just how do you celebrate the life of your older, more elder sibling?
I suppose the usual birthday fanfare would be in order for the, mmm, more advanced in age of the brother-sister duo.
Said older sister may even enjoy a trip down memory lane through the decades…
Say, do you remember, older sister, when being older was an advantage long envied by your younger brother?
And did you know, older sister, that being older is a privilege you shall always & forever enjoy?
Anyway, Happy Birthday, older sister!
I admire you, am so proud of you and –
dare I say it –
even love you…

God bless.
Your baby bro

*i purposely x’d this out!

yes. powers.

The Other Night
i met up with a couple of friends for dinner. we were having a lovely time: went to a great cuban restaurant and decided to go elsewhere for coffee and dessert. i’d been experiencing twinges of pain in my wrist all day which i tried to ignore but as the evening progressed, this became increasingly difficult…

sometime during coffee…
me: is it going to rain?
e&j: no. it’s not supposed to – why?
me: my wrist is killing me.
they laugh out loud

30 minutes later after a big, loud thunder crack…
me: what did i tell you.
e: oh MY!
j: i’m calling you every time i need to know the weather!

we rush to the subway and the pain in my wrist is intensifying as we near the station. i don’t understand why it it’s hurting so much when it’s not even raining – although, the wind is gusting and there is thunder and lightning everywhere but still. we make it in to the station before we see any rain. we get on the train, thinking nothing more of the storm.

a few minutes later, the train goes above ground…

oh. my. goodness.

we are witnessing an intense torrential downpour that would not let up for the next hour.

the next day i find out that it was one of the worst storms the tri-state has had in awhile… the worst storm central park had seen in 30 years.

i grip my wrist.

what the heck! it usually hurts WHEN it’s raining… but i’ve only recently discovered that it hurts BEFORE it rains… or before there’s any indication of rain.

this is not the sort of bionic power i would have hoped for but hey – i’ll take what i can get.