Amazing E Resource

I do hope that all of you out there know about someecards.com, the absolutely most hilarious ecard website in the universe. Here are a few of my favorites from them this Christmas:

Jesus: The Christmas Rubix Cube

 

So I have to say that this is the least Christmas-y Christmas season I have probably ever experienced.  By coincidence of a busy season at both my jobs and some mid-December traveling, here I find myself on Christmas Eve day not having done anything Christmas-y. I've not made or eaten a single Christmas cookie. I've not consumed a drop of eggnog. I've not been to a single cocktail party or donned a Christmas sweater even once. I haven't decorated a tree or seen a dressed up Santa Claus. I've not been to an office Christmas party (JDogg's work is too cheap for that sort of thing and my work only has 2 employees, not quite enough for an all out drunken, fattening, gossip-fest) and I've not even taken a driving tour of the trashy Somerville Christmas lights display.  In actuality, the only holiday things I have done are not been able to find a parking space at the mall and watch "Love Actually" several times per week which I do during most seasons. See what I'm saying? Least Christmas-y Christmas ever! Now I'm not saying any of this in a forlorn way. I'm don't feel sad or forsaken over any of this....more like just surprised as in, "how the hell did I make it this far in the season without doing any of this stuff?"

Funny thing, though: I feel like it's going to be a good Christmas. For the first time in a long time, I feel as though I'm actually going to be able to celebrate the day in the spirit for which it was intended; as though I'm actually going to be able to reflect a bit about what was going on in a manger in Bethlehem 2000 years ago and what the hell it has to do with me. 

My initial thoughts are these, for those of you who care: Christmas is not a one-shot spiritual vaccine against despair. I've often, in the past, had hopes that Christmas would really rev up my spiritual life all in one day, like a existential Red Bull or something. Angels! Harps! Babies! Cattle Lowing! Virgins! Hallelujah! How could I be anything but full of spiritual fulfillment and joy? But actually, I've decided Christmas is more like a Rubix cube in your stocking. We've got all these problems in the world and in our own situations and God's answer to all this (at least Christians see it this way) is a little baby in some hay. And we might ask, what the hell am I supposed to do with that? How will this help me? Well, my job now is to figure that out. And this is where that journey begins, on Christmas. Like the starting gun of a marathon, it doesn't signal that the race is run, only that it's begun. And now I have the next whole year to figure out what that strange baby (and what he grew up to do and say) offers me in terms of hope and a future, and in that way find joy, in the long term, in the depth, not in the mall parking lot. Though it would be nice if I could get a little divine help there too.

So Merry Christmas to all you readers. I hope that however you celebrate, you find God's peace in this season!

:) LIOLI

Black Out

Okay. That's it folks. Black Friday has gotten WAY too out of control. You must be stopped.  While I can sort-of understand the thrill of getting some gizmo for 1/3 the price at 5 a.m. cause it's fun, I was just alerted to the fact that Walmart was open all night last night with the express purpose that people can prowl the store ALL NIGHT before getting in on the 5 a.m. sale action. While I commend this effort to make sure people don't get trampled at the 5 a.m. opening time, I think this is just a little silly. And I have to implore you: Stop. Stop America. Stop being so ridiculous.

Sorry Your Life Sucks

So here's something that's been on my mind lately: What on earth do you say when greeting street people? In my current position, I interact almost daily with people in various stages of homelessness. But I never quite know how to begin my conversations with them. My educated, middle-class social instinct would be to lead with: "Great to meet you. Do you live in (fill in town I happen to be in at that moment)?" But that won't work, right, because that's the WHOLE DAMN POINT that they don't live ANYWHERE.  My typical back-up question for social conversation is, "And what do you do for a living?" which also mostly won't work for obvious reasons. So I usually result to, "How are you doing?" which I sometimes I later regret, because the answer, whether they say it like this or not is, "How the F&*% do you think I'm doing? I'm F(*$ing homeless!"

No need to insert commentary here on a society that assess our value on where we live and what we do as a job, as I'm sure you could all compose this in your own heads, and I do know that asking how people are is in fact showing them kindness, which is helpful in some grand scheme of things. But what I'm talking about is how to get to know people, in a meaningful way, without using any conventional modes of conversation or making inappropriate assumptions (So, you must be staying at the shelter?) or making people uncomfortable (Please tell me your life story including all the tragic details so that I can get to know you.).

Yet another one of the many conundrums of my particular ministerial setting that I have yet to answer.....

Update: Mozarella Madness

So we made mozzarella. And here's the CRAZY part: It actually worked!

As previously noted, we geared up for this by making some other, less labor intensive dairy products, like yogurt and cream cheese. But this weekend we decided we were finally ready.

So we went out and got some milk, which sounds easy, but is a significant part of the process as it's necessary to get milk that is not-ultra pasteurized. But we found some nice local, organic, non-ultra-pasteurized milk and brought it home. And then we heated it. To a very exact temperature.

 

And then we added the "magic" powder. And then we put the lid on and waited. And, incredibly, everything got really thick and the curd separated from the whey. And we cut the curd like this: 

 And then we heated it up again, until this WACKINESS started to happen:

 

 And it eventually all stuck together like this:

 And we could stretch it out, which you're supposed to do. Something about the proteins.

 But it's actually really hot, so sometimes you drop it.

 And then we got smart and used a spoon.

 And after tons of streching and reheating and more stretching and more reheating, it looks like this:

 Which you immediately slice up, put on pizza (with dough made from whey!) and enjoy:

Impressive, right? Apparently not if you're a dog;

Maple Shacks and Magic (Or: We made CHEESE!)

I've not been keeping up on my blogging lately, mostly because I've been dedicating a significant amount of time lately to wallowing in self-pity, which has left me little time for composing my thoughts and publishing them in the blog-o-sphere. Aside from the overwhelming nature of both my jobs, we've experienced a number of losses in our families lately, which, having all come in rapid succession, has made it difficult for me to focus on anything in a productive manner. You should know that usually I'm quite an efficient person.  But sometimes, when things get just enough off kilter, I can't quite channel my productive energies in the right direction and I end up doing completely random tasks which, though being carried out very effectively, are mostly irrelevant and not at all helpful to the general trajectory of my life. For instance, when I was in school and had significant deadlines approaching, I would frequently decide that at that exact moment what really needed to be done was (Fill in ridiculous and time-consuming task here.  Good examples are cleaning out the dishwasher drain catch, washing and ironing the curtains, adding tags to photos in my digital albums, alphabetizing books on the bookshelf, etc.). And so I would go off to pursue curtain cleaning or whatever with the vigor and focus that I should be saving for reading and writing papers.

And so one might see it as either a fortuitous turn of events or a simple psychological coping mechanism that just at the moment when everything seems to be completely out of control in my life, I decided to learn how to make cheese.

Well, that might be exaggerating a bit.  I actually signed up for cheese-making class last spring when, inspired by a scene in Animal Vegetable Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, a fellow bookclubber and I vowed to pursue the art of cheesemaking with our respective (and quasi-reluctant) spouses.  Apparently we weren't the only ones who had this fabulous idea, however, as the class was booked out for about 6 months.  But we signed up anyway, and I had almost forgotten about it by the time it rolled around, and the timing was just perfect for me to launch a new quasi-ridiculous obsession. 

The class is offered by Ricki the Cheese Queen who has been running a cheese-making supply company out of her home in central Massachusetts for about the last 30 years.  We should have been alerted to the weirdness of this program when after signing up online, our receipt arrived in the mail along with a fairly wacky and low-budget DVD about cheesemaking and a note reminding us to not wear deodorant on the day of the class due to the Cheese Queen's allergies. Nevertheless, we powered ahead, agreeing to meet at the class early that Saturday morning. (Our friends were smart enough to make a weekend out of it in a cute bed and breakfast near the site, which is about 2 hours from Boston. But we, perennial procrastinators that we are, didn't think of booking anywhere until the last minute, and wouldn't you know it, couldn't find anywhere that could accommodate us and our 90 pound dog. Go figure.)

When the day dawned, we packed up the pooch in the back seat and headed west to Ashfield, MA right in the foothills of the Berkshires.  The class was to meet in the Cheese Queen's home and the google directions we followed to get there took us past all the quintessential elements of New England scenery.....fall foliage, white church spires in tucked-away valleys, and shacks selling all variety of maple products.  When we arrived in the town, it appeared about 3 blocks long, made up of mostly classically white farm homes and several white country churches. Then, emerging from the morning fog, appeared our destination, which, in stark opposition to the subtle cape-codders on all sides of it, looked like this:

Like some other-worldly house of whimsy, the Cheese Queen's palace was one of the most ecclectic residences I have laid eyes on.  A mish-mash of bright colors, with antique yard furniture almost melting into the lawn, the porch was decorated with a variety of global art and approximately 58 jack-o-laterns. Upon entering, it became clear the outside was just the beginning.

We were escorted inside by Jamie, teaching assistant and some relation to the Cheese queen though the exact nature of their togetherness was unclear. What we thought would be a small gathering of uniquely motivated cheese connoisseurs (we were expecting 8-10 folks like us), turned out to be a group of 42, crammed around plastic folding tables in such proximity as to allow us to discern the weirdness of many of those around us with relatively ease. Here's our classroom during one of the breaks:

We came to find out later that among us were several chefs, a physicist, a "motivational speaker," several home-schoolers and a Presbyterian minister (aka yours truly!). After a few minutes of sitting and reveling in the complete randomness of this event, we were silenced for the entrance of the Cheese Queen. Middle-aged with a huge mop of frizzy hair and wearing what can only be described as a full-body, tie-dyed jumper, she floated into the room and began what was to be the next six hours of learning the techniques of cheese making.  Part demonstration, part practicum, part running commentary on the politics of the dairy-industry, it was quite whirlwind, but, ultimately, a fairly awesome and completely unique experience.

During the class, we learned the techniques for making queso blanco, fromage blanc, creme freche, cream cheese, yogurt, ricotta, mozzarella and cheddar. There was separating of curds and whey, cutting of curd, straining into cheese cloth, pressing in a cheese mold, all the procedures you've heard about and always wondered what they meant. Here's our friend A cooking up some Farmhouse Cheddar in the cheese press:

A beautiful and, of course, cheese-rich lunch was served in the kitchen and living areas and the afternoon was dedicated to mozzarella making. We left around 5 p.m. overflowing with cheesemaking wisdom (and supplies!). I for one felt quite satisfied: who else learns how to make cheese in a wacky, whimsical retreat in the Berkshires? Well, if you don't, then I'll let you in on the secret: the basic process for making all cheese is: Step 1: Heat some milk to a specified temperature. Step 2: Add "magic powder": (usually certain enzymes or live cultures).  Step 3: Let sit for a longer time than you would imagine milk should sit out. Step 4: Enjoy!

Here we are after surviving cheese madness:

Since we've returned we've made yogurt and cream cheese and have pans to make creme fraiche soon. Here's Mr. LIOLI cookin' up some cream cheese: Awesome.

Warning: Career Choice Can Be Fatal

Bad news: I just found out that being a pastor may kill me. Not like existentially, but literally: A study was just released that found that pastors, on the whole, are much more likely than their non-clergy peers to experience obesity, hypertension and depression. The study links thes trends to the overall stress of the job as well as working too much. To which I say: Duh. Any job that asks you to go out to coffee 7 times a day and also demands that you be consistently emotionally balanced, available for emergencies at a moment's notice, spiritually grounded at all times and proficient in a variety of areas including preaching, teaching, plumbing, social work, crisis intervention, mediation, photo-copier repair, financial management, interior design, non-profit administration, singing, institutional change and food preparation, is bound to drive you nuts. And certainly into the cookie jar (or the wine rack) much too often.

Now I have said before, on this very blog, that pastoring is not difficult. And I stand by that. It's not difficult in the way that coal-mining is difficult. Or being an air traffic controller. Or a police officer.  But it is challenging in a more constant way than some other jobs. Because you're a pastor all the time. When you're at work or not, when you're awake or asleep, when you're with your church members or your friends, you're a pastor. Now this certainly doesn't mean that you act like it all the time (thank goodness!), but it certainly an identity that follows you, a reality that can get really tiring. And, as Mr.L and I were recently discussing with another couple over dinner earlier this week, the work follows you as well. It's as if the tasks of the pastoral life ooze out like some Ghostbusters-2-esque blob into all areas of your life. 

Now, many pastoral leaders these days like to talk a lot about "boundaries." "You should set boundaries," they say, "then you wouldn't have these problems." Set boundaries about how much you work and when and who can call and on what number and so on and so on and so on.  But it's more difficult than it seems. Especially when you're in a small church or one without a lot of resourced folks with other support systems around them.  For instance, it's Friday evening and you get a call that someone is in the hospital. Do you take the call? If you do, do you put your family dinner on hold and go? Or wait for the next day? What if they don't have any family or friends and they'll be alone until you come? Or let's say it's Saturday afternoon and you still haven't finished your sermon for Sunday. Do you take a break from your relaxation or house projects to finish it up? Or do you deliver the crappy half-crafted message you've got already? It's Thursday, your only day off, and you get an email from someone who is having a difficult time due to (insert emotional, financial, physical, familial or situational crisis here). Do you respond? Or wait? What if the church is flooding? Do you go? They are difficult decisions to make and ones challenged by our views of pastors and the extent of pastoral compassion.  These are real things that are happening in real people's lives. And it can be difficult to draw boundaries around that.

On top of all this, how do you stop thinking about/worrying about/problem solving all the issues of a complex organization like a church when you walk out the door? I often find that even with no one calling me, I still spend huge portions of my days off stressed out about problems happening at the church. "What are we going to do about our fundraiser if it doesn't go well?..... I hope that person I talked to on Tuesday is going to be okay....... Did I remember to email the music director the song for this week?" And so on and so on and so on.

This is still something I'm working hard to work through. And I certainly don't know what the answer is. But I want to figure it out before I wake up in 20 years, obese, hypertense and depressed. I wish they had put a warning label on my diploma......

Sabbath Remix

Just a quick note to say I'm back on the sabbath bandwagon (in case you were wondering) after a few weeks of sabbath slacking. I was doing well for a while, but lost track somewhere around week 5 and then ended up sliding down the slippery slope of "Well, just this one little work email. It's important and time sensitive." and "Of course I can meet on Friday if that's the only day you can meet." and "Well, it's not really work if I write a little of my sermon."

But I am trying to get back on track.

And I'm off to a good start. We spent a wonderful sabbath dinner last night with dear friends E&D, who, though I had not yet mentioned them in this blog, have been a huge inspiration to me in my own Sabbath practice.  They've been gracious enough to host us on countless occasions in the past few years, inviting us in for the most extravagant and scrumptious Sabbath feasts one could imagine. (My person favorite remains the gourmet tortilla soup prepared after a trip they took to Mexico during which they took a cooking class! Delicious and incredibly authentic!) The company is always just as wonderful as the fare.

So we were privileged to host them last night for peppered pecans, fall salad, pumpkin soup (served in pumpkins! Move over Martha!) and baked apples with caramel sauce (for which I forgot to set the timer and they ended up exploding and ultimately looked like a soupy mess of apple shrapnel, but they still tasted okay. Okay, Martha, you're back on.)

All this reminds me that I've come to the conclusion that cooking and eating together is an essential Sabbath discipline. There is just something powerful about putting significant effort into making a meal and then enjoying it (slowly!) with others that results in incredible community building and unparalleled relaxation. I think even the most elegant meals out cannot compare to the nourishment one can get from cooking and eating together.

So, let me say a belated Shabbat Shalom to friends near and far!

I'm Sailing Away

Did I mention that I'm taking sailing class? That's right. Sailing. Like on a boat. With sails and stuff. And no motor. Why am I doing this? You might ask. And the answer is simple: because sometimes when you are married that is what you do, you take sailing class.

When we moved to this area a few years ago, Mr. LIOLI discovered a passion for sailing. He had sailed a bit as a kid with his parents and his interest in it was rekindled when we moved so close to the water. For a few years he was a member of a non-profit community sailing operation on the river near where we live. But he had soon learned most of what he could there and it was time to move up. So he researched sailing schools on the harbor to find the best place to get experience with bigger boats and different types of cruising (such as sailing in the ocean, and at night, and in the ocean at night, etc.)  Fortunately or unfortunately for me, I'm not yet sure, he found one. And we signed up.

If you're wondering how I got involved, so am I. It turns out these dreams of sailing were not simply one of Mr.LIOLI's many serial hobbies, but something he wants to do long term. Something, he tells me, that has the potential to turn into a lifestyle (READ: a black hole into which money and time can be poured without guilt.)

I found (and find) all this rather questionable, especially since I don't particularly like boats and get fairly seasick when aboard them, a fact that I unfortunately had discovered several years ago on our honeymoon aboard a cruise ship. (Yeah, I KNOW.) Anyway, somehow this line of suspicious logic was extended to include the fact that since Mr. LIOLI and I have loose plans to be together for the long term and he plans to get into sailing for a long term,  it was important that I learn something about sailing as well. So here I find myself, in sailing class.

So far I've learned a few useful things, such as:
1. I have learned that sailing has it's own vocabulary. There are ropes (just like other ropes) but in sailing they are called sheets. And they have maps, but they're not called maps, they're called charts. And turning left is not called turning left, it's called "tacking." Turning right is called "jibing." The list goes on and on. 
2. I have learned lots of stuff about the weather that I didn't think I would ever know. Such as what low and high pressure systems mean, something I have heard on the news 2 million times and not had a clue about. (e.g. The weatherman says, while pointing at a green screen with images of swirling red or blue arrows, "We have a high pressure system moving in tonight....." Ask me later and I can explain it to you. Also, did you know that high pressure systems always move clockwise while low pressure systems always move counter-clockwise? Go figure.)
3a. I have learned that sailing in the fall in New England is not much like the Caribbean sailing that I see in the movies. There is much less sunning, no lounging around, and no mai tais. Also there is no swimming, that is unless things have gone terribly wrong. And you're not wearing a bikini...you're wearing wool socks and foul weather gear.
3b. I have learned that the reason there is so much less recreating on the sailboat in real life than there is in the movies is because sailing is actually kind of difficult. You actually have to be thinking and paying attention most of the time in order to not run aground, or tip over, or die, basically. And, unfortunately, this is not just true for the skipper. But for EVERYONE ON THE BOAT, all of whom must be paying attention and participating in sailing.
4. Lastly, I have learned (and I hope Mr. LIOLI is not reading this as I don't want to admit it to him yet) that sailing is actually kind of fun. I mean I'm not committing to it in the long term, but it's definitely growing on me.

So if you don't see as many posts recently, it's probably because I'm out on the water practicing my taks and jibes and generally feeling nauseous but having a great time. You can come down and look for me. I might look something like this:

Introducing The Love-it-or-leav-itt Correspondence School of Life Skillz

In my teaching job, we often talk about curriculum development, teaching objectives, benchmarks, etc. which are all just ways of saying, "What do we think it is important for students to learn?" But the answer to this question is always fairly nebulous and usually nothing the students end up internalizing longer than 5 minutes after the final is over. I wonder if we might ask instead, what do these students need to know? Like, for life?

Talking to my nephew this summer who is about to enter middle school, I had a flash of inspiration: let's only teach him things he absolutely needs to know! (You can think things like this when you are an aunt rather than a parent, because you have no overall responsibility for the development of the child other than periodically spoiling him or her and teaching swearwords when appropriate. It is for this reason I think it is a WAY better deal to be an aunt.) Anyhow, I mentioned to my sister and brother-in-law that I'd be happy to admit my nephew into the "Love-it-or-leav-itt" Correspondence School of Life Skillz. Though they politely declined, I kept thinking about it and came up with some of the required courses in said school:
Math for Restaurant Tipping
Slang 1: Building Social Capital
Humor 1: Jokes and Timing
Slang 2: Expletives (Pre-requisite: Slang 1)
Humor 2: Storytelling and Exaggeration
Chemistry 1: Cooking for Life: Pizza, Pasta, Tacos
Chemistry 2: Mixology (Students 21 and Over Only), BYOB
Etiquette
Physical Education: Swimming, Jogging, Biking and NOT Square Dancing
Driver's Education 1: Not Killing Others
Driver's Ed Accelerated: DE1: Not Killing Others Taught Concurrantly With: DE2: Not Being an Ass
Automechanics
Social Studies 1: How to Access Wikipedia
Constitutional Law & Good Citizenship: Why to Vote and How Not to Get Screwed by the Government
Bible 1: The Old Testament: Myth, Incest, Conquest, & Politics in Ancient Canaan
Bible 2: The New Testament: Greek Worldview, Blood Atonement Theology, Mysogony and Apocalypse

Anyway, I think I've got something here. Don't you? Who's in? Anyone have a neice or nephew we could use for a trial run?

1 Person Dis-"Likes" This

I've been thinking recently that I'm too awkward for Facebook. I know what you're going to say: "No one is too awkward for Facebook." But I am, actually.
I should tell you that I joined facebook late in life, after no longer being able to tolerate consistently being the object of comments such as:
"Did you see the picture of you that so-and-so put on Facebook? It's so cute. Ohhhh...that's right. You're not on Facebook..." Awkward silence.
or
FB User: "You didn't come to my party on Saturday." Pout-y face.
Me: "I didn't know you were having a party on Saturday."
FB User: "Umm...but I invited you."
Me: "Really? I don't remember getting an invitation."
FB User: "Yeah, I invited everyone who I'm friends with on Facebook."
Me: "But I'm not on Facebook."
FB User: "Oh. (Silence.) Awkward."

Anyway, I eventually joined and I should admit I was able to make some good connections with folks from the past (though they never went beyond the initial "Oh my GOD, how are YOU? What are you DOING?" and then "How are YOU? What are YOU doing?").  And I do periocially enjoy e-spying on the lives of friends and family who don't live locally. (For instance, I just saw a picture posted of a friend of mine in front of the Taj Mahal, which I thought was a joke, until I visited her page and found out she is actually in India right now. Go figure!)

But recently I've realized that I'm just too awkward for it all. Mostly because I become paralyzed with indecision about how to resond to most people's posts. And then I end up feeling like an awkward lurker who never responds to anything, like some loner kid in the corner of the gym at the middle-school dance not talking to anyone (was I this kid? I can't really remember, but it's possible.). Anyway, maybe I'm just too old-fashioned, but I just have no idea what to say when someone posts news of some huge life-changing event on Facebook, such as engagement, marriage, pregnancy, career change, break-ups, moves, troubling family situations, etc. As most of us (or probably more than some given my professional training), I've spent most of my life practicing how to respond to people in the real world when they tell me things like this. And I just cannot translate that into a 5 word witty comment that effectively communicates the immense (fill in empathetic emotion here) that I feel about their news. Clicking "like" never feels like an appropriately proportional response.

It's even worse when it's a close friend, because my reaction is wrapped in all the other emotions of intense curiosity, vague resentment that I wasn't told in real life, and perhaps surprise. How do I response to that in 40 characters or fewer? If I don't respond, will I be left with facing the awkwardness at some future date when I see the person again? If so, should I pretend I didn't see the news on Facebook? Or do I say "yeah, I saw that on facebook" and proceed to look like an uncaring jerk for not "commenting"?

On the other hand if I don't know the person well, I end up feeling like an intruder. Why should I be privileged with this information when I play virtually no role in this person's life? Why should I wish you a "happy birthday" (or "happy engagment" or "oh my god you had a baby" or "sorry you lost your job") when I have no other connection to you whatsoever outside the web and may never see you again. Will your life really be enhanced by my somewhat shallow and trivial well-wishes?

I realize this post is getting awkwardly long, but let me say one more thing: I think it would be helpful if Facebook would add an "acknowledge" button, similar to the "like" button. That would give me a way to say "I see this information," but not "like" it which seems much too trivial. Then in the future, I could say, "yes, I saw that!" and then proceed to communicate my empathetic reation in a proporational and appropriate way.

You see, I was right, wasn't I? I am too awkward for this.....

A Note About Books

My friend MJ doesn't believe that I actually read the books I put in my sidebar under "books I'm reading." That's okay, but I actually do read them just for honesty's sake. But it occured to me that I should make clear that I'm not recommending all the books on my list. I'm just telling you what I'm up to. So I don't want to take responsibility for you reading them and hating them because they were on here.

That said, I did recently finish: Home by Marilynne Robinson and The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss, both of which were, in a word, aMAZing. 

Home (which I should disclose everyone in my book club HATED) was a retelling of the prodigal son story in the 1960s in a little town in Iowa. It's a quasi-sequel to Gilead, which I read in graduate school and didn't like nearly as much. Home is unique in that it seems to actually have no plot. By that I mean nothing actually happens in the entire book. But it is still a great story, about redemption and confession and salvation and grace and all those things and how they work, or don't. Anyway, I realized after our book group discussion that the book is deeply and unapologetically Christian, Reformed Christian at that, and so may not carry as much meaning for those not steeped in that tradition. But I still loved it. (MJ: You might like this too...check it out!)

The History of Love is a novel about various characters all somehow connected to the manuscript of a book with the same title, written by a young writer in Poland at the start of the holocaust for his love who leaves for America without him.  It's fabulously written, creative and sophisticated. Though I was surprised and confused by the end, which made me want to go back and read the whole thing again! It is very similar to a book written by the author's husband, Jonathan Safran Foer, called Everything is Illuminated, which is also amazing. I'd love to be a fly on the wall at their dinner table one day.

And now I'm on to Committed, the most recent book by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love. Committed is an expose about marriage and also a chronicle of the author's journey toward a second marriage after her first failed one. I absolutely KNOW that I will find it annoying and petty as I did Eat, Pray, Love, so I'm not sure why I'm bothering other than that I bought it for book club and then didn't read it and now feel compelled to do so by our discussion. (Let me for a moment defend my hatred of the most popular 'chic-lit' book in America right now: I canNOT feel sorry for someone who has a rough time and then gets paid a huge advance to travel around the world carelessly and write about finding herself. Most of us have a rough time and then continue along with our regular lives and somehow deal without an all-expense paid round-the-world therapy venture. So just suck it up, okay.) Anyway, I'm onto Committed. But to balance it out, J-Dogg and I have decided to start reading The Brothers Karamazov together, which should be much more intellectual and take approximately five years to finish. I'll let you know how it goes.

For now, keep reading, mon chers!

p.s. Okay....let's be honest: Part of my despising Elizabeth Gilbert is that maybe a small part of me is jealous that they would never get Julia Roberts to play me in the memoir of my life. They'd probably get Jane Lynch and make her gain 40 pounds.

Eavesdropping

We're convinced that our next door neighbors may have won the lottery recently, because after living here for 3 years and not doing a single shred of work on their house, they have, suddenly, in the last three weeks:
Had their house repainted
Installed Central Air Conditioning
Removed a dead tree from the edge of their property
Rebuilt the retaining wall that supported said tree
Rebuilt their back patio
Replaced the back stairs going into their basement
Had the driveway and front walk repaved
Torn down and prepared to replace the fence around their backyard
Dug a 4' deep hole where said yard used to be and begun to replace it with a nice slate patio and new landscaping.

The drawback to all of this is that there have been huge trucks and pieces of contruction equipment droaning away directly outside our window for weeks now (causing a parking crisis and a generally nerveracking atmosphere)  But the upside is that I have (by benefit of our condo's proximity to the ground and this neighbor's property) been privy to most hilarious conversations of all time happening between the workmen just outside the window. Because I work quite a bit from home and because the weather has been quite pleasant recently, I've been sitting here with the window open and pieces of these conversations have wafted in periodically. Here are some choice snippets:

 ....I mean, do you like that new guy?
HELL no, man. I can't stand that guy. And he knows it to. He can see it in my eyes.....

(Later) ....But do you believe in heaven and hell and that sh#$? Or do you like think everyone's going to heaven no matter what though?
I don't know, man. But I think some'a those priests are going to hell man.
(Muffled response)....that new guy believes in this stuff, you know.
Yeah....I guess I can see him doing that. In that little booth and sh&*.

.....Yo, did you see that movie though? That romantic comedy sh@#? (I'm fairly sure they're talking about Eat, Pray, Love).

F#$& that man. Yeah, I did. It was the worst two hours of my life. I'd rather die than watch that sh&^ again. I'd rather get beat up for two hours than watch that sh*%.

(Singing) Rocketman, Rocketman, Rocketman.....(no radio is present.)
...NO, man. He's gonna come around here and be PISSED.
Right, man. Let's just not say anything.

....You're right, though. She is hot. Hot, hot, hot, hot, HOT. I wonder if she's like normal hot girls, you know?


And so on and so on.  You know, they'll never know it but they've brought a little sunshine in my life these past few weeks. I'll be sad to see them go. Their trucks, though, not so much.

Sabbath Update

I thought I'd log in to update you on the status of my new Sabbath practice. Today marks my fourth sabbath observance and I would say it is going...okay. So far, it stands as follows:

Pros:
*Actually having scheduled time off to look forward to rather than working 24/7 and being pissed about it.
*Being about to count on an evening each week set aside for a nice dinner and evening with the Beloved.
*Being able to take time to read for pleasure without feeling guilty that I'm slacking off all my other tasks.
*Blogging.
*Reading scripture for personal edification rather than teaching and preaching, something I haven't found time to do since I was about 15.
*Establishing a sabbath (and putting it on my calender) actually makes me feel as though I have an excuse to say no to stuff, which in turn allows me to manage my work load.
*The house gets cleaned every Thursday afternoon, pre-Sabbath, which means that I am less stressed about finding time to do it the rest of the week.
*It's nice to light candles and stuff.
*I do actually sense the slightest increase in my ability to live in the present and be aware of things. This may also be a change in diet that involves drinking less coffee, but who knows?

Cons:
*What do I actually do all day? Something I have not yet figured out. If I do normal stuff, I feel like I'm not being holy enough (which is a completely ridiculous thing to think, but it's what I think). If I do holy stuff, I feel like I'm being inauthentic and ridiculous. I'm not a nun, you know. (You might not know, but I'm not.)
*What do I NOT do? Something I have not yet figured out. I don't want to do work (including housework) but what about doing the dishes from the nice dinner we made? Or what about packing to go on a trip on Friday night or Saturday? I don't want it to be time to just "get stuff done" but what if that "stuff" is stuff I find really edifying, like reading the book club book or the latest issue of Christian century? Can I check my email? What if I promise to respond only to personal things? Is it still work if I see the other "work-related" emails in my inbox but don't respond? All important questions with no answers yet. Though I do find solace in the fact that serious Jews have been asking these questions and answering them for 4000 years and are still thinking about it.
*I do spend the last 12 hours of the 24 hour sabbath being anxious about all the stuff I have to do the minute the Sabbath is over. Which is precisely not what I'm supposed to be doing.
*I vacilate back and forth between feeling like I should have two Sabbath days (God needed one off, and we're mere humans! Don't we need twice as many!) and feeling as though I can't possibly actually take this time off there is so much to do!
*It is actually really hard to not feel needed or productive for 24 hours in a row. I think there's a word for this (humility? is it?), but whatever it's called I know I don't love the feeling.
*Once the fall gets underway in earnest, I think I'll have to cut down on each side to make room for other stuff that is "must" in life, which is paradoxical.

All that said, I think I am going to stick with it for a while and see how it goes. For now, Shabbat Shalom again!

FREAKOUT

OhmygodohmygodohmygodohmyGOD, I am totally freaking out. Because the CRAZIEST thing just happened.

I was walking the dog (I case you're wondering, no, that wasn't the crazy thing. I've been trying to talk the dog more these days. But I digress.). And I walked passed a building about a block from here that has two ground floor units with semi-enclosed patios that face the street. I say semi-enclosed because there is about a 5 foot tall wall around them made from those bricks with holes in the middle, so you can sort of see in, sort of not. Anyway, as I was walking up to said patios, I noticed a man coming out of one of the apartments to sit in one of the patio chairs. I noticed him because he seemed to be talking loudly to someone inside the apartment. He said something that seemed a bit strange, which I thought was, "I want to see that butt." But I didn't think too much of it, as I thought he might be at best joking with someone or at worst sexually harassing his housemate.

But as I passed, I casually glanced into the apartment over the fence and realized that he was to talking to a MANNEQUIN. That's right a mannequin (which I just had to google to figure out how to spell). This mannequin happened to be propped up as though it was sitting at a desk facing out the window.  And he was talking to it.

And I instantly had two thoughts. The first was, "What the F*&% is this guy doing talking to a mannequin?" and the second is "I'm going to die." The reason for the first seems obvious. The reason for the second is that I have watched WAY too many crime TV shows which depict weirdos who do things like talk to mannequins and then go out and rape and kill people.

But TV lunatic criminal sprees aside, am I being completely ludicrious or is this not REALLY WEIRD? Or am I just too sheltered to know that the latest trend is for people to sit around talking to mannequins?

Holy moly. I am never walking the dog again.



p.s. Mannequin man: I hope you're not reading this. And if you are, that you don't come and kill me.

Old News

Bad news. I think I might be getting old. No seriously. Old.


The first evidence of this was that when I woke up this morning I noticed, right around my eyes, something I've never noticed before: wrinkles. Not big ones, but they are definitely there. Which seems impossible. Because I'm not old enough to have wrinkles. Except that apparently I am, because I have some. I immediately emailed a friend to see if SHE had wrinkles and if so what she was going to do about it. But I haven't heard back. So I've been occupying myself with images of me at 50 looking like this:

Which wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, as this lady looks pretty awesome. But still. Am I old enough to have wrinkles?

And then I thought of OTHER subtle indications that I might be getting old. Like the fact that I was INCENSED that our upstairs neighbor was having a party and playing loud music a few weekends ago. How disrespectful, I said. How inSENsitive. We should go tell her to turn the music down and stop being such a jerk, I suggested. J-Dogg kindly pointed out that it was only 10 p.m. And that it was Saturday. And that I was getting old.

It's all starting to make sense. Coming home last Friday from a film premiere at the MFA (and, let's be honest, some drinks afterward at the Oak Room), Mr. LIOLI and I somehow got stuck in a swarm of local college students on their first Friday night out on the town. Because I am apprently now OLD and rarely go "out on the town" at the same time as 20-somethings, I had forgotten about how overwhelmingly ridiculous they are. A group of what seemed like 200 of them mobbed our T car, completely unaware of the conductor SCREAMING into the PA system that there was in fact no more room on the train, and immediately preceded to talk loudly to each other and play with their iPhones. While trying to subtly express my annoyance to Mr. L, I had a sudden flash of insight: I used to BE one of these people....totally self-absorbed, unaware of the world around me and having a great time. What's so different about me now, I wondered? Well I got old. And stopped being ridiculous (well, at least decreased in ridiculousness a bit). And grew wrinkles.

My father might suggest that I should be thankful for all the wisdom I have developed by being older. (He likes to say on every birthday that he's amazed that his level of wisdom just keeps increasing all the time. The wisdom....it's ASTONISHING, he says. ) But I don't know if I'm sold. I might consider sticking with naive and smooth-skinned. Or maybe try to purchase some wrinkle cream.

Movie Personalities

I think there should be a new personality test based on the movie categories that Netflix suggests for you and what they say about you and your preferences.

For instance, I wonder what it says about me that Netflix recently recommended the following categories of movies for me:
Beat the System Dramas Based on Real Life
Critically Acclaimed Feel-Good Comedies
Gay and Lesbian Independent Dramas
Goofy Suspenseful Action Adventures
Indie Romances
Visually-striking Exciting Movies
Witty Opposites Attract Comedies
Critically Acclaimed Understated Dramas

So it seems like I might be a goofy, visually-striking yet understated witty lesbian seeking to feel good and beat the system. Is this true? The possibilities are endless...

Primary Pests

We're about to elect a new state senator here in our district. We know this because there are helpful sandwich boards up all over town reminding everyone that the primary is next Tuesday. That and the approximately 2700 phone calls we've gotten about the election.

I can tell you without exaggeration that for the last few weeks we've gotten between 2 and 5 calls per day from the two democratic candidates' campaign offices asking us for whom we would be voting. Sometimes they are recorded calls from other political figures, sometimes calls from real live individuals at "The Committee to Elect So-and-So" and so on and so on.

All this is not only ANNOYING but reminds me of a fantasy I always have during this time of year. I should preface this by saying that I am familiar with our political system and therefore aware of the many reasons this would not work, but I love to think of it anyway.

What if, instead of making all these inane phone calls to ask me again and again who I was going to support, the well-educated, well-intentioned young people who I'm sure are on the other end of the phone were empowered to actually DO something? What if instead of bothering me during dinner they actually went out and spent those 4 hours SOLVING THE PROBLEMS these candidates claim to care about?

I LOVE to fantasize about a political campaign in which volunteers show up at the campaign headquarters only to be shipped off in vans to various part of the city to tutor children, fix up housing projects, provide transportation and companionship for the elderly, and upgrade green spaces in our city. Wouldn't that be the BEST? Wouldn't that make so much SENSE? Heck, give them t-shirts with the candidate's name on them if you'd got to do some PR. But do SOMETHING other than calling me all damn night.

It's sad that our political situation has become so ridiculous that mobilizing young people to create change means getting them to call people on the phone instead of participating in their neighborhoods and communities doing productive stuff.

In fact, I'm starting to get motivated to just go out and do some good stu......oh wait, I think the phone is ringing.....

Wilderness Survival

Though I did plenty of camping as a child with my family, as I've grown to adulthood I haven't been much for outdoor activity. I now take a bit more after my father in not being too physically adventurous, though I had a good role model of outdoorsy-ness in my mother who spent the better part of her youth backpacking, back-country skiing, teaching my uncles to gut fish and doing all manner of other completely awesome superwoman-esque things. But not me, at least not recently. So you can imagine that when my husband announced about 6 months ago that he would like to get back into backpacking, I didn't jump at the opportunity. In fact, I put it off as long as possible. But that ended this weekend.

We decided (relatively last minute, as we tend to do) that this was going to be the weekend. This meant that Saturday was dedicated to preparations. We made a final trip to R.E.I. for last minute supplies, though it was hard to imagine we needed anything as backpacking paraphenalia has been trickling into our house constantly for the last 6 months. (Mr. LIOLI shares with his father a certain tendency towards being a serial hobbiest and insisting that one must have all the proper gear for each said hobby. Where do we put all these accoutrements, you ask? An excellent question.) Anyway, we did still need a few things: food (freeze-dried in little pouches...weird, but cool!), hiking boots for me, Dr. Bonner's all-purpose soap, an extra water bottle, etc. Barely avoiding the post-game Red-Sox T-riders, we headed home to pack up.

We headed out directly after church the next morning and I must admit, I wan't the most pleasant travel companion. I wasn't excited at all and in fact was a bit nervous. Carrying everything I needed to survive on my back just didn't sound like that good of an idea. (Sidenote: I should be honest. When all was said and done my pack weighed in at only 20 lbs. My beloved's came in at just under 50. So I should rephrase that last sentence to read: "Carrying some of the stuff I needed to survive on my back and relying on Mr. LIOLI to carry the rest didn't sound like that good of an idea.") Anyway, I didn't think it was going to be any fun, and had visions (which I described to Mr. LIOLI in detail in the car the whole way there) of all the suffering and misery that would probably occur. What if my pack was too heavy? What if I got a blister? What if we got attacked by a bear? Or worse an axe-murdered (I've been watching too many Criminal Mind reruns, I can tell.)? Or what if we got lost? Mr. L had responses for everything unfortunately. He doesn't seem to have forgotten anything from his boyscouting days, though that was more than a decade ago.

Anyway, (and I can admit this because I am self-actualized and trained in self-reflection), as it turned out, I was wrong. It was totally awesome. The hike was amazing, through varied and beautiful terrain with plenty of ups and downs but not too much climbing. We saw redwood forests and birches and maples, meadows and beaver ponds and swamps and old rock walls, huge Indian caves and abandoned settler's dwellings. And it was actually really fun to be packing things in and out: like we were really surviving! (I should also admit that all the gadgets which I had mercilessly mocked for months--what the hell do you need THAT for--did really contribute in a huge way to the lightness of our packs the pleasantness of the journey.) Roxy the wonderdog had a great time and was a good travel companion. She even carried her own gear in a dog backpack (Thanks, Crandall!).

We camped the night at "Roaring Brook Tentsites" which should be renamed, "Stagnant Creek Tentsites" given the waterlevel at this time of summer (though we were able to filter our water there...just not take a dip!). But the tent sites were big and flat and we had plenty of privacy (only one other couple was staying there, about 100 yards away.) We set up camp, cooked our dinner over the propane stove, had hot chocolate for dessert and then went to bed as soon as the sun went down. Though we were awoken by some crazy animal noises in the middle of the night (sounds we're not used to living in the middle of a huge metropolis!), we did okay overall. We hiked out the next morning and headed back to MA for some showers and a long afternoon nap.

And that was it. Survival. Everything we needed on our backs. Pretty cool stuff if you ask me. I'm now totally up for round 2 this weekend. I'll let you know if I can convince Mr. L. (to whom I owe great thanks for again convincing me that new things can be fun!). Maybe I'll even call Mom to ask for some advice. :)

Shabbat Shalom!

I'm worried that this may start to sound like a fundamentalist religious blog with all this talk about prayer and stuff recently, but I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you about a new thing I'm starting today: Sabbath.

I know, I know. Even my Judaism professor from seminary would tell me that Gentiles (non-Jews) are not required to observe The Sabbath in a biblical sense. But the more I read and interpret scripture and generally am alive, the more I sense that taking one day off in seven is fairly essential spiritually, personally and theologically. More and more I feel the need to be convinced (through direct experience) that the world going around does not depend on me accomplishing things in it.

Now what I'm not talking about is taking a day away from physically being at work in order to run errands, continue to respond to work emails and calls, and clean the house. I'm talking about a day away from work of most types, especially my professional work but also work from my life and relationships and home.

As you may know if you are also a minister, a pastor's work has the ability (and the tendancy) to ooze out into pretty much every other area of your life. Which leads to the fact that I feel pretty much "on call" 24 hours a day 7 days a week and do at least a little work for my job every single day that I am alive and have been for the last 422 days. But this isn't really going that well, so I'm making a change.

I'm going to try, just for this fall season, to take 24 hours of rest from work per week, usually the same day each week, and see what happens.

Today is my first day (actually I started last night) and I woke up with the most profound and hilarious awareness: what in the sam hell am I going to do today? I've decided I won't be checking email for work or responding to non-emergency phone calls. And I've sort of ruled out watchcing television all day or running errands. Which doesn't leave a lot of things on my list of normal activities.

This morning when Mr.LIOLI asked me the same question, I answered: I'll probably just read the bible or something. (I am SO pious!) But here it is, not even 9:30 a.m., and I've given up on that completely. I already "accidentally" logged into my email twice. (When I sat down at the computer it was the first thing I did, my fingers almost unconsciously typing my log-in, which is a scary testament to the force of habit.). And I've checked my phone several times to make sure it is working, even though I've agreed not to answer most calls. I've walked the dog and boiled some potatoes for the potato salad I'll make tonight when we have some friends over, but other than that, I'm free as a bird. And I have no idea what to do.

My friend LW has a blog about the Sabbath, which I love and I will read some of today for inspirtation. But other than that, who the heck knows?

Perhaps I'll have a mystical experience and go on to become a monastic theologian. Or maybe I'll come up with a soluntion for some complicted problems that have been lurking around, simply by ignoring them for a day. Or maybe I'll just be frustrated, check my email 12 more times, talk on the phone "by accident" and realize that this is a practice that takes practice. Heck, the Jews have been doing it for 4000 years and I bet some of them still sneak onto gmail once in a while on a Saturday.

So wish me luck, my reading friends!

Signing off for now,
LIOLI

Corruption Charges

I've warned my sister and brother-in-law that I will in fact attempt to corrupt my nephew, just a bit at appropriate life intervals because I think it's part of my job as an aunt. You know, to give the kid a little social capital on the playground by sharing with him key concepts and words that will keep him a bit ahead of the pack.

I thought I'd document that my work is beginning in part, and it was EASY. Simply lead by example, play some video games and little man wants to jump right in and become a "gamer." Love it. :)

Truth

I love that this is turning into kind of an online confessional booth. But I just logged on to ask: Why do we say stuff that's not true ALL THE TIME? It's like lying has become okay if it's with good intention. I've recently realized that I am TERRIBLE about this.

A few weeks ago, Mr. L was telling me a story and I needed to go into the bedroom to get something. So instead of "hold on," I said, "I'm still listening." and promptly walked out of the room and into the closet from where it would in fact be impossible for me to keep listening. I laugh about it now, but it is really indicative of something that in principle I believe to be wrong: lying. Why,for instance, didn't I just say "wait a second," instead of something that was blatantly untrue?

I usually do an experiment with my class when I teach about Buddhism where I ask them to note, mentally, every time they tell a lie in the course of one day. I usually do it too, just to play along. It's INCREDIBLE. Here are some choice examples that you may identify with:
"I'm sorry, I don't have any change to spare." (Yes, I DO in fact, I just don't want to give it to you.)
"No, I can't meet then. " (I can, I just would prefer to watch TV instead.)
"Let's hang out sometime." (And I'll just hope you never take me up on it!)
"I'm still working on that." (By which I mean I totally forgot I said I was going to do that until you just mentioned it.)
"Yes, Officer..." (And anything that follows.)
"I thought I emailed you about...." (And by thought I mean, I didn't.)
"I love that look on you..."
"That's so funny." (Especially if this statement is not accompanied by laughing.)
"That's okay, really."
The list goes on.

I liken this to the pre-recorded voice I am forced to listen to when I am on hold that tells me, "We appreciate your call." (Do you really?) and "Thank you for your patience." (You have no idea whether I'm being patient or not.) It's as if something about saying these things is important even if they're not true. As if there are things that need to be said that don't correspond to reality and we've all agreed that this is okay.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go on a truth-blitz in which everyone told the honest-to-God truth for one day. Wouldn't that be so liberating? And terrifying? I'm not saying I'm going to do it soon, but maybe it's something we should put on the to-do list.

But for now, "I'm going to work on it."

Beach Day: Epic Fail

Okay, it seems like I am on a bit of a "Down-with-Boston" streak, but really I do appreciate it as a city and our life here and the history and culture and blah blah blah. But let me tell you one more story before I leave the NE-Critique train behind:

A few weekends ago, our friends and we decided we wanted to go to the beach. It was supposed to be a beautiful weekend and we all had work off, so we were going to take advantage of it. We picked them up around 9:30, thinking we'd get a reasonable start. Now something you must know about Boston is that despite the fact that it is a coastal town, it doesn't really feel like living at the beach. It just feels like living in a huge metropolis that has some water somewhere near it that you hear of but never visit. And you have to drive a ways to get out of the city and to a legitimate beach with sand, etc.

So we headed north with dreams of a day at the ocean. Our friend RT (who should really have a side business as a travel agent given his adeptness at trip planning) had picked the perfect beach for us. Despite a few close calls at traffic circles and one lifted draw bridge, we made our way there easily. When we arrived, there was significant traffic backed up at the entrance, but we weren't worried, because we weren't in a hurry. This was beach day. It was when we got to the front that the trouble started. It turns out people weren't slowing down to get in the entrance and pay (Yes, that's right, you have to pay to go to the beach here, $25 a day per car.) But it wasn't that. The beach was full.

Having grown up in the West where population density was never an issue, I found the prospect of the beach being "full" preposterous. "It CAN'T be full," I moaned. "That's RIDICULOUS. Go back and check. Or just pull in. Maybe they won't notice."

"It's full," came Mr. LIOLI's quick reply in that tone I now associate with the implied question, "Why don't you think any of the rules apply to you?" (Topic for self-reflection: Why don't I?)

"But how can the BEACH be FULL?" Apparently, we learned, it can. Well actually it was that the parking lot was full. Which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that most MA coastal towns prohibit parking on the street from May to October, so no beach seekers can park, except in the beach parking lot, which is in fact full. For what reason, I have no idea. But apparently this is not an uncommon situation. Because the next one we tried was full too. And the next. And the next. At the fifth beach, we decided to give up. With defeated spirits we decided to stop by the salt marsh on our way out of town, "salt marsh" being a fancy term for "the sludgey mess that is left behind when the tide goes out in the summer." Something that looks approximately like this:


We found there an eclectic mix of folks who also apparently couldn't go to the beach, most of whom would fit squarely in a Jeff Foxworthy sketch. Anyway, we waded and laughed about our failure and Mr.LIOLI got bit by a black fly and we went to a clam shack and dairy queen on the way home. Thank God that these particular friends are the most flexible and adventurous ones we've got, because it certainly was an epic fail of a day.

But I'm still stuck on the fact that the beach can be full.

NE x NW: A Excercise in Comparative Travel

Having traveling to Portland, OR recently, the differences between the northwest and the northeast crystallized in my mind in a way that they haven't before. Let me share some snapshots of my epiphany:

• Air Travel: At Boston Logan airport (a notoriously terrible, dirty, ugly airport which is ALWAYS under construction through it never seems to get any more attractive or accessible) there is LITERALLY a person whose job it is to stand in the security line and SCREAM at the confused, fearful crowd like a belligerent, angry shepherd: LAPTOPS OUT, YOU'VE GOT TO GET YOUR LAPTOPS OUT, PEOPLE. GET THEM OUT. YOU CANNOT HAVE THEM IN YOUR BAG. BAGS ON THE BELT. SHOES OFF. GET THOSE SHOES OFF. C'MON PEOPLE. GET IT TOGETHER. TAKE THOSE LAPTOPS OUT. This mantra is on a continuous loop which mostly only functions to heighten the anxiety of everyone involved and give me a massive headache, as if the probability of stress and headache is not high enough given the travel culture, shoe removal policy and general severity of the TSA these days. BUT at the Portland International Airport, I almost laughed aloud when I observed the man who functionally had the same job there. But HE was calmly circulating through the crowd and speaking in a low, soothing voice: "Does anyone have any questions? Does everyone understand what will happen when you get to the front of the line? Does anyone need an extra ziplock bag?" Once at the front, the ticket checkers were courteous and helpful. Folks were helping to put others bags on the belt and everything was going down in a generally courteous and well-mannered way. I also noticed they actually had a station set up to explain the security procedures which included brochures in multiple languages, extra ziplock baggies, labels for your laptop and luggage tags.
  
• Driving: I've often joked that I'll never be able to move away from Boston because I've become such an obscene driver since being here that I'd never survive elsewhere. In Boston, the name of the game is aggression, rule-breaking and each man for himself (What's the gender neutral way to say that? Each person for him or herself? Awkward.) ANYWAY, it is not uncommon here to see people blatantly ignore common traffic laws and regular courtesies such as not honking 2 nano-seconds after the light turns green. I have seen people honk at pedestrians crossing the street who had the right of way, elderly people taking to long at a crosswalk and, on several occasions, other cars stopped at a red light. (Actually, it seems the ONLY violation that will not be tolerated here in Boston is an illegal left turn. All others are assessed on a sliding scale from okay to slightly annoying.) But Portland is like a fairly land of driver respect. You might pull up to a stop sign at the same time as another car and, instead of playing chicken in a 'No, it's my turn" standoff, you'd see both cars (probably Priuses of different colors) wave each other along as if to say, "No, you go." To which the other responds: "No, you go." And the first, with a wave, "No, really, you go ahead." And you stay there until everyone smiles and laughs a bit and someone goes but with an apologetic wave at having gone first.
• Bikes: They have bikes in Portland. Thousands of them. That people actually use to get places. And they periodically shut down the streets so the bikes can get around. And the buses have bike racks on the front. In Boston, if you are lucky enough to not have your bike stolen in the first five minutes you have it out, you have a 75% chance of getting killed by a Boston driver. (See above.)
  
• Trash: While the ditches of Boston are filled with Styrofoam Dunkin' Donuts cups (Bostonians believe all of America "runs on Dunkin'"), I actually checked out a Portland parking strip on a Saturday morning to find a discarded beer bottle......of organic micro-brew. Enough said.
  
• The pubs are already full in Portland by 4 p.m. on a weekday. This may be because of the 14% unemployment, but it is cool!
• Oregon state law permits CRAZY things like taking your dog to the beach. Or going to the beach at all.
  
• Parking rates in Portland were just raised: $1.25 an hour downtown. I am sad to admit that I have paid $40 a night in Boston for parking. Just in case you're not a math geek, that would be 32 hours of parking. But I was only there for 3.
• It gets cool at night in Oregon, even in the summer. It NEVER gets cool in Boston in the summer. Actually, even when it is cool the humidity is still so high you somehow have the strange experience of being cool and sweating at the same time. Awesome! OR the universe might cool off but the cement building have a unique conductive property that allows them to store heat all day and release it all night to create a cementy-night-heat that cannot be replicated outside of the city.
  

So those are my reflections on comparative travel (which I believe should be a new field of employment....I'm available if anyone's hiring!). I think you know where my heart lies.

Traveling Buzz

The MR. tells me my posts are way too long given that folks these days have a very short attention span. So here is something awesome and short:

I just saw a guy going through security at the airport whose 1 quart ziplock (intended for 3 oz. toiletries) was full of (you guessed it!), tiny bottles of Jack Daniels.

GENIUS.p.s. Conspiracy theory: Is this 3 oz. policy simply a project of the travel size toiletry lobby? I mean, it's genius. Travel size toiletries are 25X as expensive per ounce. Think about it.

Awkward

For those of you who know me in person, you know that I have a strange affiliation with awkwardness. In fact, that may be an understatement. There are times in which I feel that I am the epicenter of awkwardness. Not only are awkward people drawn to me like a moth to flame and awkward happenings always come up when I am around, but I myself am subject to periodic awkward outbursts. (Mr. LIOLI has dozens of such stories...ask him about them sometime!). They are like out-of-body experiences in which my ability to relate normally to others is suspended and I become trapped in a frenzy of awkwardness.

A quick web search of awkward yields the following definitions:

• causing inconvenience; (Me, a lot of the time)
  
• lacking grace or skill in manner or movement or performance; (Remember when I fell down while walking and broke my elbow? I had no idea that was just my awkwardness!)
  
• difficult to handle or manage especially because of shape; (Ah!)
• not elegant or graceful in expression; (Finally! An answer for the lifelong question of why I completely suck at sports!)
  
• hard to deal with; especially causing pain or embarrassment; (Mr. LIOLI: No need for your comments here, despite my previous invitation for feedback.)
  
• socially uncomfortable; unsure and constrained in manner; (Yes, yes, yes!)
  

Sometimes, it's comforting to find your niche. But there's more!

Anyway, I'm writing because for the last four days, I've been at a conference for pastors in which I've realized that my vocation itself might be an expression of my issue. Because so many people here are SO AWKWARD. (Have you ever noticed how awkward the WORD awkward is to say and spell? I think there's a name for this, but I can't remember it.) Now truly, I think most pastors are good people, but a deeper look reveals that many of them, including myself, have an awkward edge that propels them forward in the world like the wonky wheel on a shopping cart. And for some reason, this slight mutation gives people a selective advantage in ministry.

For instance, this morning, when I sat down to breakfast with some other folks, the man to my left offered the man across from him some creamer for his coffee, to which the other man responded: "No thanks. I like my coffee like I like my presidents: strong and black." This was followed by a deafening silence and then a tentative change of subject. But I had an epiphany in that instant that this is exactly the problem. So much awkwardness. In fact, mild racist overtones aside, this is totally something I might say, finding it totally hysterical.

So, I'm putting the call out there for some sort of awkwardness test: like those ink blot butterflies but better to test for awkwardness. This could become a great tool for assessing new ministers and just generally being hilarious. So wake up, social scientists. The church needs you! And I do too!

p.s. An anti-awkward therapeutic technique would also be welcomed.