Two Wheeled Ticket to Happiness

My new best friend.

"What's the you say? You were outside biking and not blogging? But, L, I thought you HATED biking, as in despise, detest, loathe, abhor. I thought you NEVER wanted to get on a bike EVER again?!??"

And to that I say, "Yes. And I was wrong. Just as I have been wrong about so many things: about how the fashions of the 80s were flattering on me, about how to make a vodka-watermelon, about how deep-fried ice-cream wasn't really fried, about how burning tiki torch fuel indoors would create carbon monoxide. But now I'm going to make it right."

But first, the back story: As a child (you'll be surprised to know), I did a lot of biking. It was my parents' transportation method of choice to get us around the city in which I grew up, and so I biked to school and church and the park...first in a bike seat on my parents' bikes* and then on my own. But upon moving to the top of a mountain in Oregon in fifth grade, biking was excised from my life for the simple reason that one would have to be in Marathonn shape to bike anywhere from my home or back to it. So I gave up on it for the better part of a decade. And anyone who says "It's just like riding a bike" in reference to the ease of reclaiming a sport that one has neglected for the better part of one's life can shove it where the sun don't shine. My several attempts to re-enter the cycling world several years ago ended in disaster, thwarted mostly by my bad attitude and being really, REALLY out of shape. And then I moved to Boston where biking is an extreme sport the side effect of which can be death, given that not only it is the least bike friendly city on the planet (it just installed it's first ever bike lane....which runs for one mile) BUT it is also home to all of the world's worst, most aggressive drivers.

But last month, serendipity (or providence?) intervened. First, some good friends from Oregon (SB and WEB3) told me that they had just gotten super into cycling. These are people who I really like and who like many of the things that I like (jukeboxes, beer, my husband)....and now BIKING. But I hate biking, I thought, and dismissed it.  Until the very next week, when a woman who recently began attending our congregation happened to mention to me that she was super into biking, had biked 160 miles last year and had never found another exercise that she loved so much. Strange, I though, so many bikers in my life right now. And THEN, our ex-neighbor stopped by the other night and mentioned that she was excited for biking season to begin, because "isn't that cheese shop you can bike to in Concord so amazing?" Wait a minute, BIKING AND CHEESE? Worlds colliding. And that was it. I couldn't resist the pull of the universe.

And I got a bike.

And I went for a ride.

And it was pretty darn awesome.

Mostly because it was so much better than running, which I have always found to be a torturous experiment in pain and self-hatred.** But BIKING is awesome. Because you are covering so much ground, so fast that it never gets boring, and you are whizzing past all the panting, sweaty, red-faced joggers and thinking "SO LONG SUCKAS!" which is a great feeling.

In fact, the first ride I went 8 miles. And the second ride, I went 11. And the third, 18. And the fourth, 21. And the fifth 38 (although that almost ended in tragedy, but more on that to come). And I never even found that cheese shop. I'll update you more as I go, but for now, thanks to SB, WEB3, church lady, SM and the universe for a new-found passion.*** In the words of that woman who was in the Montgomery Bus Boycott, though slightly adapted of course, "My butt is sore, but my soul is at rest!"



*There was a photograph of me in the Village Voice as a toddler completely asleep in my bike seat, with my mom, riding down 5th Avenue. Little did I know then, this would only be the beginning of my fame and fortune....
**Runners: Please stop being that person who says, "Oh, you'll just get so addicted to running once you get into it. I started running and now I can't go a day without it" No, I won't. I've been running. And all I want to do when I go running is to stop running. And never do it again. All I can think of, in fact, while running, is how awful it is and how I want to stop. RIGHT NOW. Addiction my A*%.
***Does anyone worry that I am a serial hobbyist? Do you think there are therapy groups that can help you become a hobby monogamist?

MIA

Where have I been lately? Well, I've been in a wonderful and far-away place called "Outside." For those of you from more moderate climates, there exists something here in New England called "Winter." For those unfamiliar, this is basically a six-month long period in which it is so cold outside that you consider being infused with bear hormones so that hybernation becomes possible, but, as an alternative, you are tempted to eat nothing but cheese, drink nothing but alcohol, and do nothing but watch sad movies and blog. Here is a metaphor for what winter feels like:

Unfortunately, long after the snow is gone, winter continues. Skies are clear, but temperatures continue in the 30s and 40s for about two months, though after a single day at 52, sundresses and sandals abound among the inappropriately optimistic. Fortunately, just about the moment when all hope is lost comes the beloved gift we call "Spring." Spring in New England is beautiful: sunny, warm, low-humidity, flowers, graduations, fro-yo. Perfect. Unfortunately, it only lasts for about 3 days. And of course, these aren't three days in a row, but rather three days scattered here and there, admist dips into 40s and spikes into the 90s that make you feel as though you're on some sort of meterological roller coaster. Despite all this, I was able to take advantage of those three days: biking, hiking, walking the dog....which is why I've been MIA. Yay!

Here is a pic of The Beloved and I canoeing up the Concord River to the Concord Battlefield a few springs ago....One if by land, two if by....Canoe!

Luckily for you, summer will arrive in a few days. It will be 99 outside with about a billion percent humidity for the next two months. So I'll be driven back indoors and into the blogosphere. (Also, I just found out that my friend DRJ's dad who is awesome reads this blog, so I had to get back on track!)

E-tech-itte

Courtesy of Mark Copier | The Grand Rapids Press. Found here. Is this not just a completely awesome photo?

Could someone please, please, please start a blog about technology etiquette? You could call it e-tech-itte. I would do it, but obviously I need to remain loyal to my HUGE and burdensome following here at What's Up Jesus?

But I would appreciate it if someone could take this one on, as something clearly MUST be done. Because technology misuse is ruining my life and I need a resource from this century to refer folks to who are blatantly rude without knowing it. (Sorry, Post family, I think your time has passed.)

For instance, I think we might mutually discern that it is not appropriate to text incessantly during a one-on-one conversation with someone. It makes me feel as if you aren't interested in talking to me (which in a way, you clearly aren't), so maybe we should just end the conversation. Also, texting and checking email on your phone during meetings also seems egregious except in the most urgent circumstances. Who are you? Barak Obama? No one is that important. (p.s. Lady next to me in the meeting last night, in case it was unclear, it was SUPER AWKWARD when you were obviously checking your email on your phone and then someone asked you a question related to the topic we were currently discussing and you just blabbered around and then practically yelled, "I just don't know what you're talking about." and then flipped around in your binder as if you'd just lost the page instead of been ignoring the rest of us and playing with your phone. Also, I can see that you're reading your email because I'm sitting right here and I have eyes.)

Also, we may want to make clear to the masses that if I send you an email and in it ask a question, it is clearly not just a rhetorical device. I would actually like for you to respond. Not just if you feel like it or if the answer is yes or if it's Wednesday today, but always. Even if it's just to say, "Got this. On it." (I think this is mostly a problem with younger folks, which is a strange irony in that everywhere I turn, young people are on their smart phones yet younger folks email me back WAY less frequently than their older peers. What are they doing on there if not actually responding to forms of communication?)

Additionally, let's agree that when emailing in a professional setting (at least the first email in the string), we could use the common format of greeting, message, closing, signature....and maybe even throw in punctuation and correct grammar just for fun. When emailing me to ask if I or my congregation will support your cause, post your materials, or use your product or if you are contacting me as a student to ask for an extension, extra support or my mercy, let's agree that poor grammar and text lingo is just not going to cut it. For the record, U, for instance, is a letter of the alphabet, while "You" is a pronoun used to address another party. R is another letter while "are" is a form of the verb "to be." Typically, the first word in a sentence is capitalized and special marks called commas and periods are used to break up ideas into more manageable chunks. I know, it sounds overwhelming but you will catch on.

These are just a few of my ideas, so step right up future blogger, grasp your destiny and make the world a better place.


For fun, see this page of possibly THE most ridiculous list of text acronyms ever. Can we all agree that no one in the history of the universe has used AWGTHTGTTA and meant "Are we going to have to go through this again?"

Also, did you know there are texting championships? Yeah. Dear God......

Just a quick note to say....

...who are all the commenters? I mean the THOUSANDS of people who comment on random stuff like news stories about court trials and youtube videos of cats and music videos? Seriously. Who are they? Where are they? And were do they get the time to comment on all this stuff? I watched a music video online the other day and there were something like 700 comments, about everything from previous videos by the same artist ("I liked that way betta yo!) to how one commenter's father had just passed away. What is going on?

Glad they've obviously never found THIS blog. PHEEEw.

The Veil

Harry Potter is just SUCH a good series. And has nothing to do with this post really.

Okay this is a serious one guys, that I've been thinking of for a while. (No, it's not about hijab, though that is a fascinating topic.) But you know that scene in Harry Potter: The Order of the Phoenix at the end when Sirius Black is killed by Bellatrix Lestrange ("Avada Kedavra!") and he falls through that strange, transparent curtain in the department of mysteries and disappears?  And you wonder if he's really gone or maybe not but what is that curtain and what's behind it? (In case you're wondering, yes, typing this out is making me feel as though it's more ridiculous than I was thinking it was before I started writing this.) ANYWAY, do you know the scene? Well I feel like that scene is being replicated in my life. Only the Department of Mysteries is my social group and the magical, transparent curtain is parenthood. (Avada "I'm Pregnant!")

Now before you parental types stop reading and de-friend me from Facebook, please know that I'm being serious. As I grow older and more and more of my close friends have started to have children, I've been thinking a lot about what that transition means, especially for those of us still on this side of the great divide. And it is a strange thing. Even though I have many friends who manage to balance child rearing with adult friendships, I recognize that there is something that's irrevocably changed when you have kids, not just for you but for those you're in relationship with as well.  While most of me is overcome with joy for my friends striking out on the path of parenting and legitimately hopeful for the future of their family life, there is part of me that feels differently. Perhaps it's part sadness at losing what was once an easy bond to sustain, now made more difficult by the introduction of drastic changes in the lifestyle and priorities of those around me. Perhaps it is part feeling left out, wondering what's on the other side of the veil. Perhaps it's part worrying that in resisting the pull of having children, I'm missing something profoundly valuable and that by the time I realize my desire for it, it will be too late.

The God's honest truth, though,  is that I'm not sure I want to have children. It might be that I'm just not ready yet, but it's also a serious area of discernment, something I want to take seriously knowing that not choosing is a form of choosing.  I am clear that childbearing isn't one of the deepest desires of my heart right now. And as with all things, it's hard to know if and when it will be.  One thing I do know is that I feel hesitant to give up the control (financial, spiritual, social, what have you) that I feel I have just (finally!) established over my own life. But it's painful to realize that this careful discernment might leave me unable to connect in important ways with some of my most precious friends.*

And so I wait. And I think. And I realize how much my world is changing as more evenings out end early, as more discussions at dinner are about baby swings and bottle nipples, and as the things I care about and engage with seem slightly out of joint in comparison with many of those around me.

The irony of this is that I am feeling all this as someone who (as far as I am aware having never tested it) has a choice about children.  I know many friends who, struggling with fertility challenges or sexual orientation or what have you, don't feel as though they have a choice at all and who are in great pain about how to fulfill their longing to have children. I cannot imagine the agony of navigating this stage of life with awareness of one's reproductive limitations looming overhead each time a new ultrasound photo pops up on Facebook.** And I want for those voices to be part of my world too, not just in whispered private conversations, but in a public way that is valued and acknowledged as much as we value and acknowledge announcements by those who can and do have children.

If you're wondering why I'm writing this (especially on a blog mostly reserved for cynical musings about things as trivial as Self-Check Out Stands and Dress-Me Jesus'***), it's because of this: I don't know that I have a single role model of a couple who has chosen not to have children AND publicly discussed this choice. And I could use some. Where are you? Why did you choose not to have children? What does that feel like over a lifetime? How do I talk to my friends about my decision without sounding as though I am judging theirs? How do I continue to play an informed and meaningful role in the life of children not my own?

My friend Ghandi told me to be the change I want to see. So here I am.  Because I think our culture could use some voices of all genders and generations and sexual orientations and life setting talking about what childbearing means and what not having children means at every different stage of life.

Despite my general feelings about Elizabeth Gilbert****, I did enjoy many parts of her most recent book, "Committed" which is loosely about the history of marriage. She claims that there are (and have always been) a consistent percentage of women (across history and geography) who don't have children. So I know you're out there. And I want to hear what you think! I hope more voices, on both sides of the veil, will be heard. I think we'll all be better for it, and so will our children (And of course I mean that in a "It takes a village" kind of way. But I'll let you know.)



* Though there is one resource for which I am profoundly grateful in this area. And that is my friend LKF, who, as I've previously mentioned, blogs here about the intersection of vocation and motherhood. Her honest reflections are a great gift to me and an open window in the challenges of deciding TO have children, and I am profoundly grateful for her generosity in sharing them. 
 ** Please don't post your ultrasound on Facebook. I feel awkward about seeing the inside of your uterus, especially when we're not that close of friends. I'll just take your word for it, okay?. 
***What on EARTH is the plural of Jesus?
**** Look, I know a lot of people out there really loved Eat, Pray, Love, which is fine. But seriously, E.G. I just canNOT bring myself to feel bad for you that you got divorced and then got PAID to travel around the world and find yourself afterward.
 

Cosmic Crazyness

This is my life. But seriously, we don't play nearly enough pinball.

I've come to the conclusion that there must be some cosmic system of chaos regulation that causes there to be a direct relationship between the amount of crazy that you put into the world and the amount that gets doled out to you. I think this because I've noticed that there are people* who aren't very crazy at all, who live life in a relatively balanced fashion (work, home, favorite TV shows, normal conversations held at normal volume levels, etc.) and that these same folks just don't seem to fall victim to a huge amount of inexplicably wild stuff that I observe happening in my own life. Then there are folks like me who, as pinballs of nutty energy, ping off of the sides of our life and those around us and, as a result of that continual outpouring of chaos, experience some really crazy stuff.

For instance, here are three vignettes from my life that I feel could only happen to me.

1) About three weeks ago, Mr. L and I did not sleep a wink between about 1 a.m. and 5 a.m. Why is this? Do we have a newborn to attend to? No. Was there some urban disruption happening outside the window? No. Were we lying awake contemplating the uncertainty of our future? No. What happened, in fact, was that our dog got gas. But not just any gas, loud, audible gas.** And every 15-20 minutes for about 4 hours, she would fart, LOUDLY, which would startle her awake, causing her to scramble to get up (small room + huge dog + slippery wood floors makes this a significant event) and bullet out of the room. After about 3 minutes, she would come back, slam herself down on the floor, sigh loudly and fall back asleep. Until 15 minutes later when this would all happen again. For several HOURS. Exhausted the next day at work, I didn't feel at liberty to say, "Excuse me for yawning, but my dog got gas." Because that just sounds too nuts.

2) About two weeks ago, in an attempt to rid myself of a terrible cold I had had for six weeks, I went to the doctor. Everything went fine and I was sent home with some crazy antibiotics and told I might feel better in 2 to 4 weeks. (Awesome. I should note those two weeks included Holy Week and Easter). On the way home, I thought I might treat myself to a bagel and coffee at the shop right next to the doctor's office so I didn't have to make lunch at home and could go directly back to bed and spend more quality time feeling like I was dying.  So I get in line, order my bagel, and get to the front counter where I am reminded by an annoying little sign that this particular coffee shop has a $10 minimum on credit cards. Damn. Do I have any cash? Of course not. This is the 21st Century. But it is too late to bow out as I've already ordered the bagel. So I proceed to have the following conversation:
College-Age Disinterested Register Girl: "$5.01"
Me: "I'm so sorry....I only have a card."
CADRG: "We have a $10 minimum."
Me: "Oh. Okay. We'll then I'll add a cranberry juice."
CADRG: "That's $6.28." Blank Stare.
Me (bordering on getting annoyed): "Ooooookay. Well then how about I get a bag of chips."
CADRG: "That's only $8.05." Looks at her nails.
Me (now beginning to unravel as other customers line up behind me and demonstrate their annoyance at having to wait, my nose starts running and my head feels like it is being crushed by giant fist.): "What are you going to make me buy everything in the damn store? Haha." (I was surprised this was what I said, when what I had intended to say was "I'll have an almond croissant." I added the Haha apparently to make it seem I was joking, when I was clearly NOT.)
CADRG: "I'm sorry. It's our policy."
Me (I feel the waters of annoyance being let loose, but I try to stick to the Almond Croissant Strategy): "Well, it's a bad policy. And it's actually against Mastercard policy.*** You're not supposed to have a minimum."
CADRG: "It's our policy. No exceptions. It's just that they charge us a lot to use the cards."****
Me: "Great."
CADRG: "Is there something else?"
Me: "Yes, um......just give me an almond croissant. Is THAT enough?"
CADRG: "Yes, that's $10.28"
Me: "Thank God."
Now, you're thinking, "That's not that bad. This could happen to anyone." Yes. It could. But that's not it. Having paid my $10.28 disgruntled-ly, I heard the College-Age Disinterested Barista called out that my latte was ready. I picked it up and tried to make it over to the counter so I could get a lid, at which point, burdened by the dozens of items I was trying to carry (wallet, bag of prescriptions, juice, chips, bagel), I DROPPED multiple things INCLUDING the latte, which exploded all over the floor next to the bagel which, in falling, slipped out of its wrapper and landed cream-cheese side down on the nasty welcome mat. So much for my my attempt to make a quick exit after my outburst at CADRG. Now I am faced with the moral dilemma, do I stay to help clean it up or just leave? Spirit broken, I grab a few napkins and start to pathetically mop up the latte, at which point CADB says, "MAAM...I'll come get it with the mop." "I'm sorry," I say. Now you think, it's really over. But NO. Because I am now gripped by the Universe-Crazy-Balancing Mechanism. On top of which this is a JUSTICE issue. A combination which causes me to YELL OUT to the Register Girl as I am crouching on the floor mopping up hot milk with two crappy napkins: "What? Are you going to make me spend another $10 to get another latte?" and then run out of the store. ***** It has been said that one should not cry over spilled milk, but I did cry over this (mostly I was just feeling so TERRIBLE) as I enjoyed my lunch of cranberry juice and potato chips.******You should know that I am laughing out loud as I am writing this, almost too hard to even type. But seriously, who AM I?

3) Last week, I was in TJMaxx looking for new jeans and a new pair of black slacks, both of which had worn out on me simultaneously during Holy Week. In the dressing room, I pull on a pair of jeans only to feel a SEARING pain on the outside of my left thigh. I take the pants back off again and realize that the security tag preventing me from stealing said jeans was missing its back, making it effectively a 1.5 inch long nail which had ripped a 10 inch long slit in the flesh of my thigh. And there I am, dripping blood in the dressing room of TJMaxx with no pants and absolutely no idea what to do. I rationally assessed that I didn't want to put my own pants back on, lest they end up drenched in blood and I be forced to again risk my life as a discount retailer to replace THEM. But I definitely should be wearing pants. So I just stood there, pantless and bleeding thinking: "Why is this my life?"

All that to say, does anyone else feel gripped by this cosmic force of hysteria? Or is it just me?

*I live with one of these people.
** My friend who knows a LOT about dogs tells me dogs shouldn't get audible gas...but should or shouldn't, this was LEGIT.
***Only people with non-crazy spouses who work at banks say things like this. But it is in fact true. And immediately upon recounting this story to Mr. L, he logged on to Mastercard.com and reported them. 'Cause that's how he rolls.
**** Later, I realized that I wanted to say, "Well, that's the cost of doing business." Genius.
***** This ACTUALLY happened, though I myself can barely believe it.
****** Once I got back to the car, I realized that CADRG never even GAVE me the croissant. But I felt re-entry was too humiliating.

Announcing My Candidacy

Warning: I'm about to get political on you for a minute. Because I'm officially announcing my candidacy for public office (Eat it, Trump!). Though the exact nature of said office and how I will run for it still remains up in the air, I've officially decided on my campaign slogan:

Taxes: They Pay for Shit. 

That's right. And that's it. And I'm going to be SO popular.

But seriously, let's get real America. Taxes pay for shit. I know no one wants to pay them, but no one wants to take out the trash or do the dishes or clean the toilet. But we suck it up, because otherwise the whole place becomes a stinking mess.

I get the feeling that most of the folks out there want to have health care for the elderly (especially when THEY are elderly) and funding for the military and firefighters who show up on time and a justice system that doesn't solve things by coming to shoot you in the middle of the night. And SOME people even want to have a government that supports the arts and cares for a woman's reproductive health and helps children at risk get a head start before they're in school. But NO ONE WANTS TO PAY MORE TAXES.

Which is just silly. And impossible. So thus my campaign.

The reality recently came to light that 47% of Americans paid no income tax this year. Now, this is a nuanced issue and not as easy as making those 47% just pay taxes. (Read a very good piece here on why this is so complicated.) But the simple fact is that you can't keep spending money on the things you want without the income to support it. And those of us that can afford it (yes that means you top 5%, but it means me too!) need to pony up. Not because we want to, but because we should.

To inspire you, here are some words from one of my role-model political regimes: The Bartlett White House. (If only they were real!).


Bumper stickers and lawn signs will be available soon......