tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39851775349211629762024-02-18T23:25:42.147-08:00Contemplative rain-drenched.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-33418359308395101162012-04-23T06:37:00.002-07:002012-04-23T06:39:33.852-07:00Where I wake up.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtGk6EoQrutHtOGYF1Vu0IJpRSq3KI_VZpKH2RCIH3whmTj1OXOvEeHSE2CG3AtBkXzr7E_6Bs9KVg4o593TzsGkRX7EmhIAAoAVUxi00CSV_cO9mRGsjlzWXIA7ynghgZxsaUEBP3gE/s1600/blogpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtGk6EoQrutHtOGYF1Vu0IJpRSq3KI_VZpKH2RCIH3whmTj1OXOvEeHSE2CG3AtBkXzr7E_6Bs9KVg4o593TzsGkRX7EmhIAAoAVUxi00CSV_cO9mRGsjlzWXIA7ynghgZxsaUEBP3gE/s320/blogpic.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There is a Rich Mullins song that begins like this: “And the moon is a sliver of silver. Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a Carpenter’s shop. Every house must have it’s builder. And I awoke in the house of God.”</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“And I awoke in the house of God.”</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I think of that last line a lot. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It is one of those phrases that comes to me and captures my reminiscing and washes stroke of light over some of the most beautiful moments I have experienced in this life. Moments in the house of God.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Most of these moments have been in spectacular places. Places that were new, adventurous, and beautiful. Because in these settings, one is usually removed from routine, stress, tasks...free to explore and experience. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My memories of awareness of <i>waking</i> in the house of God have been in different countries, at the tops of mountains, in ancient cathedrals and at the shores of stormy beaches. In my travels. In my time “away”. At rest. Removed.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Until last week. I have been following (or at least struggling and trying to follow) the Christian faith for fifteen years, and I cannot remember a single instance of stopping and knowing that “I awoke in the house of God” in my daily routine. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Maybe I have. But when I look back to try to remember, all that comes to me are the aforementioned spectacular moments. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I feel I must fight my memory- it are so intent on dwelling on the extreme. How can I train it to search and clear away the dazzling and instead dust off and cradle some of the more simple, feeble reminiscences of sitting in a quiet empty apartment or walking to the bus stop and knowing that I awoke in the house of God? </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My days are spent trying to reason with stubborn, jaded teenagers. In the hours that I am not with the kids, I am in front of a computer or on the phone, doing my part to help keep our teen center afloat and functioning. I work hard at this, so that I may spend those precious hours each afternoon banging my head against a brick wall and trying to help 150 thirteen to nineteen year olds develop into productive members of society. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My moments of awe and wonder do tend to get buried under the overwhelming burden of discouragement and frustration that comes with hoping that these kids end up all right and that I am doing the best I can to help that happen. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But I found one last week.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">We took the kids on a field trip. Always a very exhausting venture. We took 40 teens on a bus to downtown Boston to see a music performance from some of the local youth music programs, including three of their peers from our music program. They were loud (normal, so was everyone else). They were pretty obnoxious, yelling and talking when people were trying to make announcements (you can shhh and give the “I am <i>not</i> happy” face for a while, but eventually you sit down, roll your eyes, sigh, and wait for the event to end). Still, once the music started I was actually able to enjoy myself. As lights flashed and <i>terrible </i>teen rap thundered throughout the auditorium, I was able to laugh and smile as I looked around me at the teens going crazy.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And that is where I found a moment, a very fragile yet powerful second, where I stood and let my life and daily routine swirl around me and I took a quick breath and murmured that line of the song that so intrigues me. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And I awoke in the house of God.</span></i></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 12.0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></div>
<div style="font: 11.0px 'Courier New'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It was a very strange place to find it.</span></span></div>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-5761543957759149012012-03-08T00:03:00.001-08:002012-03-08T21:04:54.442-08:00Art imitates nature. Or does Art imitate freaks of nature...?<span class="Apple-style-span">I must be going to bed soon. On nights when I get home from dance rehearsals that run until 10:00, I like to eat a bowl of cereal whilst perusing facebook and friends' blogs. Somehow, this means that I tend to stay awake much later than this nearly thirty-youth worker Jessica normally does.<br />Tonight at rehearsal we danced like creatures. This specific creature is the most accurate </span>comparison:<div><br /></div><div>:<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PJnn-wMPU9w?fs=1" width="459"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I swear we are trained and disciplined artists. Something beautiful (albeit potentially creepy) and visually intriguing will emerge from the madness. But in the process, we looked like 9 pygmy jerboas. </div><div>And I think I chipped a piece of bone off of my elbow as I was deep at work capturing my inner jerboa essence. If not, it will at least be a <i>very</i> dark bruise in the morning.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that is the story of today. In four minutes it will be Friday and it will start to rain. And I will lay awake listening to the pounding downpour and trying not to let those beady little creature eyes bore their way into my already ridiculous dreams.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-10032400033770841562010-11-17T21:30:00.000-08:002010-11-17T21:58:28.420-08:00Pooh, acts of nature and cocoa crunchers.Contemplativeness continues. Can't shut of the contemplations long enough to watch a tv show. So I am sitting here in silence. <div>I have a knot in my back, longest lasting knot I've EVER had, going on a week now. No amount of hot showers, heating packs, stretching, rolling around on a tennis ball or back rubs from my sympathetic husband will kill this thing. It is a monster. </div><div>I swear it is poking me in the lungs sometimes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Or maybe I'm just having trouble breathing. </div><div>A tree is about to fall on our car and start an electrical fire on the way down, after all. It is blustery tonight. Makes me want to watch out the window for a pooh bear to go whooshing by. I hope that someday I will have children who are just as enchanted by A.A. Milne's delightful little critters as I was and continue to be.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is what free writing turns out to be. And my past-midnight during a windstorm head is a free-writing goldmine-a deep, rich bowl of noodles and tangents and fluffy-tailed wandering.</div><div><br /></div><div>My husband is usually the nervous one, but he is sleeping soundly. And silently. This household does not currently snore. (tag for reference 10 years from now).</div><div><br /></div><div>eyes are burning, I am not used to being awake this late on a weeknight. But there is little sense in giving into the sleep when every scuffle of leaves, every cracking branch and every lung-poking shift of that annoying muscle knot will wake me again. With all of these disturbances, how would I ever achieve deep REM and the fanstastical sleep world where I often wear mint green polo shirts and I know how to prevent terrorist attacks.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is always the option of another bowl of Target-brand cocoa crunchers cereal and a half-hour spent perusing through new Facebook pictures of all of my friends cute babies. I am a cute baby Facebook stalker. Cocoa cereal does have caffeine and sugar, and that might keep me awake until the electrical company gets here to rescue our car.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway.</div><div>Happy Windsday, Piglet.</div><div><br /></div>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-85950116119081473822010-02-27T16:27:00.000-08:002010-02-27T19:02:59.178-08:00The puzzling mosaic...<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> Life has been different this year, with a very distinct shape and movement to it.</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> My junior year of college I arrived at my on-campus suite to discover that one of my suite-mates had developed an addiction to jigsaw puzzles over the summer. Lining the walls of the corridor were about twenty puzzles, glued and matted to boards and hung for all to see. I remember a picture of a giant panda chewing on bamboo. You would walk by it (oh, that's cute), and then stop and realize (ah, much more interesting) that each puzzle piece was a different picture of a chinese fan, strategically arranged by their colors. Alongside that very cool panda print were several less-exciting kitten in basket, puppy running through the field variety puzzles. Some art prints. One or two that were almost all ocean or sky, with very little color variance, that would lead anyone who has ever spent time doing puzzles to appreciate the intense patience and concentration (or, I suppose, thorough boredom) needed to complete such a project. And still, beyond all of the the completed masterpieces, was the large wicker basket in the living room, stashed and overflowing with boxes of future jigsaw challenges. That was the year my roommate Kiki tried to bring back the lost and under-appreciated art of the puzzle.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> That very summer after living in the land of jigsaw puzzles, I went to spend teaching dance in Massachusetts. For three weeks of my time there I lived with a lovely, petite, blonde South African woman. She was an inquisitive and overwhelmingly hospitable hummingbird of a person. She was an artist. Her art-studio garage was one of the most exciting spaces I have ever seen in a house. With the paint splattered cement floor and shelves teetering under the weight of buckets, easels, paints, pottery and just about every material needed for unbounded creativity, it actually gave me butterflies in my stomach when I walked in. (I very clearly recall that glorious room filled with the deep murmur of new, unique, and beautiful. That swirling warm-cool-warm of time and labor and imagination. Ahh, I love it.)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> While I was there, my artist-hostess was working on a project outside of the studio. For almost a year she had been collecting. The front entryway of the house was crammed with plastic milk crates full of pottery tiles. She got almost all of them for free, lucky discoveries in dumpsters and roadsides. The expanse of brick that made up the base of the large covered front porch of her home was to be a mosaic of a hillside horizon. She vividly described to me the way you see the different colors and clarity of the rolling hills as they fade into the distance from close up, all the way to the wavy skyline stretching out beyond. A porch-wide panoramic view of one of her favorite sights. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> So, she organized the colors and textures of the tiles. She stacked them. She went to work with a chisel and hammer, carefully breaking up larger pieces to smaller, or simply shaping them to use in more dominant, wide-expanse areas. Many mosaics are made up of pieces that are all the same shape, simply varying in color. I loved hers, though, because the pieces were both big and small. It was unpredictable. She glued them up and then slowly and deliberately filled in the cracks with grout, smoothing and shaping her picture as she went.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> Well, this past year has been large pieces. I got engaged, moved back to the states, planned a wedding, worked a new job, adjusted back to my home culture, got married, drove 1500 miles across the US with my new husband to the tiny, slanty, New England apartment where we have begun our lives together. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">And now I am here.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', serif; font-size: small; ">And sometimes, I'm not really sure what happened.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', serif; font-size: small; ">And maybe tomorrow will be a small piece with a picture of a bright green chinese fan.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-38633548681064936952009-02-16T13:12:00.001-08:002009-02-16T15:02:14.438-08:00From my little corner of the world.Ars Escuela de Música y Danza. (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">school of music and dance</span>, and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Ars</span> is latin for creativity, though perhaps to english ears it does not sound so lovely). <div>Four claustrophobic little music classrooms and a dance classroom with a scuffed wooden floor and smudged, uneven wall mirrors. There are glaring fluorescent lights and a heating and air conditioning system that leaves every room either sweat-dripping hot or joint-stiffening cold. </div><div>It falls a bit short of glamorous.<div>It is simply where I am, most days, for hours on end. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is my little world, which I have realized anew, fits me like a glove (one of those 3 dollar stretchy ones that come in every possible color, but sometimes doesn't come all the way to your knuckles on every finger). </div><div><br /></div><div>I am sitting and trying my hardest to form a bunch of numbers into a spreadsheet...I am always easily distracted during such tasks...when through the air and also through our supposedly soundproof walls (umm, who did we pay for that job?) drifts a hauntingly beautiful piano piece. Then I hear the distinct high pitched exclamation of a teacher who is seeing the reward for their labors. So I slip out of the office into the entryway just outside of the classroom of a teenage piano student, Maria.</div><div>Slowly, doors to some of the music rooms begin to open as people are drawn by the melody to the classroom. People begin surrounding the piano and peering over shoulders in the doorway. She keeps playing...her teacher, Isabel, is bursting with pride and slipping in little comments to her student as fingers glide over the keys. </div><div>As the song finishes and the "audience" cheers for this accomplished teenager, I pause to take it all in. Maria's face is flushed from deep concentration and all the compliments that follow. Across the hall there is the resonant zip of the strings from the electric guitar class, it is almost overpowered by the loud stomping of the nail-soled flamenco shoes against the floor of the dance classroom, though their force is softened by the accompanying sweet clack of the castanets. </div><div>Our little school is filled with people who cannot stay away. </div><div>it is Art. </div><div>Creativity and beauty, hard work and accomplishment. Art can seem so frivolous, somewhat dispensable, when in truth it is completely intrinsic and necessary. It very much is. Why on earth would people pay so much money for piano lessons in the middle of a crashing economy? Why would a middle aged woman sign up for ballet classes for the first time in her life? Not because they will necessarily learn a trade that will help them pay the bills. Not because they will all leave professionals. </div><div>They do it because they simply must.</div><div><br /></div><div>I absolutely love this. Taking in this picture of our little academy, I could feel my heart beat a little more clearly in the sweet recognition of that fact.<br /></div><div>Mopping the floors, doing administrative work, answering phones...the majority of my hours are absorbed in the mundane. But then, these banal hours are so clearly outweighed by the satisfying moments I find watching my little girls master a lovely arabesque, losing myself in the rich movement of my modern dance class, or crowding into the little classroom in order to witness the impromptu piano recital. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, I am feeling a little sentimental about it all. (hey, I'm an artist...) I can't help but believe we should all have these moments in our life. Find our little corner of the world and find contentment in that. Be inspired by what we spend our hours on, inspired enough to write such a sappy blog about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe it will help to reread this tomorrow when I am not able to focus on those spreadsheets...?</div></div>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-19170522049738448932008-12-18T11:47:00.000-08:002009-01-21T11:50:18.938-08:00airplane scramblings...<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva">I still haven’t slept. I am writing this from the plane. I am listening to Amos Lee and getting shivers from the incredible orange horizon stretching out over the clouds. The sun is setting and the clouds are so thick it looks like a perfect snow covered field covering as far as the eye can see.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> The guy giving me the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“international security interview” before I boarded the plane seemed much more intrigued by the idea that this American girl had been living in Spain for three years and was teaching dance there than he was in<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>the fact that someone had asked me to carry an unmarked package onto the plane and say it was mine.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> Sleep would be nice.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> Another milemarker, I suppose. I am on yet another trans-atlantic flight, winging my way towards the Tracy homestead in the peaceful United states Midwest. Spent a few hours in Holland this morning. Very nice, ate some interesting food. I love trying out the food in European countries, as it is not usually drastically different from what I am used to, but just distinct enough to be interesting.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> As we are stopping over in Memphis, I am just thankful I am not stuck sitting next to the southern frat boys I encountered at the gate. I saw them. I heard them. I had that unnerving annoyance well up inside of me, as it never seems to fail that fate has placed us in the same row on that HUGE plane.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva">Phew, relief. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway. They were just going to “dude, drink a beer or a shot first thing and get so f*%#ing wasted”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> Lovely.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> I am dressed like a total spaz today. I play this game with myself when I travel through other European countries, trying to not be pegged as an American. Today I wore a semi-ridiculous outfit, partially because I was up so late packing last night that I forgot to take into account that I would need to wear something today.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> No good movies on the plane today. I might need to pop a few antihistamines to force myself to sleep. I know I must be tired. I really only slept one hour. It felt more like when you fall asleep in class with your head propped up on your hand and then suddenly your head drops and knocks itself out of your palm and you wake up in abrupt agony.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva">That’s what the alarm clock did to me this morning. Knocked my head out of my hand and sent me hurtling into a long and goopy day of exhausted journeying. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> Put shave gel in my hair this morning in the shower. At least I didn’t fall asleep in there and drown.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;font-family:Geneva"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-3735396336008093112008-09-08T00:45:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:52:19.751-08:00I would rather be on top of the world.If I seem distracted, it's because most of the time, in my head, this is what I am doing.<br />If not, well, then it's what I want to be doing.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kMFhc0U074s&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kMFhc0U074s&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-4612538108383311912008-08-28T06:49:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:52:47.047-08:00Uciekaćthat's all I needed to do. Ratować się ucieczką...everything.<br />How do you say "supreme lethargy" in Polish?<br /><br /><div>I can remember the last time I ever sat and watched a TV show in hour-long marathons. August. It only happens in August. </div><div>Fans blasting.</div><div>Shades drawn.</div><div>Patrick Dempsey is saving lives.</div><div>We like it when Patrick Dempsey saves lives.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite the beautiful lethargic hours and the gallon of Pasión de Café ice cream in the freezer, I am excited to go back to work in the coming days.</div><div>My muscles are going to atrophy if I don't.</div><div>Plus, I have read some new thoughts, been inspired by countless hours of new music, picked the brains of both new and long-time friends, climbed to gorgeous heights with awe-inspiring views, penned many new chapters and verses and ramblings of my brain, and because of all that...</div><div>I feel ready to jump in to both creating and creatively instructing again. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I say today.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ask me again tomorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div>Things making me smile at this moment: </div><div><br /></div><div>-A gigantic king james reference Bible </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-Wearing hand-me-down clothes </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-my roomate's baking impulses</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-Subject-O-Matique</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-my Polish heritage</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-drinking something with the word "spritzer" in the title</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-savoring the last few days of 25-ness</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-the cinematic orchestra<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-11825429078540838452008-08-07T23:42:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:53:37.377-08:00Home is where the hacking birds are...There are these birds that sound like smokers with emphysema perched in the tree outside my kitchen window. Someone should have warned them when they were younger.<br />Sunlight and cool morning air streams into the flat and I am smiling, thinking about my first cup of coffee for the day.<br /><br />God knows I usually think of coffee first, and I think He's okay with it, so I try to fill the spaces of my mind that are unconsumed by café with prayers.<br /><br />There's still a few boxes unpacked, a few pictures not yet hung and my bed is covered with an eclectic assortment of things I don't have a place for yet.<br />Even amidst this clutter and settling, friendships, conversation and laughter filled the hours until 3am. Girlfriends curled up on big couch cushions, with iced drinks clinking in glasses and topics ranging through all things we females discuss at these hours.<br /><br />And, in that, I'm home.<br /><br />(What is up with those poor birds, can I give them a throat lozenge or something?)Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-67277265232323030672008-07-28T01:35:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:54:08.154-08:00I care not for consistancy...I am motivated by change.<br />This is why I am not very motivated right now. Monday morning, I find myself sitting at the reception desk in our school, answering phones and writing emails (okay, so I'm pausing to write this) again.... Another week of work, more work than before, now that I'm looking around and taking inventory.<br />I have always known that I thrive on change, that's nothing new. But I have realized that <span style="font-style: italic;">without</span> change I can grow very apathetic.<br />That's probably no good.<br />Next week I am moving for the sixth time in two and a half years. I want to think that a new apartment will be enough change to motivate me a little more. I have this idea that it will inspire me. I will want to cook, write, and draw again. Maybe I'll go back to practicing the guitar. I need my creativity to be refreshed, because this past year and summer session sucked quite a bit out of me. Even though I am not going home, or traveling anywhere (because I have no money...) I am forging heavy battle against my pessimistic tendencies (my mother would be so proud) so I can step into August and the coming school year in expectancy and hope.<br /><br />Is it alright to need change like that? I just don't foresee myself ever <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> needing it so badly...Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-84914255260917182182008-07-10T07:16:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:55:03.252-08:007:30 am, Madrid, Bus 65...I was craning my neck looking for “For Rent” signs whilst riding bus 65 to work this morning when I discovered something.<br />If you stretch your gaze towards the peaks of tall buildings while winding through narrow streets on public transportation (or private transportation, I suppose) and you allow the sun to catch your face for just a second before you inevitably squint your eyes…for just that split-second there is an amazing metaphorical sensation.<br />It captures perfectly the perspective from which I find myself viewing the world and my personal circumstances as of late.<br />Swirling and bending, looming tall above me, but also thoroughly surrounding me on all sides, this season has me feeling slightly dizzy and so very small, tucked deep inside of something much more profound and expansive than I would like to acknowledge.<br /><br />So much of my life right now is wildly out of control. Wildly out of <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> control, that is. I could list all the areas of my existence that have suddenly taken flight and started soaring around me, taunting my human need for containment and understanding, but it is not necessary. Suffice it to say they are all pretty substantial.<br /><br />My reaction to this season has been to draw everything into an intense thought life, rolling stuff around my brain until I go crazy. I guess I assume my brain can handle stuff that my emotions could not. Being both female and artistic, my nature lends itself to reacting to everything with feelings, and so I guess I have given more credit to dealing with things intellectually than is actually due. Neither one works completely.<br /><br />A very wise mother as well as a very dear friend has been just the right human voice to talk me out of this dizzy and floating intellectual wrestling match.<br /><br />Today I embraced that which has been made tangible. My cute little campers, music, dance, laughter, a mop and broom, perfectly ripe cherries, friendship…<br /><br />As for the rest, well, sometimes you just have to let your head fall back and let the world swirl around you as you give into the all-knowing and all-encompassing guidance of the Creator of this journey.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-53526927322088205612008-07-01T01:03:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:55:41.159-08:00Can you die from lack of solitude?!It’s going to be a long month, folks. Only two days into this schedule and I am fairly certain I will not survive. Could be a close call.<br />Working from 7 am to 11 pm, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">children's</span> camp all morning and hours of adult dance classes all evening, (with little more than 45 minutes to eat midday) = not our best idea. Period.<br /><br />And for me, the most frustrating part is not so much tiredness, as it is being absolutely, completely surrounded by people all day. I start to grow edgy and irritated if I can’t find a moment of solitude. It’s ridiculous, I tell you. Even in the bathroom I can hear them outside asking where I am, because I need to find a list or make a phone call or answer a question. I realize I come off looking like a jerk, because I blame it on tiredness when I am short with someone, and I know that we’re all working the same schedule, so what right do I have?<br />I mean, is it ever okay to say to someone: “Well, I am actually not just tired, and you’re really great and all, but you have got to stop talking, go away and leave me in peace before I start to have nervous spasms”?<br /><br />Please tell me that it is okay, because my only other option is to run away. And since I am already planning on trying that option out tomorrow and this weekend, I will be in need of a plan B.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Haha</span>…there’s something so pathetic about so much whining coming from the person that works her job “for the relationships she builds with people” (direct quote from my job description). I wonder if I am <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">fulfilling</span> that line in my contract before or after I tell them to shut up and leave me alone…?<br /><br />I hope and want to believe that there has got to be some grace, even for the most irritable of introverts…sigh.<br /><br />1 o’clock am. I am finally alone, and here I am writing to a mass of people.<br /><br />And I don’t even have Internet and won’t be able to post until tomorrow. What is wrong with me?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Nevermind</span>.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-28569407302997857612008-06-25T15:45:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:56:16.166-08:00Sticking out the gross days...I hate, hate, hate, driving in this city. I actually don't care for driving in general, but I really hate getting lost in Madrid. (and with gas at obscene prices these days, who needs to be driving for hours around rotundas and up little side streets without hope of ever becoming <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">un</span>-lost?)<br /><br /><br />Today was Jessica to the rescue day. I had to force myself to do some things I don't feel comfortable with, because emergency struck our little school today. (again...)<br />I got a call from my boss as I was getting on the train, I could barely hear him, and I had to hang up and call back several times before I deciphered his weak plead, that he was practically unconscious on the side of the road, and could I please go get the other car and find him?<br />Luckily he came to enough to call an ambulance, because I was not going to make it to him with the other car for at least an hour. Plus, he couldn't even tell me where he was.<br /><br />That was the start of my day. I went to the accountant, got last minute legal documents in order and mailed out (hopefully all signed and stamped as they need to be) went wandering all over to find the abandoned car, drive it to the hospital to pick up my boss, and get back to the school. Oh, I also taught a modern dance class in there somewhere.<br /><br />I feel compelled to stay up typing this story (in spite of supreme exhaustion) because it verifies the basis of my decision to stay on for another year. I am needed here, and as a wise friend recently quoted to me: "My calling is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">wherever</span> my greatest gift fills the greatest need."<br />I don't need to go make a need for myself somewhere else, I need to fill the gap I see right here.<br />Even though it is not at all appealing on days like today. Or when I am feeling restless and wanting change. Or when I am lonely and missing my family.<br />I think there are good things in store for sticking out the gross days like today.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-80626741200899317782008-06-10T02:00:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:56:44.397-08:00Desperation and real estate.I am afraid I might have to move...again. It was all so good, after a long summer of living alone in the outskirts of a city where I knew practically no one, and two months of imposing on dear friends in my state of homelessness, I finally found a place to settle. A really great place.<br /><br />Eeeeshhh, I am already dreading the apartment hunt. It is NOT a fun pastime, let me state for the record.<br />I hope and pray it will just occur. The apartment will be found and I will be all moved in with Leah and maybe Mariana, without incident or desperate times of wandering through more of Madrid's hell-holes (valued at 900 euros a month, including moldy ham leg left on counter and permeating aroma of said ham).<br /><br />I'll keep this updated.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-84668933908436674372008-04-12T01:32:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:57:39.159-08:00Ahhhh...Well, Jessica officially loves the south of France. I figured that would be the case.<br />Last week was the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Euroretreat</span> 2008, in Montpelier, on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mediterranean</span> coast of France.<br /><br />I was a bit of a mess when I got there, and it took me a couple of moody walks on the beach and a nice long sleep to shake it off. It didn't help that I only slept one hour the night before, and sat in the Barcelona airport for 8 hours waiting for all my traveling buddies from La <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Coruña</span> to arrive. Yet, when they did, it was like going home. Man, I miss them all so much.<br /><br />What an intense week. I wrestled with the really messy details of my life and begged people wiser than me to help me answer the questions. It wasn't easy or anything, but when all was said and done, I felt free and ready to move forward. Thank God for these people who are so incredible, there are no words.<br />I got thousands of hugs from Sophia, co-lead a spontaneous dance party, shared in introducing people new to the wonderful brand of humor that is "The Office", and savored way too much cheese and wine. I met some new peeps from 5101, cool, great people from the Chicago offices.<br /><br />And the trip home? Well, Andy rented a car and Nate, Sean and I got to drive with him all the way down the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Mediterranean</span> coast of France to Barcelona. We stopped one last time in France to eat, (I ate raw beef...it was not good) and got out of the car frequently to take pictures and walks and enjoy the journey to the fullest. Nate took me for a ride around Barcelona on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">moto</span>, (I'm not so scared in a city that is primarily bikes and pedestrians) and I even got to see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Rebecca</span> for a bit. All in all, I came home a bit lighter inside...possibly heavier outside from all the cheese and pastries, but it was worth it.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-91489098583536039332008-01-15T12:24:00.000-08:002009-01-21T11:58:29.525-08:00Too many homes...<p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;"><em>I have been thinking about home lately. It is not that I don´t have a home, it is that I have many homes. I will eventually have an eternal home, but who knows when that will be? Sooo, in the meantime, I am deciding between the two countries I live in, the US and Spain, or maybe somewhere new altogether.<br /></em></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;"><em>When I am here (Madrid) I am happy, and want to be here. When I am there (states) I am happy and ready to move back. It is frustrating to live overseas, I won´t lie. Everything is 10 times harder than it really needs to be, and I long for familiarity. But, every day has a bit of adventure to it and life is seldom mundane. Ya gotta love that...</em></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;"><em>I know that if I were to move back stateside, I would miss it here like crazy. I wouldn´t be able to remember how frustrated I used to get and why I ever wanted to come back in the first place. But it sure would be nice to not have to misunderstand and be misunderstood every day. (I am talking more about cultural differences than language at this point, because understanding the language does not = understanding the people and their ways, it really doesn´t)</em></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;"><em>It sure would be nice to be able to drive and visit my family, or hop on a plane and be there in a couple hours instead of fourteen. </em></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;"><em>Gosh, I suck at making decisions. Maybe I´ll just move to another country all together. You know, home is here, home is there, maybe I shoulsn´t live at home.</em></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;"><em>That doesn´t make any sense, but then neither does my life at this time.</em></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;"><em>Having a fun two weeks showing my cousin Hannah around my Spanish hometown and realizing that I have amazing people that I love and who love me in both of my homes, and for that I am thankful.</em></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:130%;color:#ffffff;"><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I don´t need more than that for the moment. </span> </em></span></p>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-65372921894456184582007-06-02T12:22:00.000-07:002009-01-21T11:59:25.956-08:00World Record TransitionerI am getting to be a professional at this transition stuff. I am setting packing and unpacking records left and right. One hour today to unpack all my stuff and settle into my new flat. Took me only three hours to pack it all up in the States.<br />Maybe this will be the last major transition for a while, how great would that be?<br /><br />Walked around to explore the new neighborhood today, starting to get used to the idea of being a "Madrileña" now. This city is exciting and diverse and I could find something new to see and do every night if I wanted.<br />Jet lag is hitting me a little weird this time. I fought the tiredness this afternoon so that I would be able to sleep tonight, and I now find myself completely wide-awake. Ughh, I hope this tea I have been drinking isn't caffeinated. Is white tea caffeinated?<br /><br />Pretty much just anxious to jump into things, though…<br />Here's to diving into the thick excitement of unending possibility...cheers? salud?<br />Sure.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-2445546799580691092007-04-08T03:00:00.000-07:002008-06-25T12:22:17.647-07:003 AMt's 3 AM on my last night in La Coruña. I am too high-strung to sleep right now. In a minute I will go finish my laundry and close up my suitcase, and climb into the bed in this tiny, old spanish apartment that has become home.<br />It is such a weird mix of sadness, and nervousness and excitement and anxiousness and exhaustion. At this stage of the game, a lot more sadness. Makes me want to never get attached, never grow to love anyplace or anybody.<br />I am trying to find that independant- follow-God-with-abandon Spirit I once felt like I had. It has gotta be in there somewhere, right?<br />Gotta get some sleep.<br />I have a long drive tomorrow.<br /><br />We'll just wait and see how the next two months go. Keep walking, eyes open, but you can close them sometimes.<br />I think I will go and force those eyes closed.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-91122849799433954862007-02-06T12:20:00.000-08:002008-06-25T12:21:28.765-07:00Dear childhood Jessica,Do you ever have those startling moments when you realize you are a grown up?<br />I had one walking past a window downtown yesterday. Just out of the blue, caught my reflection in a travel agency window, and had the realization that A) I am an adult now and B) I am nothing like I ever imagined I would be when I was a child.<br />Did you ever try and imagine yourself as a grown up?<br />I always pictured myself as a mom in the 1980's. Chin length mom-haircut, big shoulderpad sweater, driving around a station wagon with two kids. I would talk on the phone to all my other mom friends and we would get together for potlucks and bible studies.<br />Kind of a weird picture, but I apparently thought time (and fashion) would stand still and I would turn into my mother. (though we never did have a station wagon...I always wanted one) This is when I was 7 or 8.<br />At age 15-16, I could not imagine life past college. My whole world revolved around that light at the end of the high-school tunnel...go towards the light...go towards the light...<br />Graduating from college I was not thinking so far down the road, I believe I was more interested in just FINDING the freaking road and getting on it.<br />Alright, so I found the road and I am on it, though I am not sure where it is going and the road signs are few and far between, I am traveling on the road.<br /><br />All this is just to say, that somewhere in the middle of all that, I turned into an adult.<br />And it really sneaks up on you, grown-uphood.<br />Because nothing in life is predictable, and you just want to have some warning or some idea of what to expect, I find myself very thankful that there are no shoulder-pad sweaters or station wagons available and that I live in a country with no concept of the "potluck dinner",<br />because I might be tempted to make my childhood dream come true...beware the chin-length-mom-haircut!!<br /><br />Dear childhood Jessica:<br />You will not be like you are picturing. Don't worry, though, it turns out a thousand times better!<br />Sincerely (no, really)<br />Adult Jessica<br /><br />P.S. Stop letting your mother perm your hair, I think all those chemicals will fry your brain just a little and as an adult you will find yourself constantly boarding the wrong bus and wasting hours riding around the city in the wrong direction...Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-58638780223868224072006-12-11T22:00:00.000-08:002008-06-25T12:20:06.683-07:00Divinity and the city busAs I boarded the big blue city bus today to head into town and buy a Christmas tree, Joan Osborn's "If God was one of us" was starting up on the overhead radio.<br />This past summer I read "The DaVinci Code" (about two years after all the hype died down) and last night out of curiosity, rented the movie. Of course, the movie cut out a ton and changed the rest... One part I don't remember from the book had me thinking as I walked downtown today.<br />At the end of the movie, after they have deduced that Sofia is actually from the bloodline of Jesus Christ, she is "sangreal"...Tom Hank's character says something along the lines of "Maybe we don't have to deduce whether or not Christ was divine...Maybe there is divinity in humanity"<br />Well, while I believe that the book is based on...nothing substantial I also believe that Christ was divine. All this is not where I am coming from.<br />If you want to read an angry defense over this book, go to your local Christian bookstore. A lot of close-minded nuts have written books in contradiction and defense.<br />(many without having actually read the book they are angry about...when I say read, I don' t mean "scour looking for points to back your argument up")<br /><br />My point is about divinity and humanity.<br />The reason I was feeling so strongly as I heard Joan sing her song on the bus this morning is because of Christmas.<br />"O come, o come Emmanuel" is, to me, what it is all about. Everything.<br />Remembering how long the world waited for God to come, to save.<br />Remembering that we are not alone, that God is with us, Emmanuel.<br />That God has come to us, saved us, and is making us holy. We are redeemed. We are of Christ's lineage, in a way stronger than blood. He chose us and paid the highest price.<br />Ironically, the song I listened to this morning talks about "the stranger on the bus" (you all know it...) and what I always try to do when I ride the bus is really see the people I am riding with.<br />There is the image of divinity in humanity.<br /><br />(and I found a Christmas tree for three euros...it is a sad little tree that I like because it looks like Charlie Brown's)<br /><br />haha...I am listening to "Come on, let's boogey to the elf dance!" on Sufjan's 42 song Christmas compilation, phenomenal :)Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-80723077219314255692006-11-28T10:22:00.000-08:002008-06-25T08:52:01.394-07:00For letting go..."Knowledge is the season for knowing when and why....balances and reasons keep me from the fire...and every time I'm placed within a perfect role...people come and go, people come and go, people come and go...<br />Fire can be friendly, raising perfect pain...burning off tomorrow and yesterday the same...to always be so weak, and never want to know...you know we come and go, you know we come and go, you know we come and go..."<br /><br /><img src="http://x.myspace.com/images/spacer.gif" alt="" border="0" height="1" width="30" /><table class="blogContentInfo" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr valign="top"><td><img src="http://images.amazon.com/images/P/B000095J4L.01.THUMBZZZ.jpg" border="0" /></td> <td><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000095J4L%3ftag=myspace08-20%26link_code=xm2%26camp=2025%26dev-t=D2WQY839001DMT" target="_blank" onmouseover="window.status=unescape('Me%20Died%20Blue');return true;" onmouseout="window.status='';return true;"><strong>Me Died Blue</strong></a> <br /> By Steven Delopoulos <br /><br /> </td></tr></tbody></table>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-76658723607285541312006-10-18T21:38:00.000-07:002008-06-25T12:39:21.386-07:00My best melancholy.October 2006 <br />The air tonight was clean, original and exquisite. Autumn means something significant to me, something filled with symbolism and poetry. It’s as though everything becomes increasingly emotional, more intensely felt, and, to me anyways, thoroughly melancholy.<br /><br />Watching the dusty thick sweep of the sunset this evening as the day slipped below the brooding wisp of midnight black that surrounds me now, I could feel my thoughts and imagination settle into a big, comfy chair with a cup of coffee, hoping to spend the next few months enveloped in their favorite mood.<br /><br />Because life deserves to feel like this. Deep and cool, everything suddenly changed for good with one crisp wind.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-61930136049499943722006-10-04T15:42:00.000-07:002008-06-25T08:49:11.623-07:00Chilled Irony with a side of apple cider<p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>The kind of day where you have to slide open the office window. </strong></span></p><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Close your eyes, take a deep breath, lean back in to make a sarcastic comment to your co-workers.</strong></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>It smells like fall, the kind of afternoon where I could do something or nothing. I suppose, that since I am writing this, I am doing nothing. But I am on the verge of something. I really am.</p><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong></strong></span><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong></strong></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Buy some chocolate, and some apples. Make those phone calls, step in every dried leaf along the walk back home.</strong></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Practice the guitar. Study my Spanish. Keep up with my ballet. Never stop learning. It feels humble and good to still be learning.</strong></span><br /></p><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>I haven't made my bed today, and ten o'clock in the morning feels earlier and earlier. But then, so does midnight.</strong></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong><br /></strong></span><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>A little bit more..of that apple cider..from yesterday would be deightful,..so would a walk to the beach. Maybe I will give in to both...</strong></span><br /></p><p style="font-family: courier new; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I have to recommend this movie: "Everything is Illuminated" I laughed..very hard. But it's beautiful at the same time. It's a good one.<strong></strong> </p><table class="blogContentInfo" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr valign="top"> <td><img src="http://images.amazon.com/images/P/B000DWMN2S.01.THUMBZZZ.jpg" border="0" /></td> <td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-35731981531184102702006-09-17T04:25:00.000-07:002008-06-25T08:46:05.588-07:00For the love of Ham and this is all Steve Irwin's fault...Barcelona.<br /><br />Most unlikely couple: Walking hand in hand. He was wearing a shirt that said "I cut Scalps Off" She was wearing a shirt that said "Everyone needs Music"...<br /><br />We got hopelessly lost and had to be transferred by airport security back through the point of no return to retrieve our luggage. The cause of the whole ordeal: the crocodile hunter, of course. I was telling Rebecca that he had passed on, (and she didn't believe me) and recounting how I found out whilst we were walking through the secure exit without our suitcases. In short: Two type Bs don't make a Type A.<br /><br />Walking through downtown Barcelona at night I thought I had unwittingly stumbled upon the red light district. I saw a building with neon lights in the shape of legs flashing all over. Upon closer inspection, though, I found them to be not legs of exotic dancers, but rather, legs of ham. Sexy Ham. It was a carniceria. Butcher shop. The Spaniards do love their ham though...<br /><br />New laws for tourists prohibit the entrance of robotic poodles in public parks. Finally, a law I can get on board with.<br /><br />And here's the bottom line:<br /><br />In the midst of so much ridiculous (which does make life and travels rather delightful)<br />I have seen beauty.<br /><br />Madrid and Barcelona are the most diverse cities. Everyone from everywhere. The languages swirled around me, the faces all so different. We walked el paseo maritimo and parc guille together, myself with all these strangers. You can see the Creator in the creation. Whether it was watching the sun dip into the Mediterranean sea or being shoved into a cattle-car like subway, He can be seen.<br /><br />And the next life step for me is a very exciting one. I almost always stumble into these things and find that God was leading me unaware the whole time. The dream is more reality every day.<br /><br />I might need another cafe americano.Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3985177534921162976.post-76287889683750911642006-08-30T11:09:00.000-07:002008-06-25T08:40:54.988-07:00he DaVinci Code, Sushi, New Orleans, El Silbedor, and LorenaSo here's what I know:<br />The big 24 comes in three days...yikes.<br />I miss my family and the IRS. We always have smashing birthday festivities.<br /><br />On Sunday I wasn't really with the program...kind of caught up in myself and all my junk. Then a teenager named Lorena walked into church for the first time and sat next to me.<br />With that, I remembered what we really exist for.<br /><br />I haven't read a newspaper in maybe over a month. I am ignorant as to what's going on out there. Except I know Spain finally decided to get involved in Lebanon. And that they are dancing on the streets of New Orleans again.<br /><br />I kind of wish summer would just end already.<br />Madrid and Barcelona in just two weeks baby! To bad I have so many life decisions to make, no?<br /><br />About two years after everybody, I am reading The DaVinci Code. He's not all that great of a writer, really. But it's entertaining, despite his use of ridiculous metaphors and redundant words and large words that I know he found in the thesaurus and are not part of anyone's vocabulary. (that was a huge run-on...I never said I was that great of a writer)<br /><br />Anyone want to send me some new books?<br /><br />Made some sushi yesterday. Thank God for delicious Japanese cuisine.<br /><br />I hope you guys aren't suffering from the incessant annoyance of a whistler.<br />He's lucky we don't have a pistol en nuestra casa.<br /><br />All in all, life has been, to quote my friend and accomplice Rebecca, "very silly lately..."Ica Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04346026304990433200noreply@blogger.com0