"If someone spits on the road in Kentucky, and it freezes, schools are cancelled." - A Kentucky Saying, related to me by the librarian today
I would like to saw that this is an exaggeration, but I feel like it's really not. 1/4 of an inch will have every county in a three hour radius shut down.
Partly, this is silly. Especially coming from New England and watching UNH buses in ditches on the side of the road while five feet of slushy, icey, wintery mix piles up and schools waffles and hedge and haw and then compromise with a "2 HOUR DELAY". Curtailed operations were just a beautiful dream to be awoken from at 8am by your alarm clock, to clean two feet of snow off your car and follow three salt trucks and two plows down backroads to show up late to a class that started right on time, as usual. Bummer.
So sometimes Kentucky seems ridiculous. All schools closed, CAP vehicles grounded, nobody leave their houses because there is ONE AND A HALF INCHES OF SNOW EVERYWHERE! NOBODY PANIC! EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL!
But conversely, the roads here are so crazy, narrow, and windy that it actually does get super dangerous to drive on them. I heard (also from the librarian) that a couple years ago ABC News made a jab at Jackson County on national TV for having one of the highest school closing rates for snow in the country. And then they sent a crew down here, and drove them down some "hollers" with 180 degree curves on the edge of mountains dropping into ravines, slick with that much-mocked 1/8 of an inch of snow - and ABC retracted their apology.
So all this to say that yeah, we skipped church this morning, because "snow was coming in." Me and L, from Wisconsin, swapped stories about how back in the day, back home, we would never ever skip anything because of snow, forget about potential snow. We're becoming real Kentuckians!
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
wired!
Today Steve flipped the switch in the closet and the light went on!
It went on because me and T had strung hundreds of yards of yellow wiring through the beams in the ceiling; because we drilled holes in studs and strung wires from room to room to room to room, nailing them to studs awkwardly with sideways hammers; because we stripped out the ends of the wires and fastened together black wires and white wires and connected up ground wires, and coiled them all back up in the little box that we also had to hammer in; because we stripped wires and coiled the edges around little screws on the sides of the light switches and painfully tries to twist hard wire into tiny spaces; because we crawled on ladders in little spaces and screwed above our heads to hook up funny colored wires to funny colored screws inside a funny shaped light fixture; because we put in light bulbs.
That's where the magic came from. Not magic at all - just a lot wires and screwdrivers and funny angles and frustrating spaces.
But alternatively, I feel like dancing around the lights like Tom Hanks in Castaway, bellowing "SEE WHAT I HAVE CREATED!"
It went on because me and T had strung hundreds of yards of yellow wiring through the beams in the ceiling; because we drilled holes in studs and strung wires from room to room to room to room, nailing them to studs awkwardly with sideways hammers; because we stripped out the ends of the wires and fastened together black wires and white wires and connected up ground wires, and coiled them all back up in the little box that we also had to hammer in; because we stripped wires and coiled the edges around little screws on the sides of the light switches and painfully tries to twist hard wire into tiny spaces; because we crawled on ladders in little spaces and screwed above our heads to hook up funny colored wires to funny colored screws inside a funny shaped light fixture; because we put in light bulbs.
That's where the magic came from. Not magic at all - just a lot wires and screwdrivers and funny angles and frustrating spaces.
But alternatively, I feel like dancing around the lights like Tom Hanks in Castaway, bellowing "SEE WHAT I HAVE CREATED!"
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Thankfulness
What do you do when shit hits the fan?
Be thankful. All the time.
About what, Mary C?
Everything. Anytime. If you're bored, be thankful - lonely, be thankful - fat, be thankful - angry, be thankful - resentful, be thankful - tired, be thankful.
What does that mean, in real life, Mary C? "This paint is getting all over the ceiling, what a pain" - so do I thank God that I have arms to paint at all?
No, it doesn't have to relate to the thing you hate, or the person you're angry at, or the situation that is making you lonely. It doesn't mean intentionally finding the good in a bad situation. It just means, whatever you do, just be thankful. Thank God for the fact that there is a sky. That music is real, that emotions are good. Thank God for Harry Potter; for improved handwriting; for peppermint patties; for Calvin and Hobbes; for living in a house with a piano; for Michelle Obama; for warm February days; for Jayne hats; for telephones; for the ability to go running.
And thank God for that while you're bored out of your mind putting up siding, or resentful about a friend, or achingly lonely. Just thank God. Thanks for everything, Jesus.
This is important because it puts everything into God's perspective. Now you aren't seeing the world from your POV, you're switched. You've entered into God's reality. You have transcended your own little moment of misery or self-indulgence or pride or boredom and remembered what is true about the world:
that God is good, that He gives good gifts, and that HE LOVES.
Be thankful. All the time.
About what, Mary C?
Everything. Anytime. If you're bored, be thankful - lonely, be thankful - fat, be thankful - angry, be thankful - resentful, be thankful - tired, be thankful.
What does that mean, in real life, Mary C? "This paint is getting all over the ceiling, what a pain" - so do I thank God that I have arms to paint at all?
No, it doesn't have to relate to the thing you hate, or the person you're angry at, or the situation that is making you lonely. It doesn't mean intentionally finding the good in a bad situation. It just means, whatever you do, just be thankful. Thank God for the fact that there is a sky. That music is real, that emotions are good. Thank God for Harry Potter; for improved handwriting; for peppermint patties; for Calvin and Hobbes; for living in a house with a piano; for Michelle Obama; for warm February days; for Jayne hats; for telephones; for the ability to go running.
And thank God for that while you're bored out of your mind putting up siding, or resentful about a friend, or achingly lonely. Just thank God. Thanks for everything, Jesus.
This is important because it puts everything into God's perspective. Now you aren't seeing the world from your POV, you're switched. You've entered into God's reality. You have transcended your own little moment of misery or self-indulgence or pride or boredom and remembered what is true about the world:
that God is good, that He gives good gifts, and that HE LOVES.
And in this he showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazel nut , lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed. And it was as round as any ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and thought, 'What may this be?' And it was answered generally thus,'It is all that is made.' I marvelled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nought for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so have all things their beginning by the love of God.
In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it. The second that he loves it. And the third, that God keeps it.
- Julian of Norwich
Friday, February 10, 2012
Two Cats
I got to run the Bobcat last week at work! We were filling up our porch floor with cement, and Steve had to level out the cement and make it all fancy and flush and whatever else he was doing with that framing square and 2x4. So I got to drive the 'Cat back and forth across the 12 inch deep mud that was Kentucky yellow clay (I probably will never get it out of my clothes, and definitely will never get it out from under my fingernails), filling the bucket up with cement from the truck, then dumping it into the porch frame thing we had made with concrete blocks.
It was so super awesome! First of all, because there is a lot of power in that tiny little machine. When you whirl and push all of the levers and gears to make it turn around, you can feel it pushing against the mud it's stuck in and pushing itself right out. Amazing. Secondly, it was nice to be at work and using my brain. It's hard to keep track of what all the levers do, and remember which way makes the bucket go up and which way makes it go down. (This is really important when hauling cement!). So I made little jingles that I repeated under my breath in the cab: "HEEL-UP TOE-DOWN HEEL-UP TOE-DOWN!" and didn't dump out a single load of cement in the wrong place! There were def some moments where I thought that I might knock Steve out by lifting up the empty bucket too energetically, but we both made it through alive.
The cement dude was super-duper nice, too. Every time I wheeled the Bobcat back to his truck, he grinned and gave me a thumbs up - then halfway through, he got out of his truck and gave us all peppermints! It's silly how a little thing like that can really make the whole day shiny. Above and beyond, Mr. Cement Dude.
But the best part was later, when it was starting to get really chilly, and my fingers were really numb and starting to hurt from the wind, so while he was pouring cement from his pour-spout into my bucket, I blew on my fingers a little and sat on them to try and get the blood flowing. When I came back for more cement, he crawled out of his cab and gave me a pair of black cotton gloves. "I know it can get real cold working that machinery!" he told me. "You go ahead and keep those! And keep up the good work! You're doing great for your first time on it!"
Blessings all around.
But this isn't the end of the story of The Cat. Because this story is not about one cat, but two cats.
Because after meticulously leveling the cement; after scraping all the edges of the porch with strange metal tools; after running trowels around the inside edge to give the cement a nice soft corner; after brushing the top of the cement with a special broom to give it grooves:
we showed up the next morning to a set of dainty pussy cat footprints that stretched from one corner of the porch to the other.
It was hard to stop Steve from heading to the hills to track down and kill the offending critter.
It was so super awesome! First of all, because there is a lot of power in that tiny little machine. When you whirl and push all of the levers and gears to make it turn around, you can feel it pushing against the mud it's stuck in and pushing itself right out. Amazing. Secondly, it was nice to be at work and using my brain. It's hard to keep track of what all the levers do, and remember which way makes the bucket go up and which way makes it go down. (This is really important when hauling cement!). So I made little jingles that I repeated under my breath in the cab: "HEEL-UP TOE-DOWN HEEL-UP TOE-DOWN!" and didn't dump out a single load of cement in the wrong place! There were def some moments where I thought that I might knock Steve out by lifting up the empty bucket too energetically, but we both made it through alive.
The cement dude was super-duper nice, too. Every time I wheeled the Bobcat back to his truck, he grinned and gave me a thumbs up - then halfway through, he got out of his truck and gave us all peppermints! It's silly how a little thing like that can really make the whole day shiny. Above and beyond, Mr. Cement Dude.
But the best part was later, when it was starting to get really chilly, and my fingers were really numb and starting to hurt from the wind, so while he was pouring cement from his pour-spout into my bucket, I blew on my fingers a little and sat on them to try and get the blood flowing. When I came back for more cement, he crawled out of his cab and gave me a pair of black cotton gloves. "I know it can get real cold working that machinery!" he told me. "You go ahead and keep those! And keep up the good work! You're doing great for your first time on it!"
Blessings all around.
But this isn't the end of the story of The Cat. Because this story is not about one cat, but two cats.
Because after meticulously leveling the cement; after scraping all the edges of the porch with strange metal tools; after running trowels around the inside edge to give the cement a nice soft corner; after brushing the top of the cement with a special broom to give it grooves:
we showed up the next morning to a set of dainty pussy cat footprints that stretched from one corner of the porch to the other.
It was hard to stop Steve from heading to the hills to track down and kill the offending critter.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Dial a Deal
There is a radio program on Kentucky radio called Dial a Deal, where nice people can call in and announce on the radio what they want or what they need. It's like the original Craigslist except much more fun. People sell their old freezers, beans from their gardens, and shovels; people call in looking for guard dogs, tires for trucks, and moonshine. (Legit. This happened.)
A couple times during Dial a Deal we get TRIVIA QUESTIONS! which are sometimes local ("What is the courthouse in McKee made of?") and sometimes more broad ("What is the state bird of South Carolina?"). If you win you get your pick of whatever 12 pack of soda tickles your fancy, to pick up at your convenience at the local Fill-Ups.
Today's question was historical. "What famous English sea captain first spotted the state of Washington in the 16th century?"
In all fairness, I had no clue what the answer was. But also in all fairness... I was pretty sure that the answer was not Long John Silver, Captain D, or Captain Kirk, all three of which were guessed when the phone lines started ringing at JR Richard's office. Buahahahaha.
A couple times during Dial a Deal we get TRIVIA QUESTIONS! which are sometimes local ("What is the courthouse in McKee made of?") and sometimes more broad ("What is the state bird of South Carolina?"). If you win you get your pick of whatever 12 pack of soda tickles your fancy, to pick up at your convenience at the local Fill-Ups.
Today's question was historical. "What famous English sea captain first spotted the state of Washington in the 16th century?"
In all fairness, I had no clue what the answer was. But also in all fairness... I was pretty sure that the answer was not Long John Silver, Captain D, or Captain Kirk, all three of which were guessed when the phone lines started ringing at JR Richard's office. Buahahahaha.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
bearing burdens
some thoughts from Christmas break.
bearing burdens, big Egg boxes and Home Depot and Amazon.com, long and narrow umbrella shapes and shoe shaped and yes, egg shaped. Christmas in a box, from the have-muches in California and Wisconsin and Maine to the have-lesses in Kentucky, and they are full of Barbie dolls and pocket knives and Axe body wash and everything that makes Christmas nice.
so many boxes! huge boxes weight 12 pounds and wee little boxes make my back crack. you bend down to heft up this ginormo box and it's like picking up an empty milk carton and feeling it fly up in the air because you used too many muscles. and then when you balance three of these feather boxes, everyone is so super impressed with your massive muscles. but you aren't using muscles at all. and then when you are bent all over double with a tiny shoe box full of bullets or gravel or whatever the hell they put in it, people are probably thinking (if they bothered to think about it) that you should at least be carrying three or four shoeboxes because they don't know that your box is full of bullets!
So life. We all watch each other carry around our crap. Sometimes it is very large, sometimes it is very small. We judge each other's crap, and we judge how much crap other people can carry gracefully. But we don't know how heavy it is. We don't know if the Big Crap that she has is a box of gravel or a box of feather pillows. We don't know if that shoebox has shoes or wrenches. So we judge people and how strong they are or how fast they move based on the size of the burden that they're carrying, but really, we don't know how heavy the burden is. It's wisest not to waste time judging other people's burdens at all, I think.
bearing burdens, big Egg boxes and Home Depot and Amazon.com, long and narrow umbrella shapes and shoe shaped and yes, egg shaped. Christmas in a box, from the have-muches in California and Wisconsin and Maine to the have-lesses in Kentucky, and they are full of Barbie dolls and pocket knives and Axe body wash and everything that makes Christmas nice.
so many boxes! huge boxes weight 12 pounds and wee little boxes make my back crack. you bend down to heft up this ginormo box and it's like picking up an empty milk carton and feeling it fly up in the air because you used too many muscles. and then when you balance three of these feather boxes, everyone is so super impressed with your massive muscles. but you aren't using muscles at all. and then when you are bent all over double with a tiny shoe box full of bullets or gravel or whatever the hell they put in it, people are probably thinking (if they bothered to think about it) that you should at least be carrying three or four shoeboxes because they don't know that your box is full of bullets!
So life. We all watch each other carry around our crap. Sometimes it is very large, sometimes it is very small. We judge each other's crap, and we judge how much crap other people can carry gracefully. But we don't know how heavy it is. We don't know if the Big Crap that she has is a box of gravel or a box of feather pillows. We don't know if that shoebox has shoes or wrenches. So we judge people and how strong they are or how fast they move based on the size of the burden that they're carrying, but really, we don't know how heavy the burden is. It's wisest not to waste time judging other people's burdens at all, I think.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
run for all that is holy!
today i got off the couch, put on my running gear, shoved my ipod into a sock, and ran out into the rain.
here is what happened when i ran further than three miles for the first time in two years, and here is what i learned while i ran them.
mile 1: eeeeeeeeeh i am so wet and so cold and so slow and damnit, tim is passing me because he is running too and he's running so faaaaaaaast eeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhh.
mile 2: waaaah, i'm blind because my glasses are all wet and my ipod is playing "i will walk by faith, even when I cannot see" which makes me suspicious that jesus is laughing at me.
mile 2.1: glasses off. useless anyway. i will go for three miles and then i will go back home and go back to bed.
mile 2.4: more ipod mockery. "god of creation, take my breath away.' mr. crowder, when your breath is literally taken away, you will not sound so smug about it.
mile 2.5: tim is passing me again. WARNING! "that crazy black dog that's chained up by the dip in the road is untied today!" oy vey! i will run in the other direction with great alacrity!
mile 3: i like running without my glasses! i am in a running super zen. i can't really see anything, but i'm running. i can feel myself moving, and i don't think i've noticed that before. i'm in a weird running zone where nothing really exists except me and my heart and my legs and cold rain on my hot face and lots of fuzzy, beautiful colors everywhere. there are so many sensations and so very few thoughts. i am going to go for 4 miles today!
mile 4: "your love flows like water rushing over me" - another phrase sounds a lot better in a song than it feels in real life.
mile 4.5: wherein i learn that no matter how hard it rains, you still can't catch enough water in your open mouth to stave off dehydration.
mile 5: well, now i have done five miles. but this is not as far as i could go if i kept running. if i keep running, then i''ll go farther. logically, it's valid.
mile 6: road feet rain dry mouth wet hair thump thump jennifer knapp road feet breathe in breathe out road rain WOOF WOOF! wet hill mud road rain thump thump isthatstumpabear? road feet rain
mile 6.5: oh. holy. son. of. road. can't. oh. crap. oh. crazy. legs. come. on. COME. ON. FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. ALL. THAT. IS. BEAUTIFUL.
mile 7 - i am queen of all that i behold.
mile 0: on the couch. they can bring me my food here all weekend. pretty sure i won't ever move again. three cheers for recreational running: running neither to something nor from something! the heights of ridiculousness and the pinnacle of meaninglessness! but it seems like the act of conquering the body - reigning it in, harnessing its often surprising amount of power, and using it - seems to have meaning in and of itself. Bring it.
here is what happened when i ran further than three miles for the first time in two years, and here is what i learned while i ran them.
mile 1: eeeeeeeeeh i am so wet and so cold and so slow and damnit, tim is passing me because he is running too and he's running so faaaaaaaast eeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhh.
mile 2: waaaah, i'm blind because my glasses are all wet and my ipod is playing "i will walk by faith, even when I cannot see" which makes me suspicious that jesus is laughing at me.
mile 2.1: glasses off. useless anyway. i will go for three miles and then i will go back home and go back to bed.
mile 2.4: more ipod mockery. "god of creation, take my breath away.' mr. crowder, when your breath is literally taken away, you will not sound so smug about it.
mile 2.5: tim is passing me again. WARNING! "that crazy black dog that's chained up by the dip in the road is untied today!" oy vey! i will run in the other direction with great alacrity!
mile 3: i like running without my glasses! i am in a running super zen. i can't really see anything, but i'm running. i can feel myself moving, and i don't think i've noticed that before. i'm in a weird running zone where nothing really exists except me and my heart and my legs and cold rain on my hot face and lots of fuzzy, beautiful colors everywhere. there are so many sensations and so very few thoughts. i am going to go for 4 miles today!
mile 4: "your love flows like water rushing over me" - another phrase sounds a lot better in a song than it feels in real life.
mile 4.5: wherein i learn that no matter how hard it rains, you still can't catch enough water in your open mouth to stave off dehydration.
mile 5: well, now i have done five miles. but this is not as far as i could go if i kept running. if i keep running, then i''ll go farther. logically, it's valid.
mile 6: road feet rain dry mouth wet hair thump thump jennifer knapp road feet breathe in breathe out road rain WOOF WOOF! wet hill mud road rain thump thump isthatstumpabear? road feet rain
mile 6.5: oh. holy. son. of. road. can't. oh. crap. oh. crazy. legs. come. on. COME. ON. FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. ALL. THAT. IS. BEAUTIFUL.
mile 7 - i am queen of all that i behold.
mile 0: on the couch. they can bring me my food here all weekend. pretty sure i won't ever move again. three cheers for recreational running: running neither to something nor from something! the heights of ridiculousness and the pinnacle of meaninglessness! but it seems like the act of conquering the body - reigning it in, harnessing its often surprising amount of power, and using it - seems to have meaning in and of itself. Bring it.
"If you are going to win any battle, you have to do one thing. You have to make the mind run the body. Never let the body tell the mind what to do... The body is never tired if the mind is not tired." -General George S. Patton
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)