Thankful

Last night, I went for another late swim.

There was a thin veil of wispy clouds covering most of the stars, but a yellow half-moon hung low in the sky and made a dizzy ripple on the water. I followed that for a while, chasing the gold through the cool embrace.

I floated on my back, and dreamed up at the sky. Saw a satellite racing, and tried to keep pace with it, backstroking just underneath its distant arc. It was faster than me though, and I had to swim faster and faster until finally I gave up, treading water and catching my breath. When I finally eased back into my sky-view float though, it was just above me: waiting. Keeping time while I rested. As I began to move once more, it eased back into its own wayfaring odyssey and led me, this time, towards shore.

And it felt like a God sort of satellite. I thought of all the chasing, and worry, and reaching of this last year-- all the discouraging moments, all the desperate prayers. I thought of losing my breath, and crumbling-- and of finding Him right beside me when I lifted my tear-bleared eyes: waiting. Ready to carry me, if need be. I thought of God leading me on, of the worn out following, and of deciding finally, "I will trust anyway. Whatever happens, wherever I end up: I will trust Him anyway." And praise God: I find myself on shore. I find myself led to a safe, indescribably beautiful place.

I got a job, friends.

In this horrible economy, with the countless other young teachers vying for positions-- I got a job. I got a GREAT job, at a GREAT school, working for a woman that seems like she'll be a fantastic administrator, and in a community that seems supportive, and truth-centered, and wonderful.

I get to be a teacher next year. I get to be a real teacher.

And even though I know that teaching Senior AP English is going to feel like backstroking faster and longer than I could ever manage, I trust in my Satellite God. I trust that I will be able to find rest when I truly need it, and that He will lead me in the way I need to go, and provide me the instruction I need to give. I trust in His close, beautiful moments, that I will find long yellow moon paths on cool water. I trust in His huge, intimate, vast, swirling embrace-- as big as an ocean, but as close as the water surrounding me, holding me.

I love a GOOD God. There were so many moments of doubt... but I never needed to worry. I just needed to believe.

Last Night

9:30PM: Ate a DELICIOUS gourmet meal cooked by Max, the French chef, who has been staying with me for the last two weeks along with his brother Sylvain the French Art Expert. Were joined by Max's new American friends, Perry and Karen. Drank wine. "Sante."

12:00AM: Finished dinner; said goodbye to friends.

12:05AM: Started cleaning up.

12:15AM: Accidentally spilled wet compost all over Grandpa's persian rug.

12:16AM: Swore, repeatedly.

12:45AM: Finished cleaning up compost, cleaning up the rug, cleaning out the compost bucket, and dealing with compost smell issues.

12:55AM: Considered hot hot hot heat, and sweaty, sweaty, sweaty self.

12:57AM: Suggested to Max that we go for a swim in Lake Washington.

12:58AM: Decided to go for a swim in Lake Washington.

1:05AM: Pulled through mostly-closed gate at quiet dark park.

1:07AM: Stared out at the perfectly still water and marveled at the complete, permeating quiet.

1:08AM: Dove into the water. Floated on back, and looked at the massive, starry sky.

1:10AM: Thought, "He is big enough. He covers everything."

1:14AM: Swam to dock; climbed on. Breathed big deep breaths of summer star-filled night over cool water.

1:16AM: See lights on park road. Heed Max's warning to jump into water. Hide behind dock posts and watch squad cars.

1:18AM: See bright flashlights saunter down to beach and survey the water. Watch lights find our towels on the beach.

1:19AM: Swear repeatedly.

1:20AM: Call out, "Hello...!" and obediently, reluctantly swim back towards beach.

1:22AM: Have chat with policeman. Explain about Max being French, Greta being sweaty, and Compost having spilled.

1:23AM: Get off with a warning.

1:25AM: Leave park.

1:27AM: Drive back.

1:40AM: Go to bed.

Now THAT is what I call a successful evening.

Craving

I dropped my french friend off in downtown Seattle today, and when driving back to the freeway I experienced one of those moments when everything takes on sharper edges. It was as though the ripe July sunshine suddenly picked up every nuance that's normally blurred away in the overcast, and I remembered just how many people there are in the world, and just how many stories, and just how many wishes and hopes and disappointments and secrets.

I saw an overweight woman trip, and as her friends hurried to stabilize her, her expression indicated that it was a much bigger defeat than just a momentary stumble.

I saw a couple sitting on a wall's ledge in the shade, both in black, and the man had his bald head resting in the crook of the woman's shoulder and neck. He looked tired, and sad, and deeply contented.

I saw a young black man with aviator shades do a hip-hop move in the sunshine and then relax into a shaking of arms and legs. He looked bored, lazy and relaxed in the sun, but ready, his body taut with unspent energy. The wing tattoo on his deltoid moved, but not to movement.

I saw hobos arguing over a panhandling spot. The one with the perfectly lettered sign won; the other trudged off with a limp and eyes that were too squinted for expression.

And I wanted to get lost. Seattle's familiarity, which I normally cherish, suddenly seemed suffocating. I didn't want to be in a city that had no more hidden corners, that was all under the sunlight. I wanted to be drifting. I wanted to be driving down a desert freeway at 110 mph, the map thrown out the window. I wanted a near miss, and then a direct hit. I wanted to be turned inside out, and feel a shiver of the spine. I feel a restless ache of imagination, and I suddenly wished to be hidden, to be flying, to be in a tree, or in a canoe, or simply falling.

I have wings hidden underneath the skin of my arms and they itch for reaching.

When I've Been Working Alone in the House All Day, I Start Conversing with Myself

I am so over this school work.

Yeah, and the school work is over you too! As in, your stack of books TOWERS over you! Yuk yuk!

Self: that was the lamest joke in all the world.

Yes. Ooo: enjoy phrases like, "in all the world."

Also like "unflappable." "Irregardless."

Why does spellcheck say that irregardless is not a word?

Oh. Because it is not.

Remember when you used that in class and your sophomore student interrupted you and corrected you?

OMG. That was totally embarrassing. (Sob.)

But also kind of funny.

My legs are stiff. I am stiff all the time these days. Remember ballet? I could do the splits three ways. Not flexible anymore.

Maybe you are. You should check.

(Self commences in attempt at the splits on the floor.)

DAAAANG! That was real close!

Yes, but I can't even touch my toes. The hamstrings hate me.

It's funny to say "hate" with an accent. Like "hata." "I HATA YOUUUU!"

(Roll eyes at Self.)

People never think my jokes are funny. Like the whale joke. I'm the only one who ever laughs. That joke is HILARIOUS!

I can't believe how hungry I was earlier. I was so hungry!!! I was RAVENOUS.

Like the word RAVENOUS.

Now I'm better.

People are going to think this is such a weird blog.

I HAVE interesting stories. But my bloggy hinges got rusty.

(Pauses to take moment of pleasure in silly phrase.)

And so now there is this crazygalweirdo blog.

Talking to yourself.

People will not hire you to teach if they read this blog.

(Sob.)