latest top ten.

Here are my latest top ten things. If you know me well you might be familiar with a game I like to play called "Top Fives," where the players (aka the bored people in the room) list their top five of any given category: Movies, books, desserts, vacation spots, dishes, sweaters, shoes, etc.

Ergo, I present to you my current top TEN favorites. Of any genre.

10. Lord of the Rings. I realize it's pretty far behind the times because the LOTR craze happened about five years ago. Before the trilogy was very recently crowned as movie event of the decade, however, I developed an itch to watch them over again and Mark and I began with the extended version (four hours) of The Fellowship of the Ring. It took us two nights, we took a couple nights off to build our anticipation, then dove into The Two Towers, extended version, also over the course of 2 nights. Just finished and we're heading toward number 3, The Return of the King, on Saturday. I can't wait. I almost whisper with anticipation even though I have seen all three movies at least twice and know the end! I wonder how it feels for Orlando and Vigo to know that their trophy performance, most likely of their life, is already finished.

9. Google Chrome. I didn't know what it was either, until I called Apple because Dora (my beloved MacBook) was trudging terribly slow from webpage to webpage on Safari, Apple's own browser. The gentleman techie told me, without telling me, that I should try Google Chrome, a browser created by Google. Of course I downloaded it. Of course it's superior to Safari, Internet Explorer and Mozilla Firefox. Of course Google, once again, proves its capacity to slowly but surely take over planet Earth.

8. Pop music. Seriously. It started when I went home for Christmas and my brother, yes, my 18-year-old brother made me listen to Lady Gaga and Chris Brown and that girl that sings "Tic Toc." And ever since I've been home I can't quit listening to all this stuff. And now I've got "Empire State of Mind" constantly in my head. I don't want to be a pop head, but I can't help it.

7. Editing The Peach Street Girls. Writing the novel was very fun and very emotional and very difficult. It also very much made me question my life calling to be a writer. I dreaded the editing process even more, however, based on the things I've heard from people who have attempted to write a book and, furthermore, make it fly. But, to my delightful surprise, editing is quite fun. Step one: Read the entire book aloud and make notes in the margins each time a sentence is written poorly, you think you must have been sleeping when you wrote, or there is no direction. Also make notes of brilliant lines and hilarious moments. I don't know step two because I'm still on step one.

6. Real Simple Magazine. This is a refreshed favorite because Real Simple is my favorite magazine, but my sister and brother in law gave me a YEAR LONG SUBSCRIPTION for Christmas. The magazine doesn't fit through the brass mail slot on the old wooden door of my apartment so the mail lady leaves it propped against the door. I come home, once a month now, to a smiling Real Simple calling out for me to flip through it ten times or more. The magazine is precisely what it claims: simple articles, stories, recipes, new uses for old things, pictures... delightfully thick pages to flip through and read. No junk. I love it.

5. Our new original oil canvas. That's right, Mark and I have purchased a 2 foot by 3 foot oil canvas of a landscape in Tuscany that resembles about a dozen places I used to ride past on the bus while living in Siena. Once a year in January there is a Starving Artists painting sale where nothing costs over $59. Fabulous. That's where we got it and it is gorgeous.

4. Edamame. That is, soy beans. I almost hate to admit that I have fallen victim to the very granola, very hippie protein source. It just feels too... earthy. I don't know why I feel the need to avoid this rap... like it'll make me suddenly turn vegetarian or something. But here's the truth: Edamame is delicious and filling and perfect for a salad. It's healthy and packed with nutrients and you can buy a bag of the frozen, shelled soy beans for $2.79 at Harris Teeter.

3. My new, way too expensive but absolutely worth it, Citizens of Humanity bootcut jeans. I was not a supporter of astronomically priced designer jeans... until I put a pair on my body. I hate shopping for jeans because they usually don't fit just right and, if they do, then they stretch or shrink once you leave the store. However, after saving up for SIX MONTHS I finally bought my perfect jeans. And they are. Perfect. I know they cost too much, dad, but it was worth it.

2. The moment Mark gets home from work. For so long our work schedules were all kinds of chaos and half the time I didn't even see him get home from the restaurant. But now, when he gets home between 6 and 7 o'clock and I hear that key in the door and I see that devilishly good-looking man I love walking up the narrow steps to our little apartment in his pleated khaki pants and that button up shirt, with his brief case and his dear, dear smile, it makes me know I am going to be happy for the rest of our lives.

1. OmmWriter. Sounds like some kind of Buddhism/Etherial writer thing, but it isn't. It's the best thing that's happened to my writing life in a long time. Please click to find out: www.ommwriter.com

early to tread

In Italy we walked everywhere. It wasn't that we walked from our apartment on Via del Porrione to class two blocks over, or that we walked to the coffee shop down the street. I mean, we literally walked the entire city of Siena daily. We walked outside of Siena too, to the train stop a few kilometers away. And we walked in foreign cities where we visited, like Venice and Rome, the beaches of Viareggio and the coast of the five lands. Without bikes, euros for bus fare or even a skate board, we walked.  It became not only a mode of transport, but our avenue to see the city, experience the shops and meet the people, even if we didn't exchange words. It was charming to walk in Siena where the streets are made of great gray stones and there aren't sidewalks.  The street runs right up to the store fronts and apartment doors and when the trucks drive through delivering meat from the surrounding farms, you press your body against the cold stone walls in order to evade their tires.  

When I look back at my time in Europe, the most impressive memory I have is of traipsing across France, Switzerland, Austria and Italy, and of discovering the exclusive city of Siena on foot.  In Siena the walls, which tower over and close you in, are also the observer's perch, the writer's thinking position.  And beside the picture of the stone streets, I picture the views from the walls looking out over the rolling hills of the Tuscan landscape. 

From my apartment in Ardmore, the grocery store is one mile away, the post office three-quarters of a mile, my office, two miles, and the book store, a little over two. I began walking again, all over town, about two months ago, when the weather turned cold and my seasonally depressed brain began needing as much natural light as possible.  Occasionally my timid self insecurely hopes nobody I know sees me, but I'm getting over it.  It's the strangest thing, though it shouldn't be, but it's wonderful, this walking.  I'm getting to know this city for the first time since I've moved here, really getting to know it.  Its small roads and its strange streets. The houses with red doors and the women who keep great beautiful gardens. I know where the territorial dogs live and which houses have gone on the market, and the ones which have sold.  

It does take longer, I'll admit. Walking. And it's more tiresome. But it's also much more lively and alluring and cleansing.  In this cold winter my cheeks are flushed by the time I make it to the Post Office... but my mama always said rosy cheeks are becoming.

joy.

I was driving through Baptist Hospital on Cloverdale Avenue this week. It was foggy and dark at 4:30, as has been custom in Winston these past few weeks, and I pulled up to the red light in the left turning lane.  All of a sudden I remembered that Christmas is coming, that I'll be in the living room of my family's home with my big old 6 foot 4 inch brother telling me stupid inappropriate jokes, holding a glass of red wine, while my brother-in-law and dad taunt my husband about the recent (pitiful) demonstrations made by his Pittsburgh Steelers.  My mom will be sticking up for him because she thinks that Mark hung the moon and my sister will inevitably be entranced by some Christmas spectacular on the TV while the little Jonathan hangs on Jake, our old golden retriever. 

And when I sat at the light thinking of that scene in my home with my family, whom I love more than anything or anyone on the face of the earth, I actually started to cry.  (Hannah is shaking her head at this, smiling).

That is joy.

Here's another one: our Christmas tree.  It is the most beautiful, brilliant, vivid, psychedelic tree you have ever seen. Colored lights, ridiculous ornaments, "Baby's first Christmas" sled from 1984 (put that one together...) It's absurd, really, and perfect. Six o'clock in the morning is wonderful this month because I get an hour of darkness in the living room with my beautiful bright tree and a cup of coffee and I love it.  

That is joy.

Jonathan. I didn't think I'd ever like a kid as much as I love my nephew. Mark says it's like a drug for me and he is right. I go over there at least once a week to hang out with the kid. He is the best person in the world. Please see the photo posted in the previous entry on the blog.

Friday morning when I was there he was acting drunk, just laughing uncontrollably and stumbling all over the place. I usually end up in laughing fits just being around him.  Anyway, I'm sitting on the ottoman of the comfy chair in the living room and Jonathan waddles over and kind of wraps his arms around my legs and buries his face in my knees, whining.  I pull him up onto my lap and lay my head back into the seat of the chair and he climbs up onto my stomach, flops his head down beside my head and begins to laugh.  His shaking self, stomach on my face, makes me laugh, and apparently it tickles him, so he laughs harder.  Hannah had to come see what in the world was making us laugh so hard because the one-year-old and the twenty-three-year-old literally cannot stop.  

Now that is joy.

welcome to advent.

the end of november.

This morning I finished the first draft of my first novel. It's been a long time coming, since February, and this morning I wrote the final scenes, made a title page, came up with a title for that matter, and converted the document from 180 single-spaced pages to 357 double-spaced pages.  I am so thankful for the book. I love it! Is that crazy? Is it crazy that I just began to cry when it was finished. I don't even know why.

a few pictures from lately.

Halloween night. Our friends got really decked out! We were excited!  Thank you Stefanie and Paul for donning the afros.  And if you're wondering who is down in the right corner, it's Mark.  He's Mike Tomlin. I'm Troy Polamalu.  Hannah and Josh won the costume contest as a snowboarder and a black diamond.  Dad was... some kind of old man. Hilarious.

Sisters, sisters. Never were there such devoted sisters...

Jonathan had discovered the sugar rush of orange marmalade and instead of eating the toast, licked the jam from it. Dad was helping out, which Jonathan thought was totally bizarre.  "Uhh, Papa? What are you doing?"

perspectives on early Christmas festooning.

A common point of contention this time of year is the early Christmas decorating, as exhibited by establishments such as Nordstrom, Starbucks, and the Gap.  Once Halloween is gone, the Christmas train pulls into the station and anyone that sells something gets on board. 

I hear people say all the time, “Oh.my.gosh. I can’t believe they’re already decorating for Christmas. It’s not even Thanksgiving! It’s ruining the spirit of Christmas, commercializing it, nobody remembers what Christmas is really about…” It goes on.

And while I can understand the sentiment of such complaints, I would like to take my stand on the opposing soapbox.

When I saw the first RED CUP (capitalized in honor of importance) of coffee from America’s largest coffee shop chain last Wednesday, I was thrilled.  Yes, it was the fourth day of November. But something about those red cups evokes a sense of great chilly gladness within me.  Those cups scream, “Drink me! You will be filled with the joy of Yuletide!”

And in department stores the great colored balls hang down from the ceiling, strung up with glittering tinsel. Who doesn’t want to hear Mariah Carey sing about her baby on Christmas a hundred times? Shopping in Nordstrom suddenly becomes this wonderfully sentimental walk down memory lane. The smell of Nordstrom reminds me of my mother when she would go to galas with my father. Those were always in December it seems, and he would wear a tuxedo and she a long black skirt with a deep red top. Those nights my parents became the stars of some great fifties movie.

My sister agrees with me (Can I get an “Amen” Hannah?) too, I’m not the only one on the box in the corner facing the ring.  Both of us love when it begins to be dark at 5:15 in the afternoon. Suddenly snuggly evenings are longer and the cold, dark outside forces you in to hunker down and wear socks around your house.  And, after turkey day, when there is a tree with lights and ornaments sitting in the middle of the living room, where else could you possibly want to be???

I must say that I used to follow the crowd on this, believing that Christmas festivities waited until at least the day after Thanksgiving, if not the first of December. I changed my mind, or I took a stand for the thing I always loved. Bring on Christmas early! I will sing carols as soon as I see my first tree.  I’ll try to keep from decorating until after Thanksgiving, but you can believe I’ll be enjoying the mall and Starbucks a little more often.

 

a room with a view.

The Principle of Trees in October

In fall the house is cold.

Hardwood floors, curled upward at the baseboards

from summer humidity

and time,

chill my feet from below.

The toe I broke a while back, 

all healed, feels sore.

Even socks can’t warm these feet

and I don’t want to wear shoes

inside.

 

I like to have my nose turn cold, like a steel doorknob

and touch it with the soft skin on my hand

between my thumb and forefinger.

Slightly damp hair chills my neck and back,

the collar of my sweater is cold too.

 

Pattering fingers dance on the white keys

and turn opaque with cold.

My rings slip around and the diamonds fall

to the underside, unseen.

I grasp a cup of coffee, also losing its heat,

and stare transfixed out the drafty panes

and the leaves outside the window are

like a blazing fire.

part-time all the time

I suppose that I could have gotten a full-time job somewhere. I could leave my house at 7:30 and get to work by 8. Stay there until 5 and wear black slacks with button-ups and sweaters. I could have a little cubicle, maybe eventually an office, and work at my computer and talk to "clients" and write memos.

However, as I have never been one to stay indoors and as I couldn't think of a job where I would stay sane inside of an office all day, I have chosen (or been dumped into) a life of part-time jobs.

I work half time as the Youth Director at Hope Church in Winston-Salem. This means that I pick up high school kids from school and take them to Starbucks and the grocery store. I meet with them for Bible study on Wednesdays and teach Sunday school and plan things like lunches and days on orchards to pick apples. 

I try to write for ten hours a week, working on my book. I never achieve ten hours because I don't have the discipline and life happens and it's the first thing I let fly, though writing my novel is my greatest hope and passion. Funny how we let things like that happen--let our passions linger on the sidewalk waiting for us while we keep holding up one finger, saying "one second!" with a look of apology on our faces.

Leading Young Life at Forsyth Country Day School is a volunteer thing, but ends up being another job which I love. Mark and I just got to spend three days at Windy Gap with 56 high school kids from our school and it was incredible.  The other leaders in our area are some of the coolest people I've ever been friends with and I find myself doing work at the YL Office more often than anywhere else.  Today, in fact, as I sat in the corner of Lauren's office, Murf (the area director) came in and, not seeing me, turned off the light. I realized that if I spoke I'd scare him half to death. So I spoke. And watched him teeter as a falling tree when the ax's final blow has severed the trunk. I actually thought he might crumble. We laughed and he apologized desperately for having used the bathroom just beside Lauren's office. "I don't use that bathroom when the girls are here!" he exclaimed. "I am so sorry you had to hear that." Life is a comedy.

My other job, working at the front desk at a local bone and joint doctor's office, is another ten hours a week. Mark calls it my "fun" job, mostly because he knows I spend the whole morning laughing. I work beside Natalie. She's a good girl, born and raised around here in Walnut Cove.  She's married to Russell, has two daughters in high school and college and has worked at the office for over 15 years.  She knows everyone. Somehow every person that migrates through our office has some kind of connection to Natalie or one of her four sisters or her mother. She's always telling me, "Ginny, it's a bad scene." On bad days, when seventy-year-old women wave their umbrellas wildly, refusing to pay their twenty dollar copay, she purses her lips and, in her southern tongue, orders me to follow her to "the closet" (the supply walk-in closet).  Her eyes widen and, breathing fire, she'll call a spade a spade, use choice words to describe the man who demanded a second set of x-rays and the woman who picked twenty-two pieces of candy out of the candy bowl when she herself wasn't even being seen--her son was. Her son is forty.  "It's pitiful," Natalie says. And all I can do is laugh.