black dress, white socks, and Purim

Ah, Valentine's Day weekend ... I remember when ... I thought I'd be rebellious and "cool" and wear all black in protest against the red and pinkclad damsels-in-distress who paraded around campus.  Admitedly I was only playing the part of the lemming and I could never really get into the whole bitter "i-hate-men" act ... but hey, all my friends were doing it ... so not to be left out, I reached into my closet and dusted off my black dress.

But that was then ...

Sure, upon occasion I let myself wonder if there wasn't something wrong with me.  Why am I content being single?  Why do I not long like every other girl for that certain call at 9 pm, the little notes, the walks in between classes, and the church date?  I even dabbled once or twice in wallowing in self-inflicted pity, thinking that perhaps if I mourned not having a "special friend" on Valentine's Day I'd feel more normal and be able to relate to my love-crazed roomates.  But deep down inside ... eh, I had no complaints.  I had great girl friends who were the constants in my life ... plenty of guy pals who kept me amused by sporting their white socks and darkslacks (hmph, art majors of all people should know better) ... and ...

... the annual bouquet of roses.

"Oh, christine got flowers!  ... Who are they from?"

"Read the card."

"'From: the man who loves you most in the whole world' ... Ah!  They're from your dad, aren't they?"

What was I thinking?!! ... Even complete strangers knew that there was no way that I could have a secret lover back in Argentina.

Thank you, Daddy, for all the lovely flowers over the past 2 and 1/3 decades.  Your thoughtfulness, and unfailing, unconditional love are more than I could ever dream of.  Because of you, I have an amazing picture of my own Heavenly Father.

So what is Valentine's like for me now?  Ha! I had a blast this weekend.  At work Friday night, I felt adrenaline rushing through my veins as I booked a dinner reservation for Saturday night in a city where all resteraunts were booked solid.  I even calmed the frantic souls of my two guests with my soothing, reassuring voice.  And then later, I enjoyed the fellowship of my single comrads at my pastor's house.

Saturday, felt like a flashback to PCC days helping my roommates do their hair and makeup as they got ready to meet their Fine Arts dates ... but instead of one of three roommates, I did Rebekah's hair and makeup and instead of the mandatory attendance concert, Rebekah and John were going to a dance with a room full of old doctors.  Sigh.  Wasn't I glad I was going downtown to drink tea with a friend and then see the funniest movie I've seen since ... well ... Napoleon Dynamite!!!

Monday at the inn, a couple who spontaneously decided to get married that day walked in and asked if we had a room available for them.  Later, I sat at the front desk admiring all the lovebirds leave the inn and go out to dinner.  Ah, didn't little Mr. Rumery look dashing in his Naval Officer uniform!!!

"Good night, Christine.  Happy Valentine's Day!"

And then it hit me like someone slapping me on my proverbial sunburned back.  It was Valentine's Day.  sigh ... if only ...

But what was I thinking ... why was I envious? ... that would be like me being upset on Purim that I'm not Jewish!  This holiday isn't for me!  Not yet anyway.

L'chai-im (to life!!!)

state of the 'union'

Ah, wasn't the President's speech tonight magnificent?!! My friends and I made great sport out of noticing at which points those on the left side of the aisle applauded or joined in the standing ovations. I anticipate great things for these next four years.

As I watched the esteemed members of our government tonight sitting together under the great dome of democracy, I experienced a flashback to my sophomore days in college. Perhaps the sight of senators and congressmen compelled this vision ... or was it my Pastor's constant mentioning of the search for that "special someone" (as if he thinks that is a priority in our lives) ... or maybe it was my watching the address with a part Asian girl ... whatever the reason, I was propelled back in time to a four-seater table in the brightly carpetted (the rainbow-colored carpet that supposedly hid the crumbs and food stains) Four Winds cafeteria at Pensacola Christian College sitting opposite my Chinese-American friend Stacey Tom.

Stacey: I've been thinking. I think I know how you're going to meet your husband.

Girls have the tendency to play this game by imagining their own future love stories. Having never dabbled in prophecying my future relationship with my yet unknown mate, I was intrigued ... but never was I prepared for the revelation Stacey provided me with.

After graduating from college, I pursued a career in a graphic design firm in San Fransisco. I became seriously involved with a colleague. As our relationship progressed, I woke up one morning with the realization that he was not the one for me. I packed up my car, drove to the office early in the morning and emptied my office of my belongings and made the seven hour trek south to my grandparents' house. I didn't even leave a voicemail on his cell phone ... no explanation ... no two weeks notice.

("Sounds like something christine would do," was the recent comment made by a friend of mine after hearing the tale thus far.)

The next year or two I lived with my grandparents in their aqua-colored desert home. My social life was sorely lacking--not that I noticed. However, I did enjoy the Sunday afternoons when some of the old folks from the church would invite me to their home for lunch. On occasion I would be introduced to a grandson and the four of us would spend the afternoon playing Scrabble. I never thought much of the grandsons but I adored all of the grandparents who were merely looking out for me.

Then I noticed one Sunday a young man sitting next to one of the senior gentlemen I was close to at church. He wasn't at all dashing ... tall, lanky, a sort of Jimmy Stuart/Abe Lincoln figure. I was extended an invitation to eat lunch with the gentleman and his grandson that afternoon. He was an aspiring politician who was currently assisting a fellow running for the California State legislature. I welcomed the opportunity to hold intellectual conversations once more. He made for great company over the next few weeks. I even helped in the campaign he was working with.

Later he ran for the state legislature himself, and sure enough I was on his planning team, designing posters and listening to him as he practiced his speeches. The night of the election, after hearing he had been elected, I agreed to be his wife.

Eventually we moved to Washington D.C. as he moved up the ladder of success as one of California's two senators . We had three children: two girls, and one boy (the youngest). The two girls attended Harvard and Yale and travelled abroad. One married a doctor, and the other a lawyer. Our son, a good number of years younger than his two sisters, was our problem child. When he was expelled from his private school, we decided to homeschool our son. At 17, he ran away.

Years went by without a word from him, until one day he showed up at our home with a wife and kids and a calling to be a pastor. The Lord used him mightily through the books he wrote, as well as, various ministries he helped to found.

With the house empty, and my husband still busy with committee meetings and Senate sessions on Capitol Hill, I filled my time with travelling with my husband, organizing various charities in the D.C. area, as well as, hostessing various church and social events. The "state of our union" was a happy one in our old age.

When she had completed her rendition of my future marriage, I stared at her, mouth opened in disbelief. Believe me, I added nothing to her story and I'm sure I left out many other details. I had tried to interupt her prophecy many times exclaiming that I would never do such a thing or suggesting that perhaps the story could be made better if ...

I was promptly hush-hushed and told that this was her story and she would tell it as she saw it. (But it's MY life ... I would mutter under my breath.)

Admitedly I never imagined marrying a politician ... not that I imagined who I would marry all that often. I suppose I had always assumed that it would be someone like my own father. Perhaps a military man or a pastor. Or better yet, a military man who would become a pastor. I knew and enjoyed the rigors and joys each of those professions emparted on the spouse, and felt prepared to suffer with and console my mate when the stress became too great. But a politician?!! Hmm, it had never occured to me.

corrective lenses

I recently purchased a green t-shirt that had the Macintosh apple with the bite taken out.

My Bad

~ Eve

was printed underneath. I love that shirt ... It's an example of my ability to laugh at the downfalls of women, including my own. But do I just laugh... or do I learn from those errors. Can I learn to accept responsibility for my faults ... or will I place them on another?

I want so badly to blame Robert Comacho for my present predicament ...

When I was 10 years old, after an eye exam at school, it was found that I would need glasses. Hey, no big deal, both of my parents had them. But I never realized how much they would change my life.

The first day I wore them to school, I had to sit at a special table at lunch with other children who had forgotten their lunch tickets. When the principal wasn't paying attention, Anthony, Robert's "side-kick," delivered a message and darted back to his seat. I pushed my frames back up my nose, and unfolded the note.

I was devistated. My friend. My artistic rival. The one I had given a stuffed heart with my name embroidered on it for Valentine's Day ... he didn't want to be my friend anymore ... because of my glasses! I promptly ripped the large plastic frames off my face. I was crushed.

During the following weeks I would conveniently "forget" and leave them at home when I left for school in the morning. Who cared if I couldn't see the chalkboard!

Thankfully we moved when my dad was restationed, and I was determined to make a new start. No one at the new school knew me (I had been at the previous one since it opened, my kindergarten year, and had become quite popular). The following years I forgot about boys (they cared only for the physical appearance). I concentrated on school, put art aside and read scores of books. For ten years, I wore glasses without a second thought as to how they made me look. They were a shield for me ... something to

hide behind.

What was I hiding from? Boys. If I made myself unattractive they wouldn't bother with me and I wouldn't get hurt again.

Then in college I was drawn to the Art Crowd. Art began to affect my life once more and my glasses no longer had a place in my new life. They didn't fit in with my new image. But instead of glasses I built a wall around myself. I had a nice number of friends who were guys, but everytime a boy tried to get too close and touch the wall, I threw the switch and an electrical current would race through the wall and into his arm sending him retreating.

And Oh how I HATED compliments! Friends scolded me for not being able to accept compliments ... It was supposedly a sign that I lacked self-esteem. HA! It was hardly that. I knew what the compliments really were ... flattery ... and the inability to look any further than physical appearance and recognize me for who I really was.

However, looking back I'm beginning to understand. Can I fault people who only had words of affirmation for my "looks" when I never let down the drawbridge to let them have a peak at what was behind those fortified walls?

sigh.

Regrettabley these past few months I've reverted back to my 5th grade self. I put my contact lenses into their case and replaced the glasses back onto the bridge of my nose. I had snapped. I was unable to take one more compliment. No more pretty clothes ... no more pretty hair ... no more pretty makeup ... t-shirts, sloppy jeans, and my glasses became my faithful companions. They would shield me from the predators.

But oddly enough a series of events have changed me, each one serving to remove the wall piece by piece. One of which was a comment my pastor made ... "Christine, didn't you used to wear contacts?"

The comment was innocent enough. However, I honestly hadn't thought anyone had noticed my retreat into myself. And then my Pastor of all people... huh.

So, as part of my New Year's resolution I am attempting to tear down my fortress. I'm inviting people go to movies with me, to come to the apartment and hang out, and not to mention occasionally allowing a person to cross the bridge and examine the inner workings of myself.

And yesterday ... I bought new contacts.

So, here's to a new year of vulnerability. And maybe eventually I'll hear more of "I love your sense of humor and your passion for life" and less of "I like your shoes."

finding love at register 2

On Saturday, I stopped by Publix on my way home from work.  Feeling a bit ill, I was in need of some knock-out medicine and soup.  While I was inline, a guy started talking to me ...

"How are you today?"

"I'm okay ... well, not really ... I've sort of been hit over the head with a cold."

"I can see that ... hmm, soup mix and benadryll.  Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

"No you won't.  You never do.  It's always empty promises.  Besides you're working."

Yes indeed, dear readers, the high school kid running the register was offering to see me through this sickness.

"Well, I would if I could.  I would make you soup and bring you flowers."

"Ah, that's so sweet."

"Don't worry, I'm sure someone will bring you flowers anyway."

"Ha, yeah!  One day!"

I like Publix.  The commercials are right.  The employees ARE nice!

I'm not sure how I caught this nasty little bug.  It wasn't around the night before when I went to go see Phantom of the Opera (which is going nationwide this week everyone ... a "must see" of the season!).  Stepping out of my comfort bubble ... I thought I might actually ask someone to go see this movie with me (Jenn, my roomate, doesn't quite get why I go to movies by myself... not to mention the occasional restaurant!).

Hello, my name is Christine.

Hi, Christine.

I go to movies by myself.

Well, out of everyone I knew, I gambled on Rebekah.  In the end, we had a jolly ol' time ... all eight of us.  I'm fairly positive that most of the guys in the group weren't fully aware of what they were getting themselves into when they agreed to go see a movie with us that night.  But Lindsey was enamored with the music ... and Forrest appreciated the glamorous scenic design ... i'm not quite sure that John quite grasped the whole plot, however ... but nonetheless, culture had been administered.

and then ...

The next night we all watched Napoleon Dynamite.

It's not the first time I've been accused of being bi-polar.

And you know what?!!  It's still funny the fourth time around ...especially when watching it with a group of people who haven't seen it before.  We're starting a chapter of Napoleon's Groove here in Savannah. Friday nights, pop in the dvd, and learn from the master himself.

"Our love is like a flock of doves, flying up to heaven above. I love technology, not as much as you, you see, but I still love technology ...always and forever!"

all that drama

for all of you non-PCCites out there, I feel like I should explain myself ... lest any of you begin to question my morals.  I'm refering to the "college incident" ... now don't let your wild imaginations get the best of you.

... here's how it all went down:

My senior year of college I became involved in the drama department of Pensacola Christian College.  I played such interesting characters as the elegantly seductive Snow Queen (boys begged me to do that beckoning motion with my hand, and talk soon spread around boys' dorms about the girl with blue lips ... the Student Body President even offered to let me kidnap him--hey, back off, will ya?!!  i was acting ... ), then there was Miss Spider from James and the Giant Peach (without informing the director, I went out on a limb and died my long hair bright ruby red ... I was going for a shocking Audrey Hepburn look with my vintage black dress and hat with the accent of red ... however, someone who saw the show thought my face looked more like Michael Jackson ...), and then there was Matilda Livingstone (in Lena Rivers--a romantic comedy).

I knew the role was in the bag.  By this time I had it figured out ... I had been type cast ... the drama department figured that I made a great snob.  Kind of like poor Jamie Brown could be nothing but an "old man".  Matilda was the epitome of Southern Genteel sophistication that would stop at nothing to see her children in the best circles.  And then her country bumpkin niece moves in and ruins all of her plans.

There was nothing cool about my costume in this play ... I had no control.  The other two roles i had contributed a lot to my character's image ... but each time I tried to put my two cents into this one .. my "wrist was slapped".  As the Costume Designer handed me the combination of thriftstore rejects she had put together, I cringed ... but silently went to go find a spot to change.  (Hopefully no one would see me).

The drama department is on the other side of the Fine Arts building.  So I felt fairly certain my friends working in the art labs that night wouldn't catch a glimpse of me as I dashed across the hall to the ladies' faculty bathroom (off limits to students ... oops!  they were all at home anyway).  I changed and left my change of clothes in the bathroom and dashed back to be poked and pinned by the "seamstress."

"Christine, we need you on stage for Act 2 Scene 3."

"But i'm being pinned ... "

"They can finish it later, c'mon"

An hour and a half later, I finally headed back to the restroom to change back into my clothes.

left ... right ... left ... no one around ... dash ... phew! .... flip ... close ... lock.

When I switched the lights on ... I couldn't believe my eyes.  I opened the door again and poked my head out ... no one ...

WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!!!

Someone suggested after hearing this story that I just wear the costume back to my room.  Sure, everything is crystal clear when seeing hindsight ...

Instead ... I hid in the bathroom and waited for the Art building to close.  I heard security as they checked the classrooms and turned off the lights.  after I was convinced that everyone had left I returned my costume to the sewing room and made a mad dash for the doors (there are rumors of security cameras being everywhere).  Everyone was already in their dorms (due to the 10pm curfew) ... but you never when "do do doododoodo" (wicked witch themesong) a security guard might ride by on his/her bike.  So when the coast was clear, I, garbed only in my undergaments (thank God I was wearing panty hose--otherwise i could get demerits), made a dash for the bushes across from my dorm. The desk worker having seen me sent two floor leaders out to bring me in ... ha ... What do you say when asked what you're doing out after hours in the "buff" (or pretty close to it anyway)?!!

At least that's the story I told my friend Beth.

When I went back to the faculty bathroom to change back into my clothes ... yes, my clothes were gone ... but there was another set of clothing in their place.  I realized that I recognized them.  They were Beth's ... the friend I had gone to dinner with just a few hours earlier ... ha!  What a great joke!  And she must be wearing my clothes!  This made it even more comical.  You see, she is one of the tiniest people you will ever meet: 5'1" size 0.  And she was walking around somewhere with my humongous clothes meant for a 6'1" amazon princess on.

Knowing that I would have to go out on stage again before night was over I quickly put her clothes on.  Looking in the mirror I could only wish that she looked as ridiculous as I did.  Before going back on stage, I made a dash for the art labs.

Had anyone seen beth?

no ... Christine, was that what you were wearing earlier today?

No. These are Beth's clothes.

Beth had left for the evening it seemed and I was stuck with her skirt up around my abdomen trying to keep her top from showing my midrift.  It was all too funny ... and to see the faces of my fellow actors ... ha ha.

Well, I called Beth when I got to my room later that night.  I told her my "streaking" story and asked if she knew what had happened to my clothes ... yeah, She had them ... didn't i see her clothes lying there?

"I don't know what you're talking about, Beth.  All I know was that my clothes were GONE!  What else was I supposed to do?"

"Are you serious?!!"

It nearly knocked Beth off her feet when she walked in my room and sure enough I was stripped down to my undergarments AND pantyhose (thank God for those).

Well, word got around about the prank.  And the guys all thought it was the greatest joke ever.

... but then the yearbooks came out.  The guys ran up to me and opened the book to my senior portrait.  It looked as if i had no clothes on ...

remember mr. rogers?

Remember Mr. Rogers? How he would come in whistling, take off his jacket, hang it up in his closet, put on his cardigan, and then sit down to take off his shoes and put on his slippers? And then all the little boys and girls in TV land would learn some incredible bit of wisdom, like ...

... it's okay to be different.

But there's a reason why he and other children's TV personalities feel the need to make us feel okay about ourselves.

Because we don't. We look at ourselves and begin to wonder what's wrong with us.

... or maybe it's just me.

See ... I have a problem ... I feel sometimes (like tonight) that I should feel like there is something wrong with me.

... but I don't.

Wouldn't you feel odd having watched Napoleon Dynamite for the 3rd time and still thinking that it's funny? ... "I'll love technology. always and forever ..."

Wouldn't you feel strange when the pizza guy looks in the door and comments on your "being alone tonight" with a twinge of pity in his voice?

Wouldn't you feel funny getting a rush from studying US Government and Politics, Statistics Analysis, Economics, and World Geography ... when you really don't have to? (Well, if you want to pass the Foreign Service Exam you do ... but it's not as if it's for school or anything)

Sigh. and that's where I feel different. I don't know anyone else that would be okay with the above idiosyncracies (except maybe dolly ... but that's because she's my friend ... but even she says i'm weird) and yet ...

... I am okay with it. Goodness knows I have a different sense of humor than most girls. And sure I'm alone ... but I don't know anyone else who likes looking at maps of Central America on a Friday night.

So, thank you Mr. Rogers for letting me know that it's alright to feel okay about myself ... even if I am different.

(I was never a big fan of the whole little choochoo train part of the show).

Okay, so who wants a holidays update ... I realize it's slow in coming but it's a quicky. Went home to Germany. Luggage took a slower flight. Walked around downtown Celle in my Birkenstocks. (ha ha! No it wasn't a repeat of a particular college incident, I was wearing clothes ... but the same ones from the flight 2 days earlier) It snowed. My feet were cold and wet. Came back to the US. Flight cancelled. Got sent to Cincinatti instead of Savannah (a sort of indirect route). Best friend came to visit for New Years. Ate lots of free food (what can I say, we're missionary girls ...). Gave a "tour" of the Savannah historic district to some guys who have lived here their whole lives. Made a salad and took food out of the oven for the New Years party. (I swear, i don't know why the smoke alarm went off 3 times... the lasagna wasn't burnt!)

There we go. That sums it all up. Just trying to make life easier for you who like to get by in life by just skimming through (eh hem ... C. Garrett!)

If you want to know about the college incident ... go ahead ... ask.