Ashes to Ashes

For some reason, my pre-Lent posts have been wildly popular the last couple years. I'm not certain why that is, but in case you've dropped by under the impression that I know things, I want to state as strongly as possible: I am not an expert. My Lenten experiences have no basis in any particular branch of Christianity, in part because in my early years of observing Lent I had to keep it a secret from my extremely Evangelical family. They would have flipped their collective lids.

At the Cathedral Church of St John
the Divine in New York.
One of the most beautiful
buildings I've ever been in in my life.

So Middle School Su had to cobble together her own path through this time of year, and now that I have nearly 30 years' experience of Cafeteria Lent, folks trying it for the first time tend to ask me questions. So this post is an FAQ of what previously non-observing friends and acquaintances usually want to know ahead of Ash Wednesday.

1. Are you judging me for not doing Lent?

No. I don't have the interest or mental energy for keeping that close of tabs on your life. You do you and I'll do the same.

2. Do you have any Lenten resources to recommend?

I do not, but if there's a particular area of your faith that you'd like to explore more, that's a good starting place. Your local library probably has a decent religion & spirituality section.

3. Should I announce my fast on Facebook?

People are a little weird about this one, which is probably why I've heard a lot of strange reasons in favor of blowing a virtual trumpet on Shrove Tuesday. Here's what I got:

• Before you decide, please read Matthew 6:16-18 and carefully consider your motivation for announcing your fast.
• If you're asking me as someone who's done this many times and has some experience of the value of people knowing my fast vs not: no, you shouldn't.
• If you're asking because you're hoping that announcing your fast will start faith-producing conversations: you have wildly misjudged the medium if you expect a productive conversation on Facebook. Still, if you'd like to forge ahead and have an exceptionally open-minded audience, go ahead and try it. Best of luck.
• If you're asking because you're looking for some accountability: I'd suggest you find an offline human, or if it must be online, that you approach someone you trust via private message.
• If you're asking because giving up Facebook is your fast and you want to let everyone know where you're going: I'd only do it if your absence will upset someone. A social media fast is a good exercise in humility, because you'll realize upon your return just how well that world keeps on spinning without you. (I say this from astonished experience.) If you absolutely need to let someone know you're going, this is probably best done via private message rather than a public announcement.
• If you're asking for spiritual guidance, I refer you again to Matthew 6:16-18.

4. Do I have to go meatless on Fridays?

Are you participating in Lent as part of your faith tradition, and does that faith tradition ask you to go meatless? If so, in order to fully participate with your community: yes. If you're creating your own community or going it alone, then you have a bit more leeway to decide which elements, if any, of the traditional fast you're going to adopt. 

5. Did you know it doesn't really add up to 40 days?

Yes. Sundays don't count as part of the 40 days because Christians celebrate Jesus' resurrection on those days, and that celebration supersedes the mourning/fasting of Lent. 

6. Does it matter what I give up?

Yes, it matters, but maybe not in the way you're asking. (And it's okay if you haven't decided yet.) Some things to consider:

• What are you trying to learn from Lent? What areas of your life need growth? Think about that and let that shape your fast. Also keep in mind that your fast, if it's helping you learn/grow, may not be something you want to stop at Easter. You can absolutely use these six weeks as a starting point for something more permanent.
• Some folks are under the impression that people only give up sins that they should have already been trying to remove from their lives. Now, if Lent helps you do that, I'm not about to tell you not to. Six weeks of focused intent may be you push you need to finally deal with that thing. However, it doesn't have to be that, and for many participants it's not.
• You may feel like giving up chocolate or TV or something small is silly. But if you're a first-timer or you choose something small that will be a genuine challenge, there's no reason to feel less than because you gave up coffee. Growth can come from small things, too.
• Consider how you will keep yourself in check when your chosen fast starts really tugging on your brain. If you give up coffee and the trade-off is that you're unbearable to your coworkers for six weeks, maybe you're not quite displaying the love of Jesus in the way you'd intended. Have a plan for refocusing yourself when needed.
• It's not so much what you're giving up; it's what you replace it with. So before you say, "Got it!" take some time to consider what you're adding to your life during Lent. 

7. What if I don't start on Ash Wednesday or fizzle out by the end?

It happens. That's why the Israelites prayed, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." (That's Lamentations 3:22-23.) Make a new beginning as often as you need to.

8. What else do I need to know?

Get in there and do it, and be open to what changes in you. If you have a community to do this with, by all means, embrace that community whole-heartedly and do this together. God has placed you in a community for good reason, and fasting together as a shared experience can multiply your joys and divide your struggles. Do not neglect your community this Lent. Embrace them.

You still have a couple days to get ready, but try not to wait until 11:50 Tuesday night.

Past vs Present

Austin has a new library. It's fantastic.

I'm in Austin this week, visiting my sister and seeing some of the beloved people and places that have helped make me who I am. It's an ongoing joke/truism in Austin that things around here change in a hurry, and not always for a better in the eyes of the locals. And while you don't have to leave for a couple years to see it--just waiting around one's own neighborhood for a few months will do--coming back to visit every six months is a fast way to muddle all the mental maps I used to have.

New pedestrian plaza on UT campus

Capital Metro, for instance. A bus system I once knew as well as the inside of my own apartment. I knew that major changes were coming--there were signs up at every bus stop when I was last here in May, plus I keep up with the Twitter chatter around transportation in Austin. But last night Denise and I were driving home from "my" HEB (which has also been rearranged, by the way) and talking about buses that are rerouted and stops that we used to use that are now gone altogether. I had no sooner said aloud, "I need to look at the CapMetro map and see what's changed," than I saw a sign for the upcoming Austin Marathon, indicating that the route is going through East Austin, a place it never went in the years I was running, volunteering, or spectating. So I added, "And I guess I need to look at the marathon map, too."
 
Places adapt and change. Kids grow up. People move away. Businesses close up shop and others open, buildings are torn down and new ones spring up. This is true everywhere, not just Austin--I've seen it happen plenty in the short time I've been in Cincinnati. And while I have my own reasons for clinging desperately to a time that is gone, the truth is that I know full well those days are never coming back again. My first Austin bus route is gone forever, the local supermarket can't serve customers who don't exist, and I'll never go back to one of my former apartments, open the door, and find Chadwick on the other side waiting for me to come home. The world is moving on and I've already gone with it, whether I like it or not.

Ai Weiwei's "Forever Bicycles" is here on a long-term
loan. For that matter, it may be gone; I haven't been
round to look yet. It's new since I lived here and will also
be moving away again.

On the other hand, the Austin Half Marathon course has reverted to the one I ran for the first time and loved back in 2009, and while I'm not going to be here in two weeks' time to experience race day in
person, there's nothing to stop me from running some of those miles this week. Not for the sake of reliving the past, but rather to get all the joy I can out of the present.

And I hope that's what you're doing this week, too.

How to Get to Carnegie Hall (kinda)

Friends, let's talk writing. Specifically, your writing.

If you have a pen this fancy, on you go! If not, any
writing utensil will do. Doesn't matter.
Pick it up and start writing.
Source: André Bergonzzi on freeimages.com.

I see you trying. I see you struggling with the thoughts and feelings that are inside you that, if you could only find the right words, might reassure or inspire or help or in any way make a mark on someone who needed to hear from you today. I see you, and you aren't alone.

Maybe you want to reflect on a milestone in your life. Maybe you have lots of great things to say, but the tools you'd like to use to say them are rusty, dusty, or blunt from neglect. Maybe 2019 is the year you finally want to put into words how flowers newly blooming, or summertime, or the start of a new school year, or Christmas or New Year make you feel--you want to share this piece of your heart, but every time you try, you hope for a ting! and instead get a thunk.

The good news is: you can do this. The less good news is: you're going to have to work at it.

Don't go! This shouldn't be a surprise to you. After all, it's widely accepted that anything worth getting is going to cost you some sweat equity, and that anything that comes without a cost is likely to be valued less. And if you don't have time or energy for this right now, that's okay! Maybe this isn't your season for improving this skill. Let it go for now, concentrate on what you need to be concentrating on, and you'll come back to this one in due course.

This movie is filled with great quotes
about writing. And if you don't watch the
last 30 minutes, it even has a happy ending!
Source: Pinterest.

Still with me? Great. Now, I'm not going to give you a list of Top Ten Things Real Writers Do. Why not? Because it is the 21st century and we have search engines, my friends. If that's what you're after, better people than me can help you out. No, we're going to talk about the thing that will help you get more comfortable with expressing yourself in writing: practice, practice, practice.

Yep, if by the end of May you want to be able to share with confidence and fluency what your child's eighth grade graduation means to you, now's the time to be working on your voice. Start right now--get a pen, or open up a word doc, or create an account on Blogger, if that's how you roll. Start writing. Use 100 words to tell yourself your favorite thing about winter. You don't have to post it on Facebook, or make your spouse read it, or even show anyone at all. Just do it. Tomorrow, write another 100 words, this time about the blanket on your bed. Your preferred mug. The feeling of getting up a few minutes early, when everyone else is still asleep. 100 words not enough? Try for 250. And when you've no idea at all what you can write about today, here's a list of nonfiction writing prompts to get you started.

I personally don't plan to woo any
women, but the sentiment holds
regardless: if you want your message
to be received, laziness will not get
you there. (And for anyone looking to
woo me: listen to Mr. Keating.)
Source: Pinterest.

Don't try to be "good." Don't try to be "smart." At the beginning, don't try to make a beautiful point or even any point at all. Just practice getting words out. After a while, when you're ready, it's time to take an extra moment to consider what word you really mean in the middle of your sentence about your grandmother's antique clock. Was it old, or was it ancient? Was the ticking loud, or stentorian? Did it smell strong, or of mothballs and furniture polish? But don't be fancy just to be fancy. Use the right words to say what you mean.

Don't be afraid and don't get discouraged. Take heart from this tidbit I used to tell folks when I worked at UT's writing center: no one is born a good writer, just like no one is born walking and talking. They are skills, and they can all be learned. Even this one.

A few minutes every day, bit by bit, and you start to know what feels right when you write it down. What sounds like you. How to get as close as possible to transmitting the picture in your brain into your readers' brains as well. And maybe that's when you set up shop and get your own blog going, or a daily thought on Facebook, and start letting other people in to what you're thinking of. Or maybe you realize you like having all these words all to yourself.

And then, come the next significant date you wish to commemorate with a lovely Facebook post designed to touch hearts and minds, you'll be ready.

Post title is a reference to the well-known joke. If you've never heard it, that is a real bummer.

Well.

Enough folks have asked what's happened with my blog that I'm acknowledging it's probably time for a check-in. And I have a few minutes before Rent: Live begins.

So! What's happened? Well, everything. It feels inappropriate to be light-hearted when the world is on fire, as I've mentioned before. I'm not a political blogger and don't want to be, at least in part because there are not a lot of major policy issues about which I have a level of expertise for rambling on for 500 words or fewer. (Transportation. That's it. That's my area.) I realize this is a small bother that doesn't really stop many folks, but it stops me. I won't be that person.

That person, however, exists. That person is a lot of people I care about. I've sought offline conversations rather than this format for nearly a year now, because engaging with that person is both depressing and wearying. Please, let's all be less of that person. Being informed is good. Educating one's self is good. Getting locked into an echo chamber or sharing dumb, baseless memes on Facebook is terrible.

You know what they say about lighting a candle instead of
 cursing the darkness. Source: Sorina Bindea
on freeimages.com.

But so is withdrawing altogether, and I like to do what I can. What I can do is pick up again on a regular dose of the B things I know (why do they all start with B? No idea): books, bikes, buses, and Broadway. If that's what you like, here I am. If not, well, I can't imagine why you're here, but hello there! *waves* You are most welcome.

So should you come by in a few days, or weeks, or months, and think, "My goodness, she has a lot to say about utter drivel when there's serious work to be done,": yes. Yes, I do. Please know that I'm not unaware of the world around me and I'm doing my part in as many offline ways I can find. In the meantime, here is a space to be lighthearted. And wow, do I have a bunch of theatre to tell you about.

Not right now. Rent: Live is about to begin.

Waitlisted. Worth It.

This is the second book I picked up at the library last week, and I'd better read it in a hurry because there's a waitlist. (And it's huge, by the way. The book, that is.)

Source.

I managed to see two different ALW shows in the past six weeks that I hadn't seen before-- School of Rock and Jesus Christ Superstar. The one I haven't seen yet but would really like to is Sunset Boulevard, but since it's closed on Broadway and I may have missed my chance for a while. 

On the other hand, Cats is coming to Cincinnati and I really enjoy that show, plus Phantom of the Opera is sitting right here in my living room, so it's not like I'm lacking ALW in my life.

And even less so once I finish reading his book.

Slow Steps

I walked away from my first trip to Broadway a few years ago in a daze and a happy fog* that took me ages to come down from, but also with a nagging thought that (I've heard) plagues us all at times:

I suck.

My running shoes like it when I let them outside.

I reminded myself later that obviously I was going to feel this way when watching people at the top of their field, a field which is not my field, and perhaps my time would be better spent working on the things I can do rather than pining over the things I can't. And this is one of the many times that I reminded myself that running is a thing I can do and always get better at. It helps to start off so slow, so that I can only get better, but the steps to getting better can be so incremental it doesn't have to suck a lot. Which is great, because I've reached a point that my willingness to do things that suck a lot just for the sake of doing them is low. Small amounts of suck I can still deal with.

So! New week, new month, new goal race: the Queen Bee Half Marathon in October.

What's a thing you can do this week?

*Speaking of a theatrical fog: Jesus Christ Superstar live. If you missed it, wow, did you ever miss out. I've heard it's on Hulu.

Out of the Darkness

I've lived my whole life with a risen Saviour. It's never been a question, it's a thing I can't remember not knowing. Easter Sunday is but another confirmation of that which I live with every day: He is risen indeed.

You know who didn't know that? Jesus' original followers. And this is another thing I've always known, that they went through Holy Saturday filled with grief and despair, not knowing how close hope and joy was. Not knowing just how brief this season of sorrow was going to be. They looked ahead and could only see an endless stretch of empty days filled with discarded dreams--how could they possibly go back to their old lives after all they'd seen and done?

But knowing that this was what they felt is a different thing, on this side of Resurrection Sunday, than feeling what they felt. I have a pretty vivid imagination, and some experience of grief, and you probably do, too, so we have an idea of what that day was like. Which means we also have an idea of what it was like on Sunday, when they friend and leader they thought was lost turned out to not be, when grief mingled with surprise and disbelief and finally gave way to joy. A joy that I now share in but likewise can't fully know on this side of eternity.

I keep coming back to this verse in 2 Corinthians, particularly in the springtime when the whole world feels new. The Cincinnati weather for the past couple weeks has not given me a lot to celebrate in the way of spring arriving, between our freezing temperatures and our gloom, but on Easter Sunday the joy and newness comes from within, no matter what the skies are doing. It is a time to rejoice.

A time to remember that even in the darkest moment, hope remains. All things will still become new.

Together. Apart.

Source.

I put this book on hold at the library before Ash Wednesday, thinking it would be a good Lenten read. My turn to borrow it finally came up yesterday, with less than a week of Lent left to read it in. Oops.

I'm staring at the cover, now,* instead of reading it. For a few weeks I've been in one of those seasons when I walk through a dense fog of numbness, and while on so very many levels it's better than some of the alternatives, it means that words like Life Together jangle around in my head and can't find a place to belong. What does life together mean when you are forever apart?

I know that's not what the book is about. I don't know how familiar I'll be with the words inside until I open it up and read it, but this is a book Chadwick loved and talked about often, so I'm sure I'll meet some old friends inside. I know this isn't a book about that relationship. It's about community, and I'm nothing if not wildly enthusiastic about embracing my community. But this is something Chadwick and I shared--one reason I never read it was because he loved to tell me about it. And now I'm about to read about being together, alone.

I thank God every day for the community I have. A church family who are some of the best on the planet, coworkers who I don't understand how I'm so lucky to spend every day with. (We have some new folks who have absolutely brightened my past couple of weeks. To say nothing of the ones I already knew were bright.) I don't know how this happened, but there's a part of me that thinks that life together is already going pretty great, and I'm not sure how one little book will make it any better.

So. I'd better crack this thing open and find out. I'm sure the library still has a waitlist of other people who need it, too.

Maybe one of them is you. What's your community like?

*Unrelated tangent: there's an actor who I like, who I follow across all his public social media accounts, who has a strange relationship with commas. Sometimes it's all I can do to hold back from telling him that I'm taking all his commas away until he learns what they're for. Other times, like now, I find the urge to slip in an extra comma à la that guy too strong to resist. Sometimes it's more comforting than frustrating, so I can see why he's embraced it.

Start Again

Do you make Daylight Saving (no really, there's no 's' at the end) resolutions? Because I'm thinking it should be a thing.

In all my years of living in places
that observe Daylight Saving Time,
I've never been more ready for more of
this than I am this year.
 Bring it on, DST. Source.

I mean, if you did make a New Year resolution, we're two and a bit months in, and that's a great time to reevaluate, refocus, and perhaps redo. If you didn't, now's a good opportunity to consider what you'd like to do with all the non-winter days ahead of us, perhaps especially things that go well with longer sunlit evenings.

And here's a bonus for folks like me who enjoy hibernating in the winter months: Saving Time lasts 8 months. So if I make a Saving Time resolution, then I can make a Standard Time resolution for the other four months, when the days are short and my motivation to do anything at all is low. Managing my own expectations, as it were. Plus, that beats the rush for the next round of New Year resolutions--I'll be saying, "Already been going on this one for a couple months, thanks!" while everyone else is writing their hot takes on why they set goals instead of making resolutions.

I'm thinking today of my wise friend Ruthie's words about Lent a year ago: "I love that the opportunity keeps coming around. ... I love that even if you've forgotten New Year resolutions, you can start again with new habits/determination/focus to be a better you." Indeed--even if a DST resolution isn't your thing (and seriously, when it's abbreviated that way, it kinda sounds like a drug), maybe there's another time that is. New year? Beginning of summer? Beginning of the school year? Random Tuesday?

Whenever you start a new goal, Ruthie's point still resonates-- you can always start again. Don't give up.

Halfway

Lent always last a couple weeks longer than I think it will. It's not like I go into Ash Wednesday unsure if Lent is the same length every year, or like I don't know when Easter is, but I still always get a couple weeks in and think, "We're about done with this, right?" Case in point: I almost wrote this "halfway there!" post last week.

So, we're halfway through Lent now, and as spring creeps closer and Easter is almost upon us, I'm seeing more than usual the wisdom of having Lent as a pre-Easter preparation rather than before other Christian holidays. Last year, my first winter back in the Midwest after a 20-year absence, was barely any kind of winter at all. I said then and am still saying now that last winter was God's way of easing me back into the climate that I fled for good reason, but this winter has been a little bit closer to the early dark and freezing temps and one-warm-day-haha-fooled-you weather yoyo that I remember from my childhood. And it is wearing me down.

People were walking past these daffodils
like it's no big deal! Like the winter is not
sucking their lives away! I don't know how
other people do it. I saw these flowers and
did quite the happy dance right there on
the sidewalk.

The past week or so I've been eagerly checking every bush and tree that I walk by for signs of new life, and I'm finally seeing signs of reawakening--some tiny buds here, a set of early leaves there, and reliable bulbs like daffodils and lilies saying "ready or not, here we come," to the ambient temperatures and shooting out of the ground right on cue. These signs of life are giving me strength to journey on, and also to walk through the streets of Cincinnati singing "Wick." (No word on how my fellow citizens feel about my musical interludes. I like to think of it as a public service.)

Lent begins in the darkness of winter, at a time when the sunlight- and warmth-loving among us (me) are just about ready to throw in the towel and go hibernate for a few weeks until the weather gets its act together. But to take on Lent seriously is to push myself even when it's hard and I want to give up, so that on Easter Sunday and beyond I can rejoice at the new growth and rebirth taking place in my own life, for having gone through the hard days and persevered through the struggle. And then I'll look around at the trees and flowers and all of creation rejoicing with me.

Halfway there, friends. Let's persevere through these last few weeks of winter together so we can rejoice together in the spring.

Skilled

Today's post is inspired by a Facebook post I saw this morning. Now, I normally try not to respond to those, because Facebook is the waste treatment plant of the internet. The post I saw, though, was interesting--it was about "adulting" classes (in quotes because while I think that word is fun as slang, I don't yet know how I feel about it being a real word) for young adults who lack life skills. Examples in the video included changing a flat tire, boiling an egg, folding a fitted sheet, and hulling a strawberry (I don't think I'll ever need that last one, but YMMV).

And while it's easy to say, "kids these days, amirite?" and roll right along, the truth is that skills have to be learned. We aren't born knowing anything. Every skill that I have, I've learned along the way, either from someone teaching me directly or by trial and error. There's nothing inherently irresponsible or shameful about not knowing a thing, and it's silly to expect that people will learn everything they need to know in the first 20 years, some of which years were spent pickup up random things and putting them in our mouths.

By the way, the person who I saw share this on Facebook was not being snide about adulting classes. It was when I made the mistake of clicking through and reading some comments that I decided to write an entire (long) post about it.

XKCD is a marvelous gem of a website. Source.

I remember my mother describing a personal finance class she took in high school, in which she learned to create a budget and balance a checkbook, a class that was long gone by the time I went to the same school 20 years later. There just wasn't room for it in the curriculum. And now, 20+ years later again, schools are even more pressed for what's included and what's not. New information comes at us constantly, testing is ever more intense for teachers and students, colleges have high demands for admission so students are swamped with extracurriculars--who has the time for a life skills class in school?

And the culture we live in bears some blame. I knew a dude a few years back who told me that he didn't teach his kids life skills because he wanted to keep them dependent on him, so they would come home for the weekends when they went to college. That was his plan for keeping his kids out of trouble, and I doubt that he was the only person who thought this was a good solution. I think of him often when I see the local college students struggling in Kroger, because I wonder if their parents ever let them into a supermarket before. My own father refused to teach me any mechanical things (including driving a stick shift, when I specifically asked him to teach me) on the grounds that "girls don't need to know that." Please, please, parents--do not do this. I get that your lives are already overflowing, the world puts way too many unrealistic demands on you, and that the years are short. But please try not to shortchange your kids this way.

There is a certain kind of human, and I'm related to an unfortunately high number of them, who believes that some things are just "common sense" and people "shouldn't need to be told that." However, that's just not true. I agree that there are many things that are caught rather than taught as one grows up--the aforementioned supermarket example springs to mind--but to presume that everyone caught the same information, or that we all have the same kind of upbringing, or that the human brain has a built-in program for knowing exactly what to do all the time, is just to invite frustration and misunderstanding into life.

By the way, as an adult I've had to learn how to drive a stick shift (at age 30) and how to change a flat tire on my bicycle (at age 34). A few months back I asked my brother to show me how to change a flat tire on a car (at age 39), although since I haven't had occasion to practice that one I'm sure I'll have to ask him again. (Mad props to my brother for being a lot more gracious and mature about that request than our father was. Maybe have a young widowed sister has helped him see the world in a different way than was possible for our father at this age.)

When someone hasn't read a classic book, I always try to say "Oh! What a treat you have ahead of you!" rather than "I can't believe you haven't read this!" because no one wants to be shamed into reading.

We should lead with our delight in literature, not our pretentiousness.

— Joy (@joynessthebrave) March 1, 2018

↑ This applies to more than just literature.

Repeat after me: There's nothing inherently irresponsible or shameful about not knowing a thing. It is okay to ask for help and seek out the skills that you're lacking. In fact, it shows incredible maturity to do that kind of self-assessment and look for self-improvement. What is shameful is mocking or belittling someone who's doing their best to fill those gaps. Everyone has something they don't know or haven't learned to do yet. Let's move forward together with that in mind, please.

School of Listen Up

I'm going to talk a little bit about School of Rock, and it will contain spoilers, so I'll do my usual things that I do so you can get away quickly if the musical is coming to you next and you've been avoiding internet reviews and whatnot. (By the way: this is not a review. I don't really do that.) I did not see the movie that inspired the musical--folks seem really keen on asking that question. I'm sure it's great, but I'm not a movie gal.

Okay, that should cover the few lines that pull from Facebook. Everything else after the jump.

Unconvinced

I watched rather a lot of television in February, thanks to the Winter Olympics. So much, in fact, that I think I'm all TV'd up until the French Open. While it's not a hobby that I'm into, I do at least admire other people's resolve to sit still for that long. 

In the course of all that TV, I saw many, many car ads. That was a lot of car ads. Some of the tactics used to try to sell me a car are silly, some are funny, and some are downright wrong. For my amusement, I started keeping a mental list of all the people who were enlisted to sell me a car in the month of February:

Sharlie is not impressed by all these attempts to replace
her. She doesn't have anything to worry about, of course.
Oh, by the way, the Ohio River just had its biggest flood
in 20 years.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.;
Jesus, Moses, and Muhammad;
Real people, not actors;
Sesame Street Muppets;
Six women on snowboards;
Every Paralympian;
Ashley Wagner;
A high school band;
William Henry Harrison; and
(my personal favorite, by a car company that is a sponsor of USA Bicycling, for heaven's sake)
Bicycles.

Needless to say, they were unsuccessful. Better luck next time, advertisers. Don't worry; I'm sure you convinced someone. Just not this someone.

You want to see a great ad, one I never got tired of seeing in two weeks of Olympics? Check out this one from St. Elizabeth healthcare. My favorite is the young man struggling with his math homework who's ready to give it another shot after his dad says, "You got this." Love.

Named

Tuesday is supposed to be my book day, but my book post for this week accidentally turned into a Sunday post instead. So, here's a non-book-related story for you. I've thought about sharing it before but have always held off, just in case the day I tell it is the day that my dad's side of my family all suddenly start reading my blog. (If they are already, then they're being very very quiet about it, which is... unlike us.) But I finally got a chance to tell this story to the relevant cousin at our uncle's funeral, so I no longer feel weird about sharing.

Every time I think the suggested pics
on the free images site couldn't get
weirder, it manages to outdo itself.
Searching for "name" is no exception.
I truthfully wasn't expecting to find
one that was usable, but lo and
behold. Source: blogmonkey on
freeimages.com.

When I took Chadwick's name when we got married, it was not a decision I took lightly. It wasn't a matter of course for me, even though it probably seemed like it was to anyone who didn't get to be there for my months of back-and-forth. Essentially, it boiled down to this: I liked his name better than my own. Wilcox it was going to be.

But then along came a day, a decade and a degree each later, when I was about to earn my MA, and I pointed out to Chad that while both of our BAs had his family's name on them, my own family (I was the first of my grandparents' descendants to go to college, although #2 was right on my heels) had no such honor in our house. Chadwick agreed that this was pretty unfair and that my granddad's name should get equal representation.

We were still talking through what that was going to look like--I knew I wanted both my last names hyphenated on my MA, but beyond that I hadn't decided whether to use both names professionally from then on or just stick with Wilcox. I for sure didn't want to have to write fourteen letters plus a hyphen every time I signed my name, so it wasn't going to be a formal change. But you all know what happened next--Chadwick died suddenly three months before my graduation date, and that settled it. There would be no hyphenating or honoring anyone else's legacy apart from his and mine with my diploma. My cousin who was only a year away from earning a JD already carries the family name, with no hand-wringing required. He could represent for all of us.

So I told him this after the funeral, and added, "Thanks for having my back," and we had a little chuckle over that. The family legacy is better off in his hands, anyway. I would probably just drop it and accidentally break bits off.

No, no, no. I'm not spelling it like that.
Source: Grant Oyston on freeimages.com.

Various relatives have taken turns, and my grandmother more turns than anyone, at asking if I'll ever get married again. Not having a crystal ball, I don't know the answer to that, but if it does happen it won't be any time in the foreseeable future. I can't imagine opening my heart that much a second time, not when it's already fractured. But this much I know for sure: I'm not changing my name again. I'm leaving this earth a Wilcox.

Because Chadwick's legacy is safe in my hands.

Disruption

I'm not certain that there's anything in our 21st century that isn't a disruption, despite the tech industry's relentless quest to claim the word for their own. (Of all the things to pick as a buzzword... but as has been pointed out by many, it does sound slightly less aggressive than "breaking.")

 Because whose brain isn't filled to
overflowing? Source.

So when life gets disrupted, by a tough week at work or a school schedule or an unexpected basically anything, there are things that are quick to go. I don't know what yours is, although for many people, exercise is on that list. (Mine also includes reading, writing, and all my crafty things. Which makes me wonder what the heck I'm doing instead, since those are the only things I do.)

The problem I have, and maybe you do, too, is that letting exercise go first just disrupts things more. I need running to keep my emotions on an even keel, to sleep better at night, to sort through angst and troublesome thoughts, and generally to be more fun to be around. So to allow that outlet to be disrupted is, in fact, even more disruptive. Maybe your outlet is your favorite TV show, or writing in a journal, or playing a game of solitaire with real cards. Maybe you don't know what your outlet is.

Your mental health matters. Your self-care matters. And while things get disrupted and there's nothing that can be done about it, the "first to go" list may need some tweaking. Maybe things get rearranged. Maybe you have a friend you can call in a hurry. Maybe your outlet needs a couple backups that are portable and flexible enough to go along with you in the daily scramble.

I'll be headed out to run in a little while, because if I don't, my day is already disrupted.

To See the Face of God

Last week, I picked up A Million Miles in a Thousand Years again and have been re-reading it. You know, because when you have 1000 books on your to-read list, and 30 on the real, live to-read shelf in your living room, why wouldn't you reread something instead of trying something new?

There's probably a whole post in that last sentence, but it is not today's post.

So! Reading A Million Miles, which is all about the story we're writing with our lives, always reminds me of bishop from Les Misérables. Now there's a guy who was living a great story. His treatment in the musical version is brief but beautiful:


Now seems like a good time to say that this version, while great (Colm Wilkinson! What's not to love about that guy?), has nothing on the stage version. Ramin Karimloo as Valjean in the scene with the bishop remains one of the most powerful couple minutes of theatre I've ever seen. This is a moment that is best experienced live, and if you're very very lucky, from close enough to the stage to clearly see the actors' faces.

In rehearsal and on Broadway. I don't have the words for how incredible
Ramin was in this scene. (Adam Monley as the bishop also amazing.) The
whole plot of forgiveness and redemption really begins right here.
Image sources: Rehearsal, Broadway.

Anyway, the bishop--Monsieur Myriel--lived an amazing story, and it's that story that he invites Valjean into when they meet. My beloved Signet Classics edition of Les Misérables has 1460 pages. I don't usually recommend that people read the whole thing--it's quite a slog for the modern reader and you have to really hang in there through some completely unrelated and quite lengthy chapters--but Monsieur Myriel is the star of the first 104 pages. If you want to read about someone who used his life to write a great story, that's the part you should read.

To love another person is to see the face of God. But the better task, I think, is to choose to see the face of God when we see those standing before us. Seeing the face of God on someone else will surely call me to love that person as myself--as a human being, as a fellow traveller on this planet, as someone else who is also doing the best that she (or he) can to navigate a world gone mad. A great story, indeed.

Edited to remove a video of Kyle Jean-Baptiste as Jean Valjean that is no longer available on YouTube.

Subscribed

I feel a bit weird, most days, writing about nonsense when the world is on fire. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I don't care or am unaware that there is more to be done in the world than share something I thought of while running last weekend or whatever random thing I'm on about. But it seems to be through the unimportant that my brain occasionally accesses greater truths, and when I manage to get those down, sometimes it touches people or makes them think (although that's not likely to happen today). I don't know how or when or why that happens, but the fact that it does is enough to keep me writing even when I fell pretty silly about it.

So! That being said, let's talk next year's Broadway in Cincinnati season. It's gonna be a doozy.

I was hoping, so very hoping, that we were going to get Come From Away next year. It launches its national tour from Seattle in October, and we get so many national tours in their first year that I had high hopes, which were promptly dashed when I got my upcoming season email. Seriously, though, this place is lousy with the arts and I have no complaints. My friend Bill knew what he was talking about when he told me to take a closer look at Cincinnati, and just this week I realized I've finally moved to loving it here instead of just liking it.

But never mind what we aren't getting. Here's what we are: Nine touring shows, eight of them either freshly off of or still running on Broadway, six of them (if my Broadway brain is working properly) in the first year of their tour, five of them in the first U.S. national tour of the show, and two of them the last two Tony winners for Best Musical. I was at a show at Aronoff Center last night and we're all keyed up for next season, on a heightened level of excitement that launched us into the very-energetic-on-its-own School of Rock. Love. It. Here.

Yeah, I think I'm okay with this lineup.

The one I'm most excited about? Not Dear Even Hansen, not The Play that Goes Wrong. (Look that one up on YouTube. I'm delighted it's coming here.) Not even Hamilton, although I'm in a differently excited realm than usual for that. Nope, I'm most excited for Fiddler on the Roof.

Why, why, why that one? After all, I saw it on Broadway. I've seen it live more than any other show, ever (that's counting high school and community theatre versions). What's left to be excited about?

It's my mother's favourite show. And as such, it's the first musical I ever knew existed. I knew the words to "Tradition" and "Sunrise, Sunset" practically before I could talk. I had wanted to take her to NYC before the show ended on Broadway, but timing and money didn't work out for that, so I promised myself that as soon as it came near either of us on tour, we were going. I cannot wait to share this with her--I'm going to trade in my great-but-miles-from-the-stage subscription seat to get us seats in the front orchestra instead so she can see every emotion on every actor. It's eleven months away and I'm already counting the days until we have what is certain to be one of the best theatre experiences of my life. (She already knows this is my plan. I'm not ruining the surprise.)

And that's why I'm so excited for next year's Broadway season in Cincinnati. 

In the Bag

I know, I know, a green post is so boring after all the weeping and gnashing of teeth and other stuff that comes with this time of year at Cheekyness. Hop back a few days and read some sad things, if it makes you feel better.

Finding a plastic bag photo was more challenging
than I anticipated. Apparently there are not a lot of
photographers doing still life of grocery bags.
Source: Mentor Public Library.

Today, let's talk shopping bags. Specifically, the flimsy plastic kind they give you at the checkout. If you're very lucky and the cashier is in the right kind of mood, you might get one bag for each item. (Tangent: my grandma hates it when I refuse a bag for one item and just carry it out. She's convinced I'm going to get arrested, even though I usually have the receipt in the same hand. Going to the store with her is an adventure.) So, what to do with all of them?

The first thing to remember is not to put it into the trash. The only time you would ever need to trash one of these bags is if your raw meat leaked icky juices all over it. A little bit of condensation from your cold/frozen items, though, is not a good reason to throw the bag out. Let it air dry; it's fine.

The pre-first thing to remember is to take your own reusable bags (which you are properly washing every couple weeks, of course), but for the sake of this post we're imagining that you forgot them all at home. Put them somewhere where you won't forget next time, then read on.

These suggestions are in order from the least amount of effort to the most. Determine your energy level and then go:

1. Use them as liners for your small trash cans.
You probably don't have enough trash to use all of your bags this way, and will end up with a surplus. Not to worry; just move on to the next step(s) with the rest.

2. Ready-made lunch bag.
It has handles and everything! Of course, if you're like me and have managed to accumulate more reusable bags than you can possibly put groceries in, then you may have a more permanent lunch bag already. Moving on to...

3. Take them back to the store.
Just about every supermarket in America has a collection bin at the front of the store for used bags. Good news: You can also put other soft plastics, like your bread bags, into those bins. They'll take bags from other stores, the plastic that covers your dry cleaning, and pretty much any thin plastic. Do make sure that it's clean--this is not a place for potato-salad-encrusted Saran wrap. And if you are returning a bag with a zip top, remove the zipper first.

You can also take them back to the store the other way--by taking them all the way in for reuse to carry your groceries home a second time. More power to you.

4. Donate them somewhere not at the store.
This may be a bit trickier, but a little bit of Googling should reveal local organizations that will either use a plastic bag or turn it into something else. Here in Cincinnati, there's an org that makes them into sleeping mats for homeless folks. This is a pretty common thing--try your local American Legion Auxiliary if you can't think of anyone else. Not every Auxiliary does it, but the ones who do make the mats exclusively for homeless vets. Anyone who makes things out of bags will be happy to take your (clean and dry) unwanted stock.

5. Make your own reusable bag.
This one is just off-the-wall enough to be true. It involves some melting and sewing, depending on the tutorial you use, but might be a fun activity with kids who are old enough to assist. Here's a video to get you started.

6. Make your own many other things.
Remember those bread bag rugs all our grandmas and aunts were making in the 80s? Want to try one of those mats for the homeless I mentioned earlier? Need some non-wilty flowers in a hurry? The world of instructables is wide open to you, friend. Have a good time.

Seriously. Don't throw those bags away. There's no reason to send them to a landfill when they have so many other potential uses.

What else do you have in your house that might need a second life?

Just Be

I took a couple days off at the beginning of the week, which turned out to be a fantastic choice when Cincinnati got up to 79° on Tuesday. My bicycle was happy to finally go somewhere interesting after weeks of sitting around when we set out to run a few errands.

Despite my tendency to forget it from time to time, I was remembering well that I live in Cincinnati now, and this week's warm temps were not here to stay quite yet. So, to avoid bitter disappointment later, I kept reminding myself, "Don't get carried away. Just be here in this moment." Normally, that is a strategy that doesn't work well for me.

I ended one of my errands at an intersection of two one-way streets, both going the opposite direction from where I wanted to go, so I thought I'd just go a block and then turn.

Well. This is one of the few times in my life I've managed to convince myself of something and make it stick. A few blocks later, I realized I'd completely forgotten to turn because I was having such a good time rolling right along. There's a great deal to be said about being in the moment and ignoring everything else--not thinking about what I'm doing later or making a mental grocery list or imagining the stack of paper my coworkers were cooking up in my absence. From time to time, it's a good thing to just be.

It's less of a good thing when your sense of direction depends on you being able to think at least a couple minutes down the road, but one can't have everything. But going the wrong way meant I found a thing. Last spring, I did a Cincinnati-themed A to Z Challenge, and when I got to Union Terminal I learned about the mosaics that were specially commissioned for the building. I read at the time that some of them had landed at the Duke Energy Building, and I lodged it in the back of my mind to go look harder for them one day, since I'd been around and inside there a couple times and had never seen them. Guess where my wrong turn took me?

I had crossed the street and was admiring the Firefighters Memorial Park when I happened to glance over and, had I been walking, I would have stopped in my tracks. As it was, I said aloud to absolutely no one, "Wait! Is that them? It has to be!" And crossed back over to see them. They are every bit as amazing as I had imagined they would be.

I only took pics of these two, because the glare made them not look so great.
I'll head back on a cloudy day and get them all.

So there's one more thing to be said for being in the moment. You never know what you may find.

You Are Here

A couple months ago at work, I was expressing my difficulty in climbing stairs while carrying something that blocks my view of where I'm stepping. I asked, "What's the word for knowing where you are in space? Prio-something?" A coworker called back, "Proprioception!" I said, "Yes. That. I don't have it."

An exhibit in MOMA. I like it.

That's just a little story for you, and not really what this is about. No, this is about my ongoing struggle to build a map in my head. Places I go often--work, church, Kroger--I could find in my sleep, if necessary. Downtown has been a bit more tricky, even though I'm down there a lot. (Parts of downtown are tricky. I can find the Aronoff Center just from the excited twinge that comes over me when in range of live theatre.)

But when I try to visualize where things are in relation to other things in Cincinnati, I often realize I'm picturing a different city. Perhaps this is my brain rebelling against my forcing it to learn its way around a fifth city. How do people who move a lot do it?

There's research that suggests that people who walk and people who drive have similarly accurate mental maps of a place, while regular transit users lag behind them and folks who are exclusively passengers lag even farther still. And there's a cool study on how the brain changes and builds synapses on repeated exposure to the same route. The research mentions neither bikes nor how many cities you can pack into your brain before it explodes. Obviously that's a gap for academia to address.

I'd like to see more research on
Hemingway's experience of building a
mental map. I agree anecdotally, but I'm
all about gathering more data.

Here's one that's even more interesting: kids who live in walkable and bikeable neighborhoods have not only a better sense of place--as in, where things like the park or their school are--but they also feel better about the place they live. Kids who are driven more and rarely walk are they opposite--they have a harder time knowing where they are, and their neighborhood seems more scary. I wonder if being scared of their surroundings is entirely because they haven't gotten the chance to know them well, or if it's also from internalizing the fears of the adults around them. I'm not a kid and I absorb other people's feelings, so it's not hard to imagine that less emotionally developed people do it.

And one more before I go: many studies have found a connection between exercise and thinking/memory skills. So it is the right choice for your or your kids to walk rather than drive when the opportunity presents itself? Only you can answer that question, but even if you can never head out for school or errands car-free, at least try to build in a walk around the block a few times a week.

Your brain will thank you.