My New Crush

I've got a new crush, and this time it's not food-related.

His name is Sufjan Stevens, and he's a born and raised Yooper (Friends from NYC and elsewhere, this means that he's from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan--the part that does not at all resemble a mitten. It resembles a...big hunk of land). And this crush is purely auditory.

I listened to his album, Illinoise, for a good portion of our trip this past week. His music is the kind that grows on me each time I listen and different layers of the song are revealed.

Check it out for yourself. This is the song, "The Worst Christmas Ever," from his album Songs for Christmas. Not a jolly tune, this one, but it's interesting.

Going on an Apartment Hunt...Want to come along?

We are returned from our brief yet delightful visit to the Southland, where my brother and sister-in-law have indeed created for themselves a Sweet Home in Alabama. And the drive, though it was 15+ hours long, was a feast for this city girl's eyes as it followed the Appalachians almost the entire way. The rolling hills, grazing sheep, ancient farmsteads...I do declare, I have a crush on Virginia, y'all.

But now that we're back, it's full steam ahead with our search for an apartment in Lower Manhattan. Vacancies rates hover at less than 1%, and the average cost for a one bedroom apartment is $2,800/month (we need two bedrooms, so we can tack on $1,500/month for that). We're doing our best to find a no-fee apartment--an apartment in which we don't have to pay a realtor's fee of 15% of the annual rent (you do the math; it's not my strong suit. I just know I don't want to pay it). And if I were The Type, I could be getting good and worked up about it all. However, I've not yet decided if I am The Type, so I vacillate between finding it a bit humorous and being slightly annoyed. Mostly it's annoyed.

Yesterday I found three apartments in a building that is managed by a no-fee company. Price range was good ($3,500-3,900/month--it's all relative), and the location was generally where we wanted to be. The listing said they showed the apartments daily between 5 and 6. Steve and I bundled up the kids and headed down. (Friends from MI and elsewhere: In case you're wondering, the area we're looking at is about a 30 to 60 minute subway ride from our current home on the Upper West Side, depending on whether or not the express trains are running).

We emerged from the subway and wended our way toward the address...

...over the garbage piles

...past the Pussycat Lounge and adjacent Adult Toy Store with its goods displayed front and center

...and finally, under the "Boxing Parlour" sign to enter the building.

Steve and I, with our amazing powers of deduction, concluded that this was probably not a family friendly neighborhood. However, we had taken the time to get there, so we decided to take a look at the apartments.

I'm not sure what caused me to ascertain that these apartments were not for us.

Was it the dingy walls and lack of lighting?

Was it the living room layout of approximately 5' x 5'?

Was it the loft/shanty town structure that most people had assembled in each apartment, so that at least 4 people could sleep in a 10' x 10' bedroom?

OR was it the fact that the super stepped in a pile of dog crap while showing us INSIDE one of the apartments?

Probably the last one.

We're going on an apartment hunt. Want to come along?

Skoool's Out for the Summer

And I'm taking a brief blog break as we travel to Alabammy to hang with my brother and sister-in-law for a few days.

I wonder if my blog will have a southern accent when I return?

Take care.

Turns Out She's No Help at All

And her choice of footwear is...

I Just Can't Trust You Anymore, Sarah Jessica Parker

Yep, she's got great hair.

Yep, I'd scoop up her wardrobe and run with it as fast and as far as I could (that's assuming I was a size 2 or 0, like SJP herself).

But, man,
do I feel betrayed by her choice in footwear.

I've been watching S and the C reruns on TBS lately, and this time around I'm (a tad) obsessed with Sarah Jessica Parker's choice in footwear.

Look, think I. Look at her lovely shoes.
4 inch heels, strappy little straps. Dainty and feminine and oh, so chic.
She flits around the city, happy little lark, footloose and fancy free.

Sadly, it's all a farce (Oh, were you thinking the show was a documentary?).

Inspired by SJP, I bravely donned my strappy heels this past week for a party occasion.
2 blocks in, and I knew I had been deceived...and we weren't even to the subway yet.
A few blocks more and I started thinking about that episode of Friends where Monica piggybacks on Chandler because her uber expensive boots hurt so much she can't walk.
By the end of the night, I was weighing the risk for stepping in spit or dog crud with bare feet vs. the pain relief I would feel if my shoes were removed.

I don't know how she did it, wearing such shoes with nary a complaint or a blister.
I can only assume SJP didn't actually walk more than 5 feet at any given time, changing into stylish bunny slippers between takes. Or perhaps she hitched a ride on the back of the nearest crew member.

My feet now bear the scars of taking shoe cues from Sarah Jessica Parker.
It's not pretty. Maybe next time I'll look toward Beatrice Arthur of Golden Girls fame for footwear inspiration.

Orthopedics, anyone?

You Know What I Love?

That I can see my daughter and give her sporadic hugs throughout my work day.
It's good that way.

The apple has fallen, and it is not very far from the tree.

Yesterday Chloe told me that as she was lying in bed the night before, she was trying to figure out why she was here.
"You mean, why we're here in New York?" I asked, rather slow on the uptake.
"No," she replied, "why I'm even here, why I'm alive."
"Did you figure it out?"
"Not really," she said.

(My brain shifted into high gear, and I paused to gather my thoughts and say a brief, "Help me do this right please, God," prayer. Also I sent a silent Thank You to the fellas who wrote Q&A 1 of the Westminster Catechism.)

"You're here because God knew you and loved you before you were even born, and God wants you to know and love him, too."

She was ok with that. I hope it's just the beginning of a life-long conversation.

Later, as I told Steve about our conversation, I had a strong memory of doing the same thing as Chloe--lying in bed, wondering, "If I was born to die, why was I ever born in the first place?" I wasn't 6 like Chloe, mind you, but I was pretty young.

"Well," said Steve, after I told him of my memory, "maybe you didn't know it fully at the time, but you weren't born to die. You were born to live. Fully. Through Christ."

My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. Psalm 139:15

This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants everyone to be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth. I Timothy 2:3,4

What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and to enjoy him forever.
Westminster Shorter Catechism, Q&A 1

Memorial Weekend: Good Times, Noodle Salad

In our case, the noodle salad was the Vietnamese dish, Bun Xao. But we did have good times with Michelle and Dan as they visited the Big Apple and celebrated their 10th anniversary. Check out Michelle's blog for details.

Theoretically

Why New Yorkers Hurry So Much (my theory)

Levels of Hurry are directly related to reliance on public transportation. New Yorkers hurry because they just want to kick themselves when they arrive on the subway platform 2 seconds after the train doors close...because when they round the corner to see their bus pulling away, they know that walking just a bit faster would have done the trick...because when a person steps in front of them to catch the only empty taxi within 2 square miles, it is obvious that being quicker would have meant sitting in the taxi rather than standing in the rain.

The problem with this approach is that it is impossible to hurry enough...there is always public transportation to miss--it might just be the train or subway or taxi that comes before the train or subway or taxi you would have missed had you not hurried.

It's almost enough to make me want to amble whenever possible. Almost.
Maybe I'll walk just a bit faster than an amble, and I'll catch this next train...

Cue the Confetti

Sitemeter tells me that today Visitor Number 20,000 stopped by Grace in the City.

Welcome, Visitor Number 20,000! Hope the visit was worth your while.

(And Visitors 1 through 19,999, we wouldn't have made it to 20,000 without you. Hope it was worth your while, too.)

Here are the two best prayers I know: "Help me, help me, help me," and "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

--Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

It's Not Them; It's Me.

Last night I was feeling a bit,

erm,

snarky.

A long week, a long day of work, and I was weary.

Steve and I were in the subway, on our way to catch a show of our friend Megan in Gotham City Improv. I glanced down the subway car and was confused by what I encountered.

What was this motley crew?
The people who were surely too young to look so worn,
and
The garish, painted red lips of the elderly woman with swollen ankles,
and
The angry stare of the young man sprawled over three seats, daring anyone to ask him to move,
and
The universal language of Cuss, the only words I could understand in the staccato speech of the Russian man standing in the aisle.

Where was my beautiful city?
The vibrant diversity, the inherent energy that I often feel among the crowds? Where was the model on her way to a photo shoot? The beatnik lost in his thoughts? The business woman in $400 shoes? The mother and children on their way home to the Bronx? The music of a dozen different languages?

It took me a moment to realize: It's not them; it's me,
my snarky self coloring the view of the people that swirled around me.

A moment more, and I was thanking God for seeing us
beautiful,
forgiven,
perfect and pure,
exactly as we should be

because of what Christ did for us.

Since the Beginning

The kids were playing in the tub. I was doing the dishes (it's very safe, my doing the dishes while they're in the tub. I'm quite literally 5 feet away from them).

Mayhem erupted.

Jonathan hit me!

Chloe threw this at me On Purpose!

Only because you hit me!

You did it first!

It's not my fault!

It's not MY fault!

The voice of reason (that would be me, in this case): Guess what? It's both your faults. Please apologize to each other.

Silence.

Well, says Chloe (and that little, unrepentant voice inside each and every one of us), it's only a little bit my fault, then.

Genesis 3:12 and 13

That About Sums It Up

"This has to be the most eclectic bunch of people in history."
-Steve, in a conversation after observing a woman push her dog in a stroller.

I love this place.

Rerun

Because it's been at least a year since I last watched this:

Tag

Lorraine tagged me, and now I'm It, which means it's time to share some things about myself which you may not know...

• Today was day 2 of The new job. All is going well--much learning on the fly and multi-tasking, which I enjoy. Makes the day go by quickly.
  
  On the subway home this evening, I thought about all the jobs I've had in my life.
  
  Sixteen.
  
  16 different jobs since the age of 14, which is when I began waitressing at a local greasy spoon. Someday I'll blog about the things I learned over the course of these 16 jobs. There is enough to write a book. And the people I've worked with...well, they are stories in and of themselves.
  
  
• I'm a music lover, but I'm somewhat, well, promiscuous about it all. Insightful lyrics? Why sure, I'll listen to that. Got a good beat and you can dance to it? Bring it on. Soaring melody? Tight harmony? All good. I even enjoy listening to our neighbor practice her arias at all hours of the day.
  
  The state of my iPod testifies to the breadth of my music loves. Sara Groves is next to Black-eyed Peas is next to Derek Webb is next to Norah Jones is next to Johnny Cash is next to Gwen Stefani is next to Iron and Wine...
  
  
• I saw a woman wiping her chiuaua's rear end today, and not five minutes later I saw a woman taking her rabbit for a walk. Enough said about that one, I think.
  
  
• I sample words like some people taste wine. A specific word strikes me, and I roll that word around in my mouth for a while, feeling the weight of the word, the body of it. Is it a tight word, that conveys its meaning succinctly, or is it laid back, stretching out and taking its time in telling you? Is it fizzy? Is it smooth? Does it leave an aftertaste? What other words does it complement? I take note and file the word away in the cellar, waiting for the perfect time and place to uncork it.
  
  
• I played clarinet in high school marching band (go ahead, I'll wait for a moment while you make your jokes. But save a few, because what I'm about to write may give you cause for more). I was always a bit annoyed that clarinets were in the marching band, because everybody knows that the brass and the drums are the stars of that show. Clarinets get lost in the crowd, and you often can't even hear them in the midst of it all. In my junior year I got up the gumption to say as much to our band director. "You want to be heard?" he asked. "I'll give you something to be heard." And he proceeded to saddle me with the bass drum. Not the baby bass drum, either. I'm talking one of the big bass drums that weigh a good stone or two. I had crazy fun playing that thing.

So that's it for being It. I tag Ava.

When You Come Visit, We'll Have Fun, Too.

Chinatown on a sunny Saturday

It was a vacation for me as well when some old friends (they're not old--the friendship is) came to the city this weekend. It's great fun seeing the sites with

Julie, who agrees with me that life should have a soundtrack and will most likely be humming or singing an appropriate song for the occasion

and

Katie, who leads the way through Dim Sum menus with assurance and an easy-to-spot pink jacket

and

selfless Nikki, who shopped like a pro, but not for herself--for all the people she loves back home.

Excuses for Lack of New Posts of Any Substance

I've been busy and scattered lately, unable to collect my thoughts so that I might post them here. It's not been a bad busy, really. Good things are happening. And the weather has been beautiful, so we've been gone from the apartment (and the computer) more often.

And...(drum roll, please)...I've gotten a job. It's an administrative position at the kiddo's school and it's as close to ideal as a job can get. I'm starting on Monday, so we've been trying to work out childcare logistics. I think we've got it covered for now.

Last night, in the marriage group that we're leading, Steve and I discussed how God continues to provide for us here. Most often, He provides in ways that we hadn't anticipated or planned for. And most often, it becomes obvious quite quickly that His ways are more beneficial than our ways. It's a good thing God is in charge of this church plant. We remind ourselves of that regularly. Our prayer, since the beginning, since before Steve graduated from seminary, has been, "God, if you open the doors, we'll walk through them."

And we're still walking.

Raining Petals

We paused for a moment yesterday and went to the spring fair in Riverside Park. The flowering trees were captivating, encouraged by the breeze to scatter their petals amidst the pony rides and cotton candy.

Wish you were there.
All of you.

A Short Observation

Shorts are not really acceptable casual wear for women in NYC.
Capris, yes.
Skirts and dresses, definitely yes.
Flowing linen trousers are also fine.
Shorts seem to be reserved for workouts and beaches.
(or tourists)

The Prayer of My Heart

Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee, Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle-shield, sword for my fight,
Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight.
Thou my soul's shelter, Thou my high tower.
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,
Thou mine inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'ns Son!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, O ruler of all.

--Ancient Irish Hymn (which gives words to the cries of my heart on this day)
Listen to it here

Haphazard

The weather here, with temps in the high 70's and pure, blissful sunshine, is encouraging the whole city to swarm to the parks and enjoy the flowering trees and warm breezes. The restaurants and cafes are putting out their sidewalk tables and people are lingering in clustered conversations on doorsteps and street corners. On days such as this, New York City transforms; the pace slows and people smile more.
_____________________________

I have an Earth Day confession which may cause me to be exiled from the city. Ready?
I haven't seen An Inconvenient Truth yet (Duck; the stones will begin to fly any second now). I am concerned about global warming, certainly; I recycle, I wash my clothes in cold water, I turn off the lights and handwash many a dish rather than use paper and plastic products. I would wish for a hybrid car if wishing for a car would do any good. People here assume that everyone has seen the movie, and it is referenced often and enthusiastically. The salesman at the Apple store even used it as a selling point. "If you check out Keynote (Apple software program), you'll recognize that Al Gore used it to make An Inconvenient Truth." And I nodded like Sure, I knew that, of course I've seen that movie, who hasn't? But I had not a clue.

Maybe I'll watch the movie tonight in honor of Earth Day. Or maybe I'll just go outside and appreciate the beauty of God's creation, instead.
_____________________________

Steve came home Wednesday, and we joyfully welcomed him back. I made hamburgers for dinner, which caused Steve to reminisce about Mr. Fables restaurant (For those of you who are not Grand Rapidians-- Mr. Fables was a West Michigan cafeteria-style restaurant that was a staple for many years. Zagats would probably give it a negative number of stars).
"Mr. Fables," I said sentimentally, "Do you remember our first date was there?" (sad, but true).
"Yeah," said Steve, with tenderness and a far away look in his eyes. "And do you remember the Mr. Fabulous burger?"
_____________________________

One last thing, which my older brother Eric wanted to make sure you knew.
Justin Timberlake is his favorite singer of all time and he wishes that everyone sang with such a sweet falsetto.
Right, Eric?

Levity on a Thursday Morning

This clip made me smile this morning.
It really doesn't take much to amuse me.

Darth Vader(ette) Does Her Homework

Steve has been gone for 2 weeks now, fund raising, sharing the vision for a church in lower Manhattan, and visiting friends old and new. With the weather being what it has, the kids and I have been inside our cozy apartment more than we would like. We're starting to go a little stir-crazy and are looking for any and all distractions (such as doing homework while peering through a Darth Vader mask? It was fine until she started to hyperventilate a bit, trying to make her breathing sound authentically Vader-ish).

Today, in another desperate attempt at diversion, we waited for a half hour in 40 degree, rainy, and windy weather for a free Ben and Jerry's ice cream cone (thank you, Annemarie, Honor and Ezra, for keeping us company and protecting us from the very, er, eager B&J line monitor).

It's time for Steve to come home.
Yesterday.

Cats and Dogs

We've received over 5 inches of rain in the past 24 hours, and it's still coming down.

If only I had upgraded Jonathan's stroller to include the hovercraft option. It would come in handy on the walk to the bus stop tomorrow morning.

I Can't Tell... Is this City Blue or Red?

Good for a laugh on a subway ride.

Nasty Nor'easter

The rain is coming down in buckets. In sheets. In a wall of water. The sidewalks are rivers and the curbs are lakes.
And I am feeling slightly guilty about having just ordered a pizza for delivery.
What am I asking that poor delivery guy to do?
I'm asking him to ride his bike through that wall of water, that's what I'm asking him to do.
Nor'easters must be a blessing and a curse for food delivery people. On the one hand, New Yorkers are not leaving their apartments unless they have to; hence, food delivery orders increase and tips increase accordingly. On the other hand, well, riding your bike through rain and wind like this must be miserable.

I'll tip him a couple extra bucks, which will appease my guilt but make the delivery guy no less uncomfortable.

Every Story Whispers His Name

You know how it's great when the book you're reading to your kids is a book you actually enjoy reading? How you might steer the kids away from the books you can't stand and instead point out the ones that don't drive you insane? "Cat in the Hat again, Honey? How about this one instead? This one looks like a great book..."

It's even greater when the kids choose the book themselves, and that book is a beautifully written and illustrated children's Bible.

We own 5 children's Bibles...all collecting dust (yes, even the classic The Child's Story Bible by Catherine Vos) because either we didn't like the way they were written, or the kids didn't care for them. Until...

We recently purchased The Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones, and it's a gift to our family. The kids really like it, and so do I. The illustrations by Jago are beautiful and contemporary. The stories are well-written and entertaining...Sally's ability to get to the heart of the matter is amazing, and even better, she shows the link in each story, Old Testament and New, to God's plan of salvation through Christ. No over-emphasized moralism here, which is a breath of fresh air when it come to children's Bibles. Sally, who is English and currently lives here in the city, also weaves in a subtle humor which brings forth a chuckle now and then (from me and the kids both).

"Many years later, God would send his people another young Hero to fight for them. And to save them. But this hero would fight the greatest battle the world has ever known." (From "The Young Hero and The Horrible Giant," the story of David and Goliath).

Good stuff.

If You Give a Man a Muffin

There is a man I see often in our neighborhood.
I assume he is homeless, although that may not be the case.

He has a distinctive way of asking for money. I can't accurately portray the lilt in his voice, the way he emphasizes certain phrases in his refrain, but the words go like this:

"Can you please spare some money. I need some money for (insert closest meal). Even a penny. Just a penny. Any food. I'd appreciate some food."

It sticks in my head.

Now, I struggle with the best way to show Christ's love to the homeless people and beggars that I encounter every day. I've read books like Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne, which says that helping is simple--you follow Jesus' instructions in Matthew 5:42 "Give to the one who asks you." But I've also read the stats that show that close to 90% of money given to beggars goes to drug and alcohol purchases. And surely, giving money to support life- destroying habits isn't helping anyone. I think of the Good Samaritan, who not only gave money to the person in need, but checked up on him and entered into his life for a time. But then there is the fact that I'm a woman with two young children at my side, and (untreated) mentally ill people are often unpredictable and sometimes unsafe...and who would I be helping by putting us in a dangerous situation?

So we usually choose to give our money to organized not-for-profits who help people in need, and we look forward to the day when our church community can be active volunteers in those same organizations.

Some of you may read that and think my reasons are poor excuses for my inaction.

Some of you may read that and think there is wisdom in our decision.

Either way, it still pains me to walk by people who are begging for money.

Back to the guy.
One evening last week, I was kid-free and on my way to the marriage group that Steve and I are leading. And there was the guy. Asking for dinner. "Any food. I'd appreciate some food."

"Well," thought I. "He's asking for food. I can get the man some food."
I turned back and steered into the convenience store, thinking I would buy him a sandwich. No sandwiches there, but I did find some muffins the size of softballs. I got all motherly and nutritionally minded then. Hmmm, which muffin? Not blueberry... no nutrition there to speak of...no chocolate chip, either...Right. Here we go. Whole grain with fruit and nuts. Perfect. Fiber, protein...we're set. It weighed about half a pound.

I strode out and handed the fellow his muffin.
He looked at me.
"I can't eat this. I need money. For dinner. That's why I asked for money."

Wait. I thought he had said, "Any food?"

Oh. Right. He wanted money. Of course he wanted money.

And I was angry. Ungrateful man. Lying man. And I went out of my way for him, and now I'm late. He'll probably just throw that muffin away. A waste of $2...

But I know better. I do. And I'm happy to say that I checked myself quickly (more quickly than I would have, even a year ago.)

Do I give simply to receive the gratitude of the recipient?
No, I give because Christ first gave to me.

And for too long, I was the most ungrateful of all.
And so often, I still am.

It All Hinges on This

Christ is risen.

He is risen, indeed.


Happy Easter

Looking toward Easter

"Please--Aslan," said Lucy, "can anything be done to save Edmund?"

"All shall be done," said Aslan.

-C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Where's the Beef?

In lieu of an actual date (in which we must pay a babysitter $12/hour), Steve and I stayed in on Tuesday, ordered Indian food after the kids were in bed, and watched American Idol (Sanjaya, seriously, it's time to go home).

Steve perused the menu, giving it only half his attention.
"I want that spicy stuff I had last time. What's it called? Vindaloo?"
He paused and looked again at the menu.
"Here's lamb vindaloo...and chicken vindaloo. Where's the beef?"
I looked at him.
"Oh, " he said. "It's Indian food."

Right. Made by Indians from India who might take exception to food prepared with an animal they consider holy.

He ordered the lamb.

It's All Good

While Steve prepares for his whirlwind tour of West Michigan, the kids and I have been enjoying Chloe's two weeks of spring break and finding different things to do each day. Beside our one night "vacation" to that crazy tourist destination, Newark, we've:

Visited the playgrounds in Tribeca and Battery Park City, getting to know our future 'hood (wow, our demographic studies weren't lying about all the families and kids).













Made a trip to the Bronx Zoo (huge, expensive, but worth seeing at least once).














Had an Easter Egg hunt in Riverside Park (which was fun until Jonathan turned it into a hunt for large sticks, which turned into a "light saber" fight between the kids...).































Still on the agenda: a trip to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory. Should I try Avocado or Red Bean flavor?

New York's Incredible Disappearing Middle Class

From this morning's AM New York:

Experts: Middle class getting squeezed in NYC
--------------------

By Justin Rocket Silverman, amNewYork Staff Writer
jsilverman@am-ny.com

April 3, 2007

The middle class is an endangered species in New York, and its survival could mean the difference between a stable city and one that is insecure and unsustainable, public officials warned at a forum Monday.

"Middle class people are not rich enough to be free of economic concerns but not poor enough to warrant charity," former Gov. Mario Cuomo said. "They are the people who work because they have to, not because a psychologist told them work is the best way to fill the time between birth and eternity."

Cuomo joined a host of other officials and economists at "The American Dream in the Big Apple," a conference sponsored by the Drum Major Institute, a progressive think thank. The three-term governor recalled raising five children in Queens in the 1950s and 60s on a household income of $30,000. Doing that today, he said, would be impossible.

"A lot of people who love this city and love their jobs are finding they can only afford to live in the suburbs," he said.

Panelists including City Comptroller William Thompson, Congressman Anthony Weiner (D-Brooklyn/Queens) and Bronx Borough President Adolfo Carrion spoke about the need for affordable health care, quality public education, affordable housing and small-business loans as the foundation of any strong middle class.

"We have been so obsessed with big business in midtown Manhattan that we forget most new jobs come from small businesses in the other boroughs," said Weiner, who proposed the city should help coordinate group health care rates for the employees of small companies that can't provide coverage otherwise.

By most measures, the observers said New York City seems to be doing a dismal job of maintaining a vibrant middle class. A study by the Brookings Institution last summer revealed that the five boroughs had the smallest number of middle-income families as a proportion of total population than any other city in the country. Instead the city is more polarized by the divide between the ultra-rich and the working poor.

"You never want a city of just the rich and just the poor," Thompson said. "That is not a healthy city."

The Drum Major Institute's survey of more than 100 political and business leaders on middle class issues found that:

* It takes an annual income of about $100,000 for a family of four to attain a middle-class standard of living. The median annual income for this size family in the city is $49,379.

* A middle class standard of living includes having health insurance, access to the Internet, good public schools for children, a retirement plan, annual vacations and air conditioning.

* A single person needs an income of $45,000-$90,000 to attain this middle class standard of living in New York City.

* 92 percent of respondents said it is "somewhat harder" or "much harder" for a low-income worker to enter the middle class today than it was just 10 years ago.

Why Steve is a Great Dad: Reason #101

We made a short trip to Newark with the Crosby fam this weekend, heading to a hotel with a beautiful indoor pool (our version of a spring break trip to Florida).

Steve played with the kids for no less than 4 hours, and they loved every minute of it.

I simply can't imagine where she got that idea.

Today while baking Easter cutout cookies, Chloe turned to me and said,
"Really, the main point of baking is so you can lick the dough."

Looking for New Tunes?

Have I told you about Pandora? It's a great free music website that is one of my current favorite things.

This is how Pandora works: Say you happen to like Jack Johnson (and my, what great taste you have). You enter Jack into Pandora's little box, and the folks at the Music Genome Project identify the characteristics of Jack's music that other musicians may share with him. They then create a special "radio station" just for you, streaming Jack Johnson tunes along with other similar great songs you may like. As the music plays, you can continue to customize the playlist by selecting thumbs up or thumbs down on the songs.

Have a hankering for a little Beyonce? Create a new station or simply add her to Jack's station (although the juxtaposition would be harsh. Whatever. It's your station. Do want you want).

It's a lovely thing when you have loads of work to do on the computer or simply need some background music. Just lovely.

Princess Marie Curie

On the bus today:

"Look, Chloe, I brought us books to look at on the bus!" Jonathan pulls his imaginary books out of his thin air backpack.
"Thanks," says Chloe, as she begins to turn the invisible pages.
"What is your book about?" I ask Jonathan.
"Dinosaurs in space."
"And what is Chloe's about?"
"Princesses," he answers.

They each take a moment to read.

"Look, Boona," Chloe demands. "This book is not about princesses. It's about science. With very important experiments. For me to do."
"Oh," he says. "Sorry." And he returns to his perusal of dinosaurs in space.

Yes, sorry indeed. We stand corrected, Marie Curie in-the-making, diva and scientist extraordinaire.

Toddlers in the City

It's true--families are choosing to stay in Manhattan rather than shimmying to the suburbs. White, wealthy families, that is.

Check it out.

Broken In

Think of your favorite pair of shoes and the time when they were brand new. Did they give you just a little thrill the first few times you stepped into them? Did you think about how they felt on your feet as you walked? Did they give you blisters or rub the wrong way? Did you cast an admiring glance at them as you crossed your legs, noticing the little details of the shoes?
Were you aware of them as you wore them?
Are you still aware of them, or are they broken in so well that you hardly notice that they're on your feet?

I was walking down Amsterdam the other day, and my steps seemed to be sure, and solid, and...forgettable. It struck me that the city feels broken in to me now. It is (relatively) comfortable and familiar. The new-ness, the strangeness of it doesn't burn like it used to. I don't notice little details; it doesn't thrill or blister like it did for the first while we lived here.

I'm grateful for the comfort that comes at this broken in stage, thankful for my ability to adapt to a new environment and culture. But it saddens me a bit that I am beginning to fail to notice the city and the people in it. Failing to appreciate its beautiful complexity in detail, as I did before.

Anne Lamott has written a book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, in which I remembered her saying, "There is ecstasy in paying attention. " But it takes a conscious effort to do that, right? It's hard work. And to not only notice, but to process--to think, "How does that relate to what I know, what I have experienced, seen, read, feel?"

To me, the payoff of the hard work is witnessing the wonder of God's hand, moving among the details, revealing himself to us. Sometimes I'll notice something, something tiny and seemingly insignificant that maybe only I saw, and I will think, "God arranged that. And I was part of it."

And his presence melts me.

Chloe is 6

Fully enjoying a birthday cupcake at Homer's Malt Shop



Why do the kids love Homer's? Large screen TV's tuned to Nick Jr. and Boomerang



City essentials: One sleek scooter with helmet

Winter's Last Hurrah

Monday: Sledding in Central Park

Picture This (Huh. Part II)

Winter has not given up, and Steve decides he'd like to warm himself with a steaming hot cup of coffee. He veers out of the stream of people trundling down the sidewalk and enters the front door of the local bakery and cafe. After ordering a medium cup of coffee, black, Steve grabs a java jacket for his cup, pays, and is on his way. He steps outside, anticipating the warmth that will counter the cold the blast of air.

He raises his cup to his lips,
ready to take the first sip,
and stops mid-air when he spies this on his cup:





Interesting product placement, is it not?

Hey Bloggers

Look what Steph did with her blog archives...fantastic resource if you're trying to find a way to publish your blog.

This City is My Jungle Gym

Jungle Gym
(Jack Johnson feat. G. Love)



The city is my jungle gym
Look at this big great world that we're living in
There's lots of fun to be had on these streets
We can take a ride just you and me
It's a jungle gym
It's a jungle gym



Trolley cars and buses too
All the big kids going to school
I'm going to get a treat from the ice cream man
Catch me catch me if you can
It's a jungle gym

The city's nitty gritty
but it's so much fun
We can take a ride go tell everyone
It's a jungle gym
Sha la la la la la la la la la

These streets have got a rhythm
It's a funky beat
The more I learn inside the city
The more I learn in me
It's a jungle gym
It's a jungle gym



Movie theatres and museums
Fishing in the pond
ABC's 123's bring your friends along
Flying kites way up high into the blue sky
We can take a ride
Just you and I

It's a jungle gym

It Tastes Like Spring

Sure, the crocuses (crocii?) are blooming, the temps are rising, the grass is greening. People are walking (a little) slower, Uggs are stashed away (amen to that!), and the little corner markets are selling bunches of daffodils and tulips.

But the real sign of spring in NYC is the re-emergence of two foodstuffs: Iced coffee and Mr. Softee. Certainly, New Yorkers can not be expected to give up their java simply because the temps are a little higher. No, just add a little ice, milk, and sugar, and you've got your caffeine and your cold drink in one. I enjoy iced coffee--it's replaced my white hot chocolate, btw--but I can't figure out why it's more expensive than a regular coffee. Answers, anyone?

The kids and I spotted the first Mr. Softee cone last week, and I actually stopped a 10 year old girl on the sidewalk to ask where the truck was parked. The kitschy little truck was waiting right where she told (across the street from the elementary school), and we indulged in small vanilla cones with sprinkles. Now that's what spring tastes like.

Huh.

Jonathan and I were minding our own business, waiting on the corner for Chloe's bus.
I looked up to see two men walking toward me from a cab, pulling badges out of their shirts as they walked.
"Ma'am, did you call the cops?"
I shook my head. Mute.
They tucked their badges into their plainclothes shirts, turned around, and walked back to the cab, where they were still waiting when I ambled away 10 minutes later.

Outside

We played in the backyard today--the area around the Soldiers and Sailors monument in Riverside Park.










Then we rested.

What Amounts to a Hill of Beans

Was it you? Were you the one who grew tired of my complaints about the cold and kicked the weather machine as I had requested?

Well, thank you.

This weekend the weather took a turn for the very much better, with the temps rising 30 degrees almost overnight and the sun shining full blast. On Saturday, with Chloe at a playdate and Jonathan and Steve at the playground, I did something that I've imagined doing since we moved here. I bought a big cup of coffee, grabbed a good book, and sat on a sunshine-drenched park bench for an hour and a half. Part of the time I read, and the other part I people-watched and prayed. It was wonderfully renewing, and my love for this city and the people in it flooded over me yet again.

_______________

I'm still learning how to cook with the ingredients that are available in the neighborhood grocery (really, I'm still learning to cook, period. Please pretend with me, and we'll blame it on lack of ingredients). This weekend I had a yen for White Chicken Chili, which is made with great northern beans and other goodness. In the past when I've made this recipe, I've used a big jar of beans--beans that are already nice and softened and in the perfect amount. Two local stores did not have the jars of beans, so I went out on a limb and bought dried beans. Problem was, I didn't know exactly what volume a pound of dried beans would be after soaking and cooking them. For future reference, it's A LOT. I had to keep adding chicken broth and additional ingredients, and now I have a pot of chili the size of our refrigerator waiting for someone to eat it. Want to come over for lunch?

_______________

Last night Steve preached at Cedar Hill Christian Reformed Church in Wyckoff, New Jersey. It was an interesting adventure to get there, as the guy who offered to pick us up and take us to the church was a bit delayed by traffic, and we all walked into the sanctuary 30 seconds before the sermon was supposed to start.

Steve recovered quickly and delivered a touching and powerful sermon (I know I'm biased, but really, he was good).

He spoke about John 14.
"I am the way, the truth, and the life..."
...how it's so easy for people to see that as an exclusionary statement
...but in reality, it's the greatest invitation anyone has ever extended, with a guest list that includes every single person in this world...

"In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for YOU."
...a place made for each of us uniquely, because of our complete and total significance to God.
...Jesus invites us to come with him to this place, to know that we are loved and valued.

A quote from C.S. Lewis (The Problem of Pain):

Be sure that the ins and outs of your individuality are no mystery to Him [God]; and one day they will no longer be a mystery to you.
The mold in which a key is made would be a strange thing, if you had never seen a key: and the key itself a strange thing if you had never seen a lock.
Your soul has a curious shape because it is a hollow made to fit a particular swelling in the infinite contours of the Divine substance, or a key to unlock one of the doors in the house with many mansions.
For it is not humanity in the abstract that is to be saved, but you…your eyes shall behold Him [God] and not another’s. All that you are, sins apart, is destined, if you let God have his good way, to utter satisfaction….
Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it—made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand.

A Smile on a Saturday Morning

Lorraine posted this clip a few days ago, and I thought it was a perfect Saturday morning indulgence.

The guy can't dance, but he sure does love his life.




Love how he sometimes has to cut the dancing short because the animals get a little too interested.

Quote of the Week

"This show would be really good if it weren't for all the singing."
-said by Steve, with all sincerity, while watching American Idol

Somebody Give That Thing a Good Kick

The weather machine here seems too be stuck on the Extraordinarily Cold and Windy setting. Average temps for this time of year are the high 40's; we've been having wind chills that are below zero. Does anyone have the number for a good repairman?

I realized earlier this week that I am feeling actual hostility toward the weather, as if it were a real live adversary. I scowled and muttered at it as I rounded the corner and was socked by the wind. I talked about it behind its back, and I schemed ways to avoid running into it on the way to the grocery store.

People who learn we're from Michigan will often say something like, "Well, this weather must not bother you. You're used to winter!" Yes, we're used to winter...we're used to driving in snow and ice, we're used to snowplows and shovels, and we're used to never-ending gray skies. We're also used to pushing the remote start button for our cars, which are waiting in the attached garage. After a sufficient time, we take two steps into the toasty warm vehicle, drive to our location and park in the convenient parking lot. We then take 5 steps (maybe 10, if the lot is busy) to the toasty warm store and we're all good. I never even invested in a hat or scarf.

The difference here is that we are walking for blocks in the cold, we're waiting for the bus in the cold, we're taking the kids to the park in the cold. It's a bit ironic that we are more in tune with the weather now, in the city, than we ever were when we lived in the "country" (I use that term loosely).

Maybe it's just the chronic case of hat-head that is wearing on me.

K-i-s-s-i-n-g: Kindergarten Angst

A few days ago, I walked in the bathroom to check on the kids in the bathtub. Upon rounding the corner, I discovered Chloe had wrapped the shower curtain around herself and created a veritable cocoon of white plastic.

"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I need some time alone," said she. This is the size of our apartment, that one must wrap themselves in a shower curtain to find some personal space. But that is a whole 'nother blog.
"Why do you need some time alone?"
"Because something happened at school today that I need to think about," Chloe said.
"A bad thing?"
"Someone said something to me and I didn't like it."
"Who said something to you? What did they say?" I asked, doing my best to stay my Mama Bear instincts and calmly, collectedly investigate the situation.
"I don't want to tell you, I just want to think about it."
"Ok, honey, that's fine. When you're ready to talk about it, just let me know. We're on the same team, right?" This is what I said. What I thought was, "Tell me now. Tell me right now! Whose mother do I need to call?"

Over the course of the next hour, Chloe processed the situation and then dropped facts for me to pick up and put together, Nancy Drew style.
"It was about me and Max and Jimmy." (names changed to protect the innocent)
"Someone said the same thing to Claire and she didn't like it either."
"I don't think Max and Jimmy really cared about it. I think I was the only one who didn't like it."

And then, the breakthrough.
"Remember when Max and Jimmy both said they wanted to marry me?"

Yes indeed, I remembered. Chloe's teacher told me about it. Max and Jimmy had said, in front of the entire kindergarten class, that they both wanted to marry Chloe. They demanded that she decide which one of them was for her. And my precociously political girl told them that it was silly to decide now, that she would decide when they were all in high school, if they even still knew each other then. I thought it was a cute story. But cute stories are not without consequences in kindergartens.

So I asked Chloe, "Was what the person said to you--was it about that?"
"Um-hmm."
"Oh, Kiddo," I said, "as you get older, boys and girls will like each other and sometimes they'll both like each other at the same time and sometimes they won't...and it seems like kids will always tease other kids about it all. When I was little, we used to sing this song, Fred and Mary, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g."

At this, Chloe's eyes grew wide, her relief evident that I knew of such things. "That's it! That's the song that they said to me. And I figured out what k-i-s-s-i-n-g spelled. Kissing!" Here she made a sour, boys-have-cooties face.

"I think almost everyone has had this song sung about them at some time or another, honey. If you don't like it, ask them to stop singing it, or just ignore them when they sing it, ok?"
"Ok," she said. "I think they were just being silly, anyway. It doesn't really matter."

Right on, kid. Self-differentiation is a good thing.

But growing up is hard, you know?

Happy Birthday, Michelles!

Swing over to Michelle's blog and Michelle's blog and wish them a happy birthday!

I've known Michelle since birth
...we hung out in the church nursery together
...she always seemed to have a very avant garde short haircut
...we learned how to navigate the intricacies of Commodore 64's together

And Michelle, I met in the 5th grade
...at one point she had kickin' Guess jeans (I can picture us in Calvinettes, you with your jeans)
...she was hopelessly in love with a fellow Sunday Schooler (do you know whom I'm talking about, Michelle? Of course you do).
...she would, and still will, sing the Indigo Girls with me

Happy Birthday to you, Ladies.

Onward and Upward

We're playing catch up this week as we traverse the recovery trail. Jonathan's eye is 90% better, Chloe's hair is what it is, and I am coughing only at inconvenient times (on packed subways, in the middle of telephone conversations, etc.) rather than all the time. The weather is warming and the air has that hopeful smell of spring thaw. Today I am thankful that God is a God of renewal, that these small recoveries hint at the greater redemption of this life and this world.

In church planting matters, our focus is shifting toward two things. The first is fundraising, the second is relationship building and core group gathering. Over the next few months, we hope to raise enough money and pledges to support the ministry for three years. Fundraising for three years rather than simply one will allow us to focus intently on building the ministry without the distractions of additional campaigns. The second part, the relationship building, is a delight. We have coffees and meals and great conversations and meet all-around interesting people. We share our vision with them, ask for their insight, and invite them to join us in one way or another. Relationships take time and effort, and it seems that is where much of our time and effort is spent right now. Not a bad place to be.

One Rotten Week

There is a blob of pink sparkly Dora the Explorer toothpaste in our bathroom sink. It's been there for three days, and every time I wash my hands or brush my teeth, the presence of the toothpaste irks me. It's gross and garish and doesn't have any right to be there.

But I haven't cleaned it up.

I also haven't swept up the small piece of garlic breadstick that lurks under the table (which is an invitation to every roach within 3 blocks). Nor have I prepared meals or showered as regularly as I should have. The flu that we've all been battling has ushered in a mighty lethargy, and it has settled into the apartment like a lingering house guest. Honestly, we're all just exhausted.

And no wonder. In the past five days, we've:

• been to the doctor 3 times


• been to the pharmacy 5 times


• been awake the majority of 4 nights


• spent $100 on cold remedies and prescriptions


• used up over 600 Kleenex


• blew our budget on delivered food
  
• watched way, way too much TV

Jonathan has this strange eye thing going on; he looks a bit like he was in the middle of a bar brawl. The doctor used an ink pen to outline the area so she could monitor the migration of the redness.

And Chloe, well, Chloe cut her hair. I'm convinced now that the act was brought on by temporary boredom-induced insanity. We tried to take her to the salon on Thursday so they could attempt to heal her hair, but something in the air made her cough incessantly. We left and tried again today. This is what we walked away with:

Side without Chloe-administered cut

Side with Chloe-administered cut

The stylist took off 8 inches of length from the back, hoping it will make it easier for the hacked off section of hair to catch up. It saddened me.

I'm looking forward to next week. I mean, I really can't wait. This week needs to hit the trail, and how.

P.S. A Jeopardy afterthought:
The answer: Chicken feet in the meat department and a man riding a unicycle.
The question: What are two things I saw on my trip to the grocery store today?

Why on earth...?

I just discovered a 15 inch long section of Chloe's hair in the wastebasket.

She cut it off and can't tell me why.

She now has bangs on the side of her head.

The rest of her hair remains, long enough that it reaches her lower back.

What are we going to do?

He's My Little Ostrich...

...with his head in the sand.


Jonathan is sick--we're all pretty darned sick--but he doesn't like to take his medicine and "hides" here, between the couch and the register. Today he fell asleep there for a few moments.

Steve's parents were in town for a long weekend. We went to the American Girl store and the Museum of Natural History and showed them around the neighborhood. It was nice to be able to share the city with them for a while.

But in my mind, I had this conversation with them:

Me: Hi, Mom and Dad. Are you fully recovered from the stomach flu that we gave to you over Christmas, the last time we saw you?
Them: Oh, yes. It was awful, but we're over it.
Me: Good. It's been nice having you here, seeing you again. And here's a little going away present--the respiratory flu! That's right, nose that runs like a faucet, fever, aches, cough, the works. They're all yours. Thanks for coming!

Chloe came down with the flu the day they got here. Jonathan and I were hit with it on Monday. Steve's mom was starting to feel miserable right before they left.

I would not blame Tom and Marilyn if they don masks and gloves and hose us down with Lysol the next time we see them. I might just do that myself.

Visitors Welcome.

What makes a church attractive to you? What characteristics of a faith community would catch your eye, pique your curiosity, encourage you to attend?

One of the things we've had to consider as we plan for this church community in Lower Manhattan is how we're going to let people know about it, how we're going to invite people to check it out... our (dare I say it?) marketing.

Marketing is a new church necessity, especially in a city the size of Manhattan. It needs to go beyond a "Visitors Welcome" phrase on a church sign (we won't even have a church sign, for pete's sake). Whatever form it takes, it needs to be honest, true, full of integrity. It needs to be warm and welcoming.

It needs to begin telling the message of Grace.


It's easy for the message to be confused, however.


Last week, a local church invested much money in the printing and distribution of a large, beautiful postcard that told of their church, their worship times, etc. A postcard was placed in the middle of every Metro, a free newspaper that many people grab on their way down the subway steps in the mornings. Daily readership is close to 500,000. Unfortunately, the postcards tended to fall out of the newspapers as people grabbed them, carpeting the sidewalk with litter. Ouch. The confused message: Come to our church, we add to the trash in the city. Come to our church, we don't care much for the environment. Come to our church, we're just like every other business that tries to shove fliers in your hands.


I don't want to be too hard on that particular church; I just want to show how easy it is for the message to be misunderstood.


Another church I've recently seen uses this line on its website: "Come check us out! We've got free Krispy Kremes and coffee after every service!" What does that imply about the values of the church? Would it encourage you to attend?

The Best Workout in the World

Who needs Yoga Booty Ballet or Turbo Jam?

Here's the best workout in the world.

Take a lightweight umbrella stroller and load it with an child who is, in all honesty, too big for it. Attach a 5 year old who doesn't like mornings and is complaining about her snow boots. Now run for a half mile on a slight incline while pushing the stroller through 2 inches of snowy slush. Add pelting sleet. About two blocks in, have the 5 year old begin to cry and pull back on the stroller, for a little extra resistance.

It works every every muscle in your body, including the patience muscle (which for me is located in my jaw somewhere).

Watch for the infomercial. I'm going to package this with the Eat Your Children's Leftover Mac and Cheese for Lunch diet and make a million.

Honest People, Google is a Gift, and Cannoli Condolences

Sunday afternoon I found myself in the middle of laundry with not a quarter in my possession. As I often do, I asked Chloe if I could buy some quarters from her piggy bank. She readily agreed; dollar bills are easier to count than quarters, anyway, she said. I reached into my purse to pull out my wallet. It wasn't there. I swished around the purse contents a bit...and my wallet wasn't there. I tipped my purse on end, pennies rolling to the far corners of the apartment. My wallet wasn't there!
I was horrified. I recalled reaching into my wallet to pay the taxi at church that morning, and I knew: Somehow, my wallet did not make it back into my purse and was currently sliding across the backseat of a yellow cab. It was gone.

I called the credit card company and the bank--no charges that day and new cards on the way. I called the taxi company and filed a half-hearted lost item report. I called the state and ordered a new license. I called myself a fool.

On Monday, I commiserated with Anne Marie. She listened and shared in the agony of my story, but then she did something really comforting. She bought me chocolate cannoli. Fresh from a bakery in Soho, filled to bursting with chocolate cream cheese and petite chocolate chips...
I sat at the table and tasted every bite, thinking that if there were a substitute for a lost wallet, chocolate cannoli may be it.

Five minutes after I finished the cannoli, Steve called. "Dana, a woman has your wallet. Her name is this, her number is that, and Get This: the pastor from Caledonia Christian Reformed Church called and gave me this information."

Now, Caledonia CRC is our home church in West Michigan, and it's a long, long way from any yellow taxi cabs.
How....?
Turns out, this lovely, honest woman found my wallet in her taxi on the way to church Sunday morning. She searched for our phone number, but we have no land line and are not listed. She Googled my name and found some minorly interesting but unhelpful information. She had the good sense to see Steve's name on our insurance card, Googled him, and found on Caledonia's site the information about his ordination this past fall. Worth a try, she thought, and gave them a ring. They, in turn, called Steve, and my wallet was back in my possession 2 hours later.

Thank you, God, for being a God of details.
Thank you, Wallet Woman, for being honest, persistent, and computer literate.
Thank you, Google and Caledonia CRC, for posting Steve's name.
And Thank you, Anne Marie, for a great cannoli.

Winter Jam

We checked out Central Park's Winter Jam this Saturday afternoon. Winter Jam's big draw is the winter sports: snowboarding, cross country skiing, snowshoeing. What might have posed a problem--the fact that the city has had only a trace of snow this winter--was simply an opportunity to haul out the ol' snow making machine from behind the shed. We arrived in the park to find two piles of snow surrounded by acres of grass (see the top pic). One pile the snowboarders used, the other pile was simply an invitation for snowball fights. Our friends Anne Marie and Ezra joined the fun and we throw snowballs (that term is generous, especially where Jonathan was concerned; he mostly threw snowflakes) until we were all soggy and cold and ready for a good cup of hot chocolate. The line for free Dunkin' Donuts hot chocolate and donut hole (that's right, singular) was unacceptable, so we chose a much cozier alternative, a visit to the Buttercup Bakeshop. I can appreciate a cupcake with as much frosting as cake.

More

Fashion Week
Fur Coats
Designer Bags, Designer Strollers, Designer Dogs
Apartment Envy
Gourmet Restaurants, Cafes, Bakeries
Broadway shows
Barney's and Bloomingdale's

I've encountered a struggle with contentment in this city.

It's not as if I covet any certain item...it's the More of the city that gets to me.
There are so many good things here; everything has the potential to be upgraded.

More choices than ever before, more expensive than ever before.
More unattainable.
More to say "No, thank you" to.

And the marketing machine is in full gear, on every building, bus, and billboard.

Yesterday, I found myself thinking that a fur coat wouldn't be half-bad.
It is not an exaggeration to say that particular desire had never, ever crossed my mind before yesterday.
But there are many fur coats wandering around this city, and they look so warm and soft and lovely that my own coat seems threadbare and boring.

I am an Israelite, grumbling in the wilderness, telling God that his daily provision of goodness just isn't good enough.

I know this, yet my eyes linger long on the upgrades.

Disproportionate

The weather has been oh, so cold here this past week. The kind of cold that makes your whole body tense, makes you angry at the wind, makes you wish you had found your long underwear when you set out to look for it three weeks ago. We've been staying in a little more because of the cold...I've had some tantalizing books waiting for me at the library for a week, but it's a 12 block walk and I just can't get the gumption to do it. Maybe tomorrow.

We're getting a bit of cabin fever, I think. The great big gift of this city is shrinking down to the confines of
our teeny, tiny apartment.

We need to get out more. I realized this today when I became really quite disproportionately giddy over the fact that our super fixed the dryer in the laundry room so that it no longer cooks our clothes (ah, the smell of unburnt fabric softener). I also had to resist the urge to call everyone I know to tell them that the maintenance guys put weather stripping in the windows, and the Daft Draft is no more. Also, I've reminded Steve 3 times that Lost begins again tonight (yippee!).

It's off to the library, post haste!
Tomorrow.

Since I'm Not Watching the Super Bowl

...and Michelle tagged me, I'll share with you my

Motherhood/Homemaker Quirk Confessions

• If you ask me, I'll tell you that I keep chocolate chips in the apartment for baking convenience. A bit closer to the truth would be that I keep them for emergency chocolate fixes, which usually occur on a daily basis and at regular intervals throughout the day.
• I will inhale lightweight fiction (Sophie Kinsella, et al.) while drying my hair, preparing Chloe's lunch for school, playing Uno with the kids (I can multi-task with the best of them). However, it takes me a good month to read through non-fiction books (which explains why Total Truth has been on my sidebar for so long. It's not from lack of blogging updates, I'll tell you that much).
• I play with the kids' silly putty while I watch TV at night.
• I will fill my sink with dirty dishes and hot, sudsy water, then I'll walk away. I hope that somehow the dishes will wash themselves while I am busy doing more important things, like blogging. They never do. But sometimes Steve comes home in the interim and is baffled by the abandoned sink, so he does them. Which is just as good.
• Grapes are $4.49/lb at my local grocery store. I know that's not a motherhood confession, but someone should be confessing to something related to that, because it is just wrong.

Consider my tag obligations complete...

Songs I've Loved To Death: The Early Years

I mentioned in my last post that at certain times in my life, I listen to the same song over and over again until I can't stand it anymore.

In other words, I love the song to death.

Right now, that song is "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" by Celtic Woman.

But last night I started thinking about all the songs that have perished under the weight of my affection, and I saw a perfect opportunity for a beautiful bulleted list, which may or may not be in chronological order.

Hence, Songs I've Loved to Death: The Early Years

• Elvira, by the Oak Ridge Boys. My dad bought a used truck with an 8 track. The Oak Ridge Boys came with the truck (bonus!) and I used to go sit in his truck in the garage and listen to Elvira. "Giddy up, um boppa mouw mouw..."
• Sing Your Praise to Lord, by Amy Grant. Age to Age was the first album that was truly mine, and the instrumental lead-in to this song was thrilling.
• Friends by none other than Michael W. Smith. The second album I owned. I dreamed of having friends who would sing this song to each other and vow to never, ever change. Wasn't really the point of the song, but that's how I heard it.
• I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany. "Children, behave! That's what they say when we're together..." Deliciously rebellious.
• Only in My Dreams by Debbie Gibson. I always thought Tiffany and Debbie should be best friends.
• Word Up by Cameo. My sister and I recorded this one off the radio on her Sidestep boombox. That's some serious dedication: Sitting by the radio until the song comes on and then hurry-up! Push record! Push record! Inevitably we missed the first few seconds of the song or had to endure a fade-in from the song previously playing.
• Parents Just Don't Understand by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. My friend Michelle and I could sing it word for word one summer when our families shared a rented cottage on the lakeshore.

That's it for the early years.

Share--what songs have you loved to death?

It's Just a Crush

I go through these phases where I am utterly dedicated to a treat of some sort or another. When given the choice, I pick that treat over and over until my crush fades due to over-exposure. I do the same thing with music, and someday I'll write a list of all the songs that I've listened to until I couldn't stand them anymore.

Today, I heart this: