experiments in walking 17.January.2008

I woke up this morning resolving not to drive the car today.  It’s a cryin’ shame — I’m telling you — that Americans gallavant all over the blessed country in comfortable, swanky, gas-guzzling, earth-polluting cars.  Gas prices soar; they still drive.  They say they don’t have a choice.  They can’t afford to do differently.  But they do have a choice.  Every person has a choice.  And I believe that one reason more Americans haven’t stopped driving is because it’s countercultural not to drive.  It sounds nice — walking or bicycling — but it’s easier said than done.

But I did it.  Today I walked.

I wouldn’t have had to go anywhere today.  But I remembered that it was story time at the library this morning, and I wanted to take Isaiah because he hadn’t been around many kids this week.  The library is a mile and a half away; I mapped it before I left.  It was a trip that would have taken three minutes in a car.  Boy, that sounded tempting.  But a resolution is a resolution.

When I left, my walk to the library somehow felt dangerous.  I was taking a baby out in 45-degree weather, for crying out loud.  And I’m not used to walking that far.  Who knew what dangers we would encounter along the way?  I’m not kidding.  Thoughts like that go through your mind when you go against the flow.  But I bundled Isaiah up, and he slept the whole way.

I felt so free.  I just kept walking and walking, and the closer I got the library, the better I felt.  Cars flew past me at 40 or 50 miles per hour, and I had chosen something better.  I didn’t have to be in a hurry.  I could notice things on that route I had never noticed before.  When you walk, you notice how the brick walls surrounding subdivisions are built.  (They’re not solid brick; they’re hollow.  They look good for the drivers.)  You notice how McDonald’s smells from the outside. (Not good.)  You notice what the weather is like.  You smell the exhaust from cars.  You notice — for the first time all day — that you’re actually thinking about something besides what is right before your eyes.  You notice how fast everyone else is going.

There was one other pedestrian out this morning.  A jogger.  That’s all.  One person.  And she wasn’t even running to get anywhere.  It was just me.

When I got to the library, I pranced in and felt like celebrating.  We had done it — Isaiah and I.  The biggest problem was that my nose started dripping, but, I’ve got to tell you, it was worth it.

Isaiah woke up just before story time, and he loved the excitement.  He learned to pat his head and turn in circles when we sang songs.  He got to take three books home with him.  He ate Cheerios all the way back to the house.  When we got inside, his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

“We did it, Isaiah!” I told him.  I felt like we had just broken a world record.  Like Isaiah was going to grow up a better person because we walked places.

I know now we can walk to the grocery store together, load up the stroller with our bags, and learn more about the neighborhood we live in.  The great thing is that the grocery store is even closer than the library.

I believe that we would be a more intellectually and physically healthy society if we walked where we could.  I believe local, independent businesses would thrive.  I believe we would take better care of public places, and the earth could heal from some of its pollution.  We would be a more personable, genuine people, more aware of art and literature and the spiritual realm.

Just try it yourself.  See if I’m not right.

book bliss 8.January.2008

Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret-room
Piled high, packed large,–where, creeping in and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs
Of a mastadon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning’s dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh

After living over a month in Carrollton, it was high time I secured a library card for the Carrollton Public Library.  I hoped for the best selection possible, but I found out it will be hard to beat Fort Worth’s massive inter-library loan system.  Tapping into Dallas’s undoubted motherlode of public books would be the ultimate treat, but I’ve been told only Dallas residents are allowed to get a card there.  Something about the people who pay the taxes benefiting from the city’s resources.  Blah, blah, blah.  I know now I’ll have to contrive some way of getting a Plano library card, with which I think I can tunnel my way to Dallas’s shelves as well, because, if you haven’t guessed, Carrollton just isn’t going to cut the mustard.

However, I came away from my local library with five books that were not on my “Soon to be Reading…” list:

How Reading Changed My Life (Anna Quindlen) — Anna Quindlen can be a lot of fun to read, and who can resist a book by that title?

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (Annie Dillard) — Since the library had it, I figured I better read it, since it’s Dillard’s most talked-about book.  Annie Dillard is just so brilliant.  I loved her autobiography, An American Childhood.  For the Time Being was a little over my head at times but still intriguing.

Teaching a Stone to Talk (Annie Dillard) — Our pastor has quoted incredible passages from this book a time or two, so I thought it was worth a read.  I always like to know the context of those Sunday-morning quotes.

A Man Without a Country (Kurt Vonnegut) — I’ve never read Vonnegut, but when I stumbled across this… autobiography, I think it is, I had to take it home.  People seemed to really praise Vonnegut’s work up and down when he died a little while back, so I thought I should know what all the hype was about.  I doubt it’s his most well-known book, but the first couple pages drew me in without any trouble.

The Soul of Politics (Jim Wallis) — God’s Politics was a great, insightful read; I wanted to know what else Wallis had up his sleeve.

I know very little about the books I brought home today.  They were mostly author-based choices.  But my poor books are burning a hole on my kitchen counter while they wait to be read because I told myself I have to read The Power of One before I read library books!  I’ve been lending that novel from a friend for way too long, and I need to get it back to her.  The first chapter was good, though, so I hope it won’t take me too long to get through it.

My library books are due in three weeks.  The toughest goal I’ve ever given myself is to read one book a week (although on some binges I’ve read more).  And now six books to get through in three weeks?  Aiyayay!  I had no business getting myself in such a predicament.

in the new year 4.January.2008

I can’t say 2007 was necessarily great on my self-esteem.  I mean, when you quit nursing, your boobs take on a pathetic sag (one of my sisters likened them to a baggie with a marble in the bottom, I think it was).  Combine that with a failure to read very many books.  And a record low in blog posts.  And the first year since I was probably 15 when there has been absolutely no income of my own to report on the tax documents.

Welcome to motherhood.

Actually, it really is great being a mom.  I was wrapping Christmas presents a few weeks ago, and I had resolved not to buy any more paper in an effort to be green and frugal.  I had a few used gift bags to work with, but my only wrapping paper left for Christmas was some brown grocery bag type stuff.  Isaiah unrolled it and decided he wanted to sit on it.  My precious paper!  I decided not to care because he was so happy to sit on that paper.  “That is a great place to sit, isn’t it!” i said to him.  My dear little boy got up, and slowly laid his nose and lips against mine in his version of a kiss.  Then he sat back down on the paper and blew me another one.  Did I say I had self-esteem problems?  I guess when you’re the only person in your son’s life who gets such royal treatment, you can’t feel sorry for yourself very long.

So I have to say, I’m hopeful as 2008 dawns.  I have a succinct, interesting list of new year’s resolutions that I can’t wait to get started on.  (Unfortunately, my dear blog readers, you don’t get to see them.)  I have a new outfit from my loving husband to feel beautiful in.  I have a cold sore. (Oh, whoops.  Wrong list.  That was supposed to go at the beginning, except that I didn’t have this particular cold sore in 2007.)

The best thing is that there’s so much time left in 2008!  Time to eat dinners; time to bake scones; time to read books and have sex (Did I just say that?  Well, I am married.)  There’s time to worship and pray, to sing and to research.  Time to take baths and get your husband to give you massages.  Time to enjoy Isaiah and await the new year’s adventures!

to a friend 4.January.2008

I haven’t talked to you, checked in with you, said goodbye… anything.  So I hope you still know I care.  But just so it’s out there, I want to say that I think you’re amazing.  Shy?  Maybe.  Depressed?  Seems like it.  But hopeful.  I see that too.

You don’t have to spill it all out on the floor for me.  You’re obviously not the type of person to chatter to chase away the discomfort of silence.  But I’m here if you ever need that, you know.

I want to wish you peace and contentment.  I wish you passion for service and for worship.  I wish you more of the creativity you have spilled out so much more gracefully than I.  I wish for you direction.  Keep hoping.  It looks beautiful on you.

Oh, and p.s.:  Thanks for “[wanting me there].”  It is more hopeful.

tradition 4.January.2008

In the church I grew up in, there was this beautiful time of fellowship after the Communion service, when all the members – all 150 or so of them – would lace their way through the pews of the church and greet every other person there. The line would start at the front, with the ministers, and every bench would play “follow the leader” until every person had been greeted by everyone else. It was so beautiful because no one could avoid anyone else. They were – at least for that evening – one body in social unity.