Twitchy

She was twitchy. Could not stop picking at a scab on her arm ("I got a bee bite" she told me, as if this was one more misery heaped upon her already unbearable load) or awkwardly playing with her pants. I was distracted by her constant state of motion, as she haltingly told me her situation that found her, in a Caribou parking lot, without a ride. A blown tire...on a large van...$300 to buy a new tire when she could get a can of fix-a-flat for $40...if she could only get a can of fix-a-flat...before her son the Saint Thomas student with no money of his own came to pick her up....couldn't I help? A ride? A can of fix-a-flat? Some money? Did she mention she worked 40 hours a week and could reimburse?"

She was so twitchy. Even as the constant motion distracted me, I was keenly aware of where I was, adjusting my laptop bag so the pockets were behind my back, eying if anyone else in the vicinity could step in and take this responsibility away from me. This wasn't just a person holding a sign in the intersection or someone thumbing a ride in their usual 10am spot on 61N. This was a woman, with a son and a name, and a shaky voice. I hemmed, I hawed, I tried to call my husband to see what I could do. Finally she just said, "do you have anything? Any money?" And I didn't. No cash. Negligible change in the dashboard drawer.

I said I was sorry, I didn't. And she turned and invoked the name used by the desperate and faithful alike "It'll be okay, Jesus'll find a way." And with that, she was walking to another family leaving Caribou, only to get turned away again.

"Jesus'll find a way..." kept echoing in my mind. My middle-class suburban distancing techniques came on full force in an attempt to distance myself from responsibility, from feeling, enabling me to drive by her and out onto the street. Rationalizations started flowing in: she was probably on drugs, she just wanted your cash, she was all hopped up on something, you were by yourself and vulnerable - she didn't even go for the guy that you exited with - easy prey, can't even remember her name...."

But above and beyond all of that, "Jesus'll find a way..." played over it. What would Jesus have done? A constant refrain of "does it matter?" to each rationalization. What would Jesus have done...with 4 credit cards burning a hole in my purse...maybe it was twitching out of fear or desperation....who am I to judge...what would Jesus do...

I passed a Target and pulled into the parking lot. Walked to the auto section and picked up a $20 fix-a-flat kit. Paid for it, and started driving back to the Caribou. Hoping she was there, prepared to be embarrassed when she wasn't. I drove around the parking lot, and didn't see her. I went into the tire place where she had been waiting - she had just got into a white Impala and gotten a ride, but maybe she went somewhere else close.

Maybe I had been duped. Maybe I had just missed my chance because I hesitated and ignored the twitching of my own heart as Jesus moved me to action. I drove around with the kit in my car for a couple of days, in the back of my mind hoping to see her again. I didn't. I returned it to Target. Wrestled with the unease of stepping out and not being met with my expectations. Resolved to not ignore the twitching in my own life the next time it happens.

Dear Shakira,

I never thought that your hips lied in the first place.

Love,
Kate

I've tried to write this for so long.
Putting meaningfully meaningless words on a page.
Then backspacing it all
or saving as draft
After minutes of blank staring
Never pushing publish.

[I thought the words were gone.
That the well was dried up
Or life was suddenly too
horribly mundane
inexplicably sad
nauseating amazing
To share.
I was wrong.

In a world where every word
or status update
May be seen as a ply for attention
A helpless SOS for self affection and pity
I chose to remain silent
To not be mis-read as
"that girl."
(and oh, how I loathe "that girl").

Where I never know
Who may be reading
or why
What may be unknowingly implied
And being uninterested in
expending useless words
in explaining the complexities of
dissatisfaction-tempered with-stage of life and the tension of being in and not of- plus life sometimes is just hard-combined with this is not a cry for help-PLEASE
tired of needing to explain
again and again.

Bound by public image
By love
And honor
Of discerning being private
Until it needs to be public
And those little gremlins
whispering
What? Words? You? Pah.
Oh that's right, I think what I say matters
Or is read
Add self-doubt and
False self-importance to the list.
Okay here we go:]

Life is, and continues to be
More difficult
More beautiful
More real
Than I imagined.
I'm 26
Officially mid-to-late 20's
And attempting to discover
This stage of life's implications
For me, and for Dan
Where my peer's implications
are spread out throughout
Photos and updates
on Facebook.
I can see that it maybe means
Babies
Houses
Buying a dog
Taking trips
Dreaming dreams
And possibly pretending to be more
together
Than you really are,
in private.

But for me, today
For us, in the near future
We are content
And sometimes scared
And mostly mystified
To dream dreams
To live transparently
Babies. Houses. Puppies.
Can all live out on the horizon a bit longer.
Rather.
We aim to laugh more
Love deeper
And live lives whose mutual stories
Are unfolding
And unfurling
In new, amazing ways.
And you
Dear reader
Will be hearing about it
Here.

What the What?

Another page in the "things my husband says" file:

"[sigh] Don't run beside the goo balls..."

Oh the things you will hear...

Of all the federations...

I offered to make this a Facebook status update, but Dan didn't seem to approve. So, I'm conceding to make this a blog update since not many people read this (but those who do will appreciate this anecdote).
So begins an ongoing series..."Things My Husband Says"

Overheard while Dan was on the computer

"...I probably still have all of my POGs at home somewhere..." Dan
[Interjecting] "No you don't!" Kate
"Yes, yes I do! POGs were awesome!" Dan

(I'd just like to note: even though I won a POG or 100 at my fair share of skating parties at SkateLand South during my elementary school days...I still knew that they were something that I was supposed to think was really cool...but wasn't. And I thought that the tube they came stored in would probably be more appreciated by my hamster, Bandit.)

As long as I'm wasting a bit of time, did you know that there's still a functioning World POG Federation? I didn't either until I wiki'd POGs to try to find out how they were supposed to be capitalized. Without further adieu: http://tinyurl.com/yhu5ezu

Best Picture Showcase

This weekend, the hubs and I attended AMC's Best Picture Showcase. AMC has started the tradition of showing all of the Academy's Best Picture nominees in one fell swoop. This year with the Academy's decision to move to 10 Best Picture nominees, they split the showcase to cover two weekends. This year Dan and I decided to try it out.

I've always had a secret wish to be a movie reviewer. I love this modern incarnation of storytelling, I love the visuals and theme. So, the fact that we'd be watching 5 movies with as much popcorn as you could eat? Awesome. We began with Avatar, then saw Up In The Air (a repeat for me), moved on to Precious and finished up with The Blind Side. We could have stayed for Inglorious Basterds, but it didn't begin until 9:45p and it's not a short movie (hey, a girl has to work in the morning!). Additionally, we had both seen it over New Year's Eve. We were glad we left when we did. They had been giving 30 minute breaks between movies, but this final one had a break so long that we were able to drive home, lock up church and feed the cats before it would have started.

Would we do it again? I don't know, hard to say, except that it depends on the nominees. I thought I would get tired of movies by the end of it. However, these things are nominated for Best Picture for a reason! They are captivating films, they hold your interest and elict an emotional response. What might have felt like fatigue during the breaks was rapt attention during the movies themselves. No complaints here.

Dan and I also had some great conversation on the way home. We even found the link for each movie. Oh, you'd like to know what that was? Thanks for asking:
Avatar and Up In The Air both dealt with the topic of travel (one through via spaceship, one via plane). Up In The Air and The Blind Side both had the song Bust A Move in it. The Blind Side and Precious both dealt with the stories of kids growing up in the projects. I don't really have one for Inglorious Basterds...but we didn't see it.

In conclusion, if we were to repeat, here are some:

Tips...Tricks...Things I Wish We Had Known

1. Split the goods. What I didn't like about leaving the theater before the last movie was the nagging feeling that one of our friends probably would have gone to see Inglorious Basterds in our place. I think that this deal is one that you could totally split up between a few couples. The breaks are long enough that you could go out into the parking lot, switch out your pass and movie stub with a friend and be on your merry way. This year the cost broke down to being $30 a person - that's roughly $5 a movie and $5 for the large popcorn. (And popcorn retails for more than that at the concession stand). A total steal, even if you skip the last movie. But think of what could be if you combined it?

2. Bring a blanket. They keep theaters cold, I wish that I'd had an additional layer. Pragmatically, we began in one theater and ended in a different theater. Most people brought a blanket to "save" their seats in the second theater. In retrospect, I wish we had made that decision. It would also have held our seats during breaks.

3. Come earlier. We got there 45 minutes before the first showing. In retrospect, we probably could have been there 15 minutes earlier. We had fine seats (really, not too bad) but the seats where you can put up your feet? Taken almost immediately, as were the reserved seats in the next theater. Not too big of a deal.

4. No previews, but you will see the Coke ad before every movie. And the pre-show trivia, too. Just sayin'. Did you know that Tim Burton designed an ad campaign as a teenager for local garbage trucks that was chosen and displayed on the side of every truck? And did you know that now he is a famous director?

5. Pace the food. Just...pace yourself. Popcorn still tastes good after 4 movies of it, but we only refilled our bag once. And that's okay.

Cleaning House

In a spurt of ambition and "if not now, when?" Dan and I spent the majority of Saturday going through boxes. All the boxes were culled from all the corners of the house. Full boxes, empty boxes, boxes within boxes, the half full boxes, all loaded into our living room. I am never as ready as I "ought" to be to sort or throw, so Dan was particularly helpful in this matter. He created systems. Went through his pittance of boxes and helped sort the neutral things around the edges while I waded through the waters of memory and trinkets. Ever reassuring "We can have a box for things you don't know what to do with yet..." I made good progress. Boxes were combined. Bags thrown away. Until I hit the box I was dreading.

A beat up, taped shut shoe box. Black lid, white base. Full of every note, letter, postcard I'd managed to keep from Junior High on. My nemesis box. Every time I've tried to throw things away, or sort things out I've left the box as it is. I haven't been sure what to do with it. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because the relationships held in those notes have so utterly deteriorated since my freshman year that it's like they never happened if it wasn't for this proof. Maybe I was hoping by holding onto them somehow a thread between that group of friends would still remain. But like any talisman this box began to possess me, instead of the other way around. I couldn't throw it away, the small squares of tucked and folded paper had become greater than the sum of their parts.

So I decided to read them. One last time. And then throw them away. I think I began reading through them searching to figure out what went wrong. A truly frustrating goal due to, like any 8th grader, we didn't date any notes. And in scouring the words and sentences I realized it was a pointless endeavor. I stopped looking for a reason. I skimmed a few more. And I saved a few pieces I wanted to keep. The Clique contract we drafted for a week in the 8th grade. A few notes back and forth about religion. Some mix tapes. My entire senior letter folio. My first love poem. Our "Shower Stories" we had written each other. The rest got tossed and taken out to be recycled.

There is no blame to be found in people growing apart. If I had really wanted to find blame I could have found it. Divergent interests (sedentary versus athletic), non-simultaneous emotional funks that pulled the group apart, me diving headlong into my Evangelical faith not yet willing to question or examine what I was choosing to belong to. But really, who is to blame. Why is it that today I can let go of friendships that have served their place and time, yet I was holding so tightly onto these? They still existed. We still mattered to each other. It all still happened. Those experiences still formed me into who I am today.

A couple of the notes referred to keeping them, reading them again in 10 or 12 years. Laughing at what we were going through. And there I was. Doing just that. And I couldn't help but laugh at the irony and then want to cry at the reality. I don't make it a practice to live in the past, and I didn't appreciate the vestige of friendships past having such a hold on me. So I cleaned house. Said goodbye to the ghosts. Kept what was important and moved on. This life is too full, too beautiful and colorful for me to be blinded by the past.