Comma Dot Comma

Today I read an interesting article in the L.A. Times about young white Christians living communally: “What Chores Would Jesus Do?” The Revealer, one of my favorite (if sometimes snide or too critical) guides to Christianity in America, tipped me off. Following on my recent post about Protestant convents, this article shows some of the challenges and rewards of self-chosen religious communities, and in some ways echoes the experiences of friends I know who have embarked on similar ventures. I appreciate the honesty of the interviewees, but the story departs from the ones I know personally (for example, Sumner House, many of whose original members have since married) in its strongly negative tone. Living in community, whatever the goals of that community may be, is a mixed bag, but does allow all kinds of love to grow.
I also found the 100ish comments, mostly by evangelical Christians, fascinating. A large number of people seem to find serious doctrinal danger in the choice to pursue to personal sacrifice and service. The community members are advised again and again to not take on too much– be friendly to everyone, volunteer at the shelter once a week, anything beyond that is excessive, especially if you have kids. “we are not all John the Baptist” said one. People worried that these folks had abandoned the idea of grace. On the other hand, some people wondered what all the moaning and groaning was about– these commenters do way more to actually help people every day instead of just talking about it, so what is the big deal? A few people advised this group to check out St. Benedict’s rules for monastic life, which I thought was a good suggestion– I’d never heard of his advice book before.
Myself, I suspect that this group is having a hard time in part because they took on so many different goals at the same time: Living in community, defining and living an economically simple life, and moving out of suburbia in attempt to serve their less-well-off neighbors. Any one of those is a radical change from typical America. But I’m glad they’re trying it, and pray that God will bless them with increasing stores of love.

At the Phoenix symphony, the cheap seats are right up front, Dr. G and I discovered last night. Mostly what you get to see from row three are the black-clad legs of all the violinists. We couldn’t see any woodwinds at all, except for the occasional flash of an oboe. Which was fine, because hearing is more important than seeing at the symphony, even if you mostly hear the group of instruments facing you most directly. I was happy to be in the front; it gave me extra occasion to swish my puffy flame-orange skirt as we trod down the aisle. I only have occasion to wear the skirt about once a year so I have to take advantage of every swishable moment.

We were there to hear Dvorak’s Symphony #9 From the New World, an old favorite from which movie score composer John Williams has ripped off many a musical idea. “Here come the Storm Troopers!” whispered Dr. G at one point during the concert. Dvorak is one of the more rock n roll classical composers– not afraid of nice hooks, fast riffs, drums, or wild dynamics. What’s not to love, except a little bombast? I myself love a little bombast.

One fact that caught our attention on the program was that he was lured to America by a salary 25 TIMES as high as his music professor salary in Prague. Dr. G worked out that it would be like going from $50k a year, to $1.25 million a year, and added that he would quite happily settle nearly anywhere for that big of a jump. “Great!” I said. “Now, how are we going to get someone to offer you 25x your salary?” My idea is, we get him to stop a troubling crime trend with an apropos policy recommendation that captures Oprah’s attention. Then she bankrolls him as her personal crime consultant, so he appears regularly on the show and contributes to the reduction of crime nationally by bringing scholarly wisdom to the masses. It’s a win-win. Dvorak inspires me to think big like that.

Lately I’ve been reciting the Lord’s Prayer in the morning when I first wake up. Hit the alarm, sit up, start the prayer. The effect is something like putting into gear a car that is slowly rolling backwards down a hill. Lots of inner grinding and groaning as all the machinery aligns to head a new direction. In the space of a few seconds the inner litany has already begun and is picking up momentum. Even the first vestiges of my thoughts are eager to head to self-as-center-of-the-universe Land, and “hallowed be thy name” is about the best redirection a girl could hope for.

My favorite line in the prayer is, “thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” What a lovely thing to ask. I cherish the presumption in the request: that such a thing is possible, now, in the near-darkness of morning and in the many hours that stretch ahead. Today could be a perfect day.

Awhile back I complained about a Francine Rivers audio book. I think there’s something wrong with my selection technique (run into library, grab items with interesting titles) because my follow-up selection, the Devil Wears Prada, was quite a slog as well. It is sometimes okay to listen to real people complaining, but to listen to fictional characters complain for hours on end gets to be a chore. Also, there were a lot of double and triple “reallys” to contend with. As in, “I’m really, really, really sorry, Miranda.” As usual I listened the whole way through anyhow. Why do I do this?
But I have been rejoicing on the commute the past two weeks at the perfection of Pride and Prejudice, which is probably more enjoyable to hear read aloud in a proper British accent than it is to read it quietly to oneself. There is not a wasted word anywhere, and while I sometimes wished for direct speech instead of reported speech at crucial moments (such as Mr. Darcy’s first and second proposals), I could not begrudge Ms. Austen the efficiency of simply giving me the gist. I don’t know how I failed to appreciate this properly before, but it is actually giggle-aloud-in-the-car funny. Though a world of landed gentry and servants and days spent doing needlework and walking around the grounds could hardly be more foreign to me, the foibles and vanities of the characters are as 21st century as an ipod.
It is hard to resist going around talking like them.

You are all most amiable readers and I should be very shocked indeed to discover that any of you deserved to marry into less than 10,000 pounds a year, at the least.

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The Military-Industrial Complex
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Machining
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How the Chicago World Fair Got Built
Xeriscaping
How to Stretch out My Neck

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Yikesy Daisies. Ok, brief rundown.

Christmas
My poor mom had an emergency root canal on Christmas Eve, but other than that the gang had fun in California, each of us patiently waiting for a turn at the Wii my sister brought with her. Yay guitar hero! The nephews lived up to the expected cuteness, with the youngest one (20 mos) demonstrating the lastest in dance moves. Step 1: Plant your feet as far apart as you can without falling over. Step 2: Stick your behind out as far as it will go, and keep it there. Wearing giant elmo slippers can help with balance. Step 3: When the music starts, lean from right to left like a skiier, shrugging your shoulders. Step 4: Once you get a good rhythm going, add hand motions to taste. Rockin!

2008
Do I have a resolution this year? No, not really. I would like to plant a tiny raised-bed kitchen garden, with a tomato, basil, cilantro, and jalepeno in it. I haven’t lived anywhere with even an outdoor porch since 2001, so this spring will be the first opportunity to try my hand at gardening as a grownup.

Doing a little recreating
I was laid low with a 10-day illness starting right after Christmas. Made matching coocoons in the bedroom and on the livingroom couch, and divided time between them. Read seven books and watched nine movies (latest discovery if you are the sort that likes the BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice: North and South, also a BBC miniseries, set in industrial England in the mid 1800’s. Boy, the love interests in that one are going to have a loud marriage!). I’ve had quite a sickly year, the worst since I worked at the homeless shelter back in 1999. And that counts two years in a 3rd world country. This fact is making it more difficult for me to like Phoenix.

Food-related comment
Pozole is a yummy soup. You boil pork meat for about an hour with garlic, onion, and cumin. Then you skim off the fat, chop up the pork,and throw it back in the broth with some hominy, additional onion, crushed tomatoes, ancho chili paste, boullion, and chili powder. Let it cook another hour. Float fresh cabbage, avocado, radish, and lime on top to serve.