A few weeks ago I jumped on the Toms Shoes
bandwagon. I love the idea of combining the free market and the improvement of developing world. I happen to think they’re hideous, but I’m going to paint a design on them. Another treat I’ve discovered in these weeks is that they are most comfortable feet-friends I’ve ever worn. My slippers are the only pair that trump them. Last weekend, I spent more than three hours tailgating, aka standing around in a 15′ by 15′ space. The only part of me that was sore when I finally sat down were my stomach muscles, and this was from laughing…
At the tailgate I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Donnie Brown
, a good ol’ boy from Staunton, Virginia
. This 77-year-old was hilarious, super cute, and a very wise, open Christian. He told my family all about his book, Jessie Is Her Name
, a book written in stream of consciousness about his mother’s life in rural Virginia. His devotion to her is admirable and it something that Hollywood is considering projecting on the Big Screen.
We met his wife, a tiny Staunton woman with as much spunk as her husband. Tears came to my eyes when I saw the way he and his wife looked at each other, decades after their teenage romance began. The Browns’ shag dancing and stories made me laughed all three hours long… thus the sore stomach muscles and thus the following post:
Those sore muscles bother me. It’s not the soreness, I actually l love that feeling, it’s the fact that LAUGHING highlighted just how out of shape I am. Like many, I go through patterns of hard core, daily gym trips, “I LOVE TO EXERCISE!” to “UGH, you can’t make me go back there.” I’m following the latter trend right now and it needs to stop. Too many pumpkin spice lattes.
That brings me to: raise your hand if you derive a wicked amount of pleasure from calling the 12oz drink at Starbucks a SMALL. I even think TALL when I order those lattes. And no thank you, no room for cream. Fill it up to the tip top, I’ll decide if there’s room for cream.
“The devil…the prowde spirite…cannot endure to be mocked.” — Thomas More
While I was in NYC in August
, I saw a boutique theater production of The Screwtape Letters
, which was the most well spent $75 I shoveled out during that expensive weekend. The entire play was a devil’s advocate (ha) sermonizing his letters to his intern nephew, Wormwood, as a reptilian Toadpipe servant transcribed silently. Screwtape was mentoring his nephew, whose job it is to tempt his patient — a human on Earth — to bend to the will of the “Father down below.”
The simplicity of the adaptation was powerful and I bought the C.S. Lewis book on my Nook a few weeks ago. This is a book I could read dozens of times, just as the devil makes dozens (hundreds, thousands) of attempts to tempt me away from God.
In his preface, Lewis writes, “I have no intention of explaining how the correspondence which I now offer to the public fell into my hands.” I have not completed the book, but of those letters I have read, I can see that Lewis derived the letters directly from every single day of my entire life. How did he do that?
I have visited two college campuses in the last week — queue the “I miss college” rant? No, though I do miss a lot of it, I prefer grown-up life. One of the college quirks I never thought about missing was the multitude of bulletin boards.
Remember those? Even if you were eagerly early to class, there was plenty to read: a new art installation in the campus gallery, information about a study abroad course in Croatia, the College Republicans hosting an animal rights barbecue, or a certain play by JPII to be performed soon
I stood before enough walls of stuffed bulletin boards in the last week to determine I miss the mystery and potential of that kind of wall landscape.
In the same vein, I came across this in the ladies room on campus:
|It’s fuzzy, but it says “You are wonderful.” Hey, thanks!