When I first started this blog, I mentioned my colon cleanser cookies in passing, but now I think they deserve an entire post.
This is also because I’m running low on blog material.
My colon cleanser cookies do just that: cleanse your colon. There’s nothing particularly special about the cookies. I don’t put flax-seed or fiber in them. They’re made out of oatmeal, brown sugar, flour, and cranberries, but something about them causes a rumbly in the tumbly. They taste great and I always make sure the cookie is the size of your face. (I don’t do small bite-sized cookies. Go big or go to the gym.) However, when you eat a colon cleanser cookie, you will have to go to the lavatory within the hour.
My family loves these cookies for two reasons: 1) We heart cookies mucho and 2) We love our colons even more.
Typically, I only make these cookies for big family occasions like Thanksgiving and Christmas, but the other day I made a batch for Chi-chi to take with her to NY. She’s spending a few days with my sister and her family. Now, you have to understand that Chi-chi is one of those people who never travels without her own food, so the night before her trip she was rummaging through the cupboards looking for food. She had a huge plastic bag of mixed nuts, some chips, and a box of tea. As I watched her foraging, I asked, “Mom, would you like me to make you some cookies?”
Her eyes lit up, “Your oatmeal cookies?”
“Yes. I’ll even put pecans and almonds in them.”
“See how you took it too far?”
I set to work and within the hour had about a dozen colon cleanser cookies ready for Chi-chi. Each one was huge and loaded with as many cranberries, pecans, and almonds as they would hold. We let the cookies cool overnight and then packed them in a bag for Chi-chi to take on the plane. I figured 12 massive cookies would tide her over during her trip.
Then I received this text message from Kira:
“So let’s talk about those colon cleanser cookies. I ate one when I got home from work last night. I don’t think I have a colon anymore.”
Colon cleanser cookies for not for the faint of heart.
Colon cleanser cookie don’t play.
I don’t remember where or when I heard this phrase, but it has always resonated with me during the most random moments.
It’s a strange phrase too.
If God is good, then how on earth can something that’s good not be of God?
Well, here’s how I think of it.
Yesterday as I was driving home from school, I realized that the blog is one year old. I’ve been writing about nonsense, foolishness, and Chi-chi for a whole year. For 365 days I’ve tried to entertain you with my clumsy ramblings through life. Hopefully, I’ve succeeded on that count and that post about peanut butter hasn’t turned you off of this blog forever.
This time last year, I was sitting at my desk, close to tears, completely convinced that I had ruined my life. Why, you ask? Because I had decided not to go to grad school. Yeah, I know that doesn’t seem like the end of the world, but when your dream is to get your Ph.D, teach at the college level, and write an amazing novel, going to grad school is a pretty big step on that path. Choosing not to go felt like kicking my dream in the groin and then giving it a wedgie. I was stealing my dream’s lunch money when I decided to stay in Florida rather than packing my bags and moving to Virginia.
My dream was in agony.
I was in agony.
So if everyone was in agony, why on earth did I decide to stay?
Because going there would have been good, but it wasn’t God.
FAU was the school that had the program I wanted. They had classes I would have killed to take. My back up school had a decent program. They had classes that would have challenged me. Honestly, there was nothing wrong with my back-up school. I have friends that go there and they love it. They wear the sweatshirts and they have the paraphernalia. I probably could have gone to that school and been perfectly happy with my lot in life.
Except that every time I thought I about going I had a panic attack.
Every time I told myself, “Woo hoo, you’re going to grad school!” I had the sudden urge to cry.
I prayed and prayed for God to give me peace about this decision, but that peace never came. I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to go running, I even lost interest in cookies and you know how much I heart cookies. My entire being was rebelling against the idea of going to this school.
It was a good school.
They have a decent program.
They place their graduates in great doctoral programs.
What on earth was wrong with me?
Why couldn’t I be content with my decision?
Because my decision was a good decision, but it wasn’t a God decision.
The turning point came when I was sitting at home, trying to read and keep my mind off grad school. My phone rang and when I answered it, my professor’s voice was on the other line.
“So I heard you got into your back-up school?” she said.
“Yeah, I’ll be leaving at the end of July.”
“Oh…well, how do you feel about that?”
“I feel great!” I lied. (I think clumps of my hair may have even been falling out at this point due to stress.)
She was quiet for a minute and then said, “Can I be completely honest with you?”
“I don’t think you should go. This program isn’t the best fit for you and I’m concerned you’ll only end up frustrated and miserable if you go there.”
“…um…yeah, you’re probably right.”
When I got off the phone with her I said, “God, we’re not going to grad school this year, are we?”
And God said, “No, Gyasi. We’re not.”
I wish I could say that the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders at that moment, but it wasn’t. I exchanged one millstone for another. I spent that summer with my sister and Emmalyn eating Malt-o-Meal cereal and watching The View with no pants on. Emmalyn was quite happy with this situation. I was ready to lock myself in the attic and play Bertha Mason for the rest of my life. Kira just wanted us to put on pants.
Physically, I didn’t look that good. I gained 15 pounds, cut all my hair off, and dyed my hair dark brown. (That last decision was a horrific one because highlights looked phenomenal and I have never been able to get them that good since. Yes, I am incredibly vain. ) Spiritually, I was in even worse shape. After making such an agonizing decision, I felt like God had ditched me.
When I prayed, all I could do was ask, “Why?” I knew I loved God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength, but I wanted what I wanted and I wanted it now. I knew He loved me with all His heart, soul, mind, and strength, so I couldn’t understand why I didn’t have what I wanted when I wanted it, especially since I wanted it NOW. I knew that He had me where I was for a reason, but when you’re crawling on your hands and knees, throwing a tantrum of Biblical proportions it’s hard to see the sun. It took a long time for me to stop looking at God and saying, “What the heck? Why am I here?” It took even longer for me to hear Him say, “Would you trust me for once in your life? Stop fighting: it’s going to be ok.”
One day, I started running again. After that I got a decent haircut. Shortly after that, I opened my Bible and stopped treating God like a genie. I stopped expecting Him to magically fix all my problems the second I wanted them fixed and I chose to wait. I decided to stop acting like a child and grow the heck up. I decided to put my faith into action and be still. I chose to know that God is God.
365 days later and I want to fall down on my face and say, “Dear Lord, I am so very sorry.” Because He led me away from the good, because He didn’t give me the peace and contenment that I asked for, because He didn’t leave me or forsake me, I didn’t have to settle for good. I got to live with God instead.
If I had chosen to ignore God and choose the good, I wouldn’t be where I am now. You’re probably saying, “Duh, you’d be in Virginia,” but hear me out. During that year that I spent in chaos, living neither here nor there, I had to trust God more than I’ve ever had to before. I had to give everything over to Him. I had to take my baggage, my anger, my worries, my fears, and my doubts, and hand them over. I had to be still, forsake the good, and accept God. Not to toot my own horn, but choosing God brought me to a much better place.
I got to spend an entire summer with my neice
eating cookies teaching her important life lessons, I got to plan a night of worship at my church, I got to know my church family better, I got a better score on the GRE, I went to Kenya, I got into my dream school, I got a scholarship, I got an even better haircut (Yes! I know! I’m vain), I got to start a blog and entertain people, and I got to rely on God and see a side of Him that I had never known before.
So the next time you have to choose between good and God, do yourself a favor and choose God.
The difference is quite simple and rather stereotypical. At my birthday tea party, a few of my white friends drove from Naples to visit me. The party was supposed to start at 12:30. At 12:35 my friends were racing towards my front exclaiming, “We’re so sorry! We stopped and Howley’s and didn’t leave enough time to get here!”
To which I replied, “Um…ok. It’s only 12:35”
At 1:00 my family strolls through the door like, “Hey! How’s it going?”
Way to live up to the stereotype, family.
To honor our favorite blogger on her birthday, I (I, being Akira, her older sister. The wind beneath her wings. No? Too much?) decided that I should write a post in true Gyasi style. A list. Who doesn’t love a good list? And for any of you that know my Father in Law, he may love a good list a little too much. I will do my best to keep the wit flowing. After all Gyasi did learn that from someone (can you see that self-absorbed runs in the family?).
I have brought the family in to consult on this endeavor to ensure that we get the best of the best Gyasi, so some of this will be second-hand information, but anyone who likes to gossip knows second-hand info is still really good! I am definitely not one of THOSE people.
I’m not exactly sure what to title this list, so I will go simply with:
Gyasi, A Tribute
From our lovely Auntie Barbie:
Gyasi always remembers that her Auntie Barbie loves 2 special treats – Entenmann’s corn muffins (nowhere to be found in FL) (barely found in NY anymore, I would like to add. I have spent much time scouring the Entenmann’s display with Gyasi) and any pumpkin flavored treat (such as pumpkin muffins, pumpkin bagels, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin scones, pumpkin pancakes and of course, pumpkin pie). She is usually the first one to bring me a pumpkin treat for the fall season. This week it was an Entenmann’s pumpkin loaf cake (how about that combination?). Someday she will likely find a combo pumpkin corn muffin! Of course, I will never forget the time she brought me a box of corn muffins all the way from NY and it must have gotten squashed in her suitcase because it ended up being a box of corn muffin crumbs, HOWEVER, it was just as good and I ate every crumb.
From our dear cousin Katie:
I love having deeply philosophical and emotionally charged intellectual conversations with Gyasi on topics of life, love, and women’s rights ;) That’s one thing I greatly miss about being in the sisterhood…that AND of course her opinionated sentiments that often offend the sensitive and initiate the “storm-out” and the “door-slam,” concluding in the “awkward silence” following the lessening of the original crowd ;) But of course it has also been an honor to watch Gyasi grow in the Lord as she continually seeks to become the “gentle and quiet spirit” of 1 Peter 3:4;) I surmise she will one day find the Godly skinny Asian man of her dreams that will sweep her off her feet and reverse all her initially preconceived ideas of the male race, inspiring her to give up her
“independent women” status and since he likes it, he’ll “put a ring on it.” She may even submit and change her last name ;)
From our dear cousin Rachel:
I love those Gyasi faces. You can read an entire monologue on that face in just an instant. With one curve of her lip or raise of the eyebrow, she expresses what everyone wants to say but is too afraid. She makes an averagely funny moment hysterical.
From our dear cousin Ariel:
When I think of Gyasi:
I think of us both wearing the same outfit to church unintentionally. I think of Rice Krispie Treats. (Yes, thanks to Gyasi we all fiend for Rice Krispie Treats, like we’re going to snort them) I think of skinny white boys. I think of fighting over who’s gonna be Fall and who’s gonna be Autumn. I think of Mulan. I think of anime. I think of screaming in the car for no reason. I think of farting in the elevator. I think of sarcasm. I think of Harry Potter. I think of running and embracing each other, again for no reason. I think of making prejudiced comments. I think of one of the few people who are always thinking what I’m thinking. I think of Japanese song lyrics. I think of making fun of cliché Christian things but then realizing I participate in them. I think of curry and naan. I think of cackling. I think of colon cleanse cookies.(raise your hand if you haven’t been subjected to one of those delightful treats.) I think of a best friend. I think of priceless and countless childhood memories. I think of someone who is always there when you need them. I think of someone who accepts me for who I am. I think of a godly woman. I think of not knowing what I would do without her.
On behalf of your Brother in Law Tom and Niece Emmalyn:
You made Hamburger Helper just about every night the summer you came to help when I went back to work after having Emmalyn. And you keep my house stocked with junk food when you visit. My husband may love you more than me. Don’t tell him where I put the razor blades.
And well Emmalyn, it is still a struggle to get the kid to wear pants for an entire day. But you are her favorite Auntie. Maybe it’s because you never make her wear pants.
From our dear brother Tim (who am I kidding, there’s nothing dear about Tim):
I love how she’s not too “girly”. How well she can paint a picture when she tells a story, especially in her blog, though she uses a lot of made up words. (LOL)(Cause LOL is a real word Tim, I’m just saying.) I also love how curious she is about subjects, and is willing to listen to others point of view, even when it comes to “sensitive” topics like religion.
From our wonderful Uncle Nigel:
It’s been wonderful getting re-acquainted with my niece. In five months I have seen her spark of genius, her now very predictable mood swings, her inclination to be ever gracious to everyone (good christian or a sucker? Am not too sure), her unflappable commitment to her dreams and the streak of insanity that comes from being a cross between He-man and Chi-Chi as she so affectionately calls her parents. The most endearing discovery however, has been her sense of humor. She laughs at everything, anything, and especially herself. It’s coupled with a subtle naivety that underscores her journey of self-discovery which she shares candidly and that makes me smile. She is a darling.
From our loving Mother:
My Gyasi is one of the sweetest people I know with a very focused, determined nature who can hug and kiss you one minute and then next blaze you with her tongue because she thought her mother might be criticizing her (gentle guidance mind you) (Chief, you missed total areas when you cleaned the bathroom) (?what? the edge of the bathtub is not part of the bathroom, I can grow herbs on it) (and how about the mirror it’s so spotted I thought I grew freckles). The Love in her heart shines through and is reflected in her beautiful smile and her quick to give you a hug and a kiss nature, whether new friend, old buddy, Mudda or odda!!! I LOVE MY CHILE… (She means child. That’s her accent in print. At least I think that’s what she was trying to do.)
From our loving Father:
Gyasi, I hope this day brings you joy and a fresh look at life. May the year ahead provide you with knowledge and wisdom beyond your wildest dreams. Being a young adult is so much fun. The years ahead will provide you with many opportunities; make the best of them, as the best is yet to come.
I know that Mr. Bean is one of your favorite comedians – but please don’t marry a Mr. Bean.
From your favorite Big Sister:
Gyasi has taken my obsessive love of Rice Krispie Treats to the next level. You know they never make you pay for the first one. But then you’re hooked.
Driving with Gyasi is always an adventure. Let’s just say I am well acquainted with the dashboard in Sid the Hybrid. Will she ever master stopping in a hybrid? Only time will tell. And until that time arrives, I’ll drive. Thank you.
My sister doesn’t even try to be mushy and cheery. Which is exactly what I need
sometimes, someone to tell me to stop whining (I don’t know, it just happened
to me after I became a mom, hmm . . .) and suck it up.
I love the random texts during the day, about her day. There is nothing that beats a text that reads “Only at FAU will you see a guy in a suit on a skateboard”.
We are both critical people-watchers, so at least when we are judgey of those we are watching we don’t judge each other.
Gyasi may have been the only the only person at Katie’s wedding who found humor in my dancing to “Single Ladies” holding my immensely pregnant belly. I’m married. I thought it was funny. Thank you, Gyasi. For laughing along with me.
Gyasi comes to visit and we legitimately do nothing. There is nothing better than wasting away a weekend and a $300 airline ticket on the couch with Netflix and way too too much junk food.
Ahh. The junk food. All I will say is, Marshmallow Mateys. No one will understand but Gyasi. Should I have said “Arrr, the junk food”?
On her last trip to NY Gyasi proudly announced that she doesn’t wear pants on Saturdays. I instantly regretted our weekend visit.
Now how’s that for a list? Was it really a list? Maybe a list of all the wonderful things that make Gyasi Gei-ah-cee. “How do you pronounce that?”
Gyasi, I really hope today is the best birthday you have had in a very long while. Know that we are all über proud of you and love you with our whole hearts. (Heck, I must love you if I’m posting this and we both know I can’t stand to be second best at anything.)
My room is a mess.
It’s so bad that I’m just waiting for that one-eyed alien from Star Wars IV to poke its head out and then pull me down to a watery grave. And I have no Han Solo in my life to shoot it. I would die.
When I was staying at Julie’s to watch Bella I started out with only one suitcase and some toiletries, but before I knew it I had basically moved into her apartment. I had to move one suitcase, three tote bags, four plastic bags of toiletries, five hangers of dress pants, and a partridge in a pear tree out of Julie’s apartment when she came home. Consequently, I dropped all of this crap in my room and didn’t unpack. When I needed something, I dug through one of the bags and found what I was looking for. Mind you, I’ve done this so many times that you can no longer see the floor in my room.
Now it’s just layers.
The top layer is cardigans and leggings.
Underneath that are jeans, skirts, and graphic tees.
Once you’ve penetrated that you’ll find underwear and shoes.
Then you might be able to find the floor.
It’s been so long since I’ve since the floor that there could very well be another layer after the undies.
Even though I’m the designated slob of the Byng clan, I’m disgusted by the atrocity that is my room at the moment. I don’t think my room as ever been this bad before. Oh it’s been bad (when we were still living in NY I once slept under a pile of my clothes for about 2 weeks. He-Man told me to “get that mess off the floor”, but he never specified where to put it), but you can usually find a bit of floor somewhere in the sty.
Since Ariel is coming over this weekend, and it would be a tragedy if a pile of my crap fell over and crushed her while she slept, I’m going to try to make my room fit for human habitation.
Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to clean like I’ve never cleaned before.
God be praised!
And also, God help me.
Seriously, I think the undies are planning a revolt.
Because my sister donated money to my mission trip to Kenya, I’m now obligated to write a blog extolling her praises.
Granted, my sister is the type of sister that I would put on a pedestal.
And then I would run away with the ladder so that she couldn’t get down.
That’s besides the point.
There are many stories, both flattering and unflattering alike, which I could share with you to give you an accurate description of what my sister is like, but the one that works best happened in April when she and her family came to visit.
My sister, my dad, and I are all runners. My dad and my sister have been running a lot longer than I have and they’re both much more diligent about going out for a run. As a result, they both run much faster than I do. Even on long distance runs. I can average about 64 minutes on a 6 mile run, but my dad does 6 miles in an hour flat. And that includes his 2 lap warm up.
He’s very lithe and long like a gazelle.
I’m more like a tank.
I take out trees and shrubberies as I go.
Kira can do 3-4 miles in about 30 minutes when she’s motivated. She can run faster than that when she eats Marshmallow Mateys because then she feels guilty.
When Kira, Tom, and Emmalyn came to visit, I thought it would be a good idea for Kira and I to go on a sisterly run. Tom would be able to watch the baby
run into the wall play with her demon possessed toy lawn mower and this way we wouldn’t have to hurry back. I have a set course that I run when I run outdoors. I’ve measured and mapped this course out. There are no trick sidewalks, all of the dogs are fenced and leashed, and there’s minimal horse droppings (People in the acreage are nasty and they let their horses defecate on the sidewalk when they go for rides. I want to push they’re faces in it when I see them do that. The people, not the horses).
My running path is a straight shot because I get lost in my bedspreads every morning. I really suck at directions. Everyone has their weaknesses and mine is direction. During a recent car ride my friend, Jason, tried to explain how east and west change when you’re going south.
Jason: So which direction are we going in now?
Jason: Good. So then east would be…
Jason: No, that’s if we’re going North. What direction are we going?
Do you see where this is going?
Kira and I took off on our run, with her running a couple paces ahead of me.I chose to run on the sidewalk like I normally do. She decided to run on the opposite side of the road because apparently Chi-chi only taught one of her daughters not to play in traffic. We hit the one mile mark and when I waved her ahead to keep going, she turned left.
Me: Not that way! Go straight!
Kira: You run in a straight line? Let’s go this way!
Me: I don’t know how to get home from that way!
Kira: Just follow me!
Kira ran ahead and I followed like a good little idiot. She continued at her pace and I at mine. Eventually she started to get quite a bit ahead of me, but every couple of minutes she would look behind her to check and see if I were keeping up. I was doing a pretty good job of keeping up until I hit a trick sidewalk and my knee erupted in pain. I wasn’t sure of where I was or how much I had run, so rather than stop I kept going on the bad knee. Kira was now a good bit ahead of me and she had stopped looking back. My knee was throbbing at this point so I had to stop running. I started walking and called out to Kira. She had her head phones on and couldn’t hear me. When she was almost out of sight, she turned around and looked at me. I waved my arms drastically in the air, hoping that she would get the message.
My sister smiled, gave me a thumbs up, and continued running.
Then she turned a corner.
And I was hopelessly lost.
I tried to run a little bit so I could catch up, but I couldn’t feel my knee so instead of running I ended up doing a peg leg swagger. I did try hopping, but then my calf on my other leg cramped and I wanted to cuss. Then I prayed to Jesus that he would forgive me for really wanting to cuss and for all the evil things I was thinking about my sister. I also prayed that he wouldn’t let me die in the wilderness in my sweaty gym pants. Don’t ask me why, but I want to die in clean clothes that smell like a fresh spring rain.
Dragging my bum leg behind me, I finally reached the corner where Kira had turned. She was no where in sight. I estimated that I was about 3 miles from home even though I didn’t recognize any of the street names. With no other option, I did an about-face and started walking home.
It took me about 20 minutes to find my running path and then I breathed a sigh of relief. That is until I encountered a woman on a horse that was exceptionally peeved. The horse, not the woman. I asked her if she need help and she said no. The horse apparently has fits of pique every once in a while, but calms down in about 30 seconds. They’re very brief fits of pique.
We made small talk since we were heading in the same direction and she told me all about her horse farm in Costa Rica. Apparently you can raise horses in Costa Rica. I just thought it was a good place for surfing and food. Actually, I think any place that’s generous with rice is a good place for food. You see where my priorities lie?
We finally got to my street and so I said good-bye to the woman and her horse, who was lovely with his long white mane, and started walking towards my house. By this time I was no longer angry with Kira. Oh I was exceedingly peeved, don’t get my wrong, but I no longer wished to torture her with thumbscrews and a heavy cudgel. I decided that I would instead do the Christian thing and guilt her into my buying me something pretty.
Wait, you mean the Bible doesn’t say that if someone takes your cloak you should guilt trip him so badly that he feels morally obligated to buy you new sandals?
Hmm, must have read that incorrectly.
I was about ten feet from home when I heard a car come speeding behind me. Because I was the child that Chi-chi taught to not play in traffic, I moved to the side of the road (there’s no sidewalk on my street). The car pulled up alongside me and that was when I realized that it was my car, Sid the Hybrid, and that my sister was behind the wheel. She rolled the window down slowly.
Me: You couldn’t look behind you?!
Kira: I’m sorry! I thought you were waving me on!
Me: No! My knee started hurting. Wave means wait!
Kira: When I realized you were missing I ran all the way home! I ran down the street and past a woman on a horse.
Me: I met that woman. You scared her horse.
Kira: She told me it was ok to run past the horse.
Me: You should have probably checked with the horse. What if the horse had trampled me to death in a fit of pique!
Kira: I’m sorry! I came as quickly as I could! (pause) Do you want a ride home?
You know this story reminds me of a poem by Stevie Smith:
“Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning;
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving, but drowning…”
Ok, I didn’t really mean to give this post such a morbid spin.
Despite my haphazard use of it the poem’s brilliant and you should read it.
I guess the moral of the story is that my sister, while a touch self-absorbed, will come find you when she leaves you wandering around lost in your own neighborhood.
As most of you know, I’ll be going to Kenya in July in search of giraffes to volunteer in an orphanage. My group has been raising money for the last year and thanks to God (high five to the trinity!), generous donations from our family and friends, and lots of blood, sweat, and tears, we’re finally in the home stretch. We’ve only got $671 left to raise.
If you’ve ever had anything to do with a mission trip or actually any kind of trip, you probably know that the money isn’t due the day you leave. The same applies here. We need the money by the end of the week. We need the money yesterday. That’s why I’m shamelessly plugging my trip here. That’s why I’m humbly prostrating myself before you on the internet and asking for your help.
We need donations like woah.
If you give us money, I will be your writing slave for a week.
I will write about whatever the heck you want.
I will read my blog aloud to you as a bedtime story before you go to sleep.
I will follow you around and provide color commentary for your day. I’ll say things like, “As Bob walked down the drive way and to his car he wondered what this new and exciting day would bring. Would he meet Chuck Norris at Starbucks? Would he finally find that gold studded bandana that he’d lost in a childhood game of marbles? Only time would tell.”
I will try my hardest to bring back a giraffe from Kenya for you.
To put it simply, I’ll do whatever you want (within reason) if you donate money for our trip. It could be five bucks or fifty, we’ll take whatever you can give. Though it sounds clichéd, every little bit gets us there.
If you feel led to give or would just really like me to sing your praises in a blog, you can donate here http://www.tequestaschurch.net/
Those of you who know me know that I do not enjoy feelings.
Well, I’m quite fond of anger and rage, but beyond that I don’t do feelings.
My cousin, Rachel, yelled at me during Fireproof because I started to laugh. During Titantic I wondered, ‘Why can’t they take turns on the board?’ My friend, Tawakalitu, from high school once asked, “Why are all of your short stories so depressing? Why can’t you be happy? You should write about a unicorn and a rainbow. But don’t kill them. That would be depressing.” Another friend (who shall remain nameless) once said, in all seriousness, “You know, sometimes I honestly wonder if you have a soul.”
Three years later, I’m here to report that I do have a soul.
And I am apparently capable of feelings other than ire and indifference.
Every couple of weeks I go through the NY Times book review to find something good to read. My co-workers and friends are pretty good with recommendations, but sometimes I like to find good reading material for myself. While perusing the Times I stumbled across a review on a biography on Charles and Emma Darwin. Did you know that Emma Darwin, Charles’ wife, was a devout Christian? I didn’t. That fact in conjunction with the well written review prompted me to buy the book for my Nook. (Oh how I love my Nook)
Some of you are probably wondering how on God’s green earth a marriage between a Christian and the father of evolution worked. I’m here to tell you that it worked in such a way that it will break your heart. Or, if you’re heartless like me, you will grow a heart while reading this book and then have it break. I cried while I was reading this book. And because I was reading it on my Nook I had to be careful that I didn’t electrocute myself.
Don’t ask me what it was about their love story that made me go, “Oh, hello feelings. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up.” Perhaps it was Charles’ letters to his wife on his religious doubts. Perhaps it was her constant support of him when he was writing On the Origin of the Species. For all I know it could have been the fact that they were married for 43 years while most people can barely stay married for 43 minutes these days. There are very few people who mean their marriage vows when they say them and I find that to be a greatest tragedy of the modern age.
Oh wow more feelings.
If any of you are the least bit interested in reading something that doesn’t have a sparkly creature from the undead as one of its main characters, I highly suggest you read this book. It’s called Charles and Emma: The Darwins’ Leap of Faith and it’s written by Deborah Heiligman.
* I do realize how thoroughly pretencious I sound telling you that I read the NY Times book review and all, but I’ve made peace with my pretentions and you should too.
Normally, I start off my updates with an excited “I lost ___ pounds!”
I won’t be doing that this week because I’m staying at a friend’s apartment and I forgot to pack my scale.
When I say “forgot” I mean that I purposefully didn’t pack my scale because I needed a break from Eugene.
Yes, I named my scale “Eugene.” If it’s going to know how much I weigh then the freakin’ thing better have a name.
My car is also called Sid the Hybrid.
Anyway, even though Eugene and I are taking a break, I know that I’ve lost weight this week. How do I know? Because one thing they never tell you about losing weight is that you’ll have tween stages. When I say “tween” I don’t mean that awkward stage in childhood where you’re not as cute as you were at 5 or 6. Not that stage where you’re limbs are too long and you have the nose of an adult, but the chin of a midget.
I’m talking about “tween” as in stages when you are inbetween sizes. My clothes are dropping off to the point where I look like the paperbag princess, but when I try to wear a smaller size, I look like a Vienna sausage. Tween stages suck.
Yes, I feel great about the fact that I’ve lost weight, but I feel breeze even when I’m fully clothed. The other day I almost left my underwear in a parking garage because I didn’t realize it was slipping off. Those undies have since been removed from my circulating wardrobe. Sorry to talk about my undies, but I look like a hippie in my oversized clothes and you all know how I feel about the hippie people.
I’m very happy that they’re all in love with the trees and tie dye, but that doesn’t absolve them from having to take showers.