aliens, sympathetic elevators, cultured chickens, oddball compliments, ANTICIPATION and you guessed it! Love!

A lot has been going on lately.
In this past week I have. . .
1. written four papers:
A. Aliens interbreeding with humans (finished with Octavia Butler whew).
B. An essay arguing whether I would choose to educate children with mild/moderate or severe/profound mental retardation if I was in a different world (not Butler’s world) and there were only enough funds to support one group. My response? Surely there’s a Bill Gates in the alien world.
C. A reading response over Part 1 of Colson Whitehead’s book, The Intuitionist. I am now perfectly aware that elevators have feelings too. . . Well at least the elevators that are metaphorically depicting society do. I met one of those elevators today. It wasn’t quite organic, but I was tired and it conformed to my wishes by being present in a moment when I was unable to face the stairs.
D. A paper about. . . THE WASTE LAND. Well, not exactly The Waste Land itself. I wrote about a fancy website that deciphered the poem for me. I learned that chickens speak French through this website. No joke. One particular phrase in What the Thunder Said consisted of a bunch of nonsensical letters. When I clicked the link, the definition said that it was French for cock-a-doodle-do. That is one smart chicken folks. SOUPE DE NOUILLES DE POULET!

2. been complimented twice. Really! Remember the babysitting catastrophe at the KIAAA? Don’t get me wrong. I had a blast with the kiddos, but the last evening with Suzy was not the greatest babysitting experience I have ever had. Well, Suzy’s father called to say that she got a new doll and named it Hannah Jane. Robert and I asked if it was a voodoo doll, but no, it is not. I can honestly say that this is the first time a child has named a doll after me. I feel honored. . . I think. The second compliment I received came from Robert’s mom, Audrey. She saw my paintings in the dining room and went right out the next day and bought several canvases. She wants me to create paintings for various rooms in her new house. I am thrilled. I take any kind of positive response from her as a true blessing. This compliment went beyond a blessing. It is a darn miracle.

3. been in a fire. I cannot tell you where the fire was, but it wasn’t at my house and it wasn’t very big. Few reading this will know what I was doing when the place caught fire, but it was the most hilarious encounter I have ever had with God. I can give you more details in email if you are curious.

I am currently working on. . .
1. a wonderful surprise for my mom. It is coming along slowly, but I want it to be perfect. She will be the one to show it off when it is finished.

2. two presentations. For one I am covering the Romantic period. Easy peasy. The second, however, has become difficult because I have acquired a great deal of interest in it. I am focusing on the strengths and weaknesses of Milton’s Eve from Paradise Lost. At first I thought it was unfortunate that I accidentally signed up for book nine, but now I realize just how many possibilities I have.

As you can see there is A LOT happening around here. I am happy that the semester is finally coming to a close. I am looking forward to my nanny job and ASL classes this summer. I also cannot wait to see my mom and grandma. 5 months is far too long, but I am happy that my wait will be over soon.

Like everyone else I have a routine that I follow before I go to sleep every night. I feed the fish. Turn off the lights. Brush my teeth and wash my face. Give and receive kisses from Robert and the pups. Finish homework by lamplight. The most important ritual, however, involves a complete and total moment of peace when I can pick up one of my many cherished books by Hugh Prather and read a small dose of inspiration. I am going to share this ritual with you tonight. Enjoy.

This is from Notes on Love and Courage.

Is love in me, or is it something apart from me that works through me? I can reason either way, but I can’t deny how it feels: it feels as if there are times when I am more myself than at others. When I love spontaneously, when it simply comes out and there is no pretext or calculation, I don’t feel like either a container of some precious but foreign spirit, or like a vehicle for a thing outside of me. I feel: that which loves is me. And when the impulse is to hurt and I follow that, I feel like a betrayer, and the I has gone out of me.

-Hugh Prather