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Is there such a thing as too clean?
My style of living has always been marked by a relatively clean, but semi-disorganized method of arrangement. Things would be clean, and though things would be in piles or scattered, or spread in such a way as to be vaguely reminiscent of messy, I would still know where everything was. I mean, I would often have to search for an item, but eventually it would surface.
Now, however, post-deep-clean, I know precisely where everything is. My parents were talking about painting my room, what with me having moved home and all. I had picked up paint chips several years ago and kept them (I cannot even imagine why, except that I liked the colours), and when that point was raised, I was able to scurry over to a drawer, and put my hand on them almost directly. At first I was amused by it, and pleased with myself for the exactness with which my room has been arranged. But now I wonder. There is no creativity of placement in my room. Everything has a place. Which means there is nothing out of place. Which means there is a ghastly, un-homey orderliness to my room. I’m being facetious. I know that I just need to get used to it, because honestly, I don’t think my room has ever been this orderly. I’ve always had far too much stuff, I think. And I’ve also viewed coming home as temporary. For the past three summers, I would come home from May to August and then be off again, so I never put the effort into going through my stuff. After all, I would be leaving in less than four months. But this time around, since I am moving home for at least the next year or two, I decided that it was important that I start off on the right foot. And that right foot was to take my pack rat tendencies and throw them out the window. I’ve still kept a lot of things, things that someone without any pack rat tendencies would probably consider superfluous, but I have ensured that what I’m keeping has a reason, and a solid reason, not just a wishy-washy “what if I need/want it some day” or “but I’ve always had it, I can’t consider getting rid of it”.
And so my room is clean. And everything is happily placed. All it requires is some getting used to. And a fresh coat of paint. And maybe a plant or two.
Mom: Josh, you spilled ice cream everywhere…
Josh: (contentedly eating ice cream) No I didn’t.
Mom: (getting up and dabbing up little globs of something) Yes, yes you did. It’s all over the floor. And my chair.
Josh: Okay, that isn’t possible. How could I have spilled ice cream when there is nothing on the outside of my bowl and nothing on me?
Mom: Well, you must have. Where else would it have come from?
Josh: Here, let me see.
(Both get up and examine a droplet on the floor)
Josh: That’s not ice cream. That’s butter. From my english muffin.
* * *
Supper was a complete success. It was very gratifying to me to make a dish, to put all of the effort into it and to see it greatly enjoyed by my family. Everyone (except Matthew, my 11-year-old bro) had second helpings, and comments of “That was delicious” and “This is really good” and “Mmmm” punctuated our conversation. It was a chicken pot pie-esque meal. Shout out to Sarah, the friend from whom I got the recipe (Thanks, hun!). I’ll post the recipe in the next couple of days.
And I think that I can now say that I know how to cook. I once read somewhere that cooking is more than simply following a recipe. It is understanding how ingredients work together and being able to work on the fly. The author then told the story of a friend of hers who ordered meat for a dish she was making, but was given the wrong parcel. Desperate, and without the proper ingredients, she then whipped up one of the best pasta dishes her guests had ever tasted, simply with the ingredients in her pantry. And so that has been my measure of someone who can cook: someone who knows their way around the kitchen well enough that, even if things go very wrong, they are still able to make a delicious meal. Granted, I have not reached this level of mastery, but I have reserved saying “I can cook” until I at least registered on this imaginary scale I created after reading that passage. So… I can cook. Woot.
Anyone have any favourite dishes to recommend?
My muse is gone.
A friend teased me several weeks ago that I was too much of a perfectionist with my writing. And it’s true. I get into certain moods where, if I don’t have something terribly profound to write for my blog, I won’t write anything. This post is an exception. I know that it has nothing to do with my writing ability or the profoundness of my thoughts (I really don’t mind writing nonsense); I’ve simply hit a wall, so I am forcing myself to write. It could have something to do with the constant hammering outside my room. The neighbours across the street are having their roof done, and I find that kind of staccato, percussion noise very difficult to ignore. White noise I can ignore (I do prefer something with more variety to it, such as rain or low-level air), but anything that has a distinct sound to it is difficult for me to block out.
That random tangent to explain why I am less than inspired to write today.
Also, I’ve just finished two grueling weeks, so I am perhaps seeking rest rather than writing.
Last week at this time (4pm), I was just beginning to write my last exam of the term. And of the year. And of my undergraduate degree. An hour before that, I had just finished my second last exam, and 23 hours before that, I was writing my third last exam. I only had three exams this past term, but had to write them in two days, due to the scheduling of them. And then I spent the evening after my last exam, and the following morning packing up my things from my apartment preparing to move home. Almost as soon as I arrived home, I decided to take on the project that has consumed me until now, and have been working steadily (except on Sunday) to get everything finished. Glorious day, it is finally done, but ah me… so tired.
The project, for those of you who don’t follow me on Twitter (you don’t!? *shock* *gasp*), was to completely clean out and organize my room. This involved emptying my closet, drawers and things from under my bed, sorting it all, deciding what to keep, what to give away, what to throw away, and then organizing it and putting it all back. So much work! But things are so much nicer. They are clean and organized and I feel relieved.
My next project is to cook dinner for my family. I was telling one of my former roommates that, as much as I thought I would have enjoyed not having to cook, I actually missed it. So I asked my mom if I could cook tonight. It will be an adventure, though. I forgot to copy the recipe from a friend before I left my university town, so I will have to make this based on how I remember the recipe to have gone. Hmm… 
But I have confidence in my abilities. We’ll see how it turns out. I am off to begin preparations. Wish me luck!
I have a confession to make: I love B movies. Yes, I admit this as a character flaw, and yes, I did link to a Wikipedia article. I was talking with someone the other day and they asked me what a B movie was, so to avoid any confusion, there is the article.
The truth of the matter is that I like short B movies. B movies that go for two and a half hours or more are very difficult to sit through. Then again, any movie that is two and a half hours long can be difficult to sit through. But no, the little 70-90 minute B movies, I thoroughly enjoy. I remember in my first year in residence, there would be afternoons where I would be exceptionally bored; everyone was out or working, and having neither to do, I would pop into the TV room, and it was always a delight to me when I stumbled across a really good, bad B movie. Even if the acting is sometimes terrible, or the special effects are cheesy, or you can spot the plot twist from a mile away, I still enjoyed them.
And so it was a special delight to me when we rented a B movie this weekend. It was a monster-flick, and you pretty much knew what was going to happen from the start. But it was a B movie in plot only. I don’t mean the plot was bad, I mean it was predictable. The rest of the flick was great. The special effects were well done, the acting was great, the camera work was excellent (a very creative twist), and I enjoyed the whole of it. The movie that I am referring to is Cloverfield, that mysterious movie that was first advertised without a title. Your best bet, if you haven’t seen it and want to, is to read and watch as little as you can about it. It does make it that much better. Also, there are alternate endings on the DVD. I didn’t know this until after we had returned it, so just giving you the heads up if that’s something that interests you.
If you have seen it (or after you go out and watch it), what did you think? I’m putting a SPOILER WARNING for the comments, so feel free to write whatever you please. Those who haven’t seen it can proceed with caution.
I could write about being done. But I don’t really want to. I could write about the harried packing and goodbyes of yesterday morning. But I don’t really want to. I could write about how strange it is trying to bring myself to understand that I am never moving back to that place and never living with those people again. But I’d really rather not.
What I would like to write about is the chaos my room in my parents’ house is in. Every year, I pack up the things from that room that I believe I’ll need to take with me to school. Throughout the school year, I add to what I’ve taken each time I visit home. By the end of the year, yes, I have an awful lot more than what I began with, but I did bring it all from the same bedroom. Upon arriving home, I realize that there is absolutely no space in my room to house all of the things that I am attempting to force it to hold. I do not understand how this works. I empty a bookshelf to take with me, but on returning home, there is not nearly enough room for all the books I have. Do I really purchase that many books while away? Do textbooks really take up that much room? Do I really forget how packed all of the storage spaces in my room are every time I come home?
One thing I will say about goodbyes is this: all of the friends I have made in these past four years have made an impact on me. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without their love and care, their jokes and silliness, their earnest attention, their unexpected passions, their desire to pursue a deeper faith. I have been encouraged and inspired and incredibly blessed. As I was driving home, that is all I could think about my time in that place. I have been so blessed. I never would have imagined the friendships I have made. They have–you have–all exceeded my expectations and my greatest hopes for the kinds of people I would meet there. I will miss everyone very much. But I am glad for the opportunities we have had to touch each other’s lives and for the grace to see God working in those connections. No matter how small, one life touching another cannot help but make a difference. Love and blessings. Numbers 6:24-26.
My presence on the internet has increased tenfold. Well, that’s an exaggeration. I haven’t really been paying attention to how much time I spend on the internet and whether my current internet activities are ten times greater than they were. I twittered that lack of people, lack of class and lack of beautiful walks nearby meant that I would be posting an awful lot more frequently. And I have been.
I think it’s an entirely different attitude in the area where my parents live, versus on my university campus. On campus, when it is a beautiful day, people spread out all over the place. Blankets and reading/studying material pepper whatever green space there is. Benches and picnic tables all have someone sitting on them, taking in the lovely weather while they study or read or listen to music or just chat.
I think it makes sense that there aren’t many people around during the day in the neighbourhood where my parents’ house is. For one thing, most people work and so are away from home during the day. But at the same time, even at the end of the day, the outdoors is not taken advantage of. Parents send their children outside and the kids play in the little court outside our house or on the playground in the park just beside our house, but people don’t seem to wander, just to wander. People don’t take advantage of having lovely places to sit outside and just relax. It’s an entirely different attitude around here. At school, people are just as motivated as around here to do well, to succeed, to get ahead. In fact, almost all of my friends are in very professional programs: Science, Kinesiology, Engineering, Mathematics, Computer Science, etc. Several of my friends are preparing to write their MCATs so they can apply to med school, a handful already have applied and are just waiting for the results. My friends are also involved in volunteering, conferences, church, and other extracurricular fun times. But they all know when to relax, when to just enjoy life. For the past two weeks or so, every time I stepped outside my apartment building, I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of satisfaction as I looked around at the day. But here, it seems like people leave their house and get into their cars and only get out when they are planning on entering another building. There is no enjoyment of what the world has to offer, there is no patience and simply being with people.
That is something I miss already and I’ve only been gone a day: just being with people. My next door neighbours (sometimes with joking exasperation) welcomed me coming and joining them for no other purpose than to just be in the same room together. Oftentimes they would all be sitting in their living room, one working on his computer, another reading a textbook, another playing the Wii or starting to make dinner, and I would just bring a book and start reading. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the conversations I’ve had with them and those, I am confident, will continue throughout the summer through different means (email, IM, Skype, etc), but something I will miss is being able to sit in the company of close friends.
This thought doesn’t even seem to occur in this town. Activity, noise, motion, all seem to be priorities. When I was driving home from school yesterday, I discovered this disparity in a shocking (because it was unexpected) way. I was driving down a four-lane road (two lanes in each direction) and I was traveling in the right lane (the “slow” lane, apparently). I hadn’t quite made it up to the speed limit, but I was enjoying the drive and was in no hurry to be home. Also, it was just after the light had turned green and the cars in the left lane were traveling slower than I was. Suddenly, a little blue car dashed from I-don’t-know-where up behind me. I was probably seven under the speed limit and was slowly, peacefully passing the cars in the left lane. And the blue car honked at me.
Excuse me?
He honked at me. I was surprised. I was not traveling excessively slowly, I had not waited too long before proceeding through an intersection, I had not cut anyone off. My only “crime” was traveling at a rate of speed that made it impossible for the car to get around me. He couldn’t move to the left lane to pass me because of the slower cars there, but that he would come behind me and honk? It is possible that he was rushing to get somewhere, being late or needing to provide assistance to someone, but it struck me as odd and as rude. It only took me a moment to pass the cars on the left with enough room for this car to pass me and eventually he was gone, but the whole pace of this town is exceedingly different from my university town. It would sometimes take us an hour and a half to get a movie started (because we would be talking or deciding what to watch or waiting for others to finish before they were ready to join), but here, people barely have the patience to wait 10 seconds at a stop light. It is strange…
Dear God,
First of all, I would like to say thank You (so much!) for the arrival of spring. It has been a long and lonely winter, smattered with hints and teases of the next season, never more than enough to whet our appetites, but now, oh glorious day from a Glorious Maker, spring has finally arrived! Thank You! And thank You also that it wasn’t a slow and drawn-out process. I am so grateful that things went from horrid winter to delightful spring in less than a week. I have been praying, begging, groaning for the privilege of weather warm enough to study outside in, and I am grateful for this answer to prayer, that spring has arrived before the term has finished. If it isn’t too much to ask, I would love to see buds on trees before the term is out.
Also, God, I know that You have things under control. I know that You have a plan that is greater than mine (and one that requires more patience than mine). I know all of this, and yet still I doubt. Please forgive me for my doubt and for my impatience. Please forgive me for trying to do things my way, for trying to force things to happen according to my will. God, may all things work according to Your will and Your plan. And may Your promise be fulfilled in my life and the lives of those around me, that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). I don’t exactly know what that means or what it looks like, how it would play out in our individual lives, but what I get from it is that You have a plan, one that is for our good. I ask that this would be fulfilled.
And God, I also want to ask You about those really big situations–You know the ones I mean–the ones that are too big for me to handle: things like AIDS, like poverty, like war, like suffering, and things closer to home, in my life and in the lives of friends and family, like loss, like broken-heartedness, like school, like the future. You know how to handle those things. I don’t. And so, God, I ask that You would take them. You are big enough to handle them, and I’m not, so please take them. Please handle them. God, I ask that Your will would be carried out in all of these situations as well, and that I and the people around me would be able to feel, to see Your hand working.
You know what we are all struggling with; please help us to keep free of our traps. God, release us from the things that tie us down and try to keep us from You. May we always walk on Your path, obeying Your will, following Your footsteps.
And may Your kingdom come. We anxiously and eagerly await Your plan for eternity.
Love Tara
I love celebrating.
I never really identified this as a terribly characteristic part of my personality, but I’m discovering, as winter melted into spring, which is now quickly gurgling into summer, and as I celebrate little events marking the season that I love celebration. Even the word is delightful. Celebration.
Today I purchased my first Iced Cap of the season. It is deliciously warm outside, and we were sitting outside basking in the glow of the sun. A friend came out, desirous of returning some books to the library, and mentioned that she was heading to Tim Horton’s on her way back. And, of course, I agreed to go with, to celebrate the arrival of spring/summer with a cool, caffeinated beverage (p.s. I could really go for a glass of water right now )
And so today I celebrate the warmth of the day with the First Iced Cap of the Season.
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