The Hunger Games

How aquatic are you?
Have you ever spent an extensive amount of time treading water?

I was, at one point, a competitive (that word used loosely in my case) swimmer, and part of our strength training was water treading.

We'd gather in the deep end, chuckling to ourselves at our good luck at getting out of a "hard" workout, and for the first few minutes of treading, we were in paradise. Longer treading, though, can get you pretty worn down (for some, that moment comes when they start treading).

At that point, our coach would start to yell out variations on the form. Hands in the air, arms to the elbows, arms all the way up, arms only, each with an impossible feeling timer. By the end of that half hour or forty-five minutes, we'd be wet-sweating. Sweating in a pool is a really awkward feeling.

Treading water takes discipline, determination, and steady, steady pacing and patience with yourself.

Today, I tread water.

I woke up in a dark room on a dark morning with a dark mood.

I did not want to get out of bed or pray or move. However, I needed to do all three of those things regardless of how I felt toward them.

I went with the "keep moving" choice (in regards to my previous post), forcing myself to push against the oppressiveness of...shoot, I don't even know what. Against my spirit's antagonizer.

Thus, The Hunger Games.

Distract your hungry spirit through making daily tasks a game.
And, because my fridge is still bursting with random need-to-be-used fruits and veggies, it was hunger games in that respect as well.

Apple cinnamon oat muffins. I did an alteration of their original recipe to include the oats, two extra cups of apples, and a couple other oddities. They yielded two dozen muffins and a small loaf of bread, and didn't even make a dent in my apple-achian mountain. 

 Next to conquer was Carrot Kingdom. Jansie sent me her favorite carrot soup recipe, which I doubled, cut down, and added to. My editions were basmati rice and oregano and subtracted the heavy cream. Oh my goodness, it is good stuff. Pour some into a mug and hold in your hands on a cold day. Healthy, warm, delicious, and different.

For dinner, I used up a head and a half of my wee lettuces to put together a salad. For my real food, though, I sauteed more mushrooms (gave up and froze the rest of them. There's only so many mushrooms one girl can consume) with a yellow onion and little capsule thing of garlic. Then, after I set those aside (Lainey doesn't like mushrooms), I browned some Irish beef (ground beef here is called minced beef) with Italian seasoning and fresh Thyme, added some bolognese sauce we had around, the rest of the can of tomato paste from this morning's soup, and 8 small tomatoes I found on the counter. Booyah. Dinner.

For dinner, I was joined by Elaine. She may not have come out of her room at all, but I went and got her because I figured (rightly) that she wouldn't have eaten otherwise. Or would eat a bagel at 2am. And I'd made sure that nothing in our meal was against her healthcode.

Mostly we sat in silence (which I am coming to both understand and be comfortable with), while I focused on looking pleasant and ready but not anxious to talk.

When she's tired, she just spouts off random bits of information and thoughts, and I've learned that she's really not going for a response, so I listen and wait for more.

She was feeling pensive and share-y about Nelson Mandella's death and the struggle of her friends back in Africa, says that on sleepy days, her mind is halfrica, half here and half there. Her concern and heart and knowledge of the people there is quite admirable.

Dessert was more apples. Apple crisp this time. The easiest ever recipe. Took all of 5 minutes to prep and 40 minutes to bake. Just enough time to sit down with some good Seamus Heaney poetry.

Bubbly, gooey, and hot fresh from the oven, oozing over vanilla bean ice cream and washed down with a glass of milk.

Yes, I was eating it on my puzzle. It was my nest for study and leisure today.

Please note the mini-heater that I keep by me. I tote it about the house with me when I change rooms. This picture actually captures pretty accurately everything I did today. Cute.

I never did come out of my weightedness of the morning. But I also didn't let it define the day for me nor how I behaved in all the hours before I go to bed again and hopefully sleep this off.

It's treading water, taking patience and measuredness.

Parts of the exercise or day are exhausting, parts are strenuous but not undoable, but all of it inevitable. You're not allowed to drown or quit practice (it would need to be in that order) any more than you can realistically quit a bad day.

It's like the back of our horribly "scripture out of context" team t-shirts said back then, "1 Corinthians 9:27: 'I beat my body into submission, bringing it under complete control, to keep myself from being disqualified after having called others to the contest.'"

Spirit and the Spirit of God within us is stronger than the body, stronger than the mind.

When Life Gives You 11 Pounds of Apples,

you make every conceivable apple-based food item as quickly as possible.

Starting with apple sauce:

Looks kind of like...baby food there, but it's actually quite lovely to the taste buds.

Odom, party of one inherited an entire fridge full of random excess food items, such as 11 pounds of apples (which I diced until I couldn't think), 6 quarts of mushrooms (also diced), two full bags of carrots (which will be diced and made into soup), three heads of broccoli, six heads of lettuce, 3 pounds of pepperoni (which I don't eat), three gallons of milk, 9 large packages of bacon (which I also don't eat), two bags of kiwi, two large bundles of bananas (half sliced and frozen for smoothies and half set aside for bread), a half gallon of cranberry sauce, the aforementioned thanksgiving meal, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Ain't no way I can eat all that. So, I spent a few hours today dicing, packing thanksgiving meals into zip-lock baggies, cooking/recipe making, and asking myself and my mother the question, "Can I freeze that?"

You can freeze a lot more than you'd think, though my freezer is now full to capacity, except for the apples and mushrooms, which will be baked and sauteed and otherwise made more durable tomorrow.

Sauteed these bad boys, put half over mashed potatoes and half back in the fridge with their giant box of uncooked friends. 

Then, post kitchen adventuring (yes, I did do the dishes. All of them) and general winning of wife points, I went to a Christmas concert. 

Lainey invited me nearly 4 times, and I truly did not want to go, but I ended up trotting off to the Waterfront Hall in the end. Turns out, it was not a wee church choir. It is a mass choir, developed nearly 20 years ago now by the then 19 year old Keith Getty (Elaine's brother). The hall it was in is the largest music hall in Northern Ireland, which is a big deal and also not. Because NI is quite wee. I would call it a moderate size for American standards. Smaller than the Tulsa PAC. 

The music was phenomenal. Special arrangements, soloists, and a full orchestra. My mother, aunt, and grandmother would have wept through it. 

Another successful day in the life of the lonely okie.

Caged Human Survival Treatise

Unless they reach the point of desperation or brokenness, caged animals will not go to the bathroom. Or, if they do, they confine their "messes" to the same area. The reason for this is because, whether or not they like it, that cage is their habitat, their den. It helps them retain their wee animalial dignity to keep their area livable. I would venture to say that it also helps keep them from going completely wild.

A clean den is a happy den.

Caged humans need clean dens, too.

Unhealthy situation: caged human sleeps in late, spends all day in comfy sleep-like clothes/clothes he or she slept in, does homework or watches movies or reads all day in bed, goes out of room to fetch some sort of easy food, leaves dishes and clothes strewn about, returns to den, waits until bedtime, and goes to sleep. Repeat daily.

Healthy situation: Caged human wakes up at a set time, gets out of bed, makes it, puts on publicly acceptable clothes, leaves room, does something, anything productive, makes food and also cleans up kitchen and other living rooms, uses mind constructively, interacts socially in some facet, waits until bedtime, and goes to sleep. Repeat daily.

I am going to avoid situation one with one minor adjustment. Jasmine pants are clearly an acceptable form of clothing.

My actual den (or cave, if you will) is the C.S. Lewis Study room.

Super delicious quesadilla I made for dinner. It was just so pretty I needed to show someone. 

It's been a really good alone day.

I have a few survival tips for anyone ever considering self-inflicted international isolation:

1. Embrace the fact that parts of every day are going to feel like the worst possible, most hopeless moments you have ever experienced. They might actually be.
2. Self-judgement isn't going to get you anywhere. Other than God, you're the only person around, so it doesn't matter if you freak out every once in a while.
3. Speaking of freaking out, sometimes that's really helpful. If you feel a bout of absolute panic coming on, and you know it's unavoidable, here are some pointers.
----Run up and down the stairs, dance, or do some other physical activity.
----Use your mind. Something like a puzzle or sudoku would be good. Listen to a sermon or some uplifting music at the same time.
----Tactile activities. Start crafting something, play Jenga, cut up and freeze fruit, make a meal.
----Distract, distract, distract. Leave wherever you are. Pick up around the house, organize a pantry or freezer, vacuum, iron, fold laundry. Create a mess in order to clean the mess.
----Scream. Talk out loud to God (not yourself. bad road). Sing as loudly as you can. Play the djembe. Play scales on the piano. Pretend you know how to play the guitar.
----Cry. Have a nice hard cry. That may feel like the opposite of good (and if you stay crying and defeated for multiple hours, it will become the opposite of good), but it can actually be really healthy. Suppressing emotion or pretending it doesn't exist will actually create insanity. You are feeling what you are feeling and it's okay. So have yourself a nice wee cry and then get on with your life.
4. When you can, get outside.
5. Build in fun into every day.
6. Create a "thankfulness" list.
7. Get a social outlet. It can be a daily walk down to the grocery store or a chat with a barista or a text sesh with your best friend or a skype call or, if you don't have legs or technology, a letter written to a friend, but you absolutely must keep connected.

 I have decided to embrace the fact that each day is going to be an entirely different experience for me. One good day doesn't mean that all my days are going to be good. And, conversely, a bad day doesn't mean all my days will be bad.

I still can't allow myself to think beyond the day (or hour) at hand, but I have every assurance that I will be given the exact measure of what I need to life fully and well each day.

How many people are given the opportunity to have a very long, very thorough detox session with the Lord?

This is absolutely going to suck, and I am going to get pretty desperate here as soon as the newness and almost fun, game-like quality comes to a close, but at the end of this, there ain't no way I'm going to be the same person as when I started. Amen to that.

December, Day 4

Miracle of miracles, this is what outside looked like today at 3. For the past four days, it's been totally dark by this time. 

That little table there has roses carved into the top of it. Much like an even more wee one my ma has on our front porch, but this one has roses because Ireland is full of roses. There's a rose garden just down the road from here. It spans huge tracks of land. I'm sure it's even lovelier in the springtime, but even now, the walk through the very green grass is very nice. 

The botanic gardens down by Queen's has a large area dedicated only to roses as well. I'm rather certain it stems (ha!) from the rosy symbol of the monarchy of England (Queen Elizabeth Tudor I is symbolized with a red rose), but Northern Ireland's emblem is made up of six entwined roses for the six counties. 

 No way this isn't cute. It's a hippo you can eat.

Less cute but very practical is the leftover Thanksgiving food. This is the entire green bean casserole that (along with the equally large leftover portions of cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and stuffing) will make up my every single meal until I head home for good in June.

Before my eating and watching the sun set, I spent my morning listening to a JBU chapel, reading a bit of Brennan Manning, writing, and geography games. I learned the location of both Austria and Switzerland today! Yes, pathetic, but I'm working on it.

After, I said two more goodbyes. Abbi and Shelby head off to The States in just a few hours here.

I can't say I had any irresistible friend chemistry with them, but I have enjoyed spending time with them immensely. They have been my "safe place" in the house the past three months, and I'm so thankful for their friendship. Lakeside will be a very different place without them.

Merry Happy

December, Day 3. The students are gone. 

The cooks leave tomorrow night. 

That leaves Lainey and me. We chat about once a day around 22:30. Okay so maybe I wait up for her a little bit...

But everything is going to be OK! I have a plan (ha! I don't feel like finding the link to it, but that does remind me of John Kerry's presidential campaign. Never did find out what his "very good plan" was.) My plan is called, "Loneliness and Solitude are Two Things Not to Get Confused." 

Mostly it involves a self-structured schedule, crafts, projects, cleaning, homework, writing, and old people. And Puzzles. lots and lots of puzzling. 

This is my first day of self-scheduling. So far, it's going rather well. I got up an hour after I intended (which I had also accounted for in my schedule. Know thyself...), made tea, got dressed and ready for the day, then headed off to research. However, David (house fix-it extraordinaire) asked me to Christmas the house. We brought in all the boxes of Christmas supplies, and I set about organising. 

 The result is a disastrous foyer (yay! saving that cleaning project for a rainy day!), a garlanded bannister, some random wee trinkets here and there, and  three trees in silver, red, and gold. They're nothing like my ma's Christmas tree whisperer skills could have produced, but they are cheery and I like them.

Next up on my agenda is scavenging for food and then actually doing a bit of research before I head out to a church event tonight.

This is good.

My survival plot just experienced a minor setback in that I've just gotten word that my friend Adam (visiting the UK) is no longer coming to Belfast, so there's that. But...no. yeah. There's that. ha.

Challenges. But challenges are also opportunities. And this could be my opportunity to finally, you know, do something like memorise the encyclopaedia or something.

It's amusing, really, this obscene amount of free and alone time, especially in comparison to my senior year of college. I was literally scheduled every single day from 9 am (ain't nobody talk to me before 9 unless you've got coffee in your hands for me) until 10:30 pm. To get in my planner, you had to ask for a slot a week ahead of time.

This did mean that I missed out on a lot of the random "being there" stuff, eating food other than nachos, pb &j, and cucumbers, and spending time with the people I actually wanted to spend time with in a time slot other than "post 10:30", but I liked it. If I could go back, I'd probably end up doing it really similarly.

Except that last part. I fell asleep during many a night hangout. That doesn't make people feel very valued. ha. It was good for me, that very structured business. I wonder if my friends would have chosen my living ways differently, though. Was it as good for them as it was for me? Or did they feel that I didn't care for them because I just wasn't around or made them into a task of the day?

What were my priorities? What were my motivations? Are they the same now as they were then?
Guess I've got a lot of uninterrupted time to think about it.

and Eamonn wears a blackbird pin

Class today in comparison to class last week could not have been more different. I inadvertently skipped another class (They changed the time. Didn’t know. Should have). However, the class I did attend was really fascinating.

First of all, I did not start spurting tears at random moments throughout the two hours of course discussion. Second, I actually understood the entirety of the discussion. That has never before happened in a class period with Eamonn.

Our discussion today focussed on family structure, construction of identity, genre debate, and mental health. Not only are those my favourite topics to discuss, they also helped me to construct a paper topic, outline it, and jot down the resources I would need to uphold it for my final paper. I’m pretty excited about it. I built a similar argument in a previous class at JBU, so I have a semi-foundation for discussion.

Using the background of Seamus Deane’s “autobiography” Reading in the Dark and the subtexts of Earnest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast and Henry James’ novella “The Turn of the Screw”, I’m going to prove that Deane’s book is, in fact, not an autobiography but a novel. And, more than that, a gothic novel.

I’m pretty excited.

To now turn to a different book, I’d like to discuss the concept of “common grace”, as defined by Rick Ostrander in Why College Matters to God. Since obviously I don’t have my copy on me here in NornIron, I’ll sum up for you. Common grace is the idea that regardless of something’s goal of being Christian or NonChristian, anything can reveal and draw us closer to the character of God.

I am rather certain that neither my classmate Paddy nor my processor Eamonn is a Christian. Just drawn by class discussion, which often focuses on religion due to the structure of this nation.

However, I was struck, both last Monday and today at the way my professor and my classmate were genuinely concerned for my well-being. Not that non-christians are in any way unfeeling or not able to understand things, I guess I’ve just never had a whole lot of interactions with non-christians.

A Christian would have tried to spiritualize my being upset or tell me that they were praying for me. The two of them, instead, expressed…I don’t know. It was like they felt hurt with me, and they didn’t even know what was wrong. I don’t think I even knew fully what was wrong. They made me feel joined. And both afterward expressed so verbally.

It didn’t end there, though. Today, in continuation from last week, they individually followed up with me and reiterated the fact that academia doesn’t stop short of relations, that they really did want to stand beside me in whatever way I needed them to. I don’t know. It sounds kind of dumb saying it now, I was just taken off-guard by it, I suppose.

Eamonn wears a blackbird pin, representative of Seamus Heaney and representative of Ireland. Literature and stories are his life. I caught myself staring at that pin throughout class and thinking of what it meant in the context of the whole.

I’ve spoken before of Ireland’s struggle for identity and struggle for a voice and struggle to live their own story. Who are they? British? Irish? Northern Irish? And yet, they are all at the same time. All our stories and identities are interlinked.

And we all seek to live a good story.

Donald Miller speaks a lot about living good stories with our lives in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. If you don’t like the story your life is telling, change it.

However, our stories are not our own. Like I said, we are all interlinked, Christian and nonChristian alike. Eamonn and Paddy expressing genuine interest into my life was them choosing to play a role in my story past their assigned roles as professor and peer.

That’s why it was meaningful to me.

Anyone can play the assigned role. Requirement says very little. Taking up space out of compulsion is empty of character. It takes boldness and compassion to choose engagement and role-redefinition, going outside the expected to further the greater story at hand. Christian or nonChristian, that speaks volumes of the Lord's grace through them.

Games

Abbi and Shelby leave us two days from now, so our little friend group (minus lauren) went out for a girls' night on the town! (and finally snapped a picture with Kiera!)

Stop one was Benedict's for dinner. They have a super cool deal there where meal prices change depending on the time you get there. So if you order at 5:45, your meal is 5.45. It makes dinner like a game. Also, it's delicious.

From there, we went on to Cuckoo's pub. It was loud with this terrible alt music, but that added to its charm. We played make it or break it, would you rather, and gave each other dares like ten year olds.

My two dares were to get up and dance by myself for a full minute (this was not an empty pub) and to tell the bar tender that I fancied his ponytail. The second led to a nice wee talk with him about hair care and just how hard it is to make a good messy bun these days. He seemed genuinely pleased that someone appreciated his hair artistry. ha!

We rounded out our evening of games with speed charades. There's this app that is a combination of catchphrase and charades, and you put your phone on your forehead, it flashes a word, and your friends act it out while you guess. The cultural struggle was real. Pop culture (any culture) references went way past our heads or their heads without much overlap in knowledge. It was hilarious.

We chose hot drinks instead of cold and I was reminded of a game night with my family playing Things. The category was "things that make me feel stupid." Chon wrote "Ordering at coldstone." Coldstone Creamery is a posh ice cream shop in Tulsa whose sizes are "Like it," "Love it," and "Gotta have it."

My drink was called, "Apple pie or die." He couldn't understand my accent, so I had to say it twice, and I felt so stupid. It did not taste like apple pie, but it was warm. :) In Ireland, many times that's all you really wish to for.