does my stuff have a story?

in the last two years, i've learned more about the personal effects of globalization than i've ever known before. and i don't know that much at all. i had always been familiar with the tags that say 'made in china/honduras/indonesia/taiwan/nicaragua/panama/vietnam' but scarcely gave much thought at all about what that really means. and then i started to notice that 'made in the usa' was rather rare. and then i realized that the themes in zoolander were actually serious themes that were not made up at all. i once read in the book that triggered my recent thought on these issues that instead of asking 'what am i wearing?' we need to be thinking 'where am i wearing?' it doesn't take more than one story about a child who was hit in the face by his employer for not working on clothes fast enough, clothes that would eventually be shipped to my state and sold in the department stores where i buy christmas presents for my family. and then i think, that can't be a daily reality for every single worker in every single sweatshop in every single country. but how do i know that? i'm not there. i see pictures, and i can say that i would never want to live that reality. and then i say that they have it better than they would otherwise. they get food and clothes and a job, i say to soften my pillow at night. but what if it were me?

would i want my reality as awful as it is to be ignored or glazed over so people in the 'first world' can cure their consciences and continue as if my reality is not the reality and theirs is?

in our spare time we create blogs that document asians sleeping in libraries and tweeting about our #firstworldprobs and complaining because our iphones take too long to update. i mourn the evils that prevail in the many facets of this world, and i buy a pair of shorts at jcpenny. that's too small to make a difference, maybe. but i am interacting with the problems that exist outside my door, and it is not an interaction that makes them better. i have bought into the injustice with my purchase, and it's fifteen dollars, not even a scratch on the surface of the whole issue, but in my life, i have been polluted. it's not just about how i supported the horror. i have tainted myself. 

christians are supposed to be different. people are supposed to notice something odd about us. perhaps for me that difference begins with refusal of certain purchases. the truth is, i didn't need another pair of shorts anyway. 

i just found out there are people here who can roast their own coffee beans. and i can knit my own scarves.

'i just believe in putting kindness into the universe'

Three and a half weeks of travels, and I still don't feel like I've seen the world. I guess this hunger is only temporarily satisfied like my normal daily hungers. I love every new experience now that it's all in hindsight, but I was all too ready to return. And I surprised even myself with that.

I think often of what makes life full and meaningful. And what I just did certainly ranks at the top of that. But I fear that many will too quickly assume extravagance and heavy expense are necessary. But truthfully, fullness is, the majority of the time, found in candles and fresh flowers. Food prepared by familiar hands. Live musical sounds. Invigorating conversation by those drunk on the excitement of being together. An afghan and the written word. 

I find my life unsettling in its awkward position of the in-between. Contentment and desire. I choose always to be happy where I am, but I always want more. I always want to see something else while I want to stay home and sleep.

And now, two weeks after those travels have ended, I can't believe that so much of what I have been working toward has finally happened, and I'm left with the only thing I know how to do now, which is to ask: now what? There are too many things that I want to do in my time in this world, and I've mentioned many of them here before. But if there's anything I have to do, it is to keep writing. And through that I will hopefully find a way to all those other things that I want. I would love to one day lose myself in the titles of librarian, teacher, editor, writer, bookseller. But at the same time, I have piles of yarn, cookbooks rarely opened, journals still unfamiliar to the pen, a guitar case collecting dust, tennis balls somewhere, and I swore to myself that I would learn to french braid and drive a manual before I died. I would also like to master chess and sourdough bread. I have patterns and fabric waiting for me, and if I believe about the world the things I say I believe about the world, I better learn how to make my own living. And I mean make my own money as well as make my own food and clothes and gardens and sugar scrub. 

That was a bit of a rave. But it brings me to my next point which is a bit of encouragement. Go to your local farmer's market before you make a trip to Walmart. When your clothing rips, don't buy new ones right away. Make a friend who has a sewing machine. When you meet your copains, don't go out to eat, make a mess in somebody's kitchen. If your house is stuffy, try to plant something before you pay too much money for the Febreze plug-in. These are only a few of the many places and moments where community sprouts, and through that, I believe one can find that life is full, because everything you think you need and all the things you weren't aware you needed are hidden there.

Well said.

l'art de vivre

It is a dream of mine (I have many of those in case you can't quite tell) to live in a community with artful people. And no, I don't mean a commune of painters, writers, musicians, and actors who merely want an excuse to not work. And I don't mean an early 1900's Paris neighborhood with Hemingway, Pound, Moore, Eliot, and Lawrence. I mean a hub of sorts for creative conversation, hospitality in forms of feast, making things, care for creation, music, books and developing ideas that to live as a disciple faithfully means to live in an artful and imaginative way. A community where sound spiritual counsel is readily available. Where coffee conversations take place in a home and not a Starbucks. Where a party is for celebration and not getting wasted. Where academics and the arts are not separate things. Where theology and imagination go hand in hand. Where everybody has a vegetable garden and a compost pile. Where people are looking everyday to be interested in the same things Jesus was interested in. Where our sights and goals are not for the amassing of things, but the advancement of care for hungry, lonely, criminals, strangers, and overlooked. Where music is stripped down and raw. Where nursing homes are scarce. And cemeteries aren't overgrown. Where every day someone wants to know what's going on with that family down the street who's son was arrested the other day. Where every day someone wants to know what happened in Darfur yesterday. Where learning and study are essential and encouraged. Where people can ride bikes all the time for transportation because it's fun. Where we have guests to share our food and couch every day. Where someone else's laughter is always heard in my home.

And so the warmth and fragrance fade as the mug empties for my consumption.

Sand castles have been on my brain recently. As I spent Sunday afternoon by the ocean and created a few things with my creativity, I began to ponder why I bother. Sometimes I feel as if all my actions are merely sand castles waiting to be trampled by other feet or just nature herself.

My actions are impermanent. And it doesn't matter where I work. I could work with stone or rock, but water will eventually corrode that as well. All material actions mean something for a while, but time always destroys gradually the effect of such effort.

So I try not to be materialistic. All my clothes will wear out. All my cleaning will be uncleaned. And my skin will not always be so smooth. So my energies should be spent on words and music and food and homemade salsa with fresh celantro and lime juice and jalepenos and sweet onions and mmmmm......

Every time I spend money on something for pure enjoyment, I have to try not to regret it. I've never been in trouble, so I shouldn't stress too much about it. But I always feel like I could have not spent it. But at the same time, I don't want to turn down all invitations and lose friends so I can save ALL my monies to do something absolutely spectacular by myself because I have no friends. But I haven't been doing that either. So I guess I'm okay and ranting for nothing.

Why do I worry... I've added nothing to my life. If anything I feel like I've shortened it because I wasted time. How about I not do that anymore?

I'm currently reading James Patterson's When the Wind Blows and listening to Rosi Golan.

Also I have a Harry Potter snuggie. I know you're jealous.

I've decided POA is one of my favorites. After HBP.

And then that might change after Deathly Hallows. I'm talking about the movies, not the books. Actually I think it's the same with the books. So nevermind. Also, my dog will be named Harry Potter. Yes, I am pulling a Lorelai. Also, also, what is up with Ron's wardrobe in POA?

In other news, I've finally started watching True Blood at the urging of the coffee girl.

. . . um . . .

That's all I have to say about the show so far.

Speaking of Louisiana, I'd really like to go to New Orleans. SO if someone knows someone that would let me stay there for free so I can explore Cajun country, that would be awesome. I love French and Frenchish things. I'll be in France in a year to get the French things, so I just need a trip to New Orleans to get the Frenchish things.

Meanwhile, I'm having a fascination with Bohemian and Romani cultures. I don't know why, but something attracts me to these simple and unattached lifestyles. And yet, in it's unattachedness, there's strong ties among those in the culture. Besides that, they all just look so cool! And those Roma people have pretty skin. Maybe I'll find me one and I can have pretty skinned babies. I think what I love, though, is the unconventional lifestyle.
Honestly, I don't know how well I'd adjust. I do love the idea of being untied, and I already have the free spirit part down, but I like to have some conventionality. Obedience is necessary for anyone to live. And yet perhaps that isn't even an issue. Because, even if one is disobedient to one authority, it's because they're being obedient to another. There is always something or someone we're going to follow. So really, no one can accuse them of being disobedient to authority because they are being obedient to their own laws. SO THERE.

And I'm on Twitter. I don't know. You should follow me. I'd post a link but I don't know how.
Oh yeah that reminds me of what else I wanted to say! I'd like to be more computer savvy. I should make a list of all the things I want to do, and maybe I'll have a friend who will show me all those things and when I get rich, I'll buy an island and name it after them. Maybe. If so, I can move to LiveJournal and do more things.

And since I can't seem to find a "listening to" or "currently watching" thingie on here I'll just tell you I'm listening to the Hush Sound and watching Prisoner of Azkaban and I'm not reading anything. Oh yeah that reminds me of what else what else I wanted to say!

Christmas break projects 2009:

• learn to knit and make Gryffindor scarf
• read lots of things
• road trip
• be lazy
• and look awesome doing it

Ok I think that's all. For real. I love all you peoples.