Serendipity

ser·en·dip·i·ty /ˌsɛrənˈdɪpɪti/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ser-uhn-dip-i-tee] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun

1.	an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.

I'm sitting in the front seat on the top half of a double decker Oxford Tube coach on my way to London. Across from me is a young woman who appears to be an Oxford Student. One foot in black /white converse low tops is scratching the heel on her other foot. As she scratches, the black chinese characters embroidered on her sock slide up and down. She's engrossed in her book. Her engrossion (a danica neologism) piques my interest as to what she's reading. But she's a coy reader keeping her head down and her book lowered. I'm very annoyed. Then I see the head loll. And yep, she's nodded off. Now's my chance to FIND OUT.

Extremes along the Silk Road. Oooooooo sounds exotic! The phrase Silk Road conjures up visions of opium dens, intrigue, gunslingers oriental style, grand vistas and grand adventures. I note the title in my moleskin, skipping ahead to a date when I'll be stateside to remind myself to check LAPL for a copy.

Two weeks later the book is in my possession. And it's good.

A stranger on a bus changed my life. Granted it's in a very small way, but the fact remains. I would not be reading this book if it hadn't been for the woman who just couldn't put it down and made me so curious I had to read it for myself.

Threads

Coming from Virginia I never met a Korean. My University in SoCal was probably 40% Korean, yet I don't remember ever thinking of them as being culturally distinct. Then I spent a semester abroad in Sheffield, England. One of the first people I met was another exchange student from U.C. Berkeley-Hyok Cho Chong. Hyok was the first Korean I experienced as different, but not because he was particularly Korean or because he held particularly Korean ideas. He wasn't and he didn't. But he had the foreign sounding name that sounded like I was hocking up a loogie when I tried to pronounce it. According to him, he understood Korean but could only speak with an elementary vocabulary. His parents on the other hand couldn't speak English with proficiency. Their mutual lack of language fluency created a barrier to the development of their relationship. In high school, Hyok had gone to a church in the Bay area with a friend of mine from college. Hyok hadn't like him.

Three years later, I'm teaching English with the YBM Language Institute in Taegu, Korea. I arrived on a Wednesday, having missed the week long orientation due to visa trouble, and started teaching at 6:30am that next Monday. All my students learned quite quickly to raise their hands to ask me to s-l-o-w d-o-w-n and to "repeat please". I learned to slow down and to repeat. Somehow I made it through my time there, but I never got comfortable teaching. I was too disorganized, yet too perfectionistic to make it work for me. But I left with a love for Korean food and a love for the Korean people.

Back in LA I find the best hair stylist I've ever had and she's Korean. I'm talking to her in a Beverly Hills adjacent salon and find out that she went to a high school church youth group with a friend of mine from college who grew up in Hacienda Heights. I'm looking for the restaurant that cooks cabbage/chicken/rice logs in a huge round pan at your table. It's the one craving I've yet to satiate since my return from Korea.

I mention to a Korean woman at church that I watch Korean shows on Channel LA18 even when they don't have subtitles. She introduces me to a delightful drama/comedy called My Lovely Sam Soon. I watch the show in a weekend and thanks to websites like www.mysoju.com I'm hooked on Korean dramas (and Japanese and Chinese).

It's now fourteen years after my first introduction to Koreans and I'm hooked on Korean dramas and Korean food and Korean culture. I'll be taking Korean language classes at the LA Korean Cultural Center so I can order food and understand the dramas and because I love the intonation and inflection of the language that is so different than English.

For the last few days I've been reading through my journals starting with the year 1992. I noticed that certain ideas and experiences keep recurring like the Korean one. The Korea thread surprised me that it went back as far as it did. But most disheartening is the thread that tells me I'm still wrestling the same demons that appeared in childhood. However, that's for a different post.

What threads run through your life?

On Being Loved

These words of Touchstone Magazine's Anthony Esolen are worth pondering as is the rest of his blog post "Fear of Death".

It may be that the knowledge that you are loved sets the heart radically at ease: you can breathe freely, you can see the blessings of age, you can relieve your fear of death with a hope for the abundant life not only beyond death but also here in seed, maybe a mustard seed. You can be free not to be important. You can play -- without turning play into the military "exercise". You can form a community of persons, not bricks. You can laugh at what you do poorly, and do it anyway. You can bid the jihad farewell. You can look at the stars.

Can I have a do over?

Today is a mess and it’s only 11:02 in the morning.

I reprimanded one of my employees for leaving early on Friday when her teammate was swamped with work. The employee became a blubbering wreck, sobbed for over an hour, started to feel dizzy and to see stars, had her blood pressure checked and found it was sky high. I spent 30 minutes calming her down, tryingto make the tears stop. Her crying ceased, but her blood pressure didn’t return to normal so she left early to go to the emergency room.

And now her teammate has to pick up the slack.

Can I have a do over?

Have you ever cried because of a smell? Has a scent with no associated memory made you nostaligic?

I rub L'Occitaine Lavendar lotion into my hands and as the perfume fades I feel nostaligic and want to cry.

I.Must.Journal

If you take voyeuristic pleasure in reading other people's journals (as I do, just ask my sister) or scribble, collage, and draw to create snapshots of your soul in your own journal, check out the 1000 and 1001 Journals project.

How I Feel

I am not what I ought to be. I am not what I want to be. I am not what I hope to be. But still, I am not what I used to be. And by the grace of God, I am what I am.
... John Newton (1725-1807)

Longing

A Few of My Favorite Things

The last two weeks have been stressful, tedious, and discouraging. So, instead of mulling over and rehashing past troubles, I decided to focus on a few things that make me happy. These are in no particular order:

1.Trees: Woods: Forests: I love trees in all their sizes, textures, and sounds. Virginia has magnificent trees that rustle musically in the summer. But California has trees that look as if they fell from a Crayon box: Pink Floss, Purple Jacaranda, Red Bottle Brush, Yellow Ones, and Orange Ones.

2."Taking the Piss" with my colleagues: I fortunately work with other managers /bosses who can laugh at themselves. We're all good at giving it out as well as taking it. I think our comraderie and good humor is rather rare for middle managment.

3.A full tank of gas: Gives me the feeling of freedom that if I wanted to I could sail by my work exit and keep driving and driving and driving until work was forgotten.

4.Tea, Scones, and Good Friends talking about great books is simply a taste of heaven.

5.Sleeping under a down comforter: The heft and cocoonability conspire to keep me abed all day.

6.Gulden Draak: A sweet Belgian beer that is good for digestion (or so the Belgium/French waiter assured us).

7.The color combination of Chartreuse and Red.

8.My Best Pal and Husband with whom I just celebrated seven years of marriage.

9. Damian Lewis: If you liked him in Band of Brothers (and we did, oh yes we did along with everyone else; though we were disappointed Simon Peg had such a minor role), you'll love him in The Forsyte Saga playing Soames Forsyte. He's in a new NBC drama "Life" on Wednesdays at 10pm. He plays a detective wrongly accused and imprisoned who's returning to the streets of LA.

10.Hollyhocks and Peonies: They're the "Jack Sprat could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean" of the flower kingdom.

No, Really

I just received an email from my boss telling all the managers to congratulate "Roy" (a bearded 6'2" Eyeore kind of guy) on winning second place in the national competition for "small figurine painting." Are we in a Christopher Guest movie?

Haven't you always wanted to know.....

...the trial verdicts that caused riots?

On Sweden

You must read Anthony Esolen's elegiac hymn to Sweden. Really, you must. Do. it. now. But whatever you do, don't read the article he links to. Not if you want to remain in a happy bubble.

"The Unstilled World Still Whirled"

At our salon this past Sunday, my friend read part of Ash Wednesday by T.S. Eliot. The beginning haunted me:

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

After hearing that stanza, I knew I must read the rest. These two stanzas that appear in Part V particularly arrested me:

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice

I generally read like someone in great need of water-huge guzzling gulps with no breaks. But with poetry and this poem in particular I'm forced to read like a proper Victorian Lady-little sips with pauses in between to breathe. To my surprise, I enjoy the slow pace of reflecting between stanzas, between phrases on the imagery and possible meaning. Such activity will keep me from senility and it's far more enjoyable than bridge!

Makes Me Laugh

"Is that a little beard," the woman asked, pointing to the narrow fringe of hair under Steve's lower lip. "I don't like little beards."

Finally

The Supreme Court delivered a blow to the pecuniary puerile perfidy of the penile hegemony in its decision to outlaw infanticide and violence against women.

Good Work Supremes!

Life as a Boss

Got a call from a woman I fired a month ago. After I fired her, she said "I've been waiting for this. Thank You." Today she said, "You were a great boss. I really liked working with you." Either she needs therapy or I'm damn good at my job. I prefer the latter.

Words for ME to live by

"A small daily task, if it be really daily, will beat the labours of a spasmodic Hercules."--Anthony Trollope

Here we go again...

My company has now acquired another competitor making it the third in three years. My life will cease to be my own as I get swept up into the tornado of meetings, conference calls, and planning sessions necessary to bring order out of the chaos. Corporate Management will urge all of us middle managers to be proactive in developing solutions to the emerging challenges. But we all know that we're just getting ready for another ring of hell where there will be much crying and gnashing of teeth. Oh How I Can't Wait.

My Nephew Dexter

Isnt' he the most squeezable, edible, adorable, cuddable, huggable, delectable tot you ever did see?

On Poetry

I don't like poetry. I'm a prose gal. Words in prose are less slippery, less opaque. I like that. I recognize that my apathy toward poetry is a personal failing and something to be rectified. I'm open to developing the capacity to have a capacity to appreciate poetry (to use a J.P. Morelandism).

Fred Sanders (one of my favorite professors from the Apologetics program at Biola) illuminates the point of poetry and in doing so sparks a desire within me to explore this foreign language. Here are some excerpts:

"Think of the world as divided between things easily labelled and things just barely describable. Civilians work with the easily labelled things, but when something just barely describable confronts us, we call in the language marines: poets."

AND

"What if something awful is rolling toward your generation and nobody knows what to call it? What if part of our desperate situation is our inability to name ourselves and our situation? What if we can’t appropriate the goodness available to us unless we can recognize it as what it is and tell ourselves and each other about it? What if the source of our life is a mystery that can’t be definitively spoken but must be acknowledged, praised, confessed? What if the region of the ineffable isn’t out at the boundaries of our lives but right at the center?"

The question now is, where to begin? Any suggestions?