*kendraspondence*

I’ve been having a splendid week so far, and I mean that sincerely. People constantly ask me how I occupy my time at home with Little Miss Muffet who sits on a tuffet and couldn’t even run away of her own volition if a spider sat down beside her. I tell them I end up killing a lot of the spiders. And thinking about blog posts that make sense to a Cheshire cat.

Anyway. So this splendid week kicked off with buckets of rain which prompted a jaunt to the mall for some marathon mall-walking, and subsequently satisfying the curiosity of strangers over and over with, “It’s a girl. Yup.”

Do you know who we saw at the mall? I’ll give you a hint: MONKS! Oh throw some sand on me and call me a mandala. What’s better than a monk? Monasticism in general = fascinating. Meditation, eating sparingly, living communally? I would flunk out of Monastic Living 101 after 45 minutes. Ergo! Monks are awesome to me. Particularly ones that shop at major places of commerce wearing sandals and man bags. I noticed one was inspecting some flashy wallets and I wondered maybe if he had a weakness for posh change purses pre his monastic life. I don’t know if I’ve conversed with a monk before, but if I had had the wherewithall to speak with these monks, I would have had the following Q’s for them:

- So, what brings you here today?
- Did you try a free sample at the pretzel stand? Or does taking free things that are not necessarily gifts cause an imbalance in the universe?
- Have you SEEN the prices on those all weather parkas? Who do they think they’re kidding?
I should probably read up on monk life a bit more in case I ever have the opportunity to interview one…In the meantime, I enjoy living with an equally zenned out baldie. And her dad.

Say what you will about Catholic schoolin’ and the limited scope of education you get with a religio-curriculum, I maintain that I read some mad good books back in the days of plaid unis. To Kill a Mockingbird, The Chosen, Anna Karenina all stand out as favorites. However, one I missed was Bridge to Terabithia. My girlhood as an avid Disney Channel couch potato afforded me the chance to see the made-for-telly movie. So I remember how the story ends. But a mate who works in publishing and I were waxing poetic about some of the edgier young adult novels we had read, including I Am the Cheese (which my mate said was Thee Book that made her want to go into publishing because it caused her to realize that books could be both written for youth and positively “insane!”). She recommended Bridge to Terabithia because, she said, it has a rare poignancy, and it is perfectly written in parts, and I certainly agree. The voices are amazing. I don’t know how Patterson contrasts Appalachia with Inside-the-Beltway DC dialect and makes it somehow comprehensible for a young reader, but she does. And she gets inside the head of a fifth grade boy. Did you ever think to care that what might be rattling around in the head of a fifth grade boy? That it might be something other than spitballs and making his pee arc higher than the guy at the urinal next to him? I’m not sure I did. And I have a little brother. This is a beautiful book and I read most of it with the wee one sleeping on my lap. Maybe she could experience the brilliance by osmosis. Or whatever. I hope to add it to her library at some point. Until then, I will just have to teach her how to make her own little magical Terabithia and reign in it as queen….

Do you ever wish your pahdenah was more like you?

When we were first married, you know, way back in the prehistoric era of 2.5 years ago, I kept waiting for Lovey Loverpants to morph into my he-bot. I really struggled with how patently different we were. His life’s soundtrack was a hip-hop deejay’s scattered, creative medley. Mine was a predictable symphony. He would get so annoyed that I could never just stay up late, just will myself to watch all of SNL, and I would get so irked that he could not respect the beauty of my circadian rhythm. Oosh.

But now, I acknowledge our differences, and I am learning to celebrate them. It helps that we share a dependent, otherwise known as The Cheeks That Could Launch a Thousand Ships, who requires that we work as a team with varied strengths. And the more I appreciate our differences, the more I realize what a wealth of varied good Baby Girl will be able to draw from as she grows.

Here is an itemization of Lovey Loverpants v. moi.

Lovey Loverpants Likes That Don’t Apply To Me:

- Checking newsfeeds ad infinitum
- Watching youtube coolness ad infinitum
- Extreme sports, and the spectating thereof
- Full body lay-outs in ultimate frisbee
- Gear of any kind
- Liberal Politics
- Dousing everything with Tobasco sauce
- Movies with Cars as the Major Focus
- Eating the unrecommended amount of candy, e.g. the whole bag
- Asking questions just to get your goat

My Likes That Don’t Apply To Lovey Loverpants:

- Cheesy songs, of the John Denver variety
- Chocolate in its richest form
- Being an artist of BS
- Not multi-tasking
- Seeing where the road takes me
- Quick showers
- Hot-as-Bombay heat
- Nostalgia
Likes we share…too many to count, but namely cupcakes, particularly this one:

Hat by Haddy

He walked hurriedly as he turned the corner, his car keys jingling, Bible in hand. It was sundown and immediately the synapse fired in my head -

“Are you going to church?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, not turning around.

“Is it your sabbath?”

This was enough to make him turn around and point to the sky as he smiled at me, “No, it is the sabbath of the Lord!”

I told him I kept sabbath, too. He shook my hand warmly. We talked about our respective churches and promised we would visit them. He wished me and my family a happy sabbath before he was off to lead the youth program. It was so nice to meet another Adventist in my neighborhood.
***

One of my favorite parts about being a Seventh-day Adventist is that we can spot one another. Sometimes it’s the lack of jewelry, sometimes it’s a Bible, sometimes it’s the casual mention that we can’t be somewhere on a Saturday. It’s always so heartwarming to meet another Adventist, because the walk can be hard and lonely at times, and very very hard to explain. You meet another Adventist and suddenly you don’t have to explain yourself. And I don’t want to go all Tom Cruise, “You just know…I mean…you just know!” But living in a city where everyone purposefully disinterests himself in the other, hiding behind cellphones and ipods and underneath Red Sox caps, it’s just so nice to meet someone who also holds the same things sacred. I understand all the arguments against organized religion, the resentment of the money/time suck, and yet I would argue that an organization itself cannot harm a person. People harm people. And it is for this reason that I hope my family and I can only bring help and not harm to others – be they believers or not. And hopefully through the vehicle of our religion, we can bring more help to more people. Perhaps that is idealistic, but it’s hard not to feel idealistic when you feel such warmth from your brother, who is also your neighbor. Praise God.
***

Nevertheless, whereto we have already attained, let us walk by the same rule, let us mind the same thing. ~ Phil 3:17

No marathon for Madigan on Monday. She was a rockstar the night before, and Papa John worked an overnight, so we were all bumbling around like Spiderpig the next morning – just not knowing which way was up. We had every intention of going down to cheer on the Mercuries among us, alongside the festive cheering squad of our college neighbors who had been drinking their faces off since 8 a.m….and, maybe next year, Baby Girl.

We did have a splendid Patriot’s Day, though, and I suppose a sort of marathon of sorts did take place, what with the strident and repeated attempts by Baby Girl to raise that little bloomin’ onion of a head off the ground.

I give you…Tummy Time Marathon 2008.

Ruffle Bottom takes her mark…

She’s outta sight…