and I AM actually still alive...

Here I am. I have neither dropped off the face of the earth, moved to a monastic island in the Mediterranean, or joined the witness protection agency, though my absence might have had you worrying. I'm sorry. But no, I have had none of the above excitement in my life. On the contrary. I am alive and well and...a little bit bored. I am also going to be late getting back from my lunch hour if I don't leave this coffee shop very soon. Lunch hours these days are few and far between, and the time must be used with utmost discernment. So I used this one to put your hearts at ease. I know so many of you have been losing sleep over my lack of...postage. Anyhow, I must get going. Adios.

Only in South Dakota...

While driving to work at 8:00 this morning, I passed my governor. He was standing by himself on the sidewalk in the gap, holding a cup of coffee and waving at all the people driving to work. There's something to be said for living in not-so-metropolitan places.

My Grandpa died on Friday night. My grandpa that I had lunch with on Thursdays. My grandpa that never missed a single one of my concerts. My grandpa that taught me how to play harmonica, and then let me play with him in church. I've been blessed. I've never lost someone very close to me before. But now, I wonder if I heard too many lectures in college about the grief process. I have this usually undesireable ability to disconnect myself from my emotions and view them objectively. This can make it tough to get past the "how I'm supposed to feel" and actually deal with the "how I feel." It' strange really. It's strange to lose someone so suddenly, as I'm sure most of you can attest too. Hmmm. Well, that's about all I have to say about that right now. More later, as usual.

Like rollerskating in the china shop...

Hi. I'm back. At the library. They have added a coffee shop. Right in the middle of the library. Inside this coffee shop is a sign that reads, "Feel free to enjoy your beverages throughout the library." I find this a little perplexing since I grew up in a world where having food and beverages inside the library, especially within spitting distance of the books or computers, was a sin that would at least send you straight to the same zip code as Hell, if not the precise coordinates. But since then, some genious figured out that they could make a buck - heck! thousands of bucks! - if they compromised their committment to careful preservation of their books and documents and just let people sip java while they browse. Don't get me wrong. I like coffee. I like libraries. I like to drink coffee in the library. I just see it as an interesting development.

In other coffee shop news (as coffee shops and their dynamics, social demographics, etc. positively are my favorite topic of discussion) the loathesome Starbucks recently announced that they plan on doubling their number of stores worldwide next year, bringing their empire to a measley total of some 40,000 stores. They must be stopped. With that, my lunch hour is drawing to a close and I must get back to work. More about my feelings on Starbucks later. Or, simply refer to Natalie's recent blog rant on the corporate big boys. We share similar sentiments.

I'm out. Happy weekend.

Monday Monday.

I have approximately 38 seconds here at the computer in the public library to post this. Having no computer at home, I decided I would stop down here after work and "quickly" print off (the highschool activities schedules for the other YoungLife leaders. (Sharon and I have been given the lofty, prestigous, and coveted positions of "Co-Contact Work Coordinators") Quickly. Right. It should not be so hard to copy from a website and paste to a word document. But my brain is very small, you see, when it comes to things of such technological difficulty. And, as is often the case, it has taken me much longer than planned. I had also imagined that after leaving the library, I might get a chance to stop home and grab some dinner before high-tailing it to YoungLife club. Dinner. Right. Also, not going to go as planned. I will survive. I am very excited about club. Last week was our first club of the semester and it went just swimmingly, (seriously...is there really a better adjective than that? I think not...) so I pray tonight is just as fun. Wow. I've seriously exceeded my 38 seconds. I really need to get a move on. It was nice to write for a bit though. Peace.

Pleased as Punch

It is with great joy that I announce to you all: I'm moving. Finally. Not just thinking about it. Not just talking about it. Not just hanging imaginary roman shades on the imaginary kitchen window in my head. No, kids, I actually HAVE THE KEYS to the front door of my own appartment. (Truth: the kitchen window is now a reality, but the roman shades remain a figment of the imagination for the time being.) I know. Hard to believe. Even more shocking is the fact that I signed a six month lease - which sets a new record for comittment in my life. Scary. But exciting. Granted, it's only a four and a half minute drive from where I currently live, but it's still considered moving, nonetheless. This has been a very, very, very long anticipated event as well as an answer to prayer...so I'm pretty stoked. I have my own mailbox. My own fridge. My own bathroom. And best of all - get this - a murphy bed. That's right. And YOU thought those only existed in old movies! But you were wrong, my friend. I have one. And I'd be more than happy to have you over to my new place so I can demonstrate the ease with which one can fold a perfectly unmade bed right up into the wall, leaving no trace of a perfectly unmade bed. What more could a person ask for, really? A dishwasher? Oh, well, I have one of those too! And if you think I'm happy about this situation, you should see my hundreds of books. They're beside themselves with excitement, as they get to come out of their boxes, following three years of musty darkness while they waited patiently in storage. My dishes are pretty thrilled as well. So, that's my news. The other detail in the story is that fact that I will no longer have computer access at my residence. This could be both good and bad for you, my beloved readers. The benefit of this situation is that there will be no more post-midnight writing here in my journal...which means better, more well-rested writing. The bad news is that there will probably be less writing over all...which you may not even notice, since I've only been posting something up here about once every other week. Anyhow. That's all I've got for now. You kids have a good night.

This is my little sister, Sarah Jill. She just turned thirteen yesterday. As I'm sure is the case in most sister-sister relationships, especially those spanning an eleven year gap, she thinks I'm pretty cool. She likes to hang out with me, likes to steal all my clothes, likes to make jewelry with me and style her hair like mine. It would seem that she wants to be like me, to a certain degree. But what she doesn't know is how much I wish I could be like her. She is a far more confident and secure person than I was at her age. She is comfortable with the shape of her body. She doesn't care what her peers think of her. She's quirky and hilarious and has a completely ridiculous obsession with ducttape (She can make pert near anything you can imagine out of ducttape.) and red cars and Geico commercials. She has dozens of best friends, all who love her goofy sense of humor. She's simply beautiful. I adore her. I really hope that someday I can grow up to be just like her.

It's that time of year. Everyone's going back to school, if they aren't there already. Everyone, it seems, except for me. This is the first September in eighteen years that I am not going back to school. For most recent graduates this situation is cause for much rejoicing and gladness of heart, as they watch their less fortunate school-bound friends ceremoniously draw their summer to an end and painfully readjust back to class'n'homework mode. I, however, am not most people. No, for me this detatchment from academia has been a catalyst for an identity crisis in my life. I loved being a student. I loved most everything about it, with the exception of, well, work and such. I'm not really a fan of reading textbooks unless I've chosen them, or writing papers unless I've determined the guidlines. But really, for the most part, I loved being a student. Perhaps the reason I fear the end of that role is because whatever it is that comes next seems sort of...generic. I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before I slide gracefully into a niche, right? I will soon find the joy in being a "young professional", or whatever it is they call people who have just graduated from college. But for right now, when so many lucky ducks are headed across campus, crunching leaves and trying to figure out how to pay for text books, I'm going to wallow in a bit of envy.

Nine years ago I had a crush on a boy I had never spoken to, because he was beautiful and had blonde hair and played the guitar. His name was Chris. Eight years ago I gossiped about a girl I had never spoken to, because she was beautiful and had dark brown hair (I always wanted dark brown hair) and all the boys liked her. Her name was Sharon. Three years ago they met at a friends wedding. Today I was a bridesmaid in theirs. Not only are they one hot couple who is crazy in love with Jesus Christ, their relationship is a testimony to the goodness of God and his faithfulness to orchestrate billions of little details to fulfill his plans for our lives, in his perfect timing. (By the way, the wedding was lovely.) P.S. Sharon's the beautiful one on the left with brown hair. I'm the one covered in...shaving crool whip...er...stuff.

The Great Camping Fiasco

I love camping. I really, really love to camp. So when I asked Adrienne if she wanted to go camping the weekend she'd be home, I had idealistic mental images of a tent in the woods, kayaks in the water, and campfires in...campfire spots. Like most of my camping experiences. Well, Adrienne came home, and we did go camping last week. It just didn't look exactly how I had pictured. There were a series of mishaps and unfortunate circumstances that contributed to the crushing of my camping ideals. The first was the fact that when I got online to reserve our camping spots the morning before, every spot at Sheridan Lake and any surrounding National Forrest campground was already reserved. Hmmm. No problem...plan B...we'd just "find some place in the hills when we get out there." Second problem: the kayaks I rented at an affordable rate turned out to be 12 foot ocean kayaks, not 6 foot river kayaks. We had two of them. I have one compact car. Despite my most valiant efforts, my father convinced me in his logical engineering way that there was no possible way I could put two 12 foot kayaks on top of my itty-bitty hatch-back. So we were forced to borrow my brothers monster truck (Ford F150.) By the time we actually got the whole kayak transportation problem solved, it was rather late in the day, and Adrienne and I were starving. This was just fine, because we had planned on eating dinner at the Alpine Inn, which, in my humble opinion happens to be the best dinner in the hills. Unfortunately, the 1/2 hour wait for a table turned into a 2 hour wait for a table when they accidently missed our names on the list, and we didn't get out of the place until 10:30. By this time it was very dark, and the only place we could find to camp was a lovely AAA approved family campground near Hill City. Nice, but not really my idea of "roughing it." They only had one spot left. We didn't ask to see the spot until after we'd paid for it. (We were tired. Give us a break.) Refer to exhibit C. We were practically camping in a parking lot. It was 112 degrees during the day and 78 at night, so the campfire seemed somewhat impractical. The rest of the weekend continued in pretty much this same manner. Etc. Etc. Etc. A smidge less than ideal. Nonetheless, Adrienne and I had a delightful time. The whole thing turned out to be pretty hilarious in it's not-going-as-planned nature. And, we invented a new kind of water sport. We haven't named it yet. The general idea is that you paddle your kayak out to the middle of the lake, sit there until a speed boat whizzes by, and then "ride the wake." I don't think I'd call it an "extreme" sport, but we haven't perfected it yet. I'll let my know when we do. So, that was the "camping" (only to be spoken of with the use of air quotes) weekend. I'm actually leaving again in 5 minutes for another "camping" adventure, this time in a friend's cabin, with my huge family and lots of board games, and no fire (because there is a fire ban right now). And no 12 foot kayaks.

Exhibit C: The worst camping spot ever (red square)

Exhibit B: My 8 Foot Car

Exhibit A: 12 Foot Kayak

Sorry. I've been neglecting my journal. I was busy getting my kicks...

And delivering my best friend to her shiny new "grown-up" career. Doesn't she just look all grown up?

And attending some first rate sunset viewings...

My apologies for neglecting the journal. I've been out galavanting around the country again, trying to satisfy my wanderlust, which I've determined is a chronic condition that is only growing more severe with time. Three weekends ago I was in Minnesota for my cousin Katie's wedding. While there I beheld three lovely sunsets, (see photo) and visited the one and only Spam Museum (see more photos - the one is of my little bro - in the provided Hormel costume - and my little sister - too cool to put on the costume - racing to see who can get a better time producing and packaging fake Spam) A top notch museum. (Take my word for it...I've been to many a random museum...I know what I'm talking about.) The following weekend AJ and I took a killer roadtrip down to Phoenix. It was terrific. We traveled a bit of Route 66, ate at "Earl's Diner - World Famous Since 1943," and picked up many many hitchhikers. Just kidding. About the diner part. Okay, seriously - about the hitchhikers. To my middleschool and highschoolgirls: NEVER EVER EVER PICK UP HITCHHIKERS. IT'S VERY DANGEROUS AND I WOULD NEVER EVER DO IT OR LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE THAT IT'S A GOOD IDEA. Alright. That said, we honestly didn't pick up any hitchhikers. One, because her car was literally packed to the gills with stuff and there would have been nowhere to put them but my lap, and two, because in New Mexico there are signs every 75 miles that say "High security prison nearby. Do not pick up hitchhikers." Stupid NM roadsign putter-uppers. They should know better than to do that to a person like me. Lucky for AJ, we didn't see a single hitchhiker to pick up after that. Anyhow, we had a grand old time. Well, until the part where I had to come home and leave AJ in Arizona. (Did I mention all my favorite people are moving to Phoenix?) She does, however, have a lovely classroom (see photo) with lovely clean chalkboards and a little reading nook, and her name on the door, so I'm delighted for her. And a teensy bit jealous, because I've always wanted a classroom, even though I don't really want to be a teacher. So, those are some more tales of my journeys. I think I'm home now, for the rest of the summer. Unless I leave again. ;)

I should have said I was sorry...

Some things just "blow over." They say something, you say something, they're hurt, you're mad...or some variation on that theme. And sometimes it's best to just walk away for a little while. Let everyone cool down, take a breather, forget what it was all about in the first place. And it all blows over, like it never happened at all. But sometimes, it dosn't work this way...doesn't blow anywhere. It just hangs over your head, toxic and hiding the sun, tying knots in your stomach. And it doesn't matter who said what first or who hurt who, because if you don't do something about it, if you let it stay there long enough, it settles in and eventually the smog is too thick to see through, and the trees all die and you both get permanent lung damage, and your kid's kid's kids will all get cancer or be born with extra toes, because you thought it would all blow over and it never did.

Dearest Em: Whoohoo! You are getting married tomorrow! (Surprise!) I must confess, I'm a little disappointed. This probably means that we will never be roommates in a tree house (I am certain Jesse would not allow it. Actually, he'd probably go for the tree, just not the extra girl hanging around the house all the time.) However, I can look past this issue, and I want you to know that you are very much loved (by me, by God, by your soon-to-be-husband, and "all the other people whose names won't fit here but were essential, influential and indispensable in multiple aspects of the creation of this album - you know who you are.") You are also very much prayed for and will be greatly missed. (Why are all my favorite people are moving to Pheonix?) Know that you can come visit me in my treehouse any time you want. We will eat vienna sausages and microwave cajun rice (or not) and drink coffee and cranapple juice and listen to Carbon Leaf and talk about our mutual love for...certain color schemes, shady ethnic restaraunts, and "the outdoorsy type." If the weather's nice we'll go for a drive and get "lost" in a canyon in Colorado and be late for church. Until then ~ Peace, love, and lucky second-hand finds. See you tomorrow. ~ Marci

Willful Insomniacs Anonymous

It appears that I am back to my old ways. It is 2:44 am and all the resolve I had to be in bed early (i.e., before 1 am) has gone out the window. Correction: I still have the resolve, but since it is actually past that time now, it's worthless and irrelevant resolve. You know, like eating "The Frankenstein" (10 scoops of icecream, 5 toppings) at the Totem Inn (yes, I have done it) and talking about losing some weight, in between bites.

I have a touch of a cold and I was tired all day long, and I haven't had two normal, restful, 6-8 hours worth of sleep, back-to-back nights in over a month. So I had good intentions. But now I am wide awake and this is the healthiest I've felt in 3 days. So I feel like I should be doing something. Specifically, I feel the need to create. It's this strange craving I get every now and again...okay, about every 6 hours. The feeling that I need to be painting, or writing, or even just playing with some food. The sad thing about this is that to be a functioning person, to get the things done that I need to get done - like work...and...stuff - I usually have to supress that desire. Responsible people can't just sit around playing with their food all day long, right? (Okay, so a few lucky ones can, but these jobs are really hard to come by, and I'm still waiting to hear back on my last four interviews for the position of culinary architect.)

This constant suppression of creative energy results in a fear of starting a project when I do have the chance, because then I'm always afraid I won't have time to finish - something I am notorious for. However, while this may be the case, I suppose it's still better to have a hundred unfinished creative endeavors lying around our lives than to never even give them the chance to become something. That said, I'm going to go raid the fridge for art supplies.

Behold the lovely Young Life Malibu Club at the mouth of the Princess Louisa Inlet in British Columbia. Behold especially the majesty of God's creation (i.e., the physical evidence of His love for you and I) I just spent an incredible week there, hanging out with 10 of the coolest highschool girls in the world. I also spend about 48 hours on a bus and 10 hours on two ferries. I'm exhausted and not quite fired up about going back to work tomorrow. But don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining at all. I am not oblivious to the fact that I'm one of the luckiest (read: blessed) people in the world. And I'm home for the rest of the summer. I promise. And, Steph and I buffered the "back-to-the-daily-grind" blow with some serious midnight thunderstorm puddle jumping. So I think I'll be okay.

Ireland was perfect. They had to kidnap me to get me back on the plane to come home. This photo was taken from my hotel patio in Kilarney.

Whoo hoo! That's right! It's about time. I worked dang hard for that pretty piece of paper that says "Diplomas for May graduates will be mailed the first week in June, pending final grades." So techinically speaking, I have yet to actually graduate. I guess if I miscounted my chickens before they hatched, I might be back in school in the fall. But I'm going to run off to Ireland today and not worry about it for two weeks! Whoohoo! You kids take care. Later.

What's for lunch? I don't know. Haha. Gross.

Overheard.

I needed to stay home tonight and organize stuff. You know, all that random stuff that piles up at home when you're busy. All those things that can wait until some unspecified time when you have a chance to get to them. Catalogs. Bank statements. Newletters. Court subpeonas. Invitations to tea with the queen. That kind of stuff. Anyway, I was going to stay home and take care of that stuff and balance my checkbook, and make a shopping list. But then I remembered that I needed to return a few DVD's I rented last weekend. So I took those down to Hollywood video, and decided that I should study for my last final. The act of studying at home is a real challenge for me, so I headed for Bully Blends Tea House. I got my coffee with one cream and one sugar, and my cranberry orange scone and planted myself and my textbook at the little tiny table by the front window. At a table nearby were three people, (a chinese guy, a funny mustache guy, and a girl in a blue shirt) hovering over something that apparently was pretty fascinating.

Now, I must have read Harriet the Spy one too many times when I was kid, because I'm a compulsive eavesdropper. Lucky for me, we were about the only ones in the place, and the three people were loud talkers. The chinese guy on the right was a coin collector. The other two people clearly didn't know anything about coins, which was just fine with the chinese guy. He was passionate about the subject, and he had an intruiged and captive audience of two. Plus the owner of the shop, and myself, though I tried to look like I was all wrapped up in my chapter on film theory. He talked and talked and I learned all about a coin with a picture of a horse on it, and how there was a production error and a small number of coins ended up with three-legged horses instead of four-legged horses. This lucky guy had a three-legged-horse-coin, which he claimed was worth "a whole lot of money", and he was pretty proud of it.

After a few more show-and-tell coins, the conversation switched gears and they were discussing having children versus not having children, and how old is too old to still not be married, and why the blue-shirt-girl's brother's wife's hairdresser's cousin's poodlegroomer's friend can't have kids because she waited too long, and how the mustache-man's fiance of 4 years just got deployed with the national gaurd. That's about the time I actually started reading my text book. But I was distracted again when the chinese guy reached into his bag and pulled something out.

"Have I ever shown you my sweetheart? She's my one true love. She's not perfect, but I love her, and I think she's beautiful."

I quit reading again. I was taken aback. This man was in love. And not afraid to talk about it. He went on.

"Most coin collectors would say, 'Look at those scratches', but I don't even care. I know, most men treasure women, or their cars...but not me. No, sir. She's the only one for me."

Wow. Such passion. Very strange and lovely.

What's for lunch? I don't know.

I adore my job. Not because I have the rare privilege of assisting in the occasional transmetatarsal amputation, or even for the virtue-cultivating experience of daily suppressing the desire to go on loud rants about the evils of Medicare. I mean, those things are great and all. But mostly I love my job because I meet so many people that I would otherwise probably have no contact with. And if that were the case, I would really be missing out.

One of my favorites is a patient we'll call "Susan." I only see Susan once every 60 days, when Medicare will pay for her periodic diabetic foot check. She is mentally handicapped. A paraplegic. In her mid-thirties. Always accompianied by her case worker. And always happy to see me.

We have essentially the same conversation every 60 days.

"Susan! How are you today?"
"Very good. It's good to see you. How are you doing? What's your name?"
"It was still Marci, last time I checked. And I'm doing great."
"Oh hi Kathy! I will call you Kathy. Hi Kathy!"
"Wait! I thought you were Kathy!?!"
"No! I'm SUSAN! You are Kathy. Hi Kathy. How are you Kathy?"
"I'm just super!"
"What's for lunch? I don't know. What's for lunch? I don't know."
"Ummm. I'm going to have...donuts. What are you going to have?"
"Hot dogs. We're having hot dogs. What are you going to have?"
"Ummm....spinach enchiladas."
"What's for lunch? I don't know. What's for lunch? Do you like hot dogs?"
"Only at campfires and baseball games. Do you like hot dogs?"
"Yes. I LOVE hot dogs. It's so good to see you Kathy."
"Well, it's good to see you too!"
"Hot dogs are made out of carrots and peas."
"Really. Is that so? Where did you hear that?"
"Bible study. Hi Kathy. Hi Kathy."

Last week was even better.

Enter the doctor:

(Doctor) “Hi Susan!”
(Susan) “Hi Patty!”
(me) I thought I was Patty!”
(Susan) “I’m Patty. You’re Kathy. Hi Patty. Hi Kathy.”
(Doctor) “Hi Patty. How are your feet doing these days?”
(Susan)“Just fine. I got my nails painted. What’s for lunch? I don't know."
(me)"Hot dogs. I'm going to eat 10 of them."
(Susan)"Hot dogs? Yuck! I hate hot dogs. It's so good to see you Kathy.”
(me)"You too, Patty."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyway. I'm headed off to Chicago for the weekend to learn about foot deformities and shoe inserts and the like. I get to go the cadaver lab again this year. I'm pretty stoked about that. Nothing wierd about a bunch of severed feet laying out on tables in a fancy hotel ball room. Nope. Nothing weird at all. ;) Have a nice weekend.

I know it's spring...

...because all the little allergens have come out to play! I hate taking medications, but thank goodness for antihistamines.

I also know it's spring, because I looked at my calendar (graduation in less than a month) and panicked. As per usual Marci correspondence study habits, I'm nowhere near being done with my classes. But it's sunny and 75 degrees out, so the world could be coming to an end, and I'd probably still be in a good mood. I'd write more, but I think it's a sin to be inside on a computer on a day like today, so I'm heading out to enjoy a little more sunshine before I have to go to my meeting. Adios.

At the risk of sounding like something Hallmark would print on a coaster set, let me just say this: old friends are important. The kind you can see after not talking to them in 2 weeks, or 6 months, or even 4 years, and have a good conversation, and leave just feeling better about life in general, but not feeling like "keeping in touch" is going to be a burden. The kind where you can say, "I'll see you later." and not know when that's going to be, but just know that it will happen sometime, sooner or later, and you will pick up wherever you happened to leave off. I've gotten lucky enough, a few times in the last couple of weeks, to run into some of this type of friend, and have lunch, or coffee, and enjoy one another's company and conversation and brains and point of view and stories for a while, and then go our separate way, having been blessed. Of course you have to have the people that you keep up with and communicate with on a regular weekly or daily basis. People need intimate relationships. But it's also just nice to catch up with people who "knew you when..." and have had enough distance from you to notice you change and grow as a person. Anyway, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to head out. I'm still housesitting, and not staying at home these days, so I can't write at the ungodly hours of the night. And the horses are probably hungry. I'm out.

I love guac.

I got back about 1:00 this morning from a very quick trip to Sioux Falls for the YoungLife Mission Community Weekend. It was great. I good time of training, fellowship, worship...very refreshing. But also a little stressful, because the trip was kind of the kickoff for the next 3 months of my life...which are going to be just nuts. Very exciting, but pretty much insane. From now until the beginning of July, I literally have something going on every weekend, including the Lammies (some of you know what that is...for the rest of you, I'll post some pictures after next weekend...it's pretty much the biggest thing to hit Rapid since...the Olive Garden...haha. And I get to plan it. It's a real good time) a choir concert, graduation, two weddings, and being out of town four times...a grand total of 31 days. So now I kick it into high gear...which, when it comes down to it, I really love. High gear is my comfort zone. Which brings me back to the YoungLife retreat. The theme of the weekend was "One True Thing." We talked about putting aside everything we chase after...absolutely everything...to seek the face of God. About really boiling it down to what matters, and what doesn't. About Mary and Martha, in Luke 10:40something. If you struggle with an addiction to a full schedule, like I do, that short little story is a real kick in the pants. Go read it. It was a good way for me to head into these next couple of months. And with that, I need to go, because I'm housesitting, and if I don't head out now, I'm going to have some really antsy dogs on my hands. I'm out. Take care.

Ireland. In May.

In honor of the three-days past St. Patrick's Day, I have decided to plan a trip to Ireland in May. Seriously. I'm going to Ireland. In May.

Okay. You got me. I'm not just going because it's St. Patrick's Day. Also I want to celebrate the color green. And what better place to do that than Ireland in May?

What. You don't believe me? Geesh. How many legit reasons does a girl have to have to plan a trip to Ireland in May? Well, believe it or not, I'm going, and I'll show you some pictures when I get back. Promise.

I Don't Need Shoes: Thoughts on the Epidemic of Materialsim

I don't need shoes. I don't need shoes, because I just ordered a pair of custom molded Birkenstock clogs (perhaps the best shoe ever created) from work, and hardly had to pay anything for them - one of the perks of working for a podiatrist. I don't need shoes, because I have at least 32 pairs in my closet - most of which I never wear. I don't need shoes.

I just want shoes.

And so, here I sit, at midnight. Online. Shoe shopping for shoes I don't need, and definitely don't need to be spending money on at this particular time in my life. So I'm not even really shopping to buy. I'm shopping to covet, which is worse. I just look at all the shoes I could be buying, and grow increasingly discontent with the 32 plus pairs of shoes I already have to choose from. It's ridiculous.

Our culture is partly to blame. We live in America in the 21st century. Everyone wants to make a buck, and the media is no moron. Marketing gurus have expertly tapped into brainwashability of our generation and spoon fed us the "can'tlivewithoutit" lie. Electronics, cars, clothes - you name it, we want it. On the other hand, humans (i.e. you and me) are mostly to blame. People are greedy, by nature. We just want stuff. We want to keep up with the Joneses...to have what they have, and then some. It's no new thing. I mean, heck - look at King Solomon. If you want to talk about someone who had alot of stuff...that guy had everything. So whether it's kingdoms or cows or shoes, people have always wanted to hoard stuff, and lots of it.

So, anyway, on the same website where I found the shoes I now think I just have to have, (but never would have know I had to have, had I not been shoe shopping tonight) I ran across a sticker. It reads "Protect me from what I want." Brilliant. I want to buy it, and put it on my wallet, to curb my frivilous spending habits...perhaps it would be a deterent to keep me from buying stuff I don't need. Interesting though, that they want $6.75, plus shipping and handling for the sticker.

I have a bad case of wanderlust...

Now playing in theater #1 (i.e. the family room) "My Little Bro and His Two Best Friends Road-Trip to Cali Last Summer: The Complete Documentary." They went to Zion, Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Lake Meade, and Golden Gate Bridge National Parks. They were on the road for two weeks. My senior road trip consisted of Steph and AJ and I spending 5 days in a little cabin at Rafter J Bar campground in Hill City. We were on the road for...oh, about 25 minutes, each way.

Now, don't get me wrong. We had some good times on that "camping" trip. We biked the Mikelson Trail, fished in Sheridan Lake, fought alot about who had the better outdoor cooking skills, purchased my most prized material possession at a antique/junk shop (a 7 foot suit of armour - $200) and played cards with campground maintenance boys. But still - road trip? I commuted farther to school three days a week last semester.

"Why," you may ask, "the downscaled trip?" And here is the answer. Because AJ and Steph and I are girls. That's why, if I remember correctly. There was a bit of financial limit, as well, but I'm pretty sure that even if we had had extra money, our parents wouldn't have let us take off. Of course, they were just looking out for us. Which is probably good, since we had (read: I have) a tendency to think that I'm invincible. And when I have daughters, I probably won't let them head for California with their friends when they are 18 either. Nonetheless, I don't think I've entirely gotten over that whole situation yet. I still resent my parents for it...just a teeny tiny bit. Which is my explanation for why I wake up every morning and have to remind myself that I have responsibilites and commitments and bills to pay, and can't just run off on little jaunts here and there.

I really shouldn't be worrying about it right now, though. I'll be out and about plenty over the next couple of months. But as of this minute, I'm just itching to go somewhere. How about Disneyworld? Or New Mexico? Boston? Patience Marci, patience.

Silly me, I thought it might be Spring!

Snow angels. Snow forts. Snow cones. Snow men. Snow day???? Could we be so lucky? Nah. It's only been snowing ALL DAY. I mean, heck, we've only got some 18 inches of heavy, slushy white stuff. Us South Dakotan's are hardy folk. It takes at least 36 inches to slow us down. Well, work or no work, it's gorgeous out there.

So anyway, last night, Nick and I went to the "Slow Roasted Songwriters 2006" show at the Dahl. Basically, it was a 3 1/2 hour conglomeration of the "best of" Dunn Bro's weekly open mic, with a fabulous jam session of sorts as the finale. One heck of a good time, if I do say so myself. My personal favorite was Amanda Conway, an incredibly talented young songwriter/guitarplayer/musician. She's fantastic...and has a cute new haircut, to boot. I swear, I'd think she was great even if I hadn't know her since she was 12. If you ever get a chance to hear her play, don't miss it. (Shameless plug...I know.)

I used to go to stuff like this all the time, back in the day. Back before I was trying to actually graduate from college. I had forgotten how much I missed live music, the local arts scene, and all the intruiging people that come with the package. I had forgetten how, when I was about 19, I wanted more than anything to be a crazy guitar playing chick. Funny how you can want something very badly, but you have to prioritize and other things you want a little more float to the top of the list. Huh. Well, that's my pensive thought for the evening. I'd have more, but I'm surrounded by people, and having a hard time writing and not watching the evening news. So with that, I'm out.

You unlearn something old every day.

Hi. I'm back.

I apologize for my absence. I've been trying to figure out how life works for people who have routines, and I've pretty much determined that that's not something you can learn. Either you're a routine person, or you're not. I'm not. I'm not making that transition well this semester. As you may have noticed, I even tried giving up my 2 a.m. journaling habit, but it's been all in vain. I still can't get on a normal schedule.

I wish I could say that I've returned after all this time with some large amount of wisdom, but really all I've learned in the least few weeks is that I have even less figured out than I thought I did. Which wasn't much to begin with. This isn't a bad thing, necessarily. Not knowing anything. It's got it's perks. It teaches you to be humble. It teaches you to trust other people. Scary. It teaches you that God is sovereign, and He's under no obligation to let you in on his immeadiate plan if he doesn't want to. He can do whatever He wants, and He's still righteous and perfect.

Yep. That, kids, is all I've got.

Whoohoo!

Beautiful, white, perfect, glorious SNOW! (It's about time...I was beginning to forget that I live in the midwest) It hasn't stopped coming down since last night. They closed the clinic at 3:30 and told us we'd most likely have the day off tomorrow. Ahhh. Simply beautiful. What more could you possible ask for? Okay, well maybe one thing: the peruvian beanie that I ordered from REI. It's not going to be here until next week, probably after the snow has all melted. Ah well, even that can't ruin my snow-evening. I'm going to go roll around in it for a while. Bye.

Roadtrip!

Em and I are headed down to Denver for the weekend to get her dress fitted, shop for bridesmaid dresses, eat at Sonic, and just generally run amuck (on a budget.) I'll talk to you kids in a few days. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone.

Coincidence? Or something else....

I was in a bit of a funk last weekend. You know those days. Worrying about my future. School. A job. Finances. Going abroad. An apartment. More tuition debt. Decision making. Conflicting summer Younglife/job/camp/church commitments. Friends. Relationships. Friendlationships. Being envious. Insecure. Not trusting God at all. Not trusting anyone. Self pity. Self loathing. Self righteousness. Just plain negative all around, and not even kicking myself to quit being that way, but rather content in my self-centered wallowing.

Sunday morning, I rolled out of bed and stepped on an envelope. Saturday's mail that someone had tossed into my room. The envolope was hand-addressed. We all know that if it's hand-addressed it's not a bill or a credit card ap or the Sierra Club asking for money. If someone took the time to actually write out your name and address it's got to be something good, right?

So I open the envelope and inside is a half-sheet of paper with a hand-written note that says this:

"He is it. He is all there is. And you are His. He is worthy of your praise. Worthy of all honor and praise. And you know that. It's not about paying rent. Or grad school vs. Greece vs. Africa. Or even the man you may or may not marry. It's really just all about Him. And on the days you feel like it, and on the days you don't, lift your hands and voice and heart to Him. It's all you can do when you can't do anything else. Bless the name of the Lord. You have vowed yourself to Him. He has you forever, and there's nothing you can do about it. Nothing you can do. So let Him love you, and bless His name."

So I'm a little taken aback. And quite confused. I pick up the envelope again. How odd. It was my handwriting. The return address is the camp in North Dakota where I spent two weeks with teenagers last July. I had completely forgotten that we had written letters to ourselves one night at camp. We addressed them and sealed them and the camp director promised to mail them several months later. After we had forgotten all about them. When we least expected it. When we were needing some encouragement. Like on a Sunday morning in January, when we're in a bit of a funk.

Nothing in particular...

Natalie just posted 100 interesting things about herself on her website. I read them all and thought, "Well now, that's a novel idea. I think I'll do the same." And then I realized that I'm feeling too lazy right now to do that, and instead I'm more in the mood to just write little comments about each of her 100 things. While it might spur lively webversation between her and I, it would probably prove to be rather boring for the rest of you, most of whom probably don't know Natalie.

So, in other news... I'm going attempt to make it to power-yoga again at 5:30 tomorrow morning. Don't be deceived. I know that the phrase "5:30am power yoga" evokes certain mental images of self-disciplined, pulled-together, trim and toned morning women with, what appears to be, a lack of ribs (how else do bend like that?). Such is not the case. Not my case, at least. That is the image I would like to live up to, but really, I'm just a wannabe. I barely drag myself out of bed at 4:50am one morning per week, and stumble into class, half-conscious. By the last 10 minutes of class, the cool-down period, when you lie in corpse pose and "clear your mind of worries and tension," I'm either struggling to stay awake, or just getting started prioritizing my worries and tensions for the day.

Last Thursday the instructor said, "Close your eyes, and go to wherever you want to be." So I took myself to Greece. I was sitting in the sunshine, among red potted geraniums on the roof-top patio of my whitewashed, blue-shuttered house stacked with hundreds of other matching houses on the side of a hill in a dense, car-free island village, looking out over blue seas. It was eutopic for about three and a half seconds. And then I thought, "Why am I here? How am I paying for this gorgeous little house? If I'm blowing all my money, just kicking it here on the Mediterranean, how am I going to pay for grad school? Am I going to go grad school? When? Should I be in school now? Shouldn't I at least be working? This is far too perfect to be responsible. Should I even be here? Did everyone at home think I shouldn't be here? Was this a bad idea? Should I have stayed in Rapid? Is my little sister mad that I bailed on my middle-school girls just when she became a middleschool girl? Who took my job at the clinic? Will I get my job back if I go home? Do I need it back? Do I miss home? What if something happens to my grandparents while I'm out of the country? What if something happens to anyone while I'm out of the country? "

So I came back to poweryoga at the gym in Rapid, because going to work was suddenly not seeming like a stressful activity at all. So, see? I'm not what you think of when you think of "5:30am poweryoga." Not at all. If I can do it, so can you. Except that I maybe can't do it tomorrow. It's almost midnight. I'm out. Night.

"Adventures in Academia"-Episode #326

A little brain teaser for you problem solving types.

Facts:
#1) You are five credits short of receiving a bachelors degree from State University A
#2) You are currently registered for two classes at State University A
#3) You wish to drop both classes at State University A due to scheduling and commuting conflicts, and instead...
#4) You wish to enroll in two correspondence classes from State University B (referred to State University B distance education enrollment and application website)
#5) To drop all SU-A classes, you must officially un-enroll as a student at SU-A (referred to Dawn in the registrars office)
#6) You may not graduate from a university from which you have unenrolled (referred to Pam in enrollment office)
#7) You may not drop or add any SU-A classes because you have a block on your WebAdvisor (online registration, bill paying, etc.) because you did not pay your tuition for the two classes you do not intend to take but were not able to drop because you have not filled out an "un-enrollment application" for SU-A (referred to Candice in financial services office, who referred to Dawn in registars office who referred to Pam in enrollment office who referred back to Dawn in registrars office)
#8) To take classes from any other university but A your final semester, you must have written permission from the dean of the college of your major (referred to Holly in College of Arts and Sciences, who referred to Dawn in regisrars office)
#9) SU-B may not enroll you in any classes because of the WebAdvisor block (referred to "Student Help Line" at SU-B, referred to Pam in enrollment)
#10) Apparently Pam, Candice, Dawn, Holly and SU-B are forbidden to communicate directly
#11) The official drop/add day is Thursday. You have less than 48 hours to solve this problem.

Your education hangs in the balance. If you succeed, you walk in May and receive your college diploma. If you fail, you go to jail (i.e., another "extra" semester at Black Hills State.) Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Best of luck to all of you.

Two beautiful things:

#1) Last Sunday I went for a walk in the woods on this mountain bike trail that takes you kind of south of the monastary and branches off in about 8 different directions. I was meandering along and stumbled upon a lone Christmas tree - all decked out in tinsel and garland and handmade ornaments. A little worse for wear, but still hanging in there in the middle of January, in the middle of the woods.

#2) Yesterday I was second-hand shopping with Emily. We were scrounging for costume jewelry and whatever else struck our fancy at the Cornerstone Thrift Store. The place has little funding and just moved in some shelving units donated from another store that closed recently. All the shoes are now nicely paired up on shelves that are labeled "Non Fiction," "Romance," and "Novels."

I guess you could say I'm easily amused. Perhaps that means I'm simple minded. Regardless, I think I've got an advantage over people who don't care.

I regret to inform you...I am a closet pacifist.

I'm not typically a combative person. I don't like conflict, especially with people I love, and I've discovered that one of the best ways to avoid conflict is to keep your mouth shut when you disagree with people. This not always right, easy, healthy, or honest, but it keeps people happy. So if peaceful, relatively shallow relationships are what you're going for, it gets the job done. Unfortunately, despite my natural inclinations, I strongly desire to be honest and sincere and do the right thing - which can often lead to tumultous, though much deeper, relationships.

I have a professor who makes this statement: "Relationships create roles. Roles create responsibilities." (I tried to disprove this theory for quite a while, and hurt my mom very much in the process. I've since realized he's right. Unless we are hermits, we inherantly have inescapable relational responsibilities.) These responsibilities sometimes require us to openly counter the opinions or actions of the people we care about the most - (sometimes responsibility just sucks) not because they are just stupid, or because we are always right, but because sometimes we can just see things from a different perspective, or are the only ones who will buck up and tell them the truth.

Solomon said in Proverbs that wounds from a friend are better than kisses from an enemy. So. that's my self-motivating essay for the week. I figured that if I published it somewhere, I would feel more obligated to act accordingly.

That's all. Thanks.

I won't lie to you...

it's been a tough weekend. A tough week. Even in the grand scheme of Marci things -my whole life - it's been one of the tougher ones. But through it, I have seen God's faithfulness, up close and personal. Just the way he sees our individual needs, in the moment, and meets them - meets us where we are...even if that's in the middle of the dark, or a bunch of crap, or our own self-loathing, it just blows my mind, every time. So anyway...what I started out today say was this: that if someone held a gun to my head and forced me to choose a theme song for my life...just one, I'd think I'd pick this one:

Blessed Be Your Name, by Matt Redman

Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be your name

Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name

Every blessing you pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord Blessed be your name

"The Night the Road Won" (or, "Marci's Jeep Fantasies Crushed")

I come to you this evening, humbled. A woman whose pride has been wounded. I have been known, at times, to boast of my night-time four-wheeling escapades. And I boast, because in this game, that I like to refer to as "Geo/Aveo vs. long-neglected Black Hills National Forest Logging Road," (or "500 lb., cheaply-made city vehicle with ridiculously small tires vs. 'is that really even a road? ' ") I always win. But tonight folks, tonight...the tables were turned. Tonight was the night the road won. We tried. We kept trucking along, valiantly, despite some very large rocks, very deep ruts (puddles deceptively covered with a thin layer of ice) and Andrea nearly hyperventilating because of my mad tree dodging skills. Two and a half hours, 42 miles, and 3 different attempted routes. Three impassible routes. One completely dead-ended, with tree's so thick only a skinny hiker could have gotten through. Another had some random, very hostile looking, tire-slasher contraption embedded in the dirt from tree to tree, across the trail (and yet, completely unmarked as private property or anything of the sort,) and the third ended at a small drop off with a 6 foot boulder at the bottom. No matter how determined I was, there was no way I could force the little Aveo could go any further. I accepted defeat, hung my head and (*sigh*) turned back. Not much to show for the night except a decent sized battle wound paint scratch on the drivers-side door, and probably a "slightly scuffed" under-carriage. Tomorrow, I intend on obtaining a map of Forest Service four-wheeling trails and old logging roads, so that I can see where I was and why exactly the stupid psuedo-roads didn't go anywhere. Seriously, roads that go nowhere? That's like very mean practical joke.

Well, we arrived back home safely. I don't want to sound like too sore of a loser, so I will add that it was a splendid adventure. Or at least I thought so. Andrea's a real trooper, but I think the evening took years off of her life. Kudos to her for tolerating my hair-brained schemes. With that, I'm out. Night.

The party's over.

Back to the daily grind. I love my job, but having time off makes me realize just how much fun NOT working can be. Ah well. Eating is great too, so as long as I feel that way about it, I'll keep working. It will also be good to have less time to spend money - an activity I've grown quite accustomed to in the last couple weeks. Well, I of course have plenty of amusing, clever, wise things to say tonight, but I must get a long to bed, so you'll all have to wait until a different time. Au revoir.