Quantitative Skills: A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a student named Leah. She spent her evenings and weekends sipping vanilla latte's and typing away on her laptop at either Starbucks, Caribou or the charmingly local La Spiaza, a pile of books by her side. Since these were the only coffee shops close to her college, there were always a plethra of fellow students working nearby. Ah, the buzz of academics! Young burgeoning minds!

Though her days in college are over, she is spending quite a bit of her time these days studying for the GRE. After finishing college and spending some time in the "real world," Princess Leah is finally ready to commit to a career path and invest more in her education. When she took the SAT at the end of her Junior year of high school, she literally never studied. She bought an SAT study guide, and it sat unused on the bookcase for 5 months until the morning of the exam, when she cracked it open and read page one, "What to Expect during the Test." Not the shiniest moment of her academic life.


If she had studied for the SATs, I'm sure it would have felt a lot like studying for the GRE. Memorizing the definitions of words. INCHOATE. QUIESCENT. TORPOR. CHICANERY. Reviewing math she hasn't thought of in years. For which triangles can you use the pythagorean theorem? Isoceles, or only for right triangles? Princess Leah just hopes that the person sitting next to her in the coffee shop doesn't notice her adding 6 and 8 on her fingers.

When Princess Leah was in 3rd grade, her relationship with math was very turbulent. Multiplication and fractions, especially, were really hard for her. Every day the class took a multiplication test, the first test was the one times table, the next was two, etc., etc. up to 12. Once you scored a 90% on a test, you could move up to the next test. Once you finished all 12, you got to go out to recess every day while the rest of the kids finished their tests inside. Mr. Huganough make the mistake of letting the children grade their own tests. Soon, Princess Leah found that quelching the small amount of guilt she felt by lying on the tests and giving herself a higher grade than she deserved was easier than actually practicing her times tables to earn a grade. By cheating and lying, she was outside playing in the sun within a week. Of course, Mr. Huganough caught Princess Leah and made her retake all the tests she had cheated on.

To this day, Leah still cannot recite the 8 times table without having to think really hard about it. So all these years later, she will have to buckle down and memorize everything she cheated on 15 years ago (I had to use a calculator just now to calculate how many years have lapsed...).

I guess the moral of the story is, don't cheat on your homework, kids.

Out With the Old, In With the New (Liturgical Calendar Year)

I love the Holidays! I love mittens and scarves and pumpkin spice lattes and candles and stuffing, and telling Danielle to stop taking just the marshmallows off of the sweet potatoes, and How the Grinch Stole Chrismas, and frosty windows, and spending all my money on gifts for the people I love (not to mention time off from a slightly mind-numbing job). But if Christmas lasted all year long, it would get old. Too many obligatory work events. Too much pretending to like the "ecclectic" gifts mixed among the genuinely wonderful. Too much... cheer. Ugh... eventually I would just want to rip down every paper snowflake. The beauty of Christmas is that it's only once a year. Anything without an expiration date it eventually loses its whimsy. Looking forward to the holidays is what makes it wonderful, exciting, cherished.


We measure our lives from Christmas to Christmas, year to year. New things come into our lives, and old things (sometimes very wonderful old things) get pushed out to make room. Always change. And change always brings loss of some kind, whether great or small. Each year it seems my life changes drastically from what it was just a year before. That might just be the stage of life that I'm in. A year ago, I was living a totally different life than I am now. The year before that was an entirely different world. How can so much change in 365 days? So many small losses, so many small gains.

And how can it be that I'm simultaneously terrified of things changing, and at the same time terrified of things staying the same? What if the best time of my life comes and goes and I don't realize it? What if I'll never be as happy again as I was two years ago? My life now is good, don't get me wrong. But do you ever sort of wake up and wonder how you got here? How time moves so fast, and slow, and it feels like the weeks drag on and on as the months are flying by. Just make it through the week, soon it will be Friday. And suddenly it is Monday again. And snow is falling (wasn't it just summer?). And I understand, now, how people stay in job and situations they hate for years and years. You just keep making it through the week, without the energy to look up and think of how to get where you want to go.

This is the liturgical season of Advent, which is a time of purposeful tension. At the biggining of Advent, we're looking towards the 2nd coming, the final judgment, preparing ourselves for Christ return, looking honestly at our own sinfulness, and remembering how Israel waited expectantly for her Messiah, while again and again she turned her back on God, even as he received her each time she called for help (and so with us..). We share in their eager hope of the birth of the Messiah, the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the World. The incarnation of God into the world in the second person of the Trinity, who takes this mess and gives it meaning, makes all things right again. As Eve was taken from Adam's side in the garden, the Church (the new Eve) was born from the side of Christ on the cross, the water and blood flowing from his wound as he established the New Covenant, providing himself as the passover lamb, and provided the Sacraments so that we could receive him into our very bodies through the Eucharist, and so partake in the New Covenant. That is why we rejoice during Advent, and it is a time of great joy and hope.

And so this season of my life is full of purposeful tension for me. The droll anxieties of quotidian life, the loss of change. But I also feel hope in the most real sense: the sense that there is purpose in the most commonplace day, and meaning in the simplest task. The hope that all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.

In My Heart, I'm Already Standing in Line for New Moon

2 weeks from tomorrow, I will spend the greater part of 8 hours standing in line at the local movie theater, so I can say I was one of the first few people into auditorium 8 at 12:01 to experience the second part of the Twilight Saga. We have it all planned out. My youngest sister, Sara, will arrive first to save our places. As a college student, she has a lenient schedule which will allow her to go first thing in the morning when the theater opens, and save our spot at the front of the line. Poor Sara has succumbed to the peer pressure of her older sisters, telling her "you have to go early in the morning, we're counting on you!" Poor thing, she will spend her entire day holding our spot at the front of the line. I will come during my lunch break to bring her lunch and sit with her for a few minutes. Danielle will join her after her classes are over at 2:00, and I will come back at 5:00 to start the countdown, ready to spend almost 4 times longer waiting than the actual movie will last. We have decided that no one is allowed to join our front place party after 6:00. Only those really committed to it will be allowed.

I bought my ticket on September 14 (over two months ahead of time). It has been taped up next to my work computer since then. The bidding war over opening night tickets has yet to start on Craigslist, but I'm sure by the day of the show, I will be able to sell my ticket for literally tens of dollars (not that I would)! The thing is, I'm not even that excited to see the movie. I wasn't super impressed by the Twilight movie. Sure it will be good, and I'm very much looking forward to seeing it, but New Moon was my least favorite book, and I know for at least a fourth of the movie, I will be forced to watch Taylor Laughtner morphing into a wolf, his 17 year old body bursting out of his clothes, while my sisters roommate Megan moans about how hot he is. By the time 12:01 comes around and those lights go down, I will most likely just be ready to sleep.

But what I am most excited for are the hours leading up to it. Reading aloud our favorite passages of the books, listening to the soundtrack, passing out twilight-themed treats... those people in the back of the line are going to be so jealous! When I see that glint of envy in the eye of the 15 year old behind me, it will all be worth it.

Let the countdown officially begin.

A PUBLIC NOTICE: TO THE INDIVIDUAL WHO STOLE MY IPOD CORD OUT OF MY CAR

Dear Sir or Madam,

It is one of my personal convictions to never lock my car. I never have. It is my vote in the goodness of the community around me to leave my car unlocked. Call it stubborn optimism, call it irresponsible or unrealistic, but I choose to believe in the power of your impulse control, deviant.

My car may have been parked on the nicest street in Boulder, but didn't the slightly rusting paint, the cracked windshield, or the missing hubcab on my '97 Suburu deter you? But you saw the GPS mount on the windshield, and thought, maybe you would see if I left it in the car.

Thank you for leaving the receipts and insurance certificates in my glove compartment. I'm sorry the mix cd's in the center console were not up to your discerning taste. You just wanted my ipod cord!

Side rant: This ipod cord was a splurge for me. I bought the deluxe version that both plays your music, and chages your ipod. Since my new ipod refuses to charge on my old ipod accessories, this was the only thing that kept my music charged. So, becuase of someone greedy at Apple, I had to buy all new accessories.

I feel violated. You invaded my space and took my cord, as if you were entitled or deserved it! Stupid hippie communist and/or teenager, or possibly drunk CU student.

Now my ipod is always out of batteries, and I can't listen to my music in the car. You have stolen my morning pre-work sing-along time, and now I have nothing to listen to but the NPR Pledge Drive.

Maybe it's my fault that I left the car unlocked, but I like to think of this as a way to teach you a lesson. I will just trust that your conscience will torture you about this until you see yourself clearly.

So, theif, if you read this blog, please return this cord to it's rightful owner, and save yourself some time in purgatory. Bitch.

Sincerely,

The owner of the green Subaru.

How Did You Spring from My Loins?

I’m not sure how many times my father has asked me that question, but it’s been more than once. Usually when he says this, we are surrounded by wilderness, and I am wearing some kind of ballet flats. My thought in response is usually, “I must be adopted.” How else could you explain the fact that the man who is responsible for 50% of my DNA thinks spending 12 hours driving around in the mountains and counting elk is a good way to spend a Saturday. You may ask, how did you end up in this situation, Leah? You could easily have said you would prefer to stay in the city. And I will say, it’s all semantics. He says, we’re taking your grandparents to Estes Park. I think, ahh.. a cute little mountain town, what a lovely way to spend a Saturday morning. Drinking coffee, window shopping, enjoying the few elk that wander into town from nearby Rocky Mountain National Park. For him, “taking your grandparents to Estes Park” held entirely different connotations. On the way up, he says, “We don’t have a plan for today. I just want to swing by the National Park.” Uh oh. This from a man who was a Pre-Med biology major in hopes that it would lead to a career counting Elk for as a Forest Ranger. Of course he dropped out and became a ski bum, but that’s another story altogether. The man is hoping for the downfall of civilization so he can “live off the land.” You should have seen the excitement before Y2K. Put this man behind the wheel near a national park… I should have known. 12 hours later I am grumpy and carsick (going through the winding curves quickly reminds him of skiing, of course!), and I am dropped off at my apartment with a renewed dislike of the outdoors.

Here are the reasons I prefer to enjoy nature from a distance:

1) Nature Lovers: Tivas. Camelbacks. Ratty Hair. Metal water bottles. Cheeks flushed from exertion. Why must enjoying the outdoors make you look so unkempt? You’re still in public, people. This is why I’m moving to France. I think they really get this.

2) Tourists: The even worse kind of nature lovers. Brand new tennis shoes. Fannie packs. Cameras. Cheap plastic water bottles. They have the aura of newly retired travelers. They will ALWAYS pull over to the side of the road to see the elk. If they’re anything like my mom, they will practice their elk mating call, to your disgust.

3) Element Exposure: No matter what you do, you will ALWAYS be slightly uncomfortable in nature. Too hot, too cold, too windy, too dry, too wet. The worst, and I am confident this exists only at high altitude, is when you are being simultaneously burnt by the sun and pummeled by freezing winds blowing off a serene mountain lake. Picturesque, yes, but always uncomfortable. That rock will never make a comfortable seat, even if you are lucky enough to find a slightly chair-shaped boulder. The sun will either be blinding you, or you will be trying to eat by the light of your cell phone. You can never take your shoes off. Just not worth it when there are so many things to occupy your time indoors, where there is temperature control and lamps.

4) The animal kingdom (usually the bug kingdom). I heard once that there are 150 bugs per square foot in nature. I don’t remember where I heard that, but I’m willing to go with my gut and trust them on this one. How can I enjoy God’s beautiful creation when there is a bug climbing on Grandma’s glasses? I’m always on the lookout. I know if I let my guard down they will climb into my mouth and I will accidentally swallow them. If you’re lucky enough to see a real animal, it will usually end up in an argument over whether it is a squirrel or a chipmunk.

Oh, give me the great indoors.

The Mis-adventures of a Would-Be Catholic (If you die tonight, do you know for sure where you will go?)

The Evangelical-becomes-a-Catholic story is not that often heard, and the struggles of this minority are rarely given a voice. So come along with me, and you can walk an aisle in my shoes. The road is long, and fraught with peril. For someone who grew up raising their hands in worship and "singing in the Spirit," the liturgical moves of mass can leave you feeling a little out of the club.

There was a time when I spoke in tongues with the best of them! I started a Bible club at school with my friends, and we called ourselves the Knight Lights (of the Fairview Knights... yes, I thought of the name). And nay a See-You-At-The-Pole would pass without my presence! There was a year I was literally in 4-5 Bible Studies, and met privately with two mentors. I was a beacon of evangelicalism in my school. Senior year, I gave a persuasive speech on why Evolution was wrong (inspired by a Chuch series-on-tape called "Evilution"). I stood up for Christ when his image was scarred by the Da Vinci code! How did someone so strictly on the narrow path veer so wildly into the Wilderness of Catholicism? (Catholics are hardly Christians! Maybe some of them have a personal relationship with Christ strong enough to sneak themselves into the lump of Lutherans and Presbyterians who sneak into heaven, but most of them are just really into rules!)

And here I am, 5 years later, and I'm one Catechism away from swearing allegiance to the other side. Something about the architecture and the hats stole my heart (along with the sacramental theology and apostolic authority). I may as well have spit on my copy of The Message, and ripped the Jesus fish from the back bumper of my car, only after purposely running over my DC Talk "Jesus Freak" CD. Call me daddy, said the Pope. Ok. I think my own earthly Father would have preferred if I had smoken some "reefer."

Recently, I went to Mass, and I was feeling fairly comfortable with the moves after a few weeks, so I was playing along. Dip hand in holy water, cross yourself (think about your baptism), kneel as you enter the pew (reverence for the presence of Christ in the elements), stand up, 13th Sunday in Ordinary time, cross yourself, Glory to you, Lord, Jesus Christ, I believe in the Father... Yeah, I'm doing this right! These people probably think I'm a Catholic visiting from another Parish! At least until the Eucharist, when I have to move aside and let the people in the aisle behind me go up for communion, while I stay in my chair and think about what we Protestants have done...

At one point in the service, I notice that a lot of people are holding hands. In a moment of ecumenical confidence, I reached over and took the hand of the girl next to me. She was my age, and seemed like she's being doing this for a long time. Then, a few seconds later, I realized that the only peope hold hands was a big family in the row in front of us. I had all these thoughts in rapid succession: "Oh my God, this girls not squeezing back! ... she probably think I'm nuts!... Everyone knows I'm faking it!!... How do I let go of her hand without her realizing that I grabbed it in the first place?!"... I looked at our hands, looked at her, blurted out, "I'm Sorry!" and pulled my hand away. "No problem," she said, and she gave me a sort of half-smile that said, "What is wrong with you?"

Shoot.

Stay tuned next week, ladies and gents! Same time, same place, Leah stumbles and fumbles her way through the liturgy!

Why Fictional Men Are Better (aka, why I will probably always be single)

This is my ode to the fictional men that have fated me to singlehood. I may one day be a sad, mid-thirties single woman who spends her weekends watching season 3 of Dawson's Creek for the 30th time. At least we know what's coming. Yes, two out of three of these fellows are teenagers, but if they're fictional, it's not cradle-robbing, right? I mean, Edward's 108th birthday was yesterday, so surely that isn't creepy. I just finished the Twilight series a few days ago, and I'm having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that Edward Cullen is fictional. I don't know why it's so hard to believe, since he's a shimmery mythical creature that wears fashion glasses and attends high school in the Pacific Northwest. But in the week and a half that it took me to read the 4 Twilight books, I really came to believe that we could be something together.

Pacey Whitter

It was always Pacey's Creek to me. My first love. The 7th grader in me still gets butterflies when I think about him. Tall and adorable (in a teenager-y kind of way). A trouble-maker in his own right, seducing high school english teachers and stealing Joey right out from under Dawson. Nobody ever believes in Pacey, though. But I always saw his true potential. Everyone thought he was a screw-up, but I knew what he really was. When he danced with Andy on the dock, I knew he would have been happier with me. When he watched Joey sleep by the fire, after he earlier said that you knew you loved someone when you could watch them sleep, ... there are no words for what it did to me, and still does to me. My heart literally broke when he and Joey read to each other on the boat in hammocks, holding hands. Pacey is the reason I'm drawn to the funny guy, the surprisingly romantic underdog. I'm fairly sure that I legitimately loved Pacey (and maybe still do). I have pages in my high school journal testifying to the fact that I prayed fairly often that God would bring my my own Pacey (complete with taped-in Got Milk? ad of Joshua Jackson standing in a boat). I wouldn't be surprised if Joshua Jackson and I happened upon each other on the street, and realized immediately that we really would be perfect together. I might have a hard time not calling him Pacey, though. But he would get over it.

Joey: It's my mom's bracelet
Pacey:I know
Joey: You know? How do you know?
Pacey: Because you told me, six months ago. You came to school and you were wearing that sweater with snowflakes on it. I was teasing you as usual and then you told me "Look Pacey, I just found my mom's bracelet this morning, so why don't you cut me some slack."
Joey: You remember that?
Pacey: I remember everything.



Mr. Knightley

Not one in a hundred men have gentleman so plainly written across them as Mr. Knightley. So gentile, so giving, so good. Mr. Knightley is the best friend, the one that knows Emma like family, and genuinely wants what is best for her. Emma, who is so flawed, is suddenly swept off her feet at the end of the novel by this fabulously handsome gentleman that knows her so well, urges her to better herself, and will do anything for her. "Marry me, my wonderful, darling friend." Mr. Knightley is why I'm looking for someone as comfortable as family, and utterly romantic. Mr. Darcy's a close 2nd runner up. But I would take Knightley any day.

Knightley: "I do not wish to call you my friend, because I hope to call you something infinitely more dear... I rushed back, anxious for your feelings, keen to be near you. I rode through the rain.... I'd ride through worse than that if I could just hear your voice telling me that I might, at least, have some chance to win you."



Edward Cullen

Mysterious, sexy, dangerous. He's the bad boy that doesn't want to be a monster. Plus he has super powers, is incredibly strong and fast, and will protect you from any imaginable danger. He'll let you see your werewolf friends, even if it makes him jealous, and he'll always do what is ultimately in your best interest. Edward Prefers Brunettes. Plus, you can have sex with him for a decade without getting tired. And did I mention that he's really, really attractive? And wears fashion glasses? And that with one smell of your blood, he is impossibly in love with you, and could never let you go? I'm literally in mourning that no one like him exists in reality. He would give Pacey a run for his money (blasphemy...). Move aside, 15 year olds. I will be in front of you in line for 10 hours at the New Moon Premiere in November, and you're going to wish your T-Shirt is a great as mine. And I'm also seriously considering a pilgrimage to Forks. I only wish I had thought of this all before Stephanie Meyer.

Edward: Look after my heart, I've left it with you.

No, Edward, you look after my heart. I've left it in your sexy, mythical hands.