ka-boom

aside from the religious powder-keg surrounding the art that is yoga... ( i know, i know, it's the worship of a snake from the underworld or something? that's the richest one i've heard. it's pretty harmless when the tv is muted...)
it is heralded for its relaxing and stress-relieving powers. (so is barbiturate abuse but let's stay on this side of the law.) it's one of the most popular and culty exercise methods ever, right?
the reason it's relaxing, my friends, is not a great mystery. have you ever done yoga for a good 45 minutes? it's absolutely exhausting. it's all this isometric sickness. that means yr body is in a static position in which the joint angle and muscle length do not change during contraction. thanks wikipedia.
i'll just call it crazy hard. or "moments of shaking taxing weakness-revealing exercise". but working on the core is a good thing. helps yr back and stuff. which'll be good if we ever get to backpacking (now that i have a sick pack w/ cushion pads of glory. thank you arc'teryx.) maybe the isometrics will pay off on the next mountain...
but i'd rather be hiking freezing my tookus (how does one spell that?) like here on mt. adams.

tears on museum marble flooring (or, my day in stumptown)

peer pressure being as intense and prolific as it is today i find it remarkable that it was only until last week while waiting for the street car at 19th and lovejoy that i was offered a joint. (and yes, it was politely refused.)

the rijksmuseum of amsterdam has its collection of rembrandt and 17th century dutch art at the portland museum this summer. it is amazing. especially the one here the denial of saint peter.

granted, peter doesn't look like a crusty fisherman i imagined him to be. the piece illustrates the moment between the servant girl's question and peter's lie. in the right corner (click to zoom), being lead away by soldiers, Christ looks back to see peter's response. and there i was, standing in the museum and gazing at the shadows of His face, my heart broken.

people in portland love high performance gear. at the trimet stops near the REI, the clothing is especially practical and outdoorsy. urban trekking in all this moisture-wicking material and 3/4 solid shank soled shoes is a sweet ode to denial. sorry guys. it's still pretty metropolitan here in the pearl. and i'm pretty sure yr just walking to work. good effort.

at the old church i listened to a piano and flute concert. they played bach and shumann. then silliest piece ever. it was called comicosmic by a crazy italian dude. the flautist blew, spit, yelled, hummed and talked into his flute for 5 minutes. it was like a strange cartoon score. and absolutely captivating. albeit insane. it's so weird it's not even google-able.

weather trumps

i think it's so neat that after thousands of years of scientific and technical exploration and advancement that people still freeze to death.
just try and track with me here a minute...
people every year die out there in the cold of the pacific northwest mountains (or even hills) within sight of warm fires and cocoa on a snuggly couch. seems odd that in an age of instant electronic communication and space travel that the primitive and basic threat of weather still holds the best cards. and i'm not talking about the grossly ignorant dudes who embark upon journeys best left to those who properly research, prepare and suit up. i'm talking about cats with mountaineering experience and burly weather know-how.
here, in our 21st century existence of high performing synthetic fibers, very clean fluffy down and superior weaves of woolen fabrics, folks can go out of doors and still be totally unprepared, ill-equipped and, might i say, beckoning for the wiles of exposure.
it's like God saying, sure, you've got your polypropylene base layer and you may even have a sick windstopper fleece with articulated sleeves and pit zips for chance overheating. it may even breathe well before you don your 800 fill down parka with fleece lined pockets, water-resistant zips and micro-chamois lined chin. if you're real ambitious you may have incorporated the superior waterproofing ability of gore-tex. you can even add a merino wool beanie fully lined with polartec in the way of the sherpas. perhaps you're smart enough to bring a negative degree mummy bag for inclement weather at an inconvenient time.
perfect. we could sum up all proceeding goodies as gear.
great plan. gotta have the right gear.
but as to rephrase, God's like, you have your gear. watch this.
i give you... cold.
enter unrelenting bitter winds, maybe wicked gales, pelting rain, maybe even some blizzard-type snows or sleet.
and what do you with your gear do?
pray.

mensa brilliant

you know how elevators go up and down?
my job at ikea this week is to greet people as they arrive by elevator and escalator to the 2nd floor showroom. for some reason, the following story is hilarious to me.
more than a few times, as i stand in front of these 2 devices (which are directly next to huge plexiglass windows peering down into the entrance on the 1st level), people who have just come up the escalator or elevator ask this question:
customer: does this (points to elevator) go down?
jess: yes. the elevator goes down.

brrr...

a pair of flannel pants, wool socks, hooded sweatshirt and a steaming bowl of oatmeal...
not an evening by a wintry fire. nah. this is me in 72 degree weather after spending 4 days in redding, ca.
strange what a week in arid 100 will do to a body.

the g-rents visit

God is hilarious

you know i'm always ready for adventure.
my clarion call to fulfill my occupational destiny has finally gotten through:
jess: hello?
lady: yeah, hi. this is jennie from the temp agency. are you available to work?
jess: totally.
lady: well, it starts on wednesday from 8 to 5 for six weeks.
jess: what would i be doing?
lady: stocking and such in the warehouse.
jess: for what company?
lady: ikea.
(flashbacks, bayarea ikea, crowds, large parking garage, boxes, long lines, multi-pitched racking with furniture, emeryville, wrong turns, getting lost in fruitvale, at night. fear. lots of fear.)
so after mulling for a moment i obviously took the job. (how can i risk an environment sure to rich in blogable madness?) hung up. and strongbadded it, "BWAA HA HA HA!!!" stocking.
is that more like being an author who blows peoples' minds with paradigm-busting philosophizing in seemingly poetic form or molding young tender minds and souls in preparation for their good citizenship with its positive impact on their community and world?

what then, shall i do?

i feel like a speech-savvy, purpose-ignorant 18 year old right out of high school. last night i wanted to be a web designer then translator. this morning i want to be an artist. but I also like kids. hm.

i know my purpose: “to glorify God and enjoy him forever…” (thank you westminster catechism), but quite frankly that’s just not enough right now. (you know what is enough? to be a wife and sister. but apparently that doesn’t fly in this particular time continuum. so i press onward). so how do i do this glorying and enjoying? don’t give me a bunch of verses. i know them. i mean practically. HOW.

i sit here in my calm apartment on an overcast muggy day sipping decaf sierra dorada from peet’s and an organic, vegan, unprocessed, raw, non-gmo, gluten- dairy- sugar- free, kosher nut and fruit bar and wonder…

what next? i’m not looking for esp here. i’m looking for purpose… i am a ________. filling in the blanks with an occupation/vocation (whatever the difference is between the two. though I like the sound of vocation… it sounds like being on a holiday. maybe that’s the one people enjoy more and look forward to going to).

and don’t throw me the purpose driven literature by warren. that book seriously put me to sleep. a lot of books do, actually. dickens. woolf. macarthur.

authors that stay a comatose state: london. tolstoy. lewis.

and looking at that list i can honestly say maybe there is something quite wrong with my mind. (i’d put rowlings in there somewhere, but she’s just lost and anst-driven).

maybe i should write books that don’t put anyone to sleep. yikes. i can’t even put into words the face i’m making right now. it’s one of “that’s a little crazy in a socially faux pawish sort of way.”

filming the holiday

what words can't say...

we meet her majesty

if you click and look very closely... on the walls of this lovely glacial moraine, you will find us picking our way along the trail to the bottom where we get our feet cold and wet in the ice. just another thing one can do in july in the pac nw. tromp around on mt hood. she's quite amazing. and finicky... tank top and 80s to soft shell and beanie in 3 minutes.

commit & trust, delight & rest

these are the words sent to me recently by a dear friend. pretty much sums up life.
here we wait oh so patiently for the plane. and off we went to oahu.
first class there and coach on the return. but we still felt like winners. it's strange telling people we went to the island.
"yes. we have trouble paying rent. yes. we also went to the ko'olina resort on the southwest side of oahu for 7 days."
that doesn't jive so much. but then, when does God's grace ever jive with our pathetic self-strivings? jive schmive.

measure twice, cut once

while in Cali this last week, the youngest sis and i endeavored upon a whirlwind quilt. she had been pondering this avenue of creativity, and jo-anns, a not so great fabric shop, had a very great sale.

so we purchased.
we designed.
we measured.
we rotaried.
we should've measured again.
we compensated for error.
"i thought you were supposed to be my mentor, jess." "yes, and i'm mentoring you on how to redeem yrself when you don't measure twice before you cut once."
we redesigned.
we ironed.
we seam-ripped.
we sewed.
we smoothed.
we aligned.
we safety pinned.
we quilted.
i left at this point. i'm waiting on a pix of the finished product. here's a bit of the focus fabric. it should be incredible.

crabby patty

just out of beckoning curiosity, why is it that when they serve crab, it has to be in its shell? honestly. i’m not saying that the task of freeing the delicious sweet meat of a snow crab isn’t worth getting juices up to yr elbows and gashes on yr hands from shell and crab zipper isn’t worth it. i’m just saying, why have we eliminated the middle man?
my hands are burning, yo. though, in part, that may have to do with the fact it was ripped apart and eaten outside on the columbia river in not-so-warm April weather. it was, after all, 38 degrees this morning.

vegan, my eye

well, that was short lived to say the least. by midnight of the fourth day of my hilarious vegan endeavor i broke down and had a bowl of cereal.
milk. raisin bran.

i know, i know. i am so very weak.

but didn't i say that dairy would be my undoing?
that would be me at the bar, while others order frosty mugs of micro-brewed ambers, pilsners, stouts and the likes...
"may i have a pint of whole milk? and i'd like it in a frosty mug, as well."
the looks. the sniggering. but seriously, i'm just saving them time. they don't have to card me or wait for that foamy junk on the top of the beer to subside to finish filling the glass.
i'm low maintenance.

and have healthy bones.
calcium in a pint of micro-brew stout beer (Deschutes Brewery Obsidian Stout): 0 mg.
calcium in a pint of milk: 600 of 1000 mg suggested daily allowance
i think the numbers speak for themselves.
(beer is vegan, though...)

soy vegan, ahora

i’ve gone vegan.

before ya’ll freak out that i’ve freaked out and finally let the pinko-commie p-land air and it’s incessant precipitation get to my head... please know it’s only a temporary detox to see what’s making my joints and muscles hate me... and also know that i still love dairy. at least we’ll always have that.

segue: and also, i’m not about flinging blood-simulating ketchup at passerby mink-wearing nuevo-reich while wearing a fox costume. (i’ve always wondered at PETA, who [incidently being one of the most morally bereft and offensive organizations.... i won’t even tell you why; you’d puke.], being so disgusted by the exploitation of animals, would engage in hurling apparent body fluids of said innocent animals on their fellow mankind in attempts to proselytize them. does anyone else see a contradiction here? i love all God’s creatures but enjoy a nice steak, and that totally grosses me out.)

but while researching the strange world of no animal products, and that word "strange" is used only for lack of a more articulate word, i found this snippet on www.reallynatural.com:

People who ate a low-fat vegan diet, cutting out all meat and dairy, lowered their blood sugar more and lost more weight than people on a standard American Diabetes Association diet, researchers said on Thursday.
They lowered their cholesterol more and ended up with better kidney function, according to the report published in Diabetes Care, a journal published by the American Diabetes Association.
Participants said the vegan diet was easier to follow than most because they did not measure portions or count calories. Three of the vegan dieters dropped out of the study, compared to eight on the standard diet.
"I hope this study will rekindle interest in using diet changes first, rather than prescription drugs," Dr. Neal Barnard, president of the Physician's Committee for Responsible Medicine, which helped conduct the study, told a news conference.

wouldn’t it be just that more horrible if the very foods we loved the most were working hard to hurt us? i’m hoping it’s not the case with me. chronic pain vs. delicious food.

if such is the case, my constant prayer will henceforth be: God, please make there be dairy in heaven. didn’t you say the promised land would be flowing with milk and honey?

las palabras

just so you know... i did not win this round. actually. if i were to be completely honest with myself and the world around me...
i didn't win any rounds this weekend. four days with my mom playing scrabble. four day losing to my mom playing scrabble. at least she didn't score any stupid bingos. you know, the ones where you use all yr letters? yeah, i'm not sure how those are done, either. though i've seen it cause my demise time and time, again. she's not lettin' on, either.
and yes. guano was mine. it means bird poo.

en la parada de autobús

"Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him." John 7:38
this weekend i quasi-boasted about loving to talk to strangers. i am, after all, my grandfather's granddaughter and my mother's daughter.
driving home from a "tea luncheon" (isn't women's ministry funny?) i saw an elderly woman in a bright and very pink coat sitting at a bus stop. did i mention i could see her lipstick shade from my peripheral vision going 30mph? i turned my head to get another glance. i was intrigued.
God: you say you like talking to strangers? why don't you go talk to her?
Jess: what? are you serious?
God: see if she knows Jesus
(it's just like God to not answer when the questions are stupid... and sorry kids, whatever yr teacher told you, this teacher is going to tell you truth it's high time you knew: there is such a thing as a stupid question. i think i just proved that quite effectively.)
Jess: i'm losing my mind
but i figure, i've been hurting lately and people who don't know Jesus hurt all the time, so maybe i can minister to the pink lady somehow.
i make a u-dog.
Jess: maybe the bus is gone... that would be great
God: look
Jess: yeah... didn't think so
the strange thing? how easy it was.
the bummer thing?
i couldn't remember where the verse about the inerrancy of scripture was
the amazing thing?
i got the gospel to her right before the squeaking brakes pulled c-tran to a stop
the motivating thing?
couldn't remember the brilliant verse 1 Cor 15:3-4:
For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance:
that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that He was buried, that He was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures...
He's gracious, though. gotta do my homework so i can do that whole being ready with an answer deally.

la cosa que ahorra, sostiene

the thing that saves, sustains.
matchless grace. grace without matching.
that God would bestow the gift of life upon me and then pour blessings upon me on top and brimming and over and above even that.
romans 8 is starting to make a lot more sense to me. this is good, since it is about living by the Spirit. the highest and noblest of callings.
who or what can be against me? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?... who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall trouble or hardship...?
He gives all good things. every good and perfect gift is from above coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights... comfort. joy.
what do the lost do without Him? my heart hurts to conjecture. a dark and scary place. it's a wonder to me the suicide rate isn't profoundly higher. tell them! Christ's love compels. tell them!

Wonderful grace of Jesus,
Greater than all my sin;
How shall my tongue describe it,
Where shall its praise begin?
Taking away my burden,
Setting my spirit free;
For the wonderful grace of Jesus reaches me.

Wonderful the matchless grace of Jesus,
Deeper than the mighty rolling sea;
Wonderful grace, all sufficient for me, for even me.
Broader than the scope of my transgressions,
Greater far than all my sin and shame,
O magnify the precious Name of Jesus.
Praise His Name!

árboles de cereza

So... whether or not these are the reason for my sinus misery... commensurate to their great burden upon my histamines is their beauty upon the backdrop of shiny green grass. Cherry trees are everywhere and it makes the air feel soft and fresh.
Below the tree in our backyard are crocus and daffodils, as well. It makes me sing "All on a Golden Afternoon" (Alice in Wonderland).
Spring is a good thing.

a wintry sonnet

Christina Rossetti

A Robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main.--
When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.
Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.
The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,
Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.