Chic Paupette

Hi

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 11:00:00 -0500

This photo represents the end of one of the most jam-packed 6 months of my life. I snapped it at a rest stop on the long drive between my current southern home and my northern hometown, two days after arriving home from my second overseas trip in as many months. Although we had been on planes for a total of 20 hours only days prior to this snapshot, the 8-hour car trip meant rest and peace after months of seemingly non-stop action. It seems that my blogging break was wise, and even if I hadn’t stepped away from social media on purpose, I probably would have been forced to do so by sheer lack of time anyways. We had a full semester of classes as per usual, but sandwiched into our Fall were two excursions out of the country: Germany in October, and Kenya in December. We were so fortunate to afford the opportunities to go on these trips, but we’ve already decided that going out of the country during school (much less twice in the same semester) will not be attempted again.

Much has changed within my time away. In retrospect it seems that the choices we needed to make demanded much of my mental attention which may have been otherwise diverted had I not taken an internet break. The most notable change is that I left my previous job (with heavy heart to be sure) and am figuring out another possible one. I have more time now to scrape the eggs off dishes and attempt to climb mount laundry, which is a blessing. Yet we are in a period of waiting, a “limbo” of figuring out details, but as a dear friend reminded me this morning, limbo is sometimes the best place to be. Isn’t there a cliche saying, something like “When you have money, there’s no time; when you have time there’s no money?” Well, if not, consider it coined.

I come back to my little corner of the web a bit tentatively. I enjoyed the disconnectedness. I wondered aloud in my previous post (all the way back in August!) how I would fare intentionally abstaining from social media for a time. I stepped away from it all, the constant give and take of information that is part and parcel of the current digital age. I did not blog nor tweet. I kept my general internet reading at a minimum, and didn’t check my Twitter feed once. And I loved it. I loved it more than I thought I would, which is why my foray back into blogging is bittersweet. As a sidenote, I have noticed a change in my attention span: it lasts far longer than it once did. I have no scientific data, only experience. I find my mind is able to focus and rest more than before, and that’s what I’ve enjoyed most: the mental rest. There is a speed at which information is produced online that makes it impossible to ever catch up or keep up. I have greatly enjoyed not worrying about that so much. Now I use the internet rather than the internet using me, and isn’t that the way it should be? I digress… Anyways, I like my mind better this way. It seems more reliable these days. At least for my time in seminary, I will keep things such as they are now: blogging a little, pinning a little, when it suits me. (I do love Pinterest, and all its attendant loveliness. Perhaps it is less of a mental stressor becuase it’s more visual than informational; I can walk away from it without all manner of sound bite information still swimming around up there.)

I have missed writing. (And by that I mean writing for pleasure as opposed to pedagogy. There was plenty of the latter.) A few weeks ago I dove into my blog archives and got all warm and fuzzy inside, remembering things I would not have if it weren’t for my blog. I was grateful for the trip down memory lane. And it reminded me that, as a creative/artsy type, having such an outlet during graduate school is a good thing. And I’ve heard from more than one source recently, if you want to be a better writer you should… write!

So, with minor trepidation, I write on. I’m making no promises–mostly to myself!–of frequency or obligatory digital expectation. I will use my blog, my blog will not use me.

Posterity 2.0... 2?

Mon, 08 Aug 2011 21:43:41 -0400

I’m re-posting a blog entry from not long ago, as it reveals what is still fluttering around in my mind concerning technology & me. I do so with both a pit in my stomach and a half-smile on my face, as my husband just made me aware that his blog somehow got deleted last week. He doesn’t know how it happened, and I am in shock. How do you delete an entire blog? I don’t even know how to delete mine on purpose… and his happened by accident. It should definitely not be quite that easy to do such a thing. Yet it makes some of the questions I ask in “Posterity 2.0” a little more interesting I suppose…

The other reason I’m re-posting is because I am taking a break from social media that will last at least this coming semester, if not indefinitely. It will be an experiment of sorts. I look forward to discerning how the lack of Twitter and blogging begging for my consistent attention will affect my student brain. We shall see. This post was one of my more enjoyable ones to write, so I thought it fitting for the occasion.

Till…

__________________________

Originally posted on April 6, 2011

Maybe this idea hails from movies and books, or perhaps it lies in family stories from of old, but I often imagine my kids one day discovering a dusty attic chest filled with letters and writings of mine/my husband’s. They would acquaint them with us in ways which speech would not allow. An organizational bin is already home to piles of journals filled with my own penned chronicles of life. We have some letters from our first few years together. I hope to have more.

But what of our “online life”?

Last week I spent some time scrolling through my personal Twitter feed. I feel a little sheepish (and rather vain) to admit that reading through many of my tweets caused me to laugh aloud. Not unlike poring over pages of handwritten scrawl in old journals, my tweets evoked memories galore. Yet unlike the allowance of a physical diary, tweeting forces this apologetically verbose, wannabe blogger (oughtta-be grad school wordsmith) into dire straits of brevity. 140 characters constrains my usual uninhibited vernacular eruptions–which are being exhibited this very moment–into a tiny compartment. Happy remembrances of life have been kindled in looking back upon stores of writing and typing alike. I can pull one repository down from a shelf, while the other sits on a ginormous server out there… somewhere? They are both me, are they not?

Although I have many handwritten journals filled with much pondering, prayer, and processing (which would give my children glimpses into their mother’s life) I also have a blog. My husband has one too. What of them?

Blogging and tweeting may be generally less transparent, while journals and letters delve into recesses of myself I wouldn’t dare share online. But they are both personal (albeit in different ways), both aesthetically expressive of their creator.

My grandparents, my parents, didn’t blog. Didn’t tweet. Will their dusty attic chests filled with letters be our dusty terabyte hard drives backed up with blog posts?

Could I make both? Could I leave both for future generations to one day find?

I dearly love the sadly waning medium of handwritten letters. Mail. I daresay I enjoy Twitter and blogging too, however. One medium uses pen and ink, limited only by the number of pages in a journal’s binding. The other employs Helvetica font, and allows for infinite scrolling.

Maybe I will print out our tweets. Perhaps I will tea-stain the papers impressed by our modern Canon printer’s CMYK color ink. I could burn the edges with a candle. Then they could be thrown into the attic chest to collect their own dust. Would that fill our digital discourse with nostalgia?

Will the medium matter? Or will the writer’s content [his/her faults and foibles, digitizations and delights, joys and jaunts] found in the dusty attic chest effect heartwarming insight, regardless of cursive or typeface?

anthropologie: Jim Denevan is renowned for his sand drawings,...

Sun, 31 Jul 2011 18:01:31 -0400

anthropologie:

Jim Denevan is renowned for his sand drawings, and rightly so. Most take all day to complete, are massive in scale and stunningly precise—each circle seemingly perfect, each angle exact. Every drawing has a defined lifespan, lasting only as long as it takes the tide to rise.

Via: Jim Denevan

This is breathtaking.

Big Feet, Little Feet

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 11:30:10 -0400

Big Feet

Yesterday evening, after a particularly full, event to next event-to next event-to next event etc. few days, my husband and I collapsed on our couch. He stretched out on one end, propping his feet upon me as I sat on the couch’s opposite end. Tiredness had befallen us quickly. I absentmindedly began kneading my fatigued spouse’s feet as we chatted. Perhaps it was because I was quite so drowsy, but my mind began to wander as I studied my husband’s feet.
As I scrutinized, I began to consider them. I had never noticed their shape, really. It was like I was looking at the feet of someone with whom I was newly acquainted. For some reason, looking at his feet made me realize I have much yet to learn of my husband. 2+ years of marriage (prayerfully many more to come) and I don’t yet know my husband’s feet. His hands, yes. Their strength and masculinity I noticed the first weekend we met. I wonder what new things of him and his life I have yet to discover.
He asked–smiling at me in the way only he does–what I was doing, perusing so diligently his lowermost extremities. I simply told him what was swimming through my head. He laughed a little, continuing that me-only smile, and continued his rest.

Little Feet

The 6 y.o. has a friend who’ll be with us all this week. We had decided last week we’d have a day to paint nails soon. After playing imaginatively upstairs for a bit, with hot pink and sparkly purple shellac in hand, they bounded downstairs and shyly asked me to paint their nails. The glee appeared on their faces when I agreed.
As I played mani-pedicurist for the last half hour, they mused back and forth about whether or not I should paint a heart on their big toes, or maybe purple polka dots on top of the pink base, or stripes! When they beheld the lovely sheen of the fuchsia’s second coat, they decided to leave their toes plain.
As for their hands, something must have compelled them to branch out a bit…

No Settler of Disputes

Fri, 08 Jul 2011 23:06:20 -0400

This nanny would like to state for the record that she does not consider dogs to be legitimate witnesses in settling disputes between 6 and 8 year olds.

Especially not this dog. Pepper is loyal. Pepper is loving. Pepper will give you the saddest puppy dog eyes, laying with her head on the ground beneath her paws, looking up at you with her round, brown globes. Sweet as she is, this makes her no settler of disputes. She just wants a cheeto.

Scene: Children and dog running about, zigging into the kitchen, zagging around the Apple computer, singing a song from “Tangled,” but inserting the dog’s name into the lyrics in random places. Vibrato sounds from the 8 y.o. The 6 y.o. echoes back. They stop singing momentarily to discuss which person and canine is playing which “Tangled” character. Their tones, serious, quickly turn to brother-sister bicker-banter. I listen in to see if nanny restitution is necessary when I hear…

6: No you should be Flynn Rider! Or maybe Pepper could be…

…More hushed bicker-banter. Volume increases. Intonation rises and falls…

8: But PEPPER heard me! She understands, she can back me up!

I had to step in to calm the waters at this point. The jury is still out on Pepper’s testimony.

Death by Reference

Wed, 29 Jun 2011 20:08:00 -0400

A fifteen year old boy from my church died in a tragic accident last week. I didn’t know him personally nor ever had the pleasure of interacting with him since we belong to a rather large church. Yet my husband and I attended the funeral, and the somber atmosphere was felt as soon as I walked into the sanctuary.

I found myself tearing up at several points during the service, and even just sitting quietly, waiting for it all to begin. I wondered why I was so deeply affected during the moments my eyes were welling, despite never having met the boy in the casket outside. In part, I was certainly “weeping with those who wept” as part of my church family. Being part of the family of God means all other Christians are family: brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers. I should feel loss when others lose because of this.

The circumstances reminded me of my grandma’s funeral. She is the closest person to me who has died in my 20+ years of life thus far. And yet, even at her funeral, the harder part for me was watching my mom cry. I remember my mom viewing her mother–dressed in her favorite color, purple–one last time, laying in her casket. She cried and hugged my dad’s neck tight. Seeing this caused me to cry and put a hand on my mom’s arm. It was harder for me to see my mom losing her mom, and also to think about losing my mom. As close as my mother was to hers, I’m pretty sure that she and I are yet closer. I couldn’t imagine losing her, and that made me weep even harder.

At this week’s funeral, the youngest brother of the deceased said a few sweet words. I noticed a dear friend blotting away tears as the little boy spoke. I began to drop tears from my eyes too, thinking about her two sons, thinking about the younger having to process through losing his older brother. Then I began to think about what it would be like to lose someone so close to myself, and I gripped my husband’s knee. He probably didn’t know that’s what caused my tears.

I seem to experience death by referencing losing someone else closer to me than who has really died. I don’t know why. When I write that down, it seems odd, like I’m taking away from the one who is no longer. Yet I don’t know what it’s like to feel that type of loss, and for some reason my mind just begins this referencing, unwittingly.

I’m only in my mid-twenties, and as a friend reminded me recently, the day will surely come that I will be the one experiencing deep, personal loss. A little like, “you’ll understand when you’re older…” I think that’s true.

Our prayers go out to this grieving family. I long for the day that every tear will be wiped from our eyes.

“A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before...

Fri, 24 Jun 2011 13:21:57 -0400

“A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Happy Birthday A.M.!

Father's Day '11

Sun, 19 Jun 2011 21:33:00 -0400

Happy Father’s Day, to all the dads in my life.

To mine:

To my dear father-in-law, and to the future father of my children:

To my friend, who’s faithful fathering is an encouraging inspiration:

To my little brothers who’ll be fathers one day.

One sooner:

one later:

To my spiritual father, who has always pointed me to my true Father:

I’m grateful for all of you!

(All photos in this post were taken by Kori Hoffman)

Glow

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 21:56:34 -0400

I love how the morning light made this photo glow.

As a still pretty newbie photographer, shots like these that have some special aspect just by catching light at the right moment are rare. I don’t have too many. But I really love the way this one turned out. Again, this shot is SOOC except for a tiny bit of sharpening. I wanted to leave it as is because, well, it isn’t often that I can do that.

Peony Petals

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 21:24:00 -0400

The wedding shower in my hometown last weekend was a success. The bride was all aglow. It was a joy to see my dear friend smiling, eating good food, and getting to spend time with friends she hasn’t seen for a long time.

My sweet sister-in-law (who has recently begun a blog of her own!) gave the bride a lovely green vase as her shower gift. In her typical creative-thoughtful fashion, instead of wrapping the gift she filled the vase with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and set it in the middle of the table. The bride got to enjoy the vase immediately as it fulfilled its intended purpose holding lovely blooms.

The peonies were so beautiful and fragrant, we couldn’t stop smelling them! The peony has been one of my favorite flowers for some time, but they are not always easy to find. Having access to some that weekend, I had to steal one for an early morning photo session the day after the shower. The light was perfect that morning, and my parents’ new white rocking chairs provided a nice backdrop.

I decided to leave the photos pretty much straight out of camera, only sharpening a couple the tiniest bit.

Monet said that he owed becoming a painter to flowers. Perhaps I can say the same concerning photography. I just can’t seem to keep my lens away from them…

Chocolate Chip Push-Ups

Sat, 11 Jun 2011 01:39:37 -0400

Sometimes, I end up unthinkingly doing oxymoronical things that ask for a hearty chuckle. Yesterday held one of those moments, when I literally did push-ups into baked goods. I don’t recommend it, as push-ups are meant to undo the deeds done by baked goods.

Thunder began sounding yesterday afternoon, so the walk I was planning had to be postponed. It would be unpleasant to get stuck in the rain while exercising. And dangerous to boot, with an iPod and earbuds powering me along. I could have been toasted by lightning!

Anyways.

I wanted to do some sort of physical activity, so I got out some free weights from the closet, warmed up by jogging up and down some stairs outside our apartment, then did a few sets of simple arm exercises I discovered before my wedding two years ago. The fourth exercise was a standing push-up which is to be done against some sort of sturdy ledge or countertop. My kitchen was the only place that had such a thing, so I chose a countertop, got onto my tippy-toes, checked my form, and began the push-ups. Like so:

About 6 repetitions in, concentrating on my breathing and form, the familiar, delicious scent of cinnamon and chocolate began to flow through my nostrils. I had been so focused on completing my exercises, that I didn’t even realize that I was raising and lowering myself right over a Sour Cream Chocolate Chip Cake I had baked for dessert the other night. (I tweaked the recipe a little… I didn’t make the topping, but just put the chocolate chips in the cake itself. I highly recommend it. Yum… Anyways, again!) Do you ever get so focused on a task that you lose all notice of your surroundings? Well, that’s what happened. I continued push-upping, or, pushing-up? I finished my first set, laughing at myself for exercising right next to, right in to, the very thing I was trying to work off my triceps. How silly.

Warning: Push-ups into cake may lead to eating of the cake into which you are doing push-ups.

Paper Flower

Fri, 10 Jun 2011 10:00:00 -0400

I really love flowers.

Even fake ones! I think I have a disease.

Clicking the photo above will take you to the tutorial where I learned how to make these cute little things. I found it right in time for traveling to my hometown this weekend. I’m throwing a bridal shower for my best friend from high school who’s getting married in July. I’m going to make a few of these for fun and just throw them around the desserts, appetizers, drinks, and gifts for decoration. She likes hand-made things so I hope she’ll like them!

These buds are so simple. You really just cut out a spiral of paper and curl it around a pencil or Q-tip, or in my case, a pointer finger.

Simple creativities like these make me smile.

Makes me want to read another classic…

Thu, 09 Jun 2011 08:00:06 -0400

Makes me want to read another classic…

Why...

Wed, 08 Jun 2011 08:00:06 -0400

…Must you be $158?

You should know by now that seminary students can’t buy clothes that cost that much.

Yet, I still like you, with your peachy, lovely pleats, and bow that reminds me of my wedding gown.

Praying for a discount, into the wish list she goes.

Cold Spaghetti

Mon, 06 Jun 2011 11:22:00 -0400

I made spaghetti for dinner last night. It was a quick meal, thrown together not long before needing to leave for Sunday evening service. The pasta was still quite hot when I lumped it into tupperware to refrigerate, so I put it out to cool. Topped partially with a lid, I left it as we went to church then out for milkshakes with dear friends. We arrived back home later and I eyed the capellini and sauce. I checked the temperature, and of course it was completely cooled. I ate a small chunk of the cold spaghetti, and instantly thought of my dad, transported to my parents’ kitchen island, standing, surveying littered leftovers.

Leftover consumption by my dad has always been a fine art. I can’t even begin to count the number of memories I have of him eyeing a bounty of tupperware, contemplating his coming dinner, which would always end up a funny concoction of the week’s previous meals. But there was always something about leftover spaghetti. It was special. I remember him many times heaping the pasta into a bowl. It was ready for the microwave, yet he took his time, choosing other bits of this and that to complement his main dish. All the while, he would pick at the cold spaghetti tupperware from which he had already dished his leftover dinner. My mom would wonder aloud if he’d be hungry for the cooked spaghetti after eating all the cold. I giggled to myself last night, as I did whenever I witnessed this taking place in my parents’ kitchen.

As I lidded my cheap Ikea tupperware full of cold spaghetti and memories, I wondered how many moments like this bring dad to mind that I don’t even notice. For a split second my eyes got misty, thinking maybe I wouldn’t be able to recall all the things that remind me of him till he’s gone. Cold spaghetti is just one. Hootie & The Blowfish (whose song we danced to at my wedding) is another. A memory mushroom bloomed for a minute, as one recollection of him led to another.

I get to see him this weekend. Maybe we’ll get to eat cold spaghetti together. Even if we don’t, I’ll have to tell him how much I love that he does that.

Back to Blogging

Sat, 28 May 2011 19:44:00 -0400

I took a break from my “online life” until at least the end of finals, and now I’m returning to my little corner of the www, albeit a little timidly. I actually enjoyed being disconnected much more than expected, and I almost don’t want to come back. There was something simpler about not worrying about having to keep up with it all. It seems that if you have a blog (or Twitter/Facebook account/etc.) there’s this pull to always constantly be communicating through them, and tendency toward guilt if you aren’t. I read this very interesting article recently about the amount of information that is created on the internet every day. This statement was particular shocking:

After weeks of survey research, it turns out—the bounty and abundance of web data is out of control. As Google’s Eric Schmidt has been quoted, from the beginning of time to 2003, we created 5 Exabytes of data. We’re now creating that every two days—and it’s accelerating.

Wow. Isn’t that just staggering? “From the beginning of time…”

This is the first break from blogging I’ve taken that I’ve actually enoyed and not felt that guilt of being away. Though a tinge of it hit on May 26, when I realized my predetermined month break was “up.” Hmm. I’m thinking a lot about my technology usage, how much time I give to it. This “information age,” this Facebook/Twitter nation we’ve become leaves me often a bit overwhelmed. Not that technology is evil. I regularly enjoy it. But I feel convicted to be thoughtful about my usage of it, and what amount of my life to give it. As any of you fellow bloggers (or 21st century humans) know, the internet has a tendency to suck you into a black hole. It’s kind of like when you’re driving somewhere that is so familiar, that by the time you get there you wonder, “how did I arrive here?” not even really remembering your journey.

Anyways.

In other news:

School’s out for summah! *Insert huge sigh of relief here.* It is so nice to have a break, yet at the same time quite odd to have the freedom lack of school work brings. 2 years to go…
The kids I nanny and I have made up a game which I will certainly have to tell more about in the future. It’s very hilarious. It’s called “Rock, Paper, Scissor, Everything.” After getting tired of playing regular “Rock, Paper, Scissor” we just insert whatever comes to mind at the end. We’ve been playing daily, and some of the things they come up with are just amazing. (i.e. “avocado,” “the earth’s core,” “pillow fringe,” “the moon,” “superman,” “a flip-flop made out of smarties.”)
During my time offline, a family of birds decided to make its home in the upper left corner of our apartment balcony, right outside our bedroom window I might add. This means several things: 1. I don’t go out there anymore, 2. our little balcony porch, railing, and walls are covered in bird poop, 3. my husband coming to my rescue–while not wanting to injure the creatures–bought a water spray bottle and has been spraying them to try and get them to leave. They’ve quieted down, but alas. Still there.
I’ve been saving for a new DSLR camera, and I’m almost there. Once I purchase it and take some new photos, perhaps that will provide some inspiration for blog posts this summer.
This is the cake I was able to redeem. When a recipe says “use highest quality cocoa powder,” just buckle down and do it, people.

Mmm. This cake very well could be begging me to make it a third time.

New Life

Sun, 24 Apr 2011 12:45:26 -0400

“Behold, I make all things new.”

“Love; it will not betray you
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be

There is a design, an alignment to cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be”

-Mumford and Sons

Quick Update & Request

Fri, 22 Apr 2011 12:49:00 -0400

Although this kind of already has begun, I’m taking an official break from my online life till… well, at least this paper I’m working on is finished and turned in on Tuesday. I may stretch it through the end of finals in May, not sure yet. (Still thinkin’ about all these priorities…)

But I thought I’d update cp quickly before this necessary, self-imposed hiatus from all non-school-related internet frolicking. The cake did turn out better. A photo or two will follow at some point.

Mainly, I decided to write this, even if against my better judgment a bit, to ask if you’d pray for me. Yesterday afternoon I became sick for the fourth time in the past few weeks. I’ve never had allergies before, but I’ve discovered the region of the country I live in is horrible for allergies. I am in the midst of writing a 15 page paper, and am feeling… pretty bad. I think a fever may have just set in. I would just ask for prayers that I would work hard and well despite my circumstances. Something that’s hopeful about being a Christian is that even bad or undesirable things that happen in life serve to teach something. As I’m learning for this paper, I’m learning from God too, and know that this is for my good, even though I feel bad.

Thanks for reading this prayer request, and for lifting me up to the One who truly cares for me, and you.

Hiatus begins in 3,2,1…

3 minutes, 33 seconds

Sat, 16 Apr 2011 23:56:00 -0400

That’s what’s left on the timer. I have a midnight rendezvous with the oven, and I hope this time to come out victorious. Why midnight you ask? Well, this hometown weekend has been thus filled with family time and wedding details. Very much fun to be sure. But that leaves midnight baking as my only option to provide my fam with the chocolate cake I promised. This late night mixing and stirring is also a do-over of sorts. I’m re-making a chocolate cake I made, rather attempted, for my husband’s birthday last week. It needs redemption. It turned out… less than fantastic I’ll just say. Being the stubborn, use-every-last-bit-of-pantry-ingredient baker I am, I forewent the “best quality” cocoa powder the recipe called for to scrounge the last bit of my own more “regular quality” cocoa powder for the cake.

Mistake.

Our taste buds were treated to more of a chocolate muffin taste than the decadent chocolate fudge cake it was supposed to be. The frosting was good, chocolate cream cheese. Delightful, simple, with only four ingredients.

Yet there was something in my stomach that wouldn’t be satisfied till I tasted that cake as it was meant to be. So I bake. At midnight, I bake cake.

Well, 3:33 is more than up. As cooling racks beckon the cakes, sleep beckons for me.

Chocolate cream cheese frosting will have to wait for sunrise.

Will first light bring chocolatey restitution?

Can you handle the cuteness? (Taken with instagram)

Fri, 15 Apr 2011 09:59:05 -0400

Can you handle the cuteness? (Taken with instagram)