For a chatterbox, I'm a fairly private person (despite what you see here). When I'm waiting for something, I'm even more so. I've been waiting on a Big Thing for about a month, and until I have a definite answer, conversation stinks. Talking about the Big Thing is not going well. My stance is one of cautious optimism (despite assurances from those in charge that caution is really not necessary). Caution from other people about the Big Thing feels condescending, and excitement feels premature and risky. (Yes, as you can imagine, I'm a delight to be around at the moment.)

So here I am, tentatively excited, but waiting. Wanting to share about what's been a very cool process, and not wanting to get bitten in the ass by it later (because hey, I've been there). I want to find a cave (with a refrigerator that magically holds all kinds of pasta salads) and camp out there until I get official notice one way or another.


What To Ask

I've been interviewing lately, and I'm happy to tell you that I've been invited to ask questions during those conversations. I like questions. In fact, I realized a couple of years ago that one of the compliments that makes me feel best about myself is, "Wow, that's a really good question!"

I have at least one more interview, and it's scheduled for Thursday morning. As I prepare for it, I'm trying to think about questions that I'd like to ask. Specifically, I'm trying to differentiate between things I wonder about, and things I need to know in order to discern well. Anything that's just a question of curiosity will be resolved in time, I can wait and watch to get those answers. I'm looking for questions that declutter, that take away all the ephemera in order to distinguish between what I can and can't live without.

I can live with weird hours.
I can live with stress.
I can live with looking at my mistakes.

I can live without an office of my own.
I can live with turnover and brief encounters.
I won't live with institutionalized meanness.
I won't live with perpetual boredom.
I won't live without faithfulness.
I won't live as someone else.

I'd love to know what you will and won't live without.



Here's what I have to say about Mother's Day: Some people who are not good-enough mothers are still extraordinary human beings.

A few extraordinary points about my own mother:
  • A petite, beautiful blonde, she started her career... in the military... as a welder.
  • She is the most creative, optimistic problem-solver I have ever met. She always believes there's a solution, and she doesn't say "can't."
  • Though an avid reader, she's a skilled member of the learn-by-doing camp. She loves getting her hands dirty, whether it's gardening, remodeling, or some other blend of craftsmanship and hard work.
  • She cleans up exceptionally well. I realized recently I've inherited many of my sartorial preferences from her, particularly in the workplace.
  • I've lost track of the number of different apartments/base housing units we lived in while I was growing up, but she made each of them beautiful. On a shoestring budget. (She was also a fiercely committed provider.)
  • Though some mothers are very jealous of their child's affections, she was constantly putting kind, supportive adults in my life.
  • She's an excellent writer, and she's a particularly faithful correspondent. She still uses paper and pen, too.
  • She's very, very funny, and she laughs hard, which is great fun. (Side note: Dave tells me that our laughter in stereo can be terrifying.)
  • She's very insightful in situations she has some distance from. She uses this both to give wise counsel, and sometimes just to give abundantly.
  • She's passionate about defending justice-- whether it's poverty in Africa or a teacher being rude to a student, she's ready to lead the charge.
My mom had an appalling childhood, and simply didn't have the emotional resources to be a good-enough mother. She's struggled with mental health issues for years, and they've proved difficult to manage. I pray that she continues to heal and flourish, and in the meantime, I can celebrate Extraordinary Person Day on Sunday.



A million years ago (probably about 25, if you're a stickler for that sort of thing), my mom and I used to buy matching sandals at the PX (on-base department store, for you civilians out there). I remember white ones and brown ones, but they all had the same cushy footbed and crossed leather straps.

I saw them about a month ago at Bass, and mentioned my happy shoe memory to Dave. When Easter came around, he popped a pair into my basket. (I'm not quite wearing heels again yet, so last year's sandals are still tucked in a box under the bed.) I wore them for the first time today (SUNSHINE--hallelujah!).

I ride a fine line between grief and fondness in May, with Mother's Day and my mom's birthday just days apart. This is a piece of what that looks like.


Getting Ready

Last week, I picked up a copy of Philip Gambone's Travels in a Gay Nation, and I loved it (more on that later, maybe). I love essays and biography, and this was particularly good.

In one chapter, Bishop Gene Robinson says that he keeps a little piece of paper in front of him during interviews. It says, "It's about God, Stupid." I have a big meeting tomorrow morning. I keep catching myself mentally fussing over it, thinking about how I can be insightful and charming and funny. That's not what it's about, though.

It's about God, Stupid.

(Wouldn't that make a great embroidered sampler?)

Thanks, Gene.