I know I haven’t blogged in three years,

…and I probably won’t for three more, but here’s some more Marley to tide you until I do:
P.S. Go see the new baby Finn!!!

P.P.S. My dad’s missions blog is now apparently all-Marley, all the time, if you’re interested.

My brain on PRAXIS: Presented without comment

How one private university, which shall remain nameless, here in Nashville marks parking spaces on campus:

What I saw at first glance as I walked by this morning:

I mean, I know it’s not exactly spelled that way, but close enough to be rollickingly hilarious to food-deprived, just-took-a-brain-numbing-test me.

Oh, and by the way,

…I got a job .

I accepted a position with Metro Nashville Thursday (the same day I got my perfect niece). The journey I’ve been through during my short teaching career thus far has been remarkable. I went from “well, I guess I could teach if it could be upper-level courses on the college level” to…well, you know what I do.

I was open to whatever was next–the one in Murfreesboro (which I still haven’t heard from) was going to be a real challenge, but also a real opportunity. I haven’t worked with kids in a more privileged setting, and it would have been different in some good and some bad ways. I was up for it, if that’s where I was supposed to go.

The school where I accepted the position, though, is not privileged. In fact, like most Metro schools, it’s in trouble. Somewhere along the way, my anxiousness for a job combined with curiosity about what might be available if I broke down and applied for Metro. It dawned on me that the kind of issues that many of its schools are facing are issues I was indoctrinated with during my first year of teaching high school. Low test scores and graduation rates, difficulties with writing and even reading.

I helped some kids with that last year.

I can do it again this year. I want to do it again this year.

I was very impressed with the school’s new principal. I had several questions for her, and I got the answers I wanted. I left wondering if this could indeed be the very thing I’ve been looking for.

It appears it just might be. In fact…I think I was pulling for this one all along subconsciously. I’ve rarely been one to do the easy thing (or the ostensibly smartest thing), for better or worse. This is not going to be easy, but I can’t wait to dig in and see what I can do for some struggling students. And, oh yes, I’ll be back on here in a few weeks wondering what in the world I’m doing with my life and cursing NCLB, so get ready.

I had been jonesing for a mountain relocation, but the more time I’ve spent back in Nashville, the more I’ve realized that I’m not done with this town. And this town is apparently not done with me. And I’m oh-so-ready to see what it has in store.

P.S. Marley’s still perfect. Now the blogosphere just needs a new baby Finn.

Please make welcome…

Hours and hours and hours of labor and a C-section later, we got the grand prize:

Can you see
It’s amazing what you do to me
Took my heart and made me feel things
I never felt before
It’s changing me
Which direction so certainly
Shook me up and threw me around
Helped me learn to breathe
It all in
~”It’s Amazing,” Mindy Smith

Aunt Holly…coming soon to an Alabama near you

Just got word that the sis is being put into the hospital this afternoon and will be induced tomorrow morning. I’m not really thinking in a blog-writing way at the moment, but I just wanted to let you know. My mom’s on her way home from work, then we’re going to eat quickly and head down. My dad will follow tomorrow morning.

I hadn’t even packed a bag yet because it’s been so hard to believe that my sister is actually going to give birth to my niece. I love my sister, and I love my niece already; it’s still such a surreal, life-changing thing. There’s been a lot of whooping and flurrying around over the past hour or so in the house, and I’m sure there will be a lot more. I don’t know whether to cry or wig out or what…so, of course, I blog .

I just…I can’t believe my sweet little sister, whose birth I can remember, is now going to go through the pain and beauty of childbirth herself. She’s going to be an amazing mom. I guess, tonight, I’ll see her in the way I’ve always seen her–as still a precious, innocent little girl, my little sister–for the last time.

I can’t process this all right now, but prayers and good thoughts are much appreciated for my family, and especially Jenny and the little Marley girl who’s coming into our lives very soon.

Eric Wilson and Empty Hearts

Last Friday night, I had the distinct pleasure of doing, for the first time since I’ve been back, one of my favorite things about living in Nashville: seeing an amazing local band. Some friends and I met up at the 5 Spot over in east Nashville to see Eric Wilson and Empty Hearts.

First, some background on why I dig this band so much. One of the coolest things about working at Starbucks, and at my former Starbucks in particular, was the eclectic clientele. There was Pharoah, who drank way too much espresso and visited every day to campaign for President; there were the yuppies, of course, and Vanderbilt sorority girls; sometimes, the likes of Patty Griffin or Ben Folds would show up.

My favorites, though, were always the cute boys who played guitar. (I have a weakness for such, in case you haven’t noticed.) I plan on devoting a long and effusive post to Brian Ritchey, for instance, at some point, but on this particular winter day in 2006, the cute boy was Eric Wilson. He was looking to apply to be a barista. I checked in the back, where the store manager distractedly said we weren’t hiring, give him an application. She waved me away with a sort of impatient “just handle it” gesture, and thus I was left to turn this kid with the sweet smile back out into the cold.

I gave him the application, said he was welcome to bring it back any time though we might not be hiring for a while, and offered him a free drink. He was really modest and almost didn’t accept the drink, but finally demurred. We chatted as I steamed the milk for his peppermint mocha, and he told me he had a band. By that point, I was pretty used to guys standing in that exact spot saying the exact same thing, but honestly, I never tired of it the whole time I worked there. I asked him what kind of stuff his band played. He answered, “Americana-type stuff, like Ryan Adams–”

Yeah, I don’t remember what he said after that. His drink was ready anyway, so he told me I should come see the band sometime, I said I’d definitely try, and he left with a another sweet grateful smile.

I didn’t make good on my intentions until a few weeks later when they played a show at Christopher Pizza. Honestly–I don’t know what I was expecting, but wow. One of the guys I saw the show with the first time–a guy who has done some local music writing–had been planning on leaving early, but I remember his saying, “I was going to leave…but they’re good.” I’ve seen them twice since then, and each time has been a consistently solid, even moving, show. I want to say more than that, but I don’t want to be too local-fangirl.

In short, I love these guys’ sound. At the show the other night, I leaned over to a friend I was with and said, “that sounds like the Cardinals,” and he heartily agreed. He further asserted that some of Eric’s vocal stylings were Ryan-Adams-esque, and in some ways, I can hear it. I definitely compare the band with early Whiskeytown–on some songs, all they need is some Caitlin Cary harmony to do the trick. (Eric, if you’re reading this: I sing a mean alto in church and I’m looking for a job. Just sayin’.)

Beyond inevitable comparisons to other bands, though, these guys have a soul all their own. I finally downloaded their album, Quarterfuse, this weekend, and it’s been great to really have a listen to the homespun lyrics of their songs, most of which I’ve heard live. There’s love, of course, and broken (empty) hearts. The lyrics also often pay homage to the Kentucky soil from which the band grew, and to much of its deeply-rooted history, heartache, and ultimately, redemption.

Check them out on MySpace or, much better, live if you get the chance.

Touch me not…or, well, you can if you want to.

Tonight on the way to Dairy Queen, as I was rubbing sanitizer into my hands and mumbling something about not being able to stand shaking hands with so many people, my mom accused me of having a phobia and being “weird.” While I didn’t really appreciate that (though I’m certainly no stranger to accusations of weirdness), I must admit there’s something to it.

I don’t really like to be touched. And yet…I do.

Let me explain. Take church tonight, for instance. So many sweet, sweet people there–kind older men who make sure they shake everyone’s hands, older ladies who automatically hug. And close-talkers, but I guess that’s another category. I love everyone…I just don’t want to touch them.

This “thing” I have takes several different forms. The first I remember was the feeling that invisible creatures were squirming all over my hands after shaking hands with people in the churches where my dad was trying out to be the preacher when I was in high school. We spent a year and a half traveling all over the region trying to find a new place to live. For those of you who do church, you may know what I’m talking about when I refer to the preacher’s family receiving line. After the service, we’d take our places in the foyer: first Daddy, then Mama, then me, then my sister Jenny. We’d plaster the smiles on, answer questions about our ages and where we were going to college…and shake hands with every single person.

Please know that this is not a germs thing. I’m sure their hands are as reasonably clean as mine are. It’s more of a space thing. And a privacy thing. I know, as someone who broadcasts her inner workings to the internet on a weekly-if-not-daily basis, I don’t have a lot of room to complain about privacy. It’s just different somehow.

And it’s not just shaking hands. I get pretty freaked out when you touch, or even act as if you’re going to touch, my face. I get really freaked out when you go anywhere near my neck, and you’re liable to get pushed away by reflex if you whisper in my ear without my permission. Those are mine.

Brief aside here (and please skip to the next paragraph, any parental units who may be reading): the neck and ear thing can actually be, you know, not so bad. It depends upon the who and the when, and if you are the correct who, you will know the correct when. All others should keep a distance.

Oh, and do not under any circumstances illustrate a point or demonstrate your affection by squeezing my thigh. Oh, dear me, NO do not do that.

Now that I’ve alienated you all completely, let me do what may seem to be a 180. Despite all of the above, I am still an extremely physically affectionate person. I have done more analysis of this than I probably should have, but I still haven’t isolated what makes some people’s gestures completely repulsive to me, and why I use other people as human teddy bears.

I guess it’s a common-sensical solution when it comes down to it–if I know you and I feel comfortable with you, most likely, you’re in. It’s not that, say, people at church are complete strangers and make me uncomfortable, I just wonder if maybe I don’t like the idea of someone assuming we’re chummy and thus can get all physical just because we are both members of a larger group. The feeling I get is an invasion of sorts, so maybe that’s it.

I went to a religiously-affiliated college, one of the main goals of which was to break down all barriers between people (largely so they could pair off, marry, and create new little future donors)–even natural, healthy barriers. Good fences make good neighbors, you know. We were encouraged to confess stuff to each other that really should have just been between our individual selves and God. Likewise, during particularly “moving” devotional songs, we were often encouraged to “take a hand” or even hug the person next to us. Feverish embracing was the norm on any sidewalk or stairwell of campus.

This was a well-meaning thing on the part of most people. I don’t have to tell you what the downsides were of such, however. I’ve often wondered if the inner walls I’ve built, both physically and emotionally, were actually backlash against that time–a time when I often didn’t even feel like I belonged to myself anymore…a time when I was easily manipulated because of my extreme openness.

But that’s deep and depressing. Bottom line–I love me a good hug. I come from a sincerely affectionate family, and that’s a blessing (even though, again, my mom claims I don’t ever want to hug–I do too). The kids I used to work with at Starbucks can attest to my love of a hearty embrace. I’ve even gotten to hug some of you since I’ve been meeting more blog-friends lately. In fact, it’s been pretty cool to experience such since I’ve had quite the dearth of any kind of affection this past year in the wasteland.

Most likely, if we meet and you’re not creepy, I will be fine with hugging you or shaking your hand if you’re fine with it too (I of course want to respect any “weirdness” you yourself might have). In fact, if we’re around each other long enough, I may just pounce if I see you’re amenable to such. Once I’m comfortable enough with you to be affectionate, all bets are off–I’ll hug, ruffle hair, squeeze a hand, pat a shoulder–I can be very demonstrative. I think it all boils down to my choice to open the door to such–if I feel forced into it, invaded by it, I will wall up immediately. And then head for the hand sanitizer. But, it doesn’t take a lot to open the door. So, I may not initiate it, but hug me if you want.

Just don’t touch my face.

Behold, the Wordle

Kate O’ tipped us off to this last week, and then Mike reminded me of it today. Here’s mine. It works.

Happy Monday.

It’s been a good one. This morning, I had another interview that went really well. Had you told me a few months ago that I’d even be interviewing at this particular school, I probably would have said, “oh…really…?” However, after talking to the principal, it looks like I would be a good fit for their school, and their school would be a good fit for my experience. I don’t know, I guess we’ll see, but it’s another one I came away with a good feeling from.

Then, I had a date with my daddy! My dad and I have a history of movie dates. One of the first ones I remember was his checking me out of school so we could drive from Waverly over to Bellevue to see Evita. I have always cherished that–it takes a cool father to 1. want to see Evita in the first place, and 2. take his kid out of school for the sole purpose of seeing a movie.

Anyway, we met at Opry Mills today and had lunch and then saw Wanted. Sometimes…you just need some bullet-bending action. A few too many f-bombs than I cared to share with my father, but overall an enjoyable summer flick.

He left after the movie, and I hung around Barnes and Noble to see Lisa Loeb play songs from her new children’s album. I had wanted to see her play grown-up music last night at 3rd and Lindsley, but I ended up totally forgetting about it. I hadn’t heard any of the children’s stuff, but she was as spunky and cute and talented as I thought she’d be.

While there, I got to see Malia (with her pretty girl JBelle and cutie-pie GMan) and finally meet Shauna and her little Pea. That is one adorable little girl. We didn’t get to hang out a lot, but it was cool that they were there.

As I observed to the other girls, it was kind of funny to me the audience that a Lisa Loeb children’s show in a bookstore drew. You had the 20-30somethings like me, who were teenagers when “Stay” came out and who all seemed to be wearing some variation on her trademark sexy-librarian glasses. Then there were, of course, the moms, most of whom I’m sure knew who Lisa Loeb was, but some of whom I’m pretty sure were just looking for something to do with their kids on a summer day.

Then there were the hybrids–such as Shauna –which really gave me pause…I can’t believe it’s been that long since we were in high school and Lisa Loeb was on the radio. I can’t believe, as cool as it was, that she has kids’ albums and that moms bring kids to her in-store shows…and that the moms are my age. It’s a weird little syllogism I’m not completely wrapping my head around, but maybe I won’t try. I just enjoyed her little ditties, and it was just really neat to be there.

It’s so great to be back here, for however long it lasts. It’s amazing to have friends and things to do again. I feel like I actually have a semblance of a life again, and that’s a good feeling.

One more thing before I go–Prof D apparently was given a stern talking-to, as I somehow pulled a B in his class! It was mathematically impossible, and he hasn’t shown any indicators of a conscience thus far, so I’m assuming there were enough complaints that he figured he should do some curving. My apologies to anyone whose perfectionist sensibilities I may be offending, but I’m more than grateful to get out with a B. I’m just glad to be out .

Feel-good 4th

Okay, so it’s not exactly a dance-around-the-living-room kind of selection, but it’s guaranteed to move you. A little subversive? Maybe. As American as rock and roll? Yup.