July 27, 2006
.10
We now officially own one-tenth of this house. Our credit union owns the rest of it, but they're nice enough people to let us stay there and do wonderful things to increase its value. After much wading through papers and signing of forms, I've decided that owning a house is like having a bank account that you can live inside of...a pretty good deal, if you ask me.
We pack up tomorrow and head out early on Saturday morning. This will be Whittier's first road trip, and she couldn't be more thrilled. And, yes, our house does have electricity.
Meanwhile, I am thinking about sticking with corrugated cardboard as a decorating scheme. After living with it for a couple of weeks, it becomes eerily normal.
Posted by elissa at 05:49 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
May 04, 2006
Kawaii Fold
And speakinng of my grandfather, what would the world do without the Japanese? I suppose I'm a little behind the times -- after all, I'm only half -- but I recently discovered the ancestral way of folding my t-shirts in mere seconds. You really must watch it.
Smaller, cuter, and faster (with sound effects). It is the Japanese way. And, really, it makes so much sense that the Japanese would perfect the art of t-shirt folding since they have already taken t-shirt design to new and imaginative heights. Note the t-shirt that the young guy in the video folds: Girl of Slender Frame. Love it.
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April 24, 2006
My Green Onion Was On Steroids
Last year I planted green onions in our back yard. If this sounds impressive...it wasn't. I just let the leftover ends of store-bought green onions soak in some water to kick-start the roots and then shoved the little guys into the ground.
They've always been hearty fellows. I had a continuous supply of green onions all fall and winter long. Then, earlier this spring, I noticed something unusual: one of the plants was getting bigger. Not just growing new, slender shoots, mind you. He was increasing significantly in height and girth.
At first I wondered... steroids? But I couldn't believe that such a fresh, green thing would dabble in something so dangerous. Then, other things started to happen. His face started to swell; if he had a voice it probably would have started squeaking; other bulges developed.
I tried to talk to it. I tried to tell him that it wasn't worth the personal risk just to be the biggest green onion in the garden. "You weren't meant to be this big," I told him. But he ignored me...and kept growing.
Then, the mood swings started. I woke up one morning and he had tipped dangerously low to the right. I tried to straighten him out, as best I could, but he just overcompensated and swung to the left. I told him he needed to think about seeing a counselor.
It was too late.
Last night, we found him, collapsed, broken by his own unnatural size.
So... then we took a lot of pictures, used roughly one-sixteenth of him in an omelet, and plunked the remaining trunk into a waterbottle. Steroids get you nowhere, kids.
September 2005-April 2006.
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February 16, 2006
"God Be With You Until We Eat Again"
Last night, Paige and I cooked two huge pots of Italian Sausage Soup as dinner for our hungry small (read, twenty something people) group. After everyone had finished eating and we settled down for our Bible study, our leader, Henry Henegar, remarked that eating together has an almost sacramental quality for Christians.
Henry reminded us that Jesus, after His resurrection, was recognized by his disciples when he "broke the bread" with them. And in Acts 2:42 we read, "They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer." In the early church, food and fellowship were tied closely together; the daily reality of our physical need for sustenance intertwined with worship to the One who provides.
Noel and I both grew up in families that emphasized the ministry of food and hospitality. At my church in Honolulu, the congregational motto could be summed up as "God be with you until we eat again." Since getting married, Noel and I have made a practice of having Covenant students over for Sunday dinner on a regular basis. (Before he moved, our friend Jason alternated hosting duties with us.) It is not the most elegant of settings. With twelve of us packed around the table in our mismatched kitchen, demands for personal space fall to the wayside. But, we make a point of making the food special or, at the very least, a celebration of not being in the cafeteria. We've had a Chinese feast, a gourmet pizza extravaganza, spicy curries, savory soups and stews, and a spread of desserts. And the conversation always delights, rolling from smaller clusters to tablewide discussions on the day's sermon, politics, culture, the church, future plans, or tales of childhood derring-do. There is something intimate about feeding others. The food meets such a basic need, but somehow it also becomes a conduit of grace. There is rare concord in conviviality.
Not to say that it always comes naturally. My introverted self grows weary at the thought of my house flooding once again with people; my cautious purse balks at the thought of once again buying food for fourteen. But once I am cooking, I am delight again in a rejection of gnosticism and asceticism. The rhythm of cutting and preparation, the aroma of garlic and onions sizzling on the stove, and the steaming, colorful spread set on the table are good things, things rich with anticipation and joy. The food and companionship of Sunday dinners and Wednesday small groups foreshadow the greatest feast to come, the wedding banquet of Christ and His bride.
(I hope there's sushi there).
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July 07, 2005
The Old Fashioned Way
Dryers had no place in my childhood. In our little Kapahulu apartment none of the renters had dryers. Everyone hung their clothes down the lines that stretched from end to end like electric wires. When my family moved to our home out in Hawaii Kai, we were fascinated by the cream-colored companion to the washer. But Dad quickly installed clotheslines in the carport running parallel to our two cars, and we ducked t-shirts and towels as we crawled into the family van.
In fact, we only used the dryer once: to dry a sopping wet bedspread. The resulting electric bill easily convinced us that the dryer was little more than an extra countertop which, if humored, would liberally squander energy.
In college, the dryer confronted me again. Everyone else was doing it; they tossed in dryer sheets, cleaned filters, and turned knobs with knowledgeable grace. But when I tried it, my jeans and shirts -- which had hitherto never tumbled in such heat -- neatly shortened themselves when I already had no length to spare. Thus embittered, I quickly bought a wooden drying rack, saving quarters and clothes by hanging my laundry in my dorm room.
This past winter, my first wifely winter on the mainland, the dryer unexpectedly became my bosom friend by providing extra heat in a drafty house. I knew that hanging clothes outside was a ridiculous impossibility, but I still felt twinges of guilt over my traitorous indulgence.
Back in Hawaii, the dryer still sits there, vacant, less of a budget concern and more a matter of preference. Hanging laundry is my mother's favorite chore. She says there's relaxation to be found in the rhythm of sorting and pinning in long, swaying rows.
I'm learning that domestic joy again, this summer, and feeling closer to home because of it.
(Plus, I'm getting bonus wife points for keeping the electric bill down.)
Posted by elissa at 06:42 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 22, 2005
♥ A Nerd
Over the past month, my husband has directed me to a slew of articles that extol the wonders of forging a romantic relationship with a geek or a nerd. This subtle affirmation-through-popular-opinion has only solidified my personal marital satisfaction. But if you, dear friend, are still geekless, never fear. Resources abound to help you navigate through the waters and land a geek of your very own.
To begin, this craiglist posting offers compelling reasons for adding geeks as a people-group to your pool of romantic possibilities. And while I'm not exactly sure how I feel about the New York Daily News classifying Tiger Woods as a nerd, (or Adam Brody, for that matter) their article will at least give you the Hollywood credence you might need to bolster your confidence. Finally, even if you do manage snuggle up to the next Steve Jobs or Larry Wall, you may still need some of Emily's helpful advice on keeping that nerd-torch glowing. Number 8, especially, may assist in preventing future Christmas or birthday present trauma.
Though undocumented by those previous authors, there is yet another benefit of loving a geek: the liberation of your own inner nerd. See, when the latest issue of ArtForum appears in all its massive, glossy glory, I have no qualms about skipping about the house and making us read art show reviews over dinner. I mean, hey, we'll probably be watching a Deep Space 9 later on in the evening anyway.
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