Perhaps one of my favorite things about l'Arche is being able to spend one-on-one time with the core members. The l'Arche model really encourages this because it is these moments that create bonds between the core members and the assistants. Yesterday, I took Joanni to the theatre down the road to see the computer animated feature, "Over the Hedge," which was a lot of fun. She loved the movie and managed to stay relatively quiet (a good thing, because the movie theatre was packed). Joanni, like any two-year-old, has trouble with self-control, so if she sees a bear or a dog, she wants to communicate that to you wherever you happen to be. This wouldn't be a problem if 1)Joanni weren't so big and 2) her signs and noises weren't so loud or overwhelming. Her bear sign is a loud growling noise (only appropriate) that is considered sweet at home, but can be rather terrifying for a stranger walking by. She also loves to touch things, and people, including strangers. I have to remind her to be gentle and not to touch people she doesn't know. Joanni is the sweetest lamb on earth, but if I didn't know her, I would be afraid for sure.
Erin was able to go to the Mennonite church with us this morning, also enjoyable. Erin loves to talk, though she isnt always intelligable (according to us) and she becomes fixated on certain things and continues to talk about them for a long time. She loves hamburgers, so throughout the service, she would say things like, "Want hamburger. Want hamburger." or she would look at me and say "Hi Heather. Hi Heather." I tend to think Erin is a riot, also very sweet and lovable, but it's a bit tough when you are in church. Honestly, though, maybe your average church service shouldn't be so rigid that folks like Erin and Joanni would cause a scene. I mean, church is about a diverse body of believers who are joined together by a common faith in and emulation of Christ. As Christians, we are called to embrace diversity, to recognize that God has not made us all the same with the same abilities, the same mannerisms. Fortunately, the Mennonite church where we go knows about l'Arche and have enjoyed getting to know the core members we've brought with us to the services. It is a loving, unpretentious congregation, a family. But, I know of plenty of churches where Erin and Joanni's habits and ways of communicating would not go over well. I can only imagine the type of glares they would get sitting in certain congregations. It would probably be no different than the glares we were getting in the movie theatre. You know there's something wrong when you can't point out much difference between a church service and a movie showing in terms of the glares you receive when you are a bit loud or make a funny noise.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
mornings = blar
No matter how early I go to bed each night, waking up at the crack of dawn is never pleasant. I am a night owl...I think better at night, I often experience "second winds" around 10pm, sometimes even "third winds" if I am around other folks (which energizes me). Two days ago I got up at 6 to do the morning routine. This consists of getting everyone out of bed, brushing teeth, applying deodorant, dressing, brushing hair, fixing breakfast, dealing out morning medications, and getting them each on their bus when it arrives (between 7 and 8). It's a crazy morning...lots of energy and activity. I'm more used to a leisurely paced morning, waking around 9, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper, perhaps trying the crossword, eating a bowl of granola. I guess that means I need to find a job that starts late. Fortunately enough for me, I have found this job. Most of the time, my schedule doesn't require me to be on until 12:15, giving me all morning to mess around. I rarely have to do morning routines.
On my off hours, I've taken to walking up Mt Tabor which is down the road 10 or so blocks. All together, it's about a 3 mile walk, and there must be about 100 or so steps to get to the top of the mountain itself. Mt Tabor is not your "typical" mountain, one that you would picture when I say the word. It's nestled amongst developments, which makes it seem more of a hill than anything. But the upward slope itself remains untouched by developers. The Western side is covered in bike and hiking paths, and there is a paved road that curves all the way up to the top, which circles around and then leads you back down. It's a flat-topped mountain (a once-volcano) that is perfect for frisbee or a picnic, as there are plenty of benches. There's a wonderful view of Hawthorne St and downtown Portland and people gather at that point each night to watch the sunset. I've been up there almost every day for the past week. On Saturday, I went up twice. I really enjoy these walks...I usually bring a book or my journal, finding a nice warm spot in the sun, and laze away my day. I'm rarely alone -- bikers, runners, people walking their dogs, shmoozing couples -- but it would be nice to be there with a friend. Melissa sometimes walks with me, which is nice. But, most of the time, I'm by myself...this can be very draining for an extrovert.
I'm in the process of figuring out my future. Amy offered me a full time position here at l'Arche Portland, but I would have to commit a year and I'm not willing to do this. They will be short handed come September, so I may stay on a bit longer to do respite work. But, at this point, it doesn't look like I'll be staying on much longer, unless, of course, I find another job out here. Melissa keeps talking about renting a two-room house/apartment for her, Jacob, and I to live in. Imagine living as a single person with a newly-married couple. That could be a tv show.
The other option I've explored is living and working in l'Arche DC. On my off days, I could go home and visit my 'rents, which they would love. And, the DC community is located in Adams Morgan, a very interesting part of the city. Plus, l'Arche DC can afford to pay their assistants more -- not bad at all. I've emailed them my interest and I am hoping to hear back from them about what job opportunities are available between Sept and Jan, or Sept and the Spring.
Melissa and I are going to try to work on her and J's save-the-dates today which will involve much cutting and pasting, I do believe. I was off yesterday and spent a good chunk of time downtown by myself, reading in a park, browsing in Powell's books (the largest bookstore in the world!), hitting up Whole Foods. But, after so much time with myself, I look forward to being with other people.
On my off hours, I've taken to walking up Mt Tabor which is down the road 10 or so blocks. All together, it's about a 3 mile walk, and there must be about 100 or so steps to get to the top of the mountain itself. Mt Tabor is not your "typical" mountain, one that you would picture when I say the word. It's nestled amongst developments, which makes it seem more of a hill than anything. But the upward slope itself remains untouched by developers. The Western side is covered in bike and hiking paths, and there is a paved road that curves all the way up to the top, which circles around and then leads you back down. It's a flat-topped mountain (a once-volcano) that is perfect for frisbee or a picnic, as there are plenty of benches. There's a wonderful view of Hawthorne St and downtown Portland and people gather at that point each night to watch the sunset. I've been up there almost every day for the past week. On Saturday, I went up twice. I really enjoy these walks...I usually bring a book or my journal, finding a nice warm spot in the sun, and laze away my day. I'm rarely alone -- bikers, runners, people walking their dogs, shmoozing couples -- but it would be nice to be there with a friend. Melissa sometimes walks with me, which is nice. But, most of the time, I'm by myself...this can be very draining for an extrovert.
I'm in the process of figuring out my future. Amy offered me a full time position here at l'Arche Portland, but I would have to commit a year and I'm not willing to do this. They will be short handed come September, so I may stay on a bit longer to do respite work. But, at this point, it doesn't look like I'll be staying on much longer, unless, of course, I find another job out here. Melissa keeps talking about renting a two-room house/apartment for her, Jacob, and I to live in. Imagine living as a single person with a newly-married couple. That could be a tv show.
The other option I've explored is living and working in l'Arche DC. On my off days, I could go home and visit my 'rents, which they would love. And, the DC community is located in Adams Morgan, a very interesting part of the city. Plus, l'Arche DC can afford to pay their assistants more -- not bad at all. I've emailed them my interest and I am hoping to hear back from them about what job opportunities are available between Sept and Jan, or Sept and the Spring.
Melissa and I are going to try to work on her and J's save-the-dates today which will involve much cutting and pasting, I do believe. I was off yesterday and spent a good chunk of time downtown by myself, reading in a park, browsing in Powell's books (the largest bookstore in the world!), hitting up Whole Foods. But, after so much time with myself, I look forward to being with other people.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Baseball game, wedding, and so on...
Adam and I at a Beavers game...
Carla heading to the alter....
We were so close to the field!
Mom, me, Melissa, and Dad -- a Bixler family photo op.
Jacon and Melissa (with the sun in their eyes)
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Searching for grad programs...
I've begun the Great Search for graduate programs. At this point, a Masters in Social Work is the best option, as my advanced standing from Gordon will allow me to do it in much less than 2 years. And there are several great programs out there that offer an MSW with a concentration in international/community development. I have also looked at some sociology programs, as well.
I'll be updating this later, but so far, I have sent away for information from:
Those are my thoughts-o-the-future for now. This list is by no means finalized.
I'll be updating this later, but so far, I have sent away for information from:
- -Boston College (international MSW)
- -Washington University, St Louis (international com. dev. MSW)
- -Columbia University (MSW)
- -Portland State University (MSW)
- -Boston University (MSW, MA in Sociology of Religion)
- -University of Wisconsin, Madison (MSW, MA in Sociology)
- -University of Denver (MA in International Dev, international MSW)
- -Brandeis University (MA in Sustainable Dev.)
- -University of Michigan (MSW)
- -University of California, Berkeley (MSW)
Those are my thoughts-o-the-future for now. This list is by no means finalized.
My newly acquired fear of flying
I've just returned from a whirl-wind trip to Massachusetts where I was able to catch up with family and friends, eat an enormous amount of ice cream, consume some Sam Adams in the land of its brewing, take a DUCK tour throughout Boston, roast like a stuck pig on Good Harbor beach, eat a heavy amount of nachos at our favorite elitist pub (as opposed to our favorite non-elitist pub), watch some good movies, enjoy the World Cup final with my favorite professor, go to a great wedding, and acquire a free ticket voucher for relinquishing my seat and taking a later flight.
As I type this, the jet lag combined with the many tiring hours of flying is zonking me out. But, I will attempt to continue with my update in a somewhat coherent fashion. I am quite glad I was able to take some time to head back up to the place I've called home for the past 4 years. I felt a strange mix of feelings when I arrived. I felt both a sense of place (being well acquainted with the area) and a sense of placelessness (considering I am no longer a student and have no real "home"). What was once a place of my future and of my present has become a place of my past, a place filled with favorite haunts, endless U-turns, sites of revelation -- a place filled now with memories.
Part of me felt a pull to stay on the North Shore. Here, life is familiar. I've grown here, matured and learned and become "adult." I have friends here, a support system, a church that I love. Boston is a great city, with so much more to be reaped and explored. But another part of me felt comfortable with the idea of not returning. Some people live their lives in circles, or prefer to order their lives via compartments. I live my life in eras, in certain stretches of time that are significant for some reason or another, stretches that can be long (years) or very short (days). I have a million journals that are organized by an era in my life. My missions trip to Bolivia when I was 15. My semester in Uganda. My junior year fall semester. My backpacking trip in Italy. My time here at L'Arche. Going back to the North Shore was like reentering a previous era, a strange feeling when you are in the midst of writing a new story, experiencing a new stage in life. Then again, the idea of letting go of Massachusetts...for good...doesn't exactly settle well. I loved it there and I love it there still. And who knows what the future may hold. I may end up back there in a few months or few years time. Life does tend to circle back on itself, I've noticed.
Now, for the title I've chosen for this entry, I must explain. It seems that, as of late, I have acquired a fear of flying. Perhaps "fear" is too strong a word. More like an apprehensiveness, an uneasiness, the opposite of comfort. I have never exactly found flying to be a pleasurable experience (except on BritishAir, as you can imagine). The whole airport experience is a case study in social control and social conformity. Your inequities are laid bare by the security folks as you shuffle through the lines in bare feet, like cattle being herded, and are occasionally pulled aside to be prodded at or have your belongings fondled. People are usually angry....angry at the crying baby on the plane, angry at the ticketing agent, angry at the baggage folks. Once you are on the plane, if you do not have the luxury of sitting in First Class, you are crammed in next to complete strangers who won't acknowledge your existence (or perhaps acknowledge it too much) with frigid air blasting down on you as you feel the plane slide into the air with a fair amount of bucking and bumping. Of course, your flight could very well be delayed or cancelled, which means more airport time, which is never fun.
On top of all of this, you are stuck inside a thin metal tube rushing through the air at an ungodly speed, and you have no idea whether the buzzing noise in the rear of the plane is good or bad. You really know nothing...and you can hardly believe the pilots or the attendants. Their job is to put the passengers at ease and convince them that flying is the safest, most natural thing in the world. If the plane hit the ocean and started sinking, I bet the attendants would still be smiling as they tred water.
I haven't always been fearful. I have been flying since I was in my early teens, and I probably have averaged 5 or so flights a year since college. I also know that there are millions of flights in the air every day and that traveling my air is remarkably safer than traveling by car. I have heard the statistics...that you'd have to fly 24 hours a day for 24 years to experience a plane crash. Blah blah. None of these rationalizations really sets me at ease when I am in the air. It's like my mind has suddenly awoken to the fact that the human person really shouldn't be that far from the earth, that air planes are way too big and way to flimsy to be going that high that fast.
My dad says I just need to surrender, to let go of my fear and be okay with dying. Nothing like a healthy dose of fatalism to get through a harrowing ordeal. Death by airplane crash would definitely be a romantic, exciting way to go. You'd have a great view before you die and exciting ride on the way down. You'd be all over the news, for at least a few days. People would think of you ever time they get on a flight, about the jumbo jet that crashed and sent you to your untimely grave. And, most likely, as your plane crashed down, you would be enjoying a good book or a writing something profound in your journal or jamming to some sweet tunes. I guess it's actually one of the best ways to die...exciting, swift, relatively painless, romantic.
Mmm...morbidity. I was reading a book on the plane today by J M Coetzee, called Disgrace. The protagonist is a rather vile character, complex of course, but lives an uninspired, despicable life...and I couldn't help but think -- "Is this the book I want to be reading if the plane crashes down? Is the broken, sordid life of David Lurie the last thing I want flickering through my mind seconds before I die?" I think about that a lot actually. Death is a great motivator for moral decision making. I think even David Lurie realizes this in Disgrace. With the understanding of death, we are reminded that our every thought, our every action, could easily be our last.
On that note, I sleep....thanking the Lord that I am on the solid earth (and trying to ignore the fact that I am really just sleeping upon the rocking surface of tectonic plates, floating across molten lava).
As I type this, the jet lag combined with the many tiring hours of flying is zonking me out. But, I will attempt to continue with my update in a somewhat coherent fashion. I am quite glad I was able to take some time to head back up to the place I've called home for the past 4 years. I felt a strange mix of feelings when I arrived. I felt both a sense of place (being well acquainted with the area) and a sense of placelessness (considering I am no longer a student and have no real "home"). What was once a place of my future and of my present has become a place of my past, a place filled with favorite haunts, endless U-turns, sites of revelation -- a place filled now with memories.
Part of me felt a pull to stay on the North Shore. Here, life is familiar. I've grown here, matured and learned and become "adult." I have friends here, a support system, a church that I love. Boston is a great city, with so much more to be reaped and explored. But another part of me felt comfortable with the idea of not returning. Some people live their lives in circles, or prefer to order their lives via compartments. I live my life in eras, in certain stretches of time that are significant for some reason or another, stretches that can be long (years) or very short (days). I have a million journals that are organized by an era in my life. My missions trip to Bolivia when I was 15. My semester in Uganda. My junior year fall semester. My backpacking trip in Italy. My time here at L'Arche. Going back to the North Shore was like reentering a previous era, a strange feeling when you are in the midst of writing a new story, experiencing a new stage in life. Then again, the idea of letting go of Massachusetts...for good...doesn't exactly settle well. I loved it there and I love it there still. And who knows what the future may hold. I may end up back there in a few months or few years time. Life does tend to circle back on itself, I've noticed.
Now, for the title I've chosen for this entry, I must explain. It seems that, as of late, I have acquired a fear of flying. Perhaps "fear" is too strong a word. More like an apprehensiveness, an uneasiness, the opposite of comfort. I have never exactly found flying to be a pleasurable experience (except on BritishAir, as you can imagine). The whole airport experience is a case study in social control and social conformity. Your inequities are laid bare by the security folks as you shuffle through the lines in bare feet, like cattle being herded, and are occasionally pulled aside to be prodded at or have your belongings fondled. People are usually angry....angry at the crying baby on the plane, angry at the ticketing agent, angry at the baggage folks. Once you are on the plane, if you do not have the luxury of sitting in First Class, you are crammed in next to complete strangers who won't acknowledge your existence (or perhaps acknowledge it too much) with frigid air blasting down on you as you feel the plane slide into the air with a fair amount of bucking and bumping. Of course, your flight could very well be delayed or cancelled, which means more airport time, which is never fun.
On top of all of this, you are stuck inside a thin metal tube rushing through the air at an ungodly speed, and you have no idea whether the buzzing noise in the rear of the plane is good or bad. You really know nothing...and you can hardly believe the pilots or the attendants. Their job is to put the passengers at ease and convince them that flying is the safest, most natural thing in the world. If the plane hit the ocean and started sinking, I bet the attendants would still be smiling as they tred water.
I haven't always been fearful. I have been flying since I was in my early teens, and I probably have averaged 5 or so flights a year since college. I also know that there are millions of flights in the air every day and that traveling my air is remarkably safer than traveling by car. I have heard the statistics...that you'd have to fly 24 hours a day for 24 years to experience a plane crash. Blah blah. None of these rationalizations really sets me at ease when I am in the air. It's like my mind has suddenly awoken to the fact that the human person really shouldn't be that far from the earth, that air planes are way too big and way to flimsy to be going that high that fast.
My dad says I just need to surrender, to let go of my fear and be okay with dying. Nothing like a healthy dose of fatalism to get through a harrowing ordeal. Death by airplane crash would definitely be a romantic, exciting way to go. You'd have a great view before you die and exciting ride on the way down. You'd be all over the news, for at least a few days. People would think of you ever time they get on a flight, about the jumbo jet that crashed and sent you to your untimely grave. And, most likely, as your plane crashed down, you would be enjoying a good book or a writing something profound in your journal or jamming to some sweet tunes. I guess it's actually one of the best ways to die...exciting, swift, relatively painless, romantic.
Mmm...morbidity. I was reading a book on the plane today by J M Coetzee, called Disgrace. The protagonist is a rather vile character, complex of course, but lives an uninspired, despicable life...and I couldn't help but think -- "Is this the book I want to be reading if the plane crashes down? Is the broken, sordid life of David Lurie the last thing I want flickering through my mind seconds before I die?" I think about that a lot actually. Death is a great motivator for moral decision making. I think even David Lurie realizes this in Disgrace. With the understanding of death, we are reminded that our every thought, our every action, could easily be our last.
On that note, I sleep....thanking the Lord that I am on the solid earth (and trying to ignore the fact that I am really just sleeping upon the rocking surface of tectonic plates, floating across molten lava).
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