Happy Thanksgiving

We came up with Thanksgiving haikus after dinner this year, a sporadic Raff Thanksgiving tradition. Haikus should technically consist of three lines, the first line having five syllables, the second having seven and the third five. Here are a couple I wrote:

Remember the time
we got pizza in the car
on Thanksgiving day?

(We were on our way to Grandma's house in MD, late at night, and stopped at a gas station for a few of those freezer pizzas. We microwaved them and feasted in the car.)

She thought he was a
guru. Everything has changed.
Now he drinks and smokes.

(ha--that's about my parents. Mom was talking about how she thought Dad was a "guru," with that long hair and a beard. She still hates when Dad gets a haircut! It's fun writing haikus while people are talking.)

Our first Thanksgiving
without our baby Alice.
It isn't the same.

(Actually, it was our first Thanksgiving missing any of the sisters! It was sad!)

Here's a "minute" poem I wrote--we talked about feminism for a LONG time after Thanksgiving dinner. Oh, a minute poem has a total of sixty syllables. The first line of the first stanza has eight, then four for the next three lines. That's repeated thrice. And the rhyme scheme is AABB CCDD EEFF. My dad'd doing all these awesome poetry workshops and he taught us this form:

She was made to complete him.
The fruit eaten
opened her eyes
to become wise.

Created complete already,
she'd never see
the blessings of
the curse of love.

She would give to her children all,
and since the Fall
she's strived against
Adam, incensed.

PS--very much inspired by my Milton class, and my lit. theory class.

Here's something Dad learned in one of his poetry workshops. Most people are strongest writers in one of the following areas: narrative (story), structure (form), music (sound/rhythm) or imagination (images). If you're strength lies in either narrative or structure, you should try to incorporate either music or imagination in your poem for a complete poem, and vice-versa. I thought that was interesting. Dad's written some beautiful poetry, and Mom has, as well. She always has had a way with words.

Here's a... fun? depressing? tragic? poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
Give back my books and take my kiss instead.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard,
"What a big book for such a little head!"
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink!
Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that.
I never again shall tell you what I think.
I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly;
You will not catch me reading any more:
I shall be called a wife to pattern by;
And some day when you knock and push the door,
Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.

Ouch!

Clemson-USC game tomorrow. We win every year, so we better tomorrow.

What?

(click title)

Sudan accepts UN help

Finally! (click title)

The War in Uganda

(click the title)

This is a pretty big deal.

Procrastinating

I always want to blog when I have a big project coming up soon... Monday my first value drawing is due--we've been working on line drawings up to this point. So, of course, I'd rather go to the football game, take a nap, practice guitar, read a book on the art of travel, and blog than work on my impending project. Does that mean I don't love art? I think I love the final product, most of the time, but the process of getting to it can be excruciating. Does that mean I shouldn't pursue art as a career? I've been thinking about art education. I've also been thinking of a summer internship with Food for the Hungry, L'Abri, six months as a "host" at a trade school taking classes for free, and teaching in Prague for six months with Rebekah and John! So many options--so many different ways life could take me, especially depending on who I happen to meet at each place who could lead me to my next destination. I recently decided to try to do as much cheap/free living as possible in the next, say, four years. For example, that trade school--I can stay on the campus and take classes for free if I'm a "host" there--kind of like an RA. If I wanted to get a masters in America, I could be a Resident Director and practically go to the school for free, at some universities. And, I need to research this (a LOT) but my study abroad advisor told me that Swedish universities are FREE for getting your masters, if you already have an undergrad degree. So, Sweden would be pretty awesome. And most of the master's programs are in English :).

There are so many amazing causes/ministries I could pour my life into. Like Food for the Hungry, or rebuilding New Orleans (I don't know how long that will take--I think a while). I went down to New Orleans with Campus Crusade over the fall break. Fellowshipped with some pretty incredible people. It was definitely hard work, and honestly, a little depressing. The elderly woman who owned the house we were working on actually passed away in the flood. She had been picked up by boaters when they heard her screaming in her house, but had a heart attack as she was mounting on a bridge. Oh, that was so sad. And the house itself seemed unsalvagable. We gutted it out (insurance can't cover tearing down houses, which is necessary for rebuilding them). When we got to the wood layer of the floor and walls, we noticed the wood was either termite-infested or burned (I don't know how). I felt like it should have been bulldozed, but if they rebuilt it, it could be really nice. It seemed like it would take more effort that it was worth. Thoughts running through my mind as we pulled her stuff out of her house: Why does she have so much STUFF? I want to live, like Paul in "Through Painted Deserts," with only the clothes on my back (Oh, I read that book when I was there--recommend it, though some of Miller's ideas are weird or incomplete to me.) Another thought, digging through this woman's stuff: this is her whole life--and we're throwing most of it away. What did it mean? She's gone now and this stuff doesn't matter. In sixty years, I don't want to say I've wasted my life. I'm already, possibly, a quarter through it. Maybe more. I hate ending on a morbid note--we won the football game today! Some people live for that--the "weekend." Waiting in line to get into the club, where you can't hear yourself speak or think. Watching them tigers beat them gamecocks. I think there's gotta be more. I could go on--having fun is good. God wants us to enjoy life. But there are more ways to enjoy than hating the week and living for the weekend. I guess that means I should enjoy the process of art projects more, too.

For good or for awesome

I went to another lovely wedding last weekend--for one of my residents last semester, Justin, and his new wife Erin. They're beautiful people. And, I noticed everyone invited to the wedding was also beautiful! :) Ha--I especially mean the middle aged people. Both of their sets of parents were so nice-looking! Um, anyway...

I didn't do anything for Halloween yesterday. Well, I wore my mom's old hippie shirt to class, but that's all. I've been a little sick yesterday and today. I just read a REALLY interesting NY Times article on how women's Halloween costumes have gotten skankier, just in the last few years, which is surprising since you'd think with the feminist movement they'd be getting more androgynous. It's kind of interesting how feminism and conservatism could be like-minded on a lot of issues. Or, at least, appear to be (maybe having different motivations). Feminism is definitely appealing to me more and more these days. I don't really mean the feminism that says that women are better than men, but the kind that recognizes we're equal--not exactly the same, but equally valuable as people. Women can think, too. I'm pretty sure I didn't always recognize/appreciate that.

Eleanor Roosevelt: I'm reading a bio on her for history, and, what a fascinating first lady. She's the only first lady I know of who published her disagreements with her husband! She was a pretty special woman, I'd say.