to-do

the thing i hate about "to-do" lists is that they never end
one thing checked off the list is immediately replaced by another
that's life in the fast lane, i guess

*file taxes- done! i'm such a grown-up
*pay deposit on new apartment- almost, hope it can wait till i get paid on friday. i'm going to have to get used to the constant draining of money from my account. losing the perks of being a live-in assistant
*edit resume and make yourself look good- done! (with daddy's help)
*buy affordable dress suit to look professional for interviews-done!
*have dress pants hemmed since i'm lacking in length- still need to do
*send out resumes- i think i've sent out one?
*figure out what i want to do with my life- this is the one that will keep replenishing itself forever

kiwi moments

the other day i was slicing a kiwi and i was instantly overwhelmed by the memory of the first time i saw or tasted one. i think it's an amazing gift when we can recall experiencing something in life for the first time; when nostalgia is triggered by a song you hear on the radio, the taste of chapstick you haven't worn in a while, or an old t-shirt you find buried in your dresser. it was that kind of moment with the kiwi. i'm fond of this memory because it's one of my oldest and there's really no reason for me to remember it so vividly. i had to have been 5 or 6 because we still lived in our house in Mississippi. my mom and i were having a tea party with my favorite little plastic tea set. i knew this was no typical tea party when my mom brings out this small, round, ugly, fuzzy thing. she says she wants me to try something new. can't we just have cookies, i remember thinking, no way i'm eating this thing. this is a kiwi, mom says. strange name, i'm thinking. then she slices it, revealing the shocking, alien green of the inside with its magnificent white center and black speckles. it looks to me like a large monster eye. i had never seen anything like it. i remember being surprised by the tart sweetness of the new fruit and how anything so green could taste so good. i felt special to try something so unique and mysterious. it seems so simple now, but it was monumental for this five-year-old.

my life in new york has been one giant kiwi. i have days when i'm weighed down with sensory overload and i just can't seem to take it all in at once. i don't want to forget one single sensation of these experiences as they fly by me. i want the nostalgia to stay with me at every turn, a moving picture in the back of my mind. i want to remember how giant the world feels while standing in the middle of time square, lights blazing around me and thousands of people from all over, jabbering in their own languages. i want to remember the feeling of running up and down the east river on the most perfect day, the promenade littered with all types of dogs and their owners, taking advantage of the break from the cold. i want to remember the taste of my first beer in the city and how it made me think of summer and country music. i want to remember the look on sasha's face when she unabashadly hugged me for the first time. i want to remember the first time i took communion in my new church, the tears of pure joy that filled my eyes as i assimilated Christ body and blood. sometimes i find myself stopped in the middle of a sidewalk or in the center of a crowd of people on the subway, and i'm thinking, don't forget this, don't forget this, don't forget this. these moments are so rare, and yet so common. these are kiwi moments. help me remember...

good friday

O come and mourn with me awhile;
O come ye to the Savior's side;
O come, together let us mourn;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

How fast His hands and feet are nailed;
His blessed tongue with thirst is tied,
His failing eyes are blind with blood:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

Seven times He spoke, seven words of love;
And all three hours His silence cried
For mercy on the souls of men;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

O break, O break, hard heart of mine!
Thy weak self-love and guilty pride
His Pilate and His Judas were:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

A broken heart, a fount of tears,
Ask, and they will not be denied;
A broken heart love’s cradle is:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

O love of God! O sin of man!
In this dread act Your strength is tried;
And victory remains with love;
For Thou our Lord, art crucified!

-Fredrick W. Faber, 1849