Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Non-Pratiquant
Je n'ai jamais compris l'idee d'un chretien non-pratiquant. D'Etre chretien, c'est d'etre pratiquant. C'est un point de vue sur la vie et l'universe qui, si vraiment on y croit, forcement influence tous ce-qu'on dit et fait. Se dire "non-pratiquant," c'est a dire qu'on est pianist qui ne joue pas. Comme si je me disais "Oui, je suis pianiste, mais je ne joue pas. Je sais jouer, je pense a jouer, mais je ne joue pas quand meme." Pardon?! Si quelqu'un a raconte une telle betise concernant un divertissement, on penserait qu'il est devenu fou, ou au moindre, qu'il n'a pas de force de caractere. On se demanderait, "Pourquoi ne joue-t-il pas? A-t-il honte? A-t-il peur de ce que pensent les autres? Sais-t-il vraiment jouer?" Comment se fait-il que ces questions ne se posent pas quand il s'agit du chretiennite? Que signifie alors "chretien non-pratiquant"? A mon avis, c'est quelqu'un qui a honte de ses croyances, qui cherche rationaliser son comportement qui ne correspond aux principes bibliques, ou bien qui est simplement lache. En tout cas, comme avec tout les vocations, moins on les fait, moins qu'on sait les faire.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Neda--Not Just Another Face
I watch Neda Agha Soltan die. I am no where near her when she dies, and I don't even see it until days after it happens. I nonetheless witness her last moments on earth. I watch as the men carry her to the side of the road and lay her down, and someone presses his hands against her chest to stop the bleeding. I watch as she looks directly at the person who's filming her with the cell phone--looking directly at the would-be audience of thousands around the world, looking directly at me--before she herself looks into the face of death, her sometime beautiful visage contorted into a haunting expression. It is not a serene expression of surrender, nor peace at meeting one's Maker (though we pray that is what she has now found). No, it's a look of indescribable pain and shock, like she feels her shattered heart finally give out and realizes this moment is her last. Blood erupts from her nose and mouth, and a man cradles her and shouts for her to stay with him. I know from his tone that he knows she's already gone.
I have seen people die before, in movies, in games, in photos, and even on video, but never have I seen the look of death recreated nor captured as succinctly as in this pixelated cell phone footage, and it will not soon leave me. Her death is not isolated, nor is her cause unique. Many unjust deaths go unwitnessed, and far too many deaths are witnessed because of their violent nature. One should die in privacy with loved ones, not in the middle of a crowded street. But once in a while everyone needs to be reminded of the price of a human life, and the high cost of violence for any cause, be it just or unjust, so that we don't look at Neda or those like her and see just another face.
I have seen people die before, in movies, in games, in photos, and even on video, but never have I seen the look of death recreated nor captured as succinctly as in this pixelated cell phone footage, and it will not soon leave me. Her death is not isolated, nor is her cause unique. Many unjust deaths go unwitnessed, and far too many deaths are witnessed because of their violent nature. One should die in privacy with loved ones, not in the middle of a crowded street. But once in a while everyone needs to be reminded of the price of a human life, and the high cost of violence for any cause, be it just or unjust, so that we don't look at Neda or those like her and see just another face.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The End All, Be All
In life, we often search for definitives. The definitive house. The definitive job. The definitive life partner. In all likelihood this tendancy is part of the human condition, but there is always that possibility of permanence that drives us to search for it. We all have a grandparent or know someone that has lived in the same house his whole life. We occasionally encounter that lucky individual who found her life calling and has been committed to it ever since. And let's not kid ourselves--once we get married, typically we plan to stay married (with the exception of some particuarly twisted individuals with either ulterior motives or a mad masochistic streak). In general, people like to do something, and they'd like to do it only once. Personally, I'd like to brush my teeth once and be done with it.
My husband and I are in the process of buying a house. During our search over the past year, we've found some houses that really felt like home, and for the first time, I pictured myself old in a positive way, surrounded by grandchildren. These houses felt like a grandparent's house and certainly had room for a young family to grow. The house we actually settled on is different. It's modern, brightly painted, and not overly large. It reminds us of our youth and vitality. It actually needs some work, which I'm not opposed to doing--though I had been formerly, on account of wanting a plug-and-play-condition house--because it will help transform it into our own. We may grow old in it, or we may not. I'm no longer terrified of the idea of not owning the definitive house. Owning our first house should be good enough. There are many people that never get that far. Even if we got stuck with it forever, how terrible would that be? Oh gosh, we're stuck with our 3 bedroom house in a nice neighborhood, with the yellow kitchen I love so much and the cathedral ceiling. Yeah, the bedrooms are a little small, and so is the yard, but well, see aforementioned statement about some people never having the burden of such "small" luxuries.
Incidentally, I've also just gotten a raise at work--further proof of God's continual grace towards this often ungrateful, self-absorbed child of his. I complain about my job, that it's contract, that I wouldn't want to go permanent because everything is political and the skilled worker is undervalued...but is it really that horrible? Really? It's amazing how significantly an increase in pay reduces the "unbearable factor". I guess all my moral objections weren't as, well, moral as I had thought. Much of my discontent with any job I've had stems from this unreasonable desire to find the definitive job. Once I relinquish that desire, or at least resign myself to it's unlikelihood, I can work for this company for all its faults, for now, and see what I can do about them.
Many people are frustrated in their quest for permanence. Permanence itself is not bad, and is a thing to be desired, but the lack of it shouldn't discourage. Nothing except death is definite, and little more than marriage is available to the common man or woman. Everything else is bonus.
My husband and I are in the process of buying a house. During our search over the past year, we've found some houses that really felt like home, and for the first time, I pictured myself old in a positive way, surrounded by grandchildren. These houses felt like a grandparent's house and certainly had room for a young family to grow. The house we actually settled on is different. It's modern, brightly painted, and not overly large. It reminds us of our youth and vitality. It actually needs some work, which I'm not opposed to doing--though I had been formerly, on account of wanting a plug-and-play-condition house--because it will help transform it into our own. We may grow old in it, or we may not. I'm no longer terrified of the idea of not owning the definitive house. Owning our first house should be good enough. There are many people that never get that far. Even if we got stuck with it forever, how terrible would that be? Oh gosh, we're stuck with our 3 bedroom house in a nice neighborhood, with the yellow kitchen I love so much and the cathedral ceiling. Yeah, the bedrooms are a little small, and so is the yard, but well, see aforementioned statement about some people never having the burden of such "small" luxuries.
Incidentally, I've also just gotten a raise at work--further proof of God's continual grace towards this often ungrateful, self-absorbed child of his. I complain about my job, that it's contract, that I wouldn't want to go permanent because everything is political and the skilled worker is undervalued...but is it really that horrible? Really? It's amazing how significantly an increase in pay reduces the "unbearable factor". I guess all my moral objections weren't as, well, moral as I had thought. Much of my discontent with any job I've had stems from this unreasonable desire to find the definitive job. Once I relinquish that desire, or at least resign myself to it's unlikelihood, I can work for this company for all its faults, for now, and see what I can do about them.
Many people are frustrated in their quest for permanence. Permanence itself is not bad, and is a thing to be desired, but the lack of it shouldn't discourage. Nothing except death is definite, and little more than marriage is available to the common man or woman. Everything else is bonus.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
The Art of Smoothie Making
“We need someone to make smoothies,” the manager said.
I envisioned myself more as a coffee maker, but I said okay. Okay because I needed the money. Okay because honestly, I had nothing better to do.
That next week, I became an employee at Christ Church Café (or CC Café as it’s called)—a church-owned operaton located in the building’s lower level along with the church’s other retail enterprise, the bookstore. Seven-thousand odd members, two-thousand in attendance on any given Sunday, and CC Café caters to their coffee & smoothie needs.
Some come because they need the caffeine before the service. Some come afterwards fired up and ready to push the excitement envelope with a massive dose of caffeine.
Some members should just give in and go intravenous.
I pass no judgment. Given my newly acquired access to almost any specialty drink I could dream up, my resolution to kick the habit is now in the grounds bin.
I was on a job search, having returned from an eight month stint in France only six weeks earlier, where “café” is drunk in cups the size of thimbles for a good reason—it’s really strong. It is most commonly served unmixed, unspoiled by chocolate syrup, flavored shots or any other kind of liquid other than cream. Specialty drinks are an unknown concept, an American institution, and smoothies, even moreso.
Ice cream is ice cream, fruit is fruit, and what is a smoothie anyway?
I was about to find out.
The first time Wayne, the coffee shop manager, showed me how to make a smoothie, I stood there blinking at him.
“Is that all?”
“Yup.”
No overworked employees in the back peeling bananas and slicing strawberries?
“Nope.”
People are more curious about what goes into a smoothie than how it’s made. The special combination of ingredients goes into the blender, there’s a WHRRRR, and out comes a smoothie. The ingredients are important of course, but it’s the WHRRRR that makes the magic happen. It’s the WHRRRR that separates the truly exceptional from the lumpy chunky messes.
As for the secret recipe? Mixes and ice. The coffees consist mostly of sugar, powdered coffee and milk while the fruit smoothies—are you ready for this?—are green tea based liquid mixes.
Either by luck or providence (it is a church, afterall), when Wayne measured out those proportions that day, it was just right. The first time I am shown how something is done, it becomes the standard against which I compare all subsequent repetitions. If Wayne filled that cup to the rim with ice that first time, and I later decided that that was too much, that the smoothies were too chunky and I couldn’t attain the right blend, I could never adjust my paradigm to be “fill it to a little less than the line;” it would always be “fill it less than the first time.”
Perhaps I’m compulsive. Or perhaps I’ve found a quirk in how the human brain operates. I don’t know.
For blended coffees: milk up to the lowest line in the cup, then dumped directly into the blender. Followed by two scoops of powdered mix, one slightly heaping cup of ice. How heaping is important. Changes the consistency. For fruit smoothies, one scoop of ice not heaping, plus the liquid mix poured almost to overflowing.
The correct ratio of mix to ice is almost as important as the blending—almost. A good blend can in part compensate for imperfect proportions, but perfect proportions can never make up for a bad blending. Who hasn’t experienced a clogged straw, or slurped their way down through a ball of ice?
Thankfully, our customers are neither as moody nor demanding as those in the general public—due to the location, I’d like to think. I have yet to be bargained with, scowled at or yelled at for messing up or being too slow on my delivery. The customer knows what she wants, but is a patient creature because I am valued for my ability to satisfy her fix. Since the café is not a large corporate entity, the employee does not have to bend over backward to ensure that the customer is appeased in every way possible, up to and including meeting impossible demands. In a way, I think this improves the customer/clientele relationship. No promises made here. Only drinks.
As fate would have it, I’m quite good at mixing cold coffees and smoothies. The compliments come pouring in. At first it’s encouraging. I may not be able to find a professional career, but I can make a smoothie. Then, what usually happens when one becomes proficient at something, happens. The bar is raised. Now, every smoothie has to be perfectly blended, and it’s become a contest not only to outdo myself, but the other employees as well. Wayne has already told me I’ve had more compliments than any beginning employee, but that’s not good enough. I must maintain or better my record. I just can’t be at my peak three weeks into my smoothie career.
I discover that tiny variations in factors influence the final product. I notice the drinks are a little too runny, and it’s because the blenders have just been washed in hot water. I tell one of my co-workers to do a final rinse in cold water to get a better blend, and by the way she looks at me, I can tell she thinks that next I’ll be suggesting that we count the ice cubes for each drink, and no telling what else.
I wonder what I will say in my defense. I would blame perfectionism, but someone else at the café has already claimed that title (incidentally, the same woman who substitutes four pumps of caramel for two caramels and a macadamia nut to make a turtle coffee. “All they care about is the caramel flavor and the chocolate on top anyway,” and I know she’s right, but I could never bring myself to make such a compromise simply on principle. ) No, it has to be something else.
There’s only one other designation that could possibly justify my level of exactitude in making these drinks. Artist.
I envisioned myself more as a coffee maker, but I said okay. Okay because I needed the money. Okay because honestly, I had nothing better to do.
That next week, I became an employee at Christ Church Café (or CC Café as it’s called)—a church-owned operaton located in the building’s lower level along with the church’s other retail enterprise, the bookstore. Seven-thousand odd members, two-thousand in attendance on any given Sunday, and CC Café caters to their coffee & smoothie needs.
Some come because they need the caffeine before the service. Some come afterwards fired up and ready to push the excitement envelope with a massive dose of caffeine.
Some members should just give in and go intravenous.
I pass no judgment. Given my newly acquired access to almost any specialty drink I could dream up, my resolution to kick the habit is now in the grounds bin.
I was on a job search, having returned from an eight month stint in France only six weeks earlier, where “café” is drunk in cups the size of thimbles for a good reason—it’s really strong. It is most commonly served unmixed, unspoiled by chocolate syrup, flavored shots or any other kind of liquid other than cream. Specialty drinks are an unknown concept, an American institution, and smoothies, even moreso.
Ice cream is ice cream, fruit is fruit, and what is a smoothie anyway?
I was about to find out.
The first time Wayne, the coffee shop manager, showed me how to make a smoothie, I stood there blinking at him.
“Is that all?”
“Yup.”
No overworked employees in the back peeling bananas and slicing strawberries?
“Nope.”
People are more curious about what goes into a smoothie than how it’s made. The special combination of ingredients goes into the blender, there’s a WHRRRR, and out comes a smoothie. The ingredients are important of course, but it’s the WHRRRR that makes the magic happen. It’s the WHRRRR that separates the truly exceptional from the lumpy chunky messes.
As for the secret recipe? Mixes and ice. The coffees consist mostly of sugar, powdered coffee and milk while the fruit smoothies—are you ready for this?—are green tea based liquid mixes.
Either by luck or providence (it is a church, afterall), when Wayne measured out those proportions that day, it was just right. The first time I am shown how something is done, it becomes the standard against which I compare all subsequent repetitions. If Wayne filled that cup to the rim with ice that first time, and I later decided that that was too much, that the smoothies were too chunky and I couldn’t attain the right blend, I could never adjust my paradigm to be “fill it to a little less than the line;” it would always be “fill it less than the first time.”
Perhaps I’m compulsive. Or perhaps I’ve found a quirk in how the human brain operates. I don’t know.
For blended coffees: milk up to the lowest line in the cup, then dumped directly into the blender. Followed by two scoops of powdered mix, one slightly heaping cup of ice. How heaping is important. Changes the consistency. For fruit smoothies, one scoop of ice not heaping, plus the liquid mix poured almost to overflowing.
The correct ratio of mix to ice is almost as important as the blending—almost. A good blend can in part compensate for imperfect proportions, but perfect proportions can never make up for a bad blending. Who hasn’t experienced a clogged straw, or slurped their way down through a ball of ice?
Thankfully, our customers are neither as moody nor demanding as those in the general public—due to the location, I’d like to think. I have yet to be bargained with, scowled at or yelled at for messing up or being too slow on my delivery. The customer knows what she wants, but is a patient creature because I am valued for my ability to satisfy her fix. Since the café is not a large corporate entity, the employee does not have to bend over backward to ensure that the customer is appeased in every way possible, up to and including meeting impossible demands. In a way, I think this improves the customer/clientele relationship. No promises made here. Only drinks.
As fate would have it, I’m quite good at mixing cold coffees and smoothies. The compliments come pouring in. At first it’s encouraging. I may not be able to find a professional career, but I can make a smoothie. Then, what usually happens when one becomes proficient at something, happens. The bar is raised. Now, every smoothie has to be perfectly blended, and it’s become a contest not only to outdo myself, but the other employees as well. Wayne has already told me I’ve had more compliments than any beginning employee, but that’s not good enough. I must maintain or better my record. I just can’t be at my peak three weeks into my smoothie career.
I discover that tiny variations in factors influence the final product. I notice the drinks are a little too runny, and it’s because the blenders have just been washed in hot water. I tell one of my co-workers to do a final rinse in cold water to get a better blend, and by the way she looks at me, I can tell she thinks that next I’ll be suggesting that we count the ice cubes for each drink, and no telling what else.
I wonder what I will say in my defense. I would blame perfectionism, but someone else at the café has already claimed that title (incidentally, the same woman who substitutes four pumps of caramel for two caramels and a macadamia nut to make a turtle coffee. “All they care about is the caramel flavor and the chocolate on top anyway,” and I know she’s right, but I could never bring myself to make such a compromise simply on principle. ) No, it has to be something else.
There’s only one other designation that could possibly justify my level of exactitude in making these drinks. Artist.
Friday, September 5, 2008
MoonKatCreations Launches Creative Non-Fiction Blog
What tha?!?
Did anyone else find it really difficult to interpret the security letters during registration? I tried three times before I got it!
Anyway, well, I'm here now. This promises to be the first of many postings. I promise better content on successive ones.
I'm all about the art of writing, and the idea that everyone has something important to say. The trick is to produce something that is both well crafted and expressive. I hope that I succeed in this and that someone will enjoy reading my postings as much as I will enjoy writing them.
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