Wow, I have not written in a month.  Could it be that I am slowly
steering away from the art of literary expression?  That would
indeed be a crime.

DC is certainly a beautiful place for a break.  Parking might be
the only deterant for my "small house in the city" dreams, but I am
quickly falling in love with this place.  We are currently
headquartered in the trendy Adams Morgan district, less than five
minutes from downtown in a turn-of-the-century, three story
townhouse.  As we rounded the mall by car this afternoon, I
thought about the beauty of the old and the new overlapping together
creating the present.  This is history- the now born of then and
soon. 

The thought struck me- the beauty of this place is for what? 
These monuments will not last forever.  God is here in a fresh way
this week, as I wonder for what reason men are forever building
mountains to their accomplishments.  Sometimes I struggle with my
place;  will I ever accomplish any reknown?  Am I worthy of
accolade?  I want to amount to something in ways that matter.

Young people are often regarded as arrogant immortals.  To be
sure, I have never felt indestructable a day in my life.  This is
only proved by my many outbursts during our quests for parking. 
Let us pray I make it back in one piece and perhaps without any tickets.

It's Valentine's Day.  I'm not celebrating.

However, I'm on my second consecutive snow day... the second in twenty years of university history.
I think that deserves a party.

Have a best day.

Sometimes I hate my family.  My great aunt died today, which
sounds enough like a tragedy.  However, in this case tragedy does
not lie in her passing but rather in who she was.

I chalk up my mom's side to a bad joke, one whose punchline is sad and
depressing, one that once out of the mouth is gladly forgotten. 
This is not the first time my mom has prefaced news of a death with "it
was a relief to all of us."  So when I cried today I cried for who
she was, not forgetting joyous things like her cookies, or that time
last Easter she naïvely exclaimed just how to put an elephant in a
Fairway bag (ask Brooke).  Rather, I bawled because her last week
alive she drove everyone crazy complaining, she never forgave her
mother for treating her like crap, and because the past four years the
only talking we did consisted of her proclaiming her mother's
thoughtless favoritism for her next oldest sister.

I have never wanted this for myself.  I want to cherish them as
the beautiful people they can be, but I have been so guilty as of late
for envying other people's grandparents.  I have never felt so
much shame as I did the moment Mom told me she passed.

"Anger can destroy a person," said my Dad upon hearing the news. 
I hope that whatever anger might exist still in me would whither and
die by the goodness of grace. 

I keep myself up through the midmorning glow on occasion wondering if I
will relieve anyone by settling peaceably in the cold earth. 

Fatigue is fifty percent responsible for me walking around in a haze
any given day.  I have been feeling the fatigue that creeps up
right before dragging into work for a few days now, but last night's
was decidedly different.  The tiredness that burns...  that
is a monster.  However, I realized how alive I was scrubbing down
tables and reading computer screens.  Though I am thankful for
sleep, I hope the burn never goes away.

---

I felt the weight of grace today.  Most people would contest,
saying grace is the antithesis of bondage.  Today I strongly
disagree.  The burden is the indirect result of those praises on
my lips for my deliverance from the great "or else."  The gravity
of the punishment makes grace so sweet, but even without the sting I
ache.

Now that all essential parties have been informed, I can officially go public with some news.

One of the many things I have investigated, picked apart from every
angle is suddenly new to me and unfamiliar, almost like the freshly
fallen snow outside.  As I had remarked in a previous entry, the
mountain top of experience is teaching me bold and brilliant things,
one of which concerns how long I took to become ready for such a
responsibility. 

The beauty of my upward climb was witnessing and acknowledging ridges I
have surmounted along the way.  I knew upon discovering something
of myself or the objectiveness of truth that I was crawling towards
this time, this moment.  Hindsight is twice as sweet when one sees
it for the second time.

So for all of you still unaware,

        his name is Jarrod.

Winter days are always breath-taking within themselves, partially
because the bitter air robs the lungs and bones of warm life. 
Today however is brilliant.

The paradox of a snowy sun-filled afternoon is a mystery to me. 
Snow should be banished away by light according to nature's laws but
instead defiantly burns with reflected sun.  The soapy flakes look
suspended in the blue expanse, absent of clouds and churning me with
the impossibilty of it all. 

I am perplexed by the burning of ice and the chill of the sun on days
like these, but by this I know there is heaven.  One thing I know
for sure: wonder lands softly on the white iris of the earth turned in
awe to the sky.

People speak from two mountains: observation and experience.  The
vastness of the valley lying between them is only realized when one has
travelled the distance.

I know I have been guilty of speaking from the former on all things
unknown...  my friends are my guinea pigs and my evidence for what
does and does not work.  Those from the school of experience must
be beating themselves over the head for all of us that feel we
know.  How little we know....

How little I know.

But I am finding out.

If I manage to amass some small fortune, in my old age I would like to
construct a house in the old-school elementary fashion, complete with a
metal sculpture garden resembling a playground.  This way I can
legitimately yell at the small children showing up at my house and
playing in my yard.

Call it senile.  I call it fun.

Jonathan  and I pulled up to the house about an hour ago after a
night of reverie and all-around ridiculous, courtesy of the Canton crew
and Life Aquatic when we realized another car was in our spot. 
Quizzically, we slowly approached and stopped- a bare thigh was stuck
out next to the window.  I jumped.  Some girl was in her car
in front of our house!

She wasn't moving... we didn't know what to think. 

After looking around and cautiously entering our own house, we awoke
our parents and explained the situation.  Mom was freaking out,
"Call the police!  You don't know if she has a gun," she said,
like we live in the middle of the ghetto.  I wanted someone to
attempt to wake her and see how she reacted, which was apparently a bad
idea.

I don't know how to handle a situation like that.  If it were I, I
would prefer that some kind person would attempt to make contact with
me before involving the police.  A Tylenol could send me on my
merry way for all I know.  Yet, the exploitation of caring peoples
proves that one must always be cautious when dealing with strangers, in
the middle of the night especially.

I wish I could come up with a better answer for this incident, but all
I keep thinking about is the legendary good Samaritan.  Would he
be concerned about getting knifed?

I really did not want to celebrate Christmas today.  Besides not
having anything wrapped at 2 AM this morning, I feel like I cheated
this system.  My family stuck it to Father Time because we wanted
to celebrate the holiday together.

Christmas was awkward.  I have yet to discover the gentle way to
tell my mother that I do not enjoy wooden, gaudy ethnic jewelry (most
of the normal variety
I find impractical, anyway), which basically means I have a mountain of
it to give to Nashira.  My dog received and repeatedly assaulted a
squeaky stuffed horse in plain view of our family camcorder... I would
post a clip, but I believe it is illegal in accordance with my state
laws.  Add fake-dad sporadically and haphazardly camcordering, and
it's a bizarre day.

I think the pinnacle of weird arrived with our fake brother and sister.  Seth, the boy, received a Remington rifle. 

A gun.  I watched a gun being assembled in my living room. 

For the record, my blood family has never been into shooting things
unprovoked, much less shooting things in general.  I could barely
believe my mom was condoning this rednecked celebration of human
supremacy...  This same woman drives a luxury car and wants in the
pit of her soul for the world to deem her classy.  I guess
marrying a redneck changes things.

I enjoyed my holiday, really and truely I did.  I just find
these special times of year obviously and obnoxiously broadcast the
quirkiness of my immediate and extended family.  Perhaps it's
God's polite way of telling me I should plan for a very single
season.  However, this is not the end.  Dad's house is
calling, which
means scads of Belgian waffles and myriads of other Christmas cookies
beckon.  Until then, Merry December the 23rd to all, and to all a
good night.