What Has Man Come To?

Dear Readers,

You may have remembered my 9 day blogging commitment and guess what? Today is day 7. I have 2 more posts to make after this (and there may or may not be a surprise finale) and to be honest, it's been rather difficult but a great practice for daily discipline. So today, on my Sabbath, I am going to list my top six (I tried to do ten but couldn't think of enough) favorite youtube videos and let them do the talkin.

6. Sneezes are scary
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzRH3iTQPrk

5. Slow motion makes everything more interesting
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90VyvOhPmA0

4. What Jesus isn't but oh so funny...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VX-opnLXZLg&feature=related

3. I Love dogs in every form, but especially when they talk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXo3NFqkaRM

2. Best Dancer I've ever seen
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzI7ji2DStQ

Drum roll please.... And my favorite, Youtube video... of all time IS....
Baby Trashes Bar in las Palmas
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cds7lSHawAw

What am I forgetting??

LOX: the Saddest Story You May Ever Hear

In Philadelphia, all the homes are tightly packed together like sardines in a tin can and therefore our backyards (if it can even be called one) form tetris-like shapes as they meet. And whether we choose it or not, one gets a very personal perspective into the backyard life of the surrounding neighbors. Now, not a lot goes on in Philly backyards, mostly because they are tiny squares of concrete but there are the few who boldly buy patio furniture in hopes of utilizing this honestly useless space. We've decided to use our concrete block as a potted plant garden (currently in deep hibernation) and a small dining area complete with an old wooden table, a fire pit and even christmas lights. But there is something else very special about our backyard that has caused every resident in this home serious emotional discomfort. And his name is LOX.

LOX (as in "locks") is some kind of Boxer mutt probably around the age of 2 or 3 and is an avid jumper. He will eat anything, carries a loud bark, and smells pretty bad. And the only thing separating us from him is a ten foot long chain link fence held up by old bricks. And friends, I can honestly say he is one of the most pathetic things I have ever laid eyes upon. His already cramped space is filled with old wooden posts, rotting outdoor furniture and now that it is winter, ice. He sleeps in a corner where an old piece of tarp has fortunately fallen and if he is lucky, the sun will warm his back as he sleeps. Sometimes we throw over old sandwhiches or scraps of food and when I'm feeling really compassionate I try to scratch his smelly snout through the tiny holes of the fence. And when I do so he tries to lick me in a chaotic rampage and I know he is happy for the moment because his tail wags back and forth. And then I go in and watch him watch us through the three windows facing his side of the backyard (really? we only have 3 windows on either side of our house and they all have to face this poor creature??). We talk to him when we take the trash out and he vivaciously leaps back and forth barking at the foreignness of another living creature. And many days I'll come home and there he is, waiting on his side of the fence waiting to watch us pass one of the windows which I am assuming is his only form of entertainment. One time a leaf blew into his yard and he leapt on it with furious inspection and I imagine him thinking "And what issss this curious object? It is crunchy and smells like dirt. Where could it possibly have come from?" For there are no trees in LOX's box.

Last week, I decided to do something about it. I couldn't watch him suffer in the cold any longer. I had an old feather down comforter that I had put outside to dry months ago and forgot about, leaving it to the rain and dirt. So I boldly grabbed the large blanket, pulled a frozen bucket of water over to stand on, and tried to lay/throw the blanket into the small covered space he had in the corner. Surely this would keep him warm! But before the blanket had the chance to let gravity pull it into place LOX had it in his clamped jaws. Stupid dog, let go! Can't you see I'm trying to help you. I frantically whispered to him "Lox, stop it. Stop it. Let go." and as I attempted to pull the blanket into it's proper space through the chain link fence with two fingers I realized I would not win this battle. I watched before my eyes as my little friend ripped, teared and destroyed his only form of warmth outside of the sun. I ran back into the house, through the house, and outside to our next door neighbors door. There were feathers flying on the front street. Knock, knock, knock. "Hi. I think your dog has my blanket. Yeah, I threw it over... the fence... to dry... and LOX... yeahhhh. I'm Sorry!" She said it was no problem and we ended the awkward conversation there. I returned home and from the safety of the upstairs window I watched as LOX tore the material into tiny shreds, tiny little feathers floated through the surrounding backyards. I could hear the lady next door yelling at LOX "Bad Dog! Bad Dog!" He stops for a moment and stares at the window where the mystery voice is coming from, feathers plastered all over his face, his tongue licking up the feathers around his mouth.

And LOX is happy! He is literally in dog heaven as he forgets his current pain and does what he was created to do: ripp things apart. And I am laughing from the upstairs bathroom window and it is snowing feathers. And I keep thinking how I sure do hope dogs go to heaven because LOX will surely appreciate everything there more so because of his current enslavement. And we are like LOX, persevering in this dreary world, waiting for the Kingdom of God to make all perfect again. So don't fret my little canine friend, one day all will be well.

La Loba

This is LOX.

Robert Frost Had it Right

I had an incredible English teacher my junior year of high school who revealed to me the secret worlds of Emily Dickinson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Hemingway to name just a few. What was once a literary mystery became real, almost palpable as I imagined Gatsby's Extravagant outdoor parties and sympathized for Edna's suffocated life in The Awakening. I can't even tell you what classes I took the last semester of my senior year of college but I will always remember that Edgar Allen Poe at one time considered using a Parrot as the main figure of his infamous poem "The Raven". And now it is winter. And I think of Robert Frost. Not only because of his creative name, but mostly because of his winter poem called "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" which also has been rooted in my mind due to this same teacher.

Last winter was physically and emotionally disgusting for me. Before last winter, I wasn't aware that when feet are not given the opportunity to air out semi-regularly that the skin between your toes will actually begin to shed. You see, I was continually wearing layers of tights, socks, and slippers. I remember the moment I discovered my rotting feet. I was disgusted and intrigued. My body is literally decomposing because of this horrid weather. All of life seemed gray as if the Earth and it's possessions had no choice but to mirror the skies above. Nothing could satisfy me. There were not enough blankets, the hottest shower could not be hot enough, and I began to despise the inevitable puffs of smoke which my mouth was sure to emit. Spring became a vague myth that I could barely recall and warmth, an always out of reach dream. And I'm not quite sure when this happened but one day I realized this reaction is a choice. I have the option of choosing how I want to emotionally react to this very physical sensation. And I chose to become bitter, both in flesh and heart. So when fall came around this year I made my choice.

I decided to EMBRACE winter this year.

And it's not easy but I can confidently say that this is the most joyfilled, positive winter I can recall as an adult. Ok, so it may have to do a little with the fact that winter thus far has been extremely mild in Philadelphia compared to what it normally is. But I think also, it has to do with my choice. Basically, the rut of this ideaology is based in this one thought: If God created Spring, Summer, and Fall to reflect his Glory then surely Winter is no different. Surely, we can all agree that God does seem a little harder to find in nature during this frigid season but He is surely just as present. Have I really been blind these past 23 winters? Believing God is hibernating along with the furry creatures and trees? But this new mentality has a lot going against it and it takes practice and much intentionality.

The weather in Philadelphia today could be described in two words: scary wind. It awoke me before dawn as it slapped my broken window against the inner pane, demanding my acknowledgement. "Go away!" was my response. Then later I rushed to the bank, moving my little booty feet as fast as they could take me. From inside the cafe I watched, horrified, as people passed by wearing face masks with only their eyes visible. As I headed home from the coffee shop (if you haven't realized yet, I spend a good amount of time in cafes) my body reacted as it normally does under such circumstance; quick movements and tense everything. And about halfway home I remembered. So I slowed my almost-jog to that of a calm-ganter. I relaxed my shoulders which had somehow lifted to ear hieght. I rolled my head around a few times and let my hair free to dance with the sharp movement of the wind. And so I walked the rest of the way home. First I became aware of the difference between the numb-cold of mittened hands and the jagged-cold my face was experiencing. The portion of my legs not being covered by boot or coat stung as if they had been repeatedly slapped and my ears almost burned in pain. But my neck, my neck was so warm! Nestled in three wrap-around layers of wool scarf it actually began to get too hot! And the occasional burst of cold air that somehow penetrated the many layers was welcomed. My nose started to run and I wondered at the homeostasis taking place within me that I didn't even have to initiate! And although I by no means was able to warm myself any further by thus thinking, I did manage to almost enjoy my chilly walk home much as I imagine Robert Frost may have felt when he wrote this poem....

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

La Loba

The Sad Life of a Professional Crafter

Ok, so we're all aware of the "economic state" of The States, the hardships of the time, the struggle for financial security which has more than consumed America's newspaper headlines for years now. If America was a metaphorical baseball team we'd be down and out in the realms of financial prosperity, or so they say. If we were a sandwhich, we'd be the Po'Boy. If we were a board game, we'd be LIFE except America would have the dumpy blue station wagon with 8 kids, all in debt. Comparitively speaking of course. But not too long ago life seemed perfect! College was a time for making new friends and going to ice cream socials, making inside jokes about Indians, not to mention lots of "free" and delicious D-Hall food. The economic crisis seemed far from me if even real. Well, turns out those lunches weren't as free as I thought and apparently you actually have to pay back those annoying internet E-forms I filled out yearly called "loans". So here I am, thrust into the world like one of those ugly baby birds with patches of feathers and bulgy eyes, desperately trying to fly before it plummets to it's death, comparitively speaking of course. And well, I'm making it. Perhaps a little more like a flopping fish than a soaring Eagle but I'm gettin somewhere at least. But I'm not here to add to the already exorbitant number of complaints concerning the difficulty of making money. No, I'm here to complain about how crazy difficult it is to get a real job...

Background info: majored in psychology, minored in Substance Abuse Intervention, and professionally hung out with high school kids throughout college. So in other words, unless you need someone to give you advice on how to stop biting your nails using positive reinforcement methods, or you need to recognize the difference between meth and cocaine (which I honestly can't remember), or your angtsy teenage daughter needs someone to talk to about how awesome the Hunger Games series is, then I've got nothing for ya. And I'm not quite sure where in my post-high-school-graduate-mind I thought it would be useful to get a degree in extremely general human behavior patterns but there it is. This is what I have to offer the professional world. What could be more beneficial to our society than such attributes? Apparently alot because as I search for jobs I am finding that NO ONE is looking for a professional friend. They want efficiency driven, technologically capable, communication superheros who are also willing to do administrative work on the side. Microsoft Outlook, why do you seem so darn important! And what are youuuuuuu!?? And is "spreadsheet" a general term? Or specific to the type of paper it's printed on? These are the questions I find myself repeatedly asking myself as I look through job descriptions. So instead of feeling extremely unqualified to be an adult, I decided to write out my own perfect job, adapted to my personal strengths...

Professional Friend
JOB RESPONSIBILITIES/SPECIFIC DUTIES:
-Work is heavily focused on making Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies for others, can provide hours of entertainment for toddlers by speaking in an English accent and pretending to fall asleep.... then Wake Up!... Then fall asleep... Then Wake up!... Professional friend is willing to spend hours making tiny replicas of already tiny things and must be proficient in reading children's stories with enthusiasm (and different voices when necessary). Will ensure that kitchen stays tidy and clean while also organizing book stacks from biggest to smallest size and category. Can quickly and proficiently wrap any gift with old newspaper and can make a delicious homemade cake at the drop of a hat. Can maintain extended faux animal conversations between animals that meet on the street. Able to think of creative titles for new businesses, songs, or books and can play the oboe at a mediocre level. Has an odd infatuation with pug dogs, bull dogs and squirrels. And last but not least, is able to make others laugh with your over-the-top boisterous laugh that you have no control over. If you meet the above requirements please send your resume (don't worry about a Cover letter, no one likes those anyway) to perfectjob@gmail.com In fact, don't even send a resume, just call me.

Love, La Loba

Highway Horror: When Wheelchairs Go Bad

Biking in Philadelphia is kind of like that game "Frogger" where you try to cross a road without being crushed by the wheels of a car... except in real life. We all know that vehicles can get out of control from time to time but never in my life have I experienced driving as I have in Philadelphia. Because cities are basically huge blocks of concrete with thousands of people huddled together within very small perimeters, it makes sense that the parking system would also lack in space. So what was once possibly a very tight two lane road has now become a one way road 7 feet wide between two rows of parked cars. What is considered 'regulatory' driving standards in most places becomes a preference of choice for others. For example, stop signs become "just-slow-down-a-little" signs, blinkers are simply trivial decorations, and red means go.... duh. But not even the most surprising of traffic violations and transportational slap in the faces could prepare me for what I now have come to understand as a regular traffic expectancy...

Imagine this: you're driving down Girard Street, chattin it up with your buddy in the passenger seat, semi-obeying the light signals and stop signs, listeing to Keisha and then BOOM- COMING STRAIGHT AT YOU, IN THE SAME LANE, IS AN OLD MAN IN AN ELECTRONIC WHEELCHAIR. What was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon ride to Dunkin Donuts has now become the most terrifying game of chicken ever experienced by man. You have about 4 seconds to swerve away before you most definitely nick the old man's chair, catapulting him onto further oncoming traffic, a sure death if he even survived the initial blow. Fortunately, no one was in the lane next to you and if they were, well, they got out of the way too. You look back in your rearview mirror unsure if you just imagined it all. But no, there he is, puttin' along at a whopping 10 miles an hour while you watch further traffic almost kill him... again and again.

And the best part of this whole scenario is that the person in question seems as if they are about to fall asleep, head bent over, are your eyes even open? "No 40 mph SUV gonna make me blink!" But the question is WHHHHYYYYYY. Why do you feel the need to risk your life daily and quite possibly destroy the only form of transportation you have (maybe those should be reversed?)??? The only reason we could guess is that the sidewalks... are.... bumpy? Perhaps the road, in it's black tar levelness allures them to risk it all for the comfort of a smooth ride. You see, the trees of Philly, confined by large amounts of concrete, have decided to rebel by causing their powerful roots to break apart large chunks of sidewalk making it almost impossible to walk down let alone scooter. So here we have it, the only semi-plausible answer. Besides, I heard Obama thinks wheelchairs will be the next up and coming hybrid of choice.

La Loba

How. Dare. You.

The subway here in Philadelphia is truly a box full of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get and sometimes it turns out to be really old, cheap chocolate that fell on the ground. And sometimes you get that regular looking chocolate that turns out to be AWESOME, filled with nuggetty goodness or coconut delight (my personal favorite). It really all depends on how you want to look at it and how hungry you are.

I was on my way to work today, silently watching the battered homes pass by while on my bright blue seat, and to my not so much surprise an old haggered woman entered through the "do not pass through passenger car" sign and began approaching each indivdual for spare change. She was about 5'4", with dark skin leathered by continual winter beating, adorned with a beanie, layers of clothing and a coat far too large for her small frame. Fortunately, I had chosen a seat in the back and was given a good 30 seconds before she would be by my side, her humble words in my ears. My first decision was harder than it should be: do I ignore or acknowledge? About 75% of those who happened to find themselves in this same subway car on this relatively warm December day chose the former option. The rest fell into one of two categories, 1) acknowledge and apologize for not being able to give her money (whether they actually had money to give was another topic in itself) or 2) acknowledge and give her money. I grew frantic, options and words whilring in my mind. God, what would you do!? What would you do!? I tried to still my mind to listen but she was already a few rows from me and the inevitable interaction was about to ensue. Fortunately a week prior, I had already made decision number 1- I want to always acknowledge every human who asks me a question. It's really the only humane conclusion. Now onto decision number 2- give her money?

You're probably thinking to yourself "Just give her a few bucks! It's not that big of a deal." Well, I don't know if it can be that simple. Now, I know all of us middle classians have worried about where that money is going. Is it really going to that sandwhich for lunch you speak of? And are you really 4 1/2 months pregnant? And are you sure you have PTSD from serving in the Iraq war? My guess is that most of us assume those few dollars will eventually make their way into the hands of a drug dealer or the ABC store down the street. And surely I don't want to be the one supporting such behavior, especially with the money I worked so hard to earn! And all of these thoughts run through my mind within 30 seconds. And with all these assumptions, doubts, and judgements I am no closer to understanding what God would do.

So I do what I normally do in uncomfortable situations. I compromise. I stretch the line so that I can still get what I want and am also able to give to this person in order to save my conscience. This is where the ugly Jenna comes in. So she asks for spare change? I have spare change. She is at my side now, the same line repeating from her lips: "Any spare change? Any spare change?" Well, YES! I am glad to say that I do indeed have some spare change I can give you! I open my wallet, dig out the 67 cents of coins in my possesion and hold them out to her in my palm. She looks from my hand- to me- to my wallet, which is still open, disgracing me with the presence of dollar bills that I am obviously witholding. And the most startling thing happens. The lady waves her hand in disgust and walks away leaving me with my 67 cents, which now seems to be literally burning into my hand and conscience. My emotional response, to further my disgrace, is a deep, inner anger rooted in self-righteousness. The phrase "beggars can't be choosers" comes to my mind and I think to myself "How. Dare. You." How dare you put me in an emotionally and morally uncomfortable situation and then deny what I, out of the goodness of my heart, choose to offer??? I calm myself and continue to process this 10 second interaction that has seemed to upset me so. I come back to that darned question, "What would he do??"

A few weeks ago I attended someone's 33rd birthday in which each guest was asked ahead of time to create and prepare a 5-10 minute puppet show (stage and lighting provided of course). And there was one older gentleman who made simple hand puppets out of dish rags and string. These inglorious puppets walked through his life struggles and his most recent conclusion based on an interation he had with a beggar. His conclusion to all his hardships, sin, and displeasure? We are to love. I think of this now as I sit on the subway. I am almost to my stop. Why hadn't I thought of it sooner? I guess, God would have..... loved this human. And I was and am to do the same. Jesus often showed his love in interest. He was interested in your story and held many conversations with the least. This answer was more than I had bargained for. It would be easier to have just given her ALL my money. But to care for a stranger? And a smelly one at that?

Dear Lord, give us willing hearts.

Love, La Loba

The Perils of Being a National Symbol of Freedom

My dad is disappointed in me. He considers it outrageous to have lived in Philadelphia for 3 months now and still I have not visited THE liberty bell (to further my shame, it is free of charge). So naturally, being the eager-to-please daughter I am, I decided to buy him his own mini liberty bell for Christmas so that he could visit it everyday if he wanted (added bonus: it's functional). Perhaps it would only burden his mind to know that I have actually semi-visited the infamous Liberty Bell on 5th & Independence. You see, the bell is enclosed within a beautiful building, a glass building in which you can view it from the outside. The first time I just happened to realize I was passing it while perusing the many downtown coffee shops. But the second time, I intentionally visited it!.... From the outside.
Here is the story of how it all came to be and the interesting events that followed....

The day before New Years a dear friend from college let me know that she was going to be in town (in city?) for the upcoming festivities and could she visit? Before I knew it my little one was in my arms, chatting away in an English accent (our favorite past time). What to do? Well, we had limited time available before we were to report to our official happy hour/$1 taco restaurant so we chose to take a walk and see where we ended up. And, you guessed it, we found ourselves standing behind the wrought iron fence admiring the Liberty Bell (minded, they seemed to have turned the cracked section inwards so you HAVE to go inside to see it). So we stood there, imagining the destruction. Who broke it? How did it come to be about? After about 3 minutes we felt satisfied and turned our attention to the busy street beyond us and the many tourists.
Oddly enough, I noticed again the odd looking figures in black who always stood at the corners of this street. I wondered aloud and we decided to go ask one of them why there were always positioned so. We confidently approached the large man, recognizing his golden badge, and realized they were guards. Guards? For what? Surely, our city does not pay men to stand outside of a large mass of (broken) metal?

(Emily and I approaching closest security guard. I look first at what I assume is a police badge but actually says "security officer").
"Hi, can I ask you a question?"
He says: "Sure."
I say: "Why are there security guards always standing on this corner?"
He answers my question with a question, which at the time I did not seem to appreciate.
"What happened on 9/11?" *with sass
I pretend that I don't know and remain silent because it feels like a rhetorical question.
Emily, being the faithful student she is, squeaks out a response...
"Um, the twin towers were destroyed?"
He says: "And who destroyed them".
Oh golly, not another one.
Emily says: "Um, terrorists?"
He says: "YES. And where are we right now?"
Enough with the question answers! I think.
Both of us: "The Liberty Bell."
He says: "Do you know what that building is over there?"
(He points to what looks like a fancy, historic building)
I say: "I don't know."
(look of shock on officer)
He responds:
"The Constitution was signed in that building! And we have to make sure that no bomber comes around here expecting to blow up these monuments. That's my job. Because once they're gone, they're gone."
I sneakily look him up and down.
He doesn't necessarily look ready and able to pounce on a suspect.
He continues:
"Imagine someone walks by with a big bag of explosives and throws it in the window. We gotta be ready!"
First thought: He is very passionate about his job.
Second thought: Even if that were to happen, how would he stop it?
I speak my mind aloud.
He answers: "You gotta prevent it by looking for suspects!"
I ask:  "And what kind of profile are you looking for?"
Apparently, this was the right question to ask because for the next 5 minutes he speaks of what kind of human could potentially be a terrorist.
The storm:
"Any old shmuck could be a terrorist. Someone whose depressed or just broke up with their girlfriend and they decide to do something crazy. Or, ya know, a man comes up to you and asks you to carry in a large bag and he'll give you a million dollars. Would you do it? Well, most people would do it. Where you both from? See how easy it was to get that information from you? Or say you just met a muslim friend and they go out to dinner with you and they eat pork. Well, they're probably just trying to throw you off. Or take you two for example. You could be distractin me while someone else puts bombs in the back. It could be anyone, anyone."
Ok, he's got a point, I think, but I'm especially confused about the pork comment.
I move onto my next question: "So do you like working outside?"
He says: "I like protecting our country."
I say: "You must get pretty cold in these Philly winters then."
"Nope, nope not at all. Look at this coat. It's a big coat. And what's this?"
(He pulls out what looks like a mini remote control).
And again, pre-doctor Emily responds "It's a control for heating." Show off.
I laugh inside. Ok, that's just plain awesome.
"It keeps me warm ALL day and night. And look at these boots. We call 'em our Mickey Mouse boots because they look like his shoes." (He pulls up his pant leg a few inches so we can get a better view and indeed, they are the biggest, clunkiest, black boots I have ever seen in my life).


But unfortunately, Emily and I did not have Mickey Mouse boots and had to depart early from our "heated" discussion. Ok, so this wasn't the best story ever. I'll admit that. But tonight, I will rest assured that the liberty bell is safe and sound and that tomorrow it will still be around if I choose to actually visit it. And look at me, I still have 12 minutes before day two....

La Loba

Confession Zone:

I have done a HORRIBLE job at keeping my blog updated.

I suppose the beautiful thing about blogs is that there is no "real" obligation to remain consistent in postings yet I can't help to feel that I have let my biggest fans down in a very very small way (aka my mom and Nichole Ehlers).

SO, last week, while riding on the subway, I took out my little purple notebook that I carry around to record odd pieces of information, and wrote down a list of all the blogs I have thought about writing but haven't yet. Over the next 9 days I am commiting to blogging daily one topic at a time. Here is a little taste of what you have to look forward to...

"The Perils of Being a National Symbol of Freedom"
-a conversation with a Liberty Bell security guard

"How.  Dare.  You."
-When charity and greed collide

"Subways are Smelly Sometimes"
-an everyday experience on Philadelphia public transportation

"Robert Frost had it Right"
-Bring on the cocoa and marshmallows

"LOX: The Saddest Story You'll Ever Hear"
-animal lovers read with discretion

"TIMBERLAND BOOTS"
-The time I visited a breakdancing event

"The Sad Life of a Professional Crafter"
-a full disclosure of self-pity while looking for jobs

"Highway Horror: When wheelchairs Go Bad"

"What Has Man Come To?"
-Man's addiction to youtube

If this doesn't peak your interest to join me on this semi-literary, metaphorical adventure than I don't know what will.

I look forward to sharing life with you, La Loba