[overheard while Sullivan and Éa build a precarious fort]:
Éa: Sully, did you just swear!?
Sullivan: What!? No!
Éa: No really, Sully, did you say the S word?
Sullivan: No! Only Mom does that!
Carla reports that last night, out of the blue before bed, Éa said, “I think that Daddy’s mune to stuff.”
“You think he’s immune? To what?” replied Carla.
“No, the opposite of that. Mune.”
“I don’t think that’s a word.”
“Really? Well then what’s the opposite of ‘immune’?”
“Susceptible.”
“What?! That sounds like some sort of a….PORT a potty! …like ‘appropriate receptacle’! (lots of laughter by both parties)”
Oh my gosh. Jesus.
— Carla
“Emotional support feels terrible.”
— Carla
“We cannot be too careful about the words we use. We start out using them, and they end up using us.”
– Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places
“To get” has replaced all instances of “to give” at Christmastime:
- “I’m going to get Sullivan a mortar and pestle” instead of “I’m going to give Sullivan…”
- “I hope I get a Wii” instead of “I hope I receive a Wii” or “I hope someone gives me a Wii.”
The change has removed all generosity from the concept of gifts. Strange.
love noun 1 fondness and esteem that leads one to act toward the good of and the enjoyment of relationship with
Perhaps we could call secular Christmas “Wintercheer.”
love verb 1 to esteem someone or something as to be gladly willing to donate of one’s self (e.g., attention, energy, time, material resources, money) for the their good 2 to esteem someone or something as to prioritize their needs
After an evening with Ben for the Roomful of Teeth concert at Schwab Auditorium, a lunchtime with Ernest yesterday, and a long campus walk with Mark last night, I reported to the Rookes that Carla says I abuse introverts. I hope it’s not true. Lord, may I be slow to speak.
It may help in interpreting Jesus’ parables to picture Him saying them to people, or perhaps to picture yourself saying them to people. That clarified the Parable of the Wedding Feast for me today.
I think we could resolve some problems if we simply renamed the secular holiday, so that there’s the Christian holiday, “Christmas,” and the secular, gift-giving holiday, “Festivus”.
Many people say “humbled” when they mean “honored.”
Some people says “funny” when they mean “making a curious or disagreeable choice.” “Laughable” or “risible” would be the better, more honest choice.
Scott: So, Sullivan what laws of physics do you know?
Sullivan: Newton’s laws of physics!
Éa: Nudists know all physics?
You know what Miss Leigh calls a picture? “Pitcher.” Picture. Pitcher. She’s a very complicated woman.
— Éa, on a quirk of her teacher’s pronunciation
Carla: Sullivan, you have to take a shower. I don’t want to hear any more whining about it. Get in there.
Sullivan [walking away into the bathroom]: Aw, maaan! Fuck. Fuck fuck.
Carla: Sullivan, what did you just say?
Sullivan: Haha! I didn’t want to say “shucks” so I disguised it by saying “puck”—or no wait: “fuck.” Yeah, that was it.
I remind myself how much richer a reading experience is when it is read aloud. I missed Ahab’s boat in Moby Dick; I’m not going to miss Licona’s resurrection train.
Could a fellow charismatic humor my perhaps fussy inner lexicographer? I’m looking for a definition of “enter in.”
I ask because I’m generally suspicious of phrases in Christian circles whose meaning would not be immediately apparent to outsiders. “Enter in” strikes me as an example of the clichéd, mystical argot that helps to maintain power structures and in-group, out-group distinction in an organization. The first way to neuter such a phrase’s abusive possibilities is to provide a clear definition for it.
As far as I can tell, among Bible translations the phrase is unique to King James, and it never occurs in the context we hear it now: Congregational singing. What’s more, it’s redundant—that is, drop the word “in” and the phrase would, at face value, mean the same thing. The problem with that, however, is that we often use “enter in” without prepositional object, and if the guy at the microphone were to say simply “Enter!” during singing time (pause for a moment to picture it), the mysticism of the directive would, I think, be even more apparent.
So, what are we saying when we say, “Enter in”?
In the Clover Highlands during my prayer-walk today, I came away with this: The people in front of you at any given moment are the most interesting, fascinating people in the world. Certainly more interesting than myself. Act—and listen—accordingly.
Without an interpreter, my workday with Alexander Amelchev and his family visiting would have been a drag. As it was, with our Svitlana Budzhak-Jones in tow, we had a great time touring the factory, eating lunch at Retro Eatery in Philipsburg, playing at Discovery Space, and eating again at Happy Valley Brewing.
Brave New World is an excellent book so far. And there are effable things I think I’m learning from it, too. What strikes me tonight is the power of something close to hypnopædia: I ought to make use of the apparent fact that if you repeat something assuredly to someone frequently enough, they will believe you.
Carla [upon delivery of Éa’s dessert at Sips Bistro]: Bon appétit!
Éa [correcting her]: Bon appé-YUM!
Carla called me intense this evening at the College Township holiday party and appreciation dinner at the Nittany Lion Inn. Too much face. She meant it as an constructive putdown. Boy, did it dampen my mood. But she’s right: I need to control my energy in social situations that are tied to exciting ideas or where I feel my reputation for something good (singing, progressive vision for the township) goes ahead of me.
Scott: Éa, would you mind if I put on some tunes?
Éa: Yeah.
Scott [to clarify]: Should I put on some tunes?
Éa: Yeah.
Scott: Any objections anyone?
Éa: Tunes! But don’t put on any objections!