Achoo.

So it turns out I'm allergic to Nashville.

After dragging through work all week up until Thursday, feeling like I was carrying a 50-pound backpack full of sand (thanks, Biggest Loser, for that image), I finally gave in and went to the doctor. It's always a tough call when to stay home sick as a health-care worker. Granted, I'm a chaplain, so I'm not changing bandages or administering medication. Yet I do spend my days in close quarters with people who are very, very ill, and I'm supposed to stay home when I'm sick to avoid spreading germs to those with suppressed immune systems. But how sick is sick?

Health care workers are historically terrible at gauging this. When I worked at a hospital in New Jersey I actually overheard this conversation at the hospital library:

Nurse 1: Yeah, so I'm supposed to stay home today until the test results are back.
Nurse 2: Really? They're being that dumb?
Nurse 1: Yeah, they think I probably have a mild case of the swine flu.
Me: (quickly standing up and running out of library)

So my problem always is: what constitutes sick? The sniffles? I get these every few days. The flu? I get this probably once a year, but since I'm contagious the day before, should I stay home for sniffles, just in case?

Add to all of this the fact that at my place of work sick days = vacation days. That's right, for every day I'm out sick, I subtract one vacation day. This is the WORST plan ever for health care workers, who are bad at staying home even when they're SUPER sick. This policy definitely contributes to sick doctors/nurses/techs coming in declaring themselves "not that sick." And come on, if going into work with the sniffles means we can still take Christmas off to be with our families, most of us will probably do this, right? How sick is sick?

By Thursday evening, I decided I needed to get checked out. I wasn't dying. I didn't have the flu. But I certainly felt crummy. Sore throat, plugged sinuses, general malaise. My energy level was at about 24%. Walking from the office to my car felt like a mile and a half. Blech.

So I stayed home, went to bed at 8pm, and slept until 10am the next morning. Then I went in to get checked out.

The verdict, according to a very kind Nashville doctor?

I'm very allergic to Nashville.

Not uncommon, from what he said. It usually takes people a few weeks of living here before their bodies get really angry at all of the pollen/pollutants/tree offal/etc. I didn't think it was allergies because my eyes weren't itchy and my nose wasn't running. According to the doctor, my "ears were full of fluid that is draining down [my] throat." EW.

So now, doped up on antihistamines, with cough drops and nasal spray in tow, I'm doing a bit better. And the good news is that I was never in danger of getting anyone else sick, because for as miserable as an allergy attack is, at least I get to keep it to myself.

Ah, Nashville. Why so allergen-laden?

Where AM I?

Daryl and I ran all of those annoying new-to-the-area errands yesterday. He changed our insurance from NJ to TN. We got new driver's licenses. We sat in some traffic (yeah, still figuring out when and where rush hour occurs in these here parts).

We were surprised to find out that the place where you get your new driver's license (the "Department of Safety," which, from the name, I would assume is where they inspect restaurants for health violations, but apparently is not) is not where you can also get new license plates for your car. So we headed out with our new DLs in hand to get our plates changed.

This particular office closed at 5pm. We arrived at 4:54pm and the line was halfway down the hall. This wasn't going to happen, but we decided to wait in line anyway. Just in case.

At 5pm a woman came out from behind the desk with a stack of labels in her hand. She handed each of us in the line one label and said, "We'll take all of you, but you're the last ones. If anyone comes after you, tell them to come back on Monday."

Daryl and I were flabbergasted. They were staying open late... for us? It was 5:03 on a FRIDAY. Why...?

We happily waited in line, and made it to the front around 5:20. The woman behind the desk filled out the necessary forms while chatting pleasantly with us both.

"Why do you stay open late?" we asked.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"Well... we were halfway down the hall, and it's after five."

"We wouldn't want you to have to come back on Monday!" she said, surprised.

"This wouldn't happen in New Jersey," I said.

"Really? Well whyever not?" she asked.

Just then there was a knock on the office door. The woman went to it, ready to explain to the would-be customer that they were now closed. It turned out to be the first customer of the day, who had returned at the day's end holding a box of cheesecake. 

"This is for you," she said to the woman. "I work at the Cheesecake Factory around the corner, and you mentioned that strawberry is your favorite."

By now my jaw was hanging open and Daryl's eyes were wide. The woman said goodbye, took her cheesecake, and returned to help us.

"That was so nice," she said. "I mentioned that I like cheesecake, so she brought me some! Isn't that sweet?"

Where am I living? Places stay open a few moments just to "be nice," and customers at the DMV return with large boxes of cheesecake just to "be nice." I'm 98% sure that if we had looked longingly enough at that cheesecake the woman would have sent us home with half of it.

Gosh, this place is nice.

Observations on Tennessee

Since I've now lived in Tennessee for eight days, I am an expert on Tennessee. No, really.

Actually I just wanted to share some observations from my first week here (much of which has been spent unpacking and running move-in errands to Target and Home Depot...). After I've been here months or years, they will surely change. There's nothing quite like the culture shock of the first week in a new place.

This list is not meant to communicate anything snide (such as: Tennessee is silly) or stereotypical (such as: people in the south are all ____), it's merely a list of observations gleaned from the past eight days.

1. People seem much more polite in Tennessee than in any state I've ever lived in.
This is, frankly, kind of unnerving after living in New Jersey. I'm torn between wanting to hug them ("Thank you for being NICE to me!") and wanting to check to make sure my wallet's still there.

2. The culture is more explicitly Christian than in the northeast or midwest.
There were Bible verses on the artwork on the walls of the hospital in town (don't worry - I was there for a meeting, not because I caught something terrible). There are about six decent Christian radio stations in town (SIX?!?!). Businesses often play these stations. It's just assumed that you go to church. We do go to church, but it's still odd when it's assumed.

3. It's legal to talk on the phone/text while driving. This is a terrible idea.
Many of the good folks of NJ are bad drivers. Very aggressive, very angry, very much in an utter hurry all the time. The folks in TN seem to be better drivers when they aren't on the phone. They seem to be on the phone a lot. I almost got mowed down in the Kroger parking lot by a soccer mom twenty minutes ago.

The Jersey girl in me muttered, not very charitably, "Thanks for almost killing me! Hope that phone call was REALLY IMPORTANT!" I'm going to need to stop doing that here.

4. The spirit of Tennessee seems to be, "It's really hot, but we'll do everything we would normally do even if it's 100 degrees outside."
People are washing the windows of a skyscraper in town today. It's 89 degrees out (with 217% humidity), and it isn't even noon. An elderly gentleman came by last week to mow our lawn - apparently he's contracted with our landlady - and we were utterly appalled. It was about 98 outside. We brought him a bottle of cold water and he kindly waved us off.

"I'm fine," he said. "This is normal." On the surface of the sun, maybe.

5. People talk about church like it's the weather.
Daryl and I went out to dinner a couple of days ago, and the waiter (who was a hipster British guy with messed up hair and an air of utter cool about him) found out we were new to the area and asked us if we'd found a church yet. Um... what? We appreciated his input, but it was so odd to have someone in the service industry just assume that we went to church. It was his third question after "where are you from" and "do you like Nashville." Odd indeed.

6. Sundresses are the thing to wear if you're a 20-something woman.
Seriously. When I wear shorts or pants out I feel very out of place. It's one way to beat the heat, I guess!


7. People in the service industry expect a greeting and a little bit of conversation before engaging in a business transaction.
I went into a meeting today all businesslike (as I've been trained in the northeast), and the receptionist responded with, "Good morning."

Taken aback, I responded in kind.

"How are you this morning?" she asked.

"Um, good?" I responded. "Can I--"

"It's a beautiful day," she said. By this point I was starting to understand the drill.

"Yes it is!" I said. "And how are you?"

After another thirty seconds of banter she helped me with what I was after. It reminds me of when my family traveled to France a decade ago and my dad kept getting reprimanded by salesclerks for his brusque, American manner.

"I'd like a--" he'd begin.

"Bonjour," they'd say, firmly.

"Right," he'd say. "I'd like a--"

"BONJOUR," they'd say again.

"Oh," he'd say, finally understanding. "Bonjour."

"What would you like?" they'd respond.

I'm going to have to relearn some social cues around these parts.


8. It's freaking hot here.
Oh my goodness. Daryl and I tried to be brave and go to the Nashville zoo (the zoo is one of my favorite, favorite things to do), and we only lasted an hour. We each drank a full water bottle and a soda, and we only lasted an hour. We melted into puddles of sweat and both came home with headaches. This will take some getting used to... Or else I'll stay inside until November. Either way.


9. It's the south. There will be bugs.
My word are there bugs. We live in the city, so we have it better than most country folks in this regard, but STILL... God bless the swallows and mourning doves that have built nests around our garage. They spend most of the day hopping around our front yard swallowing things. I want to truck in about fifty more of them.


10. I like it here.
I really do.

Bring your Asbestos Suit

You forget, when you live in a big city (or even a big-ish town like Princeton, NJ) that small-towns don't follow the same rules as cities. Take safety, for example.

On July 3 we trekked up to Land O' Lakes to see the annual fireworks. These are a northwoods institution. People come from hundreds of miles around to watch the biggest fireworks show in the north every year. Walking around the parking lot, Daryl and I counted license plates from as far away as Texas and Arizona, not to mention many from Michigan, Minnesota, Illinois, and Iowa.

This is a show.

And I'm not just talking about the fireworks.

Between the school bus full of exceedingly drunk people (hey, at least they aren't driving! wait... aren't those my parents' tax dollars at work?) that arrives by bouncing across the airport runways (did I mention that this takes place at the airport and that we all get to DRIVE on the runways?) to the tailgating to the gangsta rock playing out of several sketchy pickup trucks, this was an experience to be remembered.

We gathered with some great family friends to eat and laugh as dusk fell. Then, the show began.

Several people had commented that it was really windy. As in: REALLY. WINDY.

Someone else commented offhandedly that the wind was blowing toward us from where the fireworks would be set off. Hmmm. Interesting.

As the first firework set off in the sky, I was laying on a picnic blanket with my husband, my youngest sister, and my good friend Tonia.

"Ooooh!" we said.

"Aaaah!" we said.

"OUCH!" we said.

"OH MY GOSH, IT'S RAINING FIRE!" we said.

And then we sprinted to the car and watched the show from the trunk while my dad screamed, "Incoming!"

People sat out on their picnic blankets watching the rain of fire and swatting lazily at pieces of flaming cardboard as it rained down in sheets. It burned holes in our camping chairs. It burned people's blankets. It went on and on and on and no one else was even fazed by the fire from the sky. People put their children up on their shoulders to see better.

In the end the fire department only had to put out one medium-sized fire near the woods. Everyone else survived with just minor shrapnel damage...

"This," said Daryl, "is why I live in the city. We have rules."

It was a pretty awesome show, though. I'm not gonna lie...

Happy July, everyone!

The Finish Line

On May 3, I gave my final exams at Rider. On May 4, I graded them. On May 5, I flew to Nashville from Princeton for the final time. It was the final plane ride back to my husband after being away from him for the past nine months. It didn't come a moment too soon. I felt like I was limping in, like Dr. House after a long night on the hospital floor. Something like that.

Daryl met me at the airport with a huge hug. The last week of our long-distance marriage hadn't been too kind to him, either--in the middle of his final exams his computer crashed and he, the king of backing up files, had neglected to  back up one particular paper that he then had to rewrite from scratch. Have you heard utter despair over the phone before? I sure did, the morning that paper got eaten... Poor boy. We practically collapsed into each other's arms in the terminal.

"This has been the hardest year of my life," I said. I'm prone to large amounts of exaggeration and apocryphal storytelling, but this was the utter truth. "This has been the hardest month of that year. And this has been the hardest week of that month."

He held me for a moment, rubbed my back in that wonderful lower-back region that makes me curl up like a happy cat, then said, "Let's go get breakfast." (Yet another thing I love about him: he understands that, while food doesn't solve problems, it does help take the edge off of them...)

So we did. There was no grand celebration yet. No fireworks or large, extravagant gifts given to one another in honor of the occasion (hey, we're grad students...). There was no award from the Mayor of Marriages in honor of our survival. There was just him and me and the knowledge that we never, EVER had to do this again. We ate a leisurely breakfast of fruit and juice and then got down to the next business: packing.

We had a deadline in SoCal. My parents (thank you, thank you, thank you!), knowing how tired we would be at the end of this season, booked a cruise vacation for the four of us leaving from Los Angeles on May 9. We needed to return my friend's car to her in Monterey, CA. So after breakfast we hurriedly packed up Daryl's life from the last year in order to began the 42-hour drive from Nashville to Los Angeles via Monterey.

Daryl is, shall we say, a contemplative packer. He muses about where each item should go, thinks about each book or piece of clothing, and generally drives me (and eventually himself) crazy. So he ran the errands and I did the packing. I am speedy-packer-girl. I also have no problem throwing things - this pair of tennis shoes from high school, a shirt with holes in it, a book with serious water damage - away. That helps. So I packed. And packed. And packed and packed and packed. And we headed off for our first night's hotel (St. Louis, about 6 hours away) around 6:30pm. Ah well, it was a start.

It seemed fitting somehow to end this marathon of a season with a long drive across the country. We've done more of these than most people in the past five years of dating and marriage. Daryl dropped me off at my magazine internship in Colorado right after our undergraduate graduation. We drove to Princeton to move in. We drove to Los Angeles and back for a summer internship. And this season we ended our long separation by driving to California to see a dear friend and then get on a cruise boat. It's pretty easy to do that much driving if you know food, sun, and a pool lounge chair await you. And if you're just so overjoyed at the presence of the man you love that you'd happily drive forever if it meant it was just you and him and nothing more.

Speaking of road trips: I never know what to post on Facebook or not. I like to share what I'm up to, but sometimes it gets me in trouble. People find out I've been in town and feel hurt I didn't call or visit, even though I was only there for a day (or a few hours!). I thank people in a status only to forget one or two important ones (hurt feelings! so bad!). I overshare without meaning to, or update when I'm in a grumpy mood and sound too harsh and unpastoral. They're' tricky nowadays, these Internets.

Anyway, on our drive across the country I updated where we were every night, to keep people (including my parents) posted on our driving progress and because it's fun to update Facebook from cities across the country. Also, hooray! I wasn't in New Jersey anymore!

Because my family of friends (my fremly, as my sister Caroline calls her own) is so dear, thoughtful, and wonderful, almost everywhere I stopped I had people commenting and asking why we didn't stay with them/their family. For free! They'd feed us! Why not?

Kind gestures, to be sure, but hey: I had just lived apart from my husband for nine months. We were getting a hotel room, gosh darn it. 'Nuff said.

And so we drove. And drove and drove.

We saw this (yes, at night - no, not with the cool moon shining through it):

And lots and lots (too much!) of this:

And this strange addition to the Utah salt flats:

Daryl and his friends Chris and Steven have a special name for this piece of art, but it isn't particularly blog-appropriate. You can ask any of them yourself, if you want.

But mostly, I saw this:

Boy, was it a sight for sore eyes...

Found on a Bethel University professor's office door:

My mom found this.

I had to share.

Reflections as I Plan to Live (Once Again) With My Husband: Part 4

You probably wouldn't expect that there would be a great deal of joy in spending nine months apart from the person you love most in the world. I certainly didn't.

But God surprises, sometimes.

When I flew home to Princeton after helping Daryl settle in to his new Nashvillian digs, I spent a couple hours crying. Then I spent a few thinking of how badly this was going to stink. Then I watched some television. It didn't help. Then I ate some ice cream. That didn't help either. Then I went to bed. When I woke up in the morning there was nothing left to do but pick myself up out of bed with a sigh and go to work. I tried not to notice the empty bookshelf. I shut the door to Daryl's side of the closet that was now empty. Ordinary life went on, even when the one I loved was a thousand miles away.

The joy in this year has constantly surprised me. It's been deep and incredible. It's been welcome and unexpected. It's been a sure companion, even amidst the pain of separation. A line from Marilynne Robinson's Gilead has stuck with me this year. I've quoted this novel in a previous post, but it is so apt I have to do it again. Her main character, John, is reflecting upon the death of his first wife and the decades between her death and his unexpected marriage to a new love:

"I do not remember grief and loneliness so much as I do peace and comfort--grief, but never without comfort; loneliness, but never without peace. Almost never."

There were times where I felt lonely without peace, but almost never. The missing ached, but there was still life in the living.

So, with joy, I'll end this series of reflections with nine joys I've experienced in the past nine months of living apart--far, far apart--from my dear husband. There were many, many more.

1. Reunions.
These were the best. Whether it'd been only two weeks or nearly a month, running into Daryl's arms in a Nashville or Philly (or Chicago or Denver, once) airport was amazing. We always tried to do our schoolwork ahead of time so that when we were reunited we would have two or three days together to just reconnect. We'd take walks, sleep in on Saturdays, go to church, cook leisurely dinners. After talking on the phone for weeks we were often talked out. We just wanted to be in the same room together, to tease the cats, to laugh, to hug. Each visit reconfirmed that our falling in love had been no accident.

Daryl developed a love for sneaking up behind me in airports and grabbing me in a big bear hug from behind. He's lucky my self-defense training is a little rusty, or he might have gotten an elbow to the stomach before I caught on...

2. Identity.
Prior to getting married in 2007 I understood myself pretty well as a single person. After getting married I learned to understand myself as a married person. Now I feel that I've begun to learn how to bridge these two worlds--to be independent but still part of a unit, to explore my interests but still care for my spouse. In my first couple years of marriage I had stopped doing various things I previously enjoyed (blogging being one of these) for lack of time and because learning to be married took time and energy.

I've recaptured something of myself this year. I've remembered who I am apart from "Courtney-and-Daryl." Now I look forward to remembering who I am within "Courtney-and-Daryl" in the coming months, and bringing the two together. I am both, and I love both.

3. Time.
Before I got married I hated the cliché that single people have "more time." "I'm a busy person!" I would say. "I don't have more time! I have little time! And it's precious time! So stop trying to get me to lead the youth group retreat/Bible study/school project because I'm the single one, okay?"

Well, it's true. Even though I've been working two part-time jobs while going to school this year, I find that I have a lot more time to devote to other things and people when I'm on my own. I've developed some wonderful friendships that I may not have had the opportunity to without these months on my own. I participated in the spring play and volunteered for some night on-call shifts at the hospital in Summit. I've read more, including more of my Bible. I've also watched more television than usual, but that wasn't a joy, it was a coping mechanism...

4. Being alone.
At my friend Bethany's wedding shower a couple of years ago, we were all asked to write down something she would gain and something she would lose when she got married. Her (hilarious) friend Alisha wrote: "You're losing the ability to ever sleep in a bed alone without people worrying about your marriage unless you're sick or in the hospital."

I didn't realize until this year on my own how much I really do enjoy being alone sometimes. During my first year of teaching I would come home plain talked-out. Daryl, who had spent his day working quietly in his cubicle, would be bubbling over with conversation. I simply wanted to eat dinner and not talk. On my own, I do lots of not talking. I've learned to embrace silence. Rather than racing to turn on music or the television when I get home, I love listening to the quiet for a little bit. The click of the cats' nails on the floor, the hum of the refrigerator, the thump-thump of a basketball near the hoops in my backyard. It is not, mostly, good to be alone. But sometimes, some hours of some days, it is.


5. Meeting Jesus in unexpected ways.
Back in mid-February I was sick. Sore throat, stuffy nose sick. No, it wasn't H1N1, but it was pretty miserable. I felt really alone. I had to drag myself to Whole Foods for Kleenex and cough drops and heat up my own chicken broth. When I'm sick I like to be fawned over. "What do you need? Oh... you poor dear." I love that stuff. But alas, I was alone, and Daryl could do little but empathize over the phone.

Enter my friend Brandi. She heard I was sick and knocked on the door with homemade soup and a warm loaf of gluten-free bread. "I heard you were sick," she said. "Is there anything else you need?" There were tears in my eyes as I hugged her goodbye. She had baked me bread.

There have been moments this year when I've been at the end of my rope. Sick, exhausted, or just lonely. And just when I've been at my lowest, Jesus has met me. Sometimes through his words in Scripture or in poetry. Sometimes in the soft fur of one of the cats (both of whom have a knack for knowing when something has made me sad). Often through people. I have been so incredibly blessed by the outpourings of love from friends and family. My sister Caitlyn visited me in September, and my parents have trekked out to Jersey twice (with a third visit just around the corner for graduation). Friends have schlepped me to and from the airport dozens of times without complaint. Friends have taken care of my cats when I've been away to see Daryl. Just tonight my friend Katie came over to study and brought strawberry-mango smoothie ingredients and a hug. "I read your blog," she said. "You said you needed hugs. So here is one." A few weeks ago my friend Inga made a trip down to see me for less than 24 hours when she returned from Iraq, just so we could have dinner together.

This is my Inga. She rocks.

6. This Tremendous Accomplishment.
I ran the Chicago marathon in 2002. To this day I'm not quite sure why I did it. I'm not really a runner or an adrenaline junkie, and I never did experience anything amounting to a "runner's high" (though I got plenty of "runner's side-stitch" and "runner's leg cramps"). I think the reason I did it was so that other things would seem easier. I would always have it to go back to for reassurance. "Of course I can write this paper! I ran a marathon!" "Certainly I can get through graduate school! I ran a marathon!" At the age of twenty, it helped me define myself as a strong person, someone able to persevere even when things were tough.

This is already how I think of this year in our marriage. If we did this, surely we can do anything. The same skills that helped us through a year of long-distance marriage--relying on the Lord, communicating well, making each other a priority--I hope will translate into the rest of our married life. And when we hit rough patches (as even the best marriages do), we will have this to hold onto and remember.

7. Moving on.
There is great joy in taking a new step. In a month I will be graduating. In a week my final papers will (Lord willing) be just a memory. Watching Daryl start his new PhD program and love it, moving toward my own graduation, and planning our new life in Nashville has been a joy. In many ways this is the first place we've chosen to live together, our first real grown-up place. When we were first married we lived in Chicago because that's where we had gone to school and that's where we had found our first jobs. After that we moved to Jersey because Princeton was the only seminary we wanted to attend.

Moving to Tennessee has been our first real grown-up "us" choice. We had the choice to stay in Jersey or, possibly, move to Chicago. We had the choice to say no to a PhD and move anywhere in the world.  So we prayed--together and separately. We sought the Lord's heart and our own. And with a bit of trepidation (we've never been southerners! we don't know anyone in Tennessee!), we chose Nashville and Vanderbilt. It was exciting to make the decision together, and it's been exciting to begin seeing it through. An adventure. Together.

8. Surprises
One of the things you lose after marriage is the ability to easily surprise the one you love. When you're living together and sharing a bank account, you have to be very crafty to create a surprise. Last year, a few weeks before Daryl's birthday, I told him not to check our bank statements. He does this pretty religiously to check our budget and guard against identity theft. Anyway, he remembered not to check it for about three days. Then he checked it. He came to me sheepishly, admitting that he now knew I'd been to Kenneth Cole... Grrr...

I love surprises. Love them, love them, love them. And it's been easier to create them (and to receive them!) being so far away. Just last weekend Daryl surprised me by taking me to the gluten-free bakery in Nashville. I still don't know Nashville very well, so by the time I realized we were on the other end of town--not headed home, as he had told me we were--we were practically at the bakery.

For Christmas I was able to plan a visit to a Laker's game in April. I was on the phone with my dad four or five times asking him questions about tickets (where should we sit? how far away was too far? is mid-court better than end-court?) while sitting in the living room - something I certainly could not have done with Daryl hanging around. 

Sometimes we surprise each other with love notes in the mail. Corny, I know, but I love those notes (ha! pun!) and have saved every single one.

9. The Pain of this Year.
How is pain a joy, you may ask? For this simple reason: it hurt to be away from Daryl. Sometimes to the point where it felt like actual physical pain. And each time it hurt, each time I hung up the phone with him and fell asleep alone, I was reminded of how blessed I am to have him. The missing has been painful, but it's been infinitely sweet as well. We have each other to miss. We've been faithful to one another in the missing. And with each painful day we came a day closer to being done.

I haven't had a baby yet, but people have told me that the only things that help you through the pain are knowing that the pain has an end, and knowing that you get a baby when you're done. There is no way around it - you must go through. And there is tremendous joy and accomplishment in getting through. You've done it. It's over. And now you can go home with your dear little one.

That's where I am today. We've nearly done it. It's nearly over. And in seventeen days, I can go home with my dear one. Seventeen days. Hallelujah.

Let. It. Go.

I went to PTS's senior banquet on Wednesday. After getting ridiculously sick earlier in the week from an accidental gluten-ingestion incident at a restaurant, I didn't want to risk getting sick again so close to final exams. The last bout took two days of my life, and when you have 70 pages to write in 9 days, it's good to use all of those days to the fullest and not spend them in bed. In addition to the usual risks, the banquet was being held in Princeton's dining hall where the likelihood of cross-contamination is incredibly high. I can get sick from a single bread crumb, so hoping for the best just wasn't going to cut it.

Anyway, I ate before the banquet but went to hang out with my fellow seniors, see old friends, and chat over dinner. Faculty, students, and staff are the servers at the banquet, which is really cool. It's fun to see a New Testament professor or a Pastoral Care staff member serving dinner as a gesture of kindness and goodwill to us all at the end of seminary. Anyway, this is where my story takes an odd turn.

A well-dressed, elderly woman came to give me my salad. Not wanting it to go to waste, I turned to her and said, kindly but firmly:

"I have severe food allergies, so I'm just going to have water, thank you." The following conversation then ensued.

Her: (grumpily) Well, what is it you're allergic to?
Me: I'm just not going to eat. Really, I'm fine. I ate before I came tonight.
Her: Well, what about salad? (the salad was covered in dressing - something that often contains gluten)
Me: No, I'm afraid not.
Her: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I am. I'm sorry. I'm just here for the fellowship.
Her: (suspiciously) What is it you're allergic to, exactly?
Me: I just - I'm just not eating. (explaining gluten is always difficult, and if you just say "wheat," people think they can avoid handing you a loaf of bread and you'll be fine, when, in reality, gluten lurks in everything from spices to fillers to flavorings)
Her: (firmly) Well, can we make you something special?
Me: No, I just - I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sure it's all very good.
Her: Do you want dessert? Can you have chocolate? (at this point I feel like we're starting to cause a scene. people at other tables are glancing up at us with raised eyebrows)
Me: No. Really, I'm fine.
Her: Well, I 'm going to give you a place-setting and a napkin. Is that okay? (said in a tone of disbelief, as if I'm faking no appetite but will certainly give in soon)
Me: Um, sure. That's fine. Thank you. (this is all just so weird, and she will not stop!)
Her: Are you sure I can't get you anything at all?
Me: No, really. Thank you.
Her: Anything at all?
Me: No, really. I'm fine. I got really sick this Monday and I don't want to risk getting sick again.
Her: Oh, right. Especially from here.

Aaaaand... scene.

The worst part was, after she left the people around the table told me who she was. I won't reveal it here for privacy reasons, but she was a pretty high up person at the seminary who apparently takes hospitality really seriously. What's a girl to do when the choice is between potentially getting really sick (during final exams, no less) and offending a really important person who thinks you're just being rude? Ugh.

I hate that I can't just eat normal food.

But I'd rather be perceived as rude then spend the next two days in bed...

Reflections as I Plan to Live (Once Again) With My Husband: Part 1

We've (nearly) done it! After nine months (nine months!) of living in different states, different zip codes, and different time zones, my husband and I are only a couple of weeks away from being reunited permanently. In the same state, zip code, time zone, and the very same home! We will once again get to fall asleep together, wake up together, cook dinners together, and go through daily life together each and every day. Praise the Lord.

For those of you who don't know the reasons behind this temporary arrangement, see this November post.

As I look forward to this joyous reunion, I'm thinking about all the craziness, reflection, difficulty, and joy that has come for both of us this year because of our time apart. It's been hard, for sure. In honor of the nine months, I'm going to reflect on nine things in each of these categories over the next few days. First, the crazy:

Nine Forms of Craziness in a Year of Geographical Separation:

1.  Travel. Ah, travel. In our flights from Philadelphia to Nashville (and Philly/Nashville to Chicago and L.A.) we've gotten delayed, canceled, bumped, lied to (thanks, United), given seats in first class, and gotten snowed in for a whole day. We drove to the Nashville airport once during the storm of the century and passed at least a dozen cars in the ditch. We've become road-and-air warriors, patient airport waiters, and experts at packing for a 2-3 day visit. I now have proper toiletries, including mousse, in two states. I've fallen asleep on the shoulders of strangers (sorry, guy on Southwest flight to Nashville in December...), made new friends because of airport-suffering solidarity (I had to talk some guy down after finding out it was his third - THIRD! - day stuck at O'Hare. He was about to snap...), watched some really dumb movies that I wouldn't normally watch, and read that stupid in-flight catalogue at least a dozen times. Speaking of which, my remote-controlled tarantula and automatic litter box should be arriving soon...

2. Scheduling. Ah, scheduling. iCal has saved our lives and our sanity many a time. We synched our respective calendars early on in the fall to avoid the dreaded "Where-is-my-spouse?" at an odd hour of the day.

But even with the help of iCal, scheduling can sometimes be tricky. Recently Daryl flew out for Easter and then to see me in the play a week later. We usually see each other every 2-3 weeks, so this presented a dilemma. Do we see each other again during the finals season, or wait 3 1/2 weeks before reuniting again? After three weeks I start to feel less like a wife and more like a best friend/therapist who talks to the same guy on the phone every day. We've learned it's best not to go that long. Still, visiting during finals season isn't fun for either of us. "I've missed you, sweetie! Now I'm going to write a paper, so be quiet."

In the end I landed a CPE interview for the following week, so I'll be trekking to Nashville anyway. But still, the scheduling gets ridiculous at points. And crazy.

3. Phone troubles. One evening around 7pm I had great intentions to read my Bible for awhile. I was also ridiculously exhausted from a long day of class and work. I turned off my phone (just for a few moments, you know, so that Jesus wouldn't be interrupted), opened the Bible, and promptly fell asleep. For three hours. I was awakened to my friends Sam and Brandi pounding on my door. I groggily went over and opened it, thinking I had just drifted off for a moment or two. The following dialogue ensued:

Brandi: "Hi, Courtney. Um... here's your dish back that we borrowed."
Me: (sleepily) "Yeah, sure. No problem." Starting to  close the door...
Sam: "And, um... can you call your husband?"
Me: (a bit incredulously) "Seriously? He  called you? He can be a bit of a worrier sometimes. I just turned my phone off to read my Bible for a minute..."
Brandi: "Oh, okay. He just called us because he was worried."
Me: "Seriously? I just turned the phone off a minute ago!"
Sam: "You do know it's 11pm, right?"
Me: "11pm! Oh, shoot!" I ran to my phone only to see six missed calls over a period of four hours... Oops...

4. Lost things. Occasionally I've felt how I imagine a young child of divorced parents must feel. After looking for something I need for a long, long time, I realize I left it at Daryl's. In Nashville. Boo.

This is also troublesome when Daryl notices an article of clothing I've left with him accidentally in Nashville and he calls me to ask if I want it. Have you ever tried to describe clothing to someone over the phone? This is not helped by the fact that I'm a girl and he's a guy (have you ever asked a guy to describe a friend's wedding dress when you can't make the wedding? it  goes like this: well, it was white... it didn't have sleeves... it was kind of shiny... You might as well not even bother). I never have any idea what he's talking about. A pink shirt? What pink shirt? Do I even own a pink shirt? Baaaaaahhhh...

5. Eating in airports. In airports I can eat the following things: Cheetos (believe it or not, they're gf), Snickers bars, Cool Ranch Doritos, McDonald's milkshakes, Starburst, and Skittles. If I forget to pack my own stuff and I get delayed at all, I arrive to visit Daryl shaky, hungry, and hyper like a sleep-deprived five-year old. Not a good combination.

6. The bizarre things we fight about when we're not living in the same place. The following is an actual conversation we had a few months ago in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday:

Me: When do you want to talk tonight?
Daryl: What about nine?
Me: Lost is on at nine.
Daryl: Well, I'm going to bed at nine my time. I have an early morning.
Me: Then let's talk at eight your time.
Daryl: That's when Lost is on.
Me: Oh, right. Let's talk at seven then.
Daryl: I have a meeting at seven.
Me: Can't you stay up a little past nine your time?
Daryl: I'd rather not. Can you watch Lost online tomorrow instead?
Me: I'd rather not. Well, when can we talk?
Daryl: I don't know. The rest of my day is really busy.
Me: Shoot. Maybe we should just talk tomorrow morning?
Daryl: Wait, what are you doing now?
Me: Nothing.
Daryl: Well, we're talking now...
Me: Oh, right. Let's talk now!

This happens all the time.

7. The real value of money. We've spent money on things this year that we wouldn't have dreamed of purchasing in past years. We once paid $150 for Daryl to have an additional 24 hours in Princeton when something came up last minute (and it was worth every penny). We've purchased at least two plane tickets a month for the past nine months (and usually three or four). Honestly, how do you put a price tag on time with your spouse when you only see them every couple of weeks? You can't. This means, of course, that we've had to be careful in other areas. Fewer new shirts and jeans, creative meals. Daryl's become the master of making delicious Sunday soup or chili that lasts for dinner all week.

8. How emotion can be triggered by odd things. The first time Daryl flew in to Philadelphia this year we had been apart for only ten days. We decided to start with a short amount of separation, knowing that we had a long year ahead of us. He flew into Terminal F (aka, Philadelphia's "this-terminal-is-kind-of-an-afterthought-and-thus-VERY-hard-to-find-terminal"). I assumed he'd be in Terminal C where the rest of the US Air flights came in. I parked there and ran into the terminal baggage claim to find him. His flight ended up being about 20-minutes late. My huge I-love-Daryl smile started to get a little droopy. I sat there in the baggage claim, waiting for him to call and feeling like US Air was stealing my husband-time, moment by moment. By the time he landed my smile was droopy indeed. We had 48 hours together, and now we only had 47 1/2!

We then went through a fun game of Terminal C/Terminal F hide and seek where we managed to miss each other three times. Three times! I ran by random passengers and their luggage time after time looking more and more frantic and annoyed. Now I had 46 1/2 hours with my husband, on top of NINE MONTHS apart from him! When we finally saw one another, instead of a joyful reunion Daryl was greeted with a teary, angry, frustrated wife. I wasn't angry at him, but at the seeming injustice of the whole airport system and the whole lonely year ahead of me. How unfair for us to have to spend the year apart! How terrible to waste an hour and a half of our precious time chasing one another through an ugly airport? He had to calm me down, and I had to learn that he wasn't gone forever and that counting each moment made things worse, not better. It took time.

Plus, look how happy he was on his first day of PhD school. It helped to remember this, too.

9. How crazy it can feel to live alone. I've never lived alone. I've lived with my family, with roommates in college and after, and with Daryl. I have never in my life had an apartment to myself. It can be lonely. It can be relaxing. In its worst moments, it can be crazy-making. Sometimes I explain things to the cats like they can help me. "Eliot! Seriously, I can't figure out how to describe this concept in my sermon! You don't have any ideas, do you?"

Living alone definitely affects my cooking. I just don't. Or I make very boring and unbalanced meals. GF fish sticks and a bowl of cereal, anyone? A pear and a cookie for breakfast? Sigh... I'm a person who needs people around. I'm a girl who needs my Daryl.

In other news...
We're looking for a way to celebrate our reunion. My best idea so far is a day long hike in the Smokies when we finally settle in to Tennessee. Any other ideas for us to try out?

How Much Do You Weigh?

In the past two weeks, I've had two encounters with relatively thin women who were asked about their weight (for a relatively good reason) and sort of flipped out about it.

The first one was asked for a costume fitting for the seminary spring play. On a piece of paper we were asked to put down basic information that would be helpful to our costume designer. Among them were height, shoe size, and weight. Then she measured us each for bust, waist, hips, arm length, etc. One of the women in the show did NOT want to write her weight down. Didn't want to do it. Just left it blank.

Now, mind you, this woman is pretty thin. She definitely weighs less than I do. Also, she was about to be measured anyway. So why the concern over writing the number down on a sheet that only the director and the costume designer would see, especially when said costume designer was about to head after her with a tape measure anyway? After the director called her in and told that she had to write down her weight if she wanted a part, she finally wrote the number down, but added an "ish" at the end.

The second time was yesterday in the seminary's Senior Placement office. A woman who is a bit taller and only slightly heavier than I am was filling out the cap and gown order form in front of me. I assume the form only asks for your weight in case you won't actually fit in the regular gown sizes. They're pretty roomy (tent-like, actually), so I'm sure it's only occasionally necessary information when they need to go up a gown size for width rather than just height. Basically, she could have lied by a good hundred and fifty pounds, and it wouldn't have mattered. But she wouldn't write it down. After protesting a bit to the administrative assistant, she just left it blank.

I would have understood these two women much better if they were seriously overweight. But they weren't. Neither of them. They both fell easily into the average-to-thin category. Both were beautiful (and not just "beautiful on the inside" beautiful, but really quite outwardly attractive). Both seemed confident and poised.

So what gives, friends? Why can this simple number mean so much?  Why is it so freighted with worry and anxiety? What about our worth depends upon reaching a certain number, and what is so shameful in rising above it? Who decides what the perfect number is, anyway? I weigh ten pounds more now than I did near the end of college. Ten. Less exercise and more long nights of studying will do that. I have days where my pants don't fit right, and I have cute short-sleeved dress shirts with sleeves that won't button on my upper arms because my climbing muscles are now just flab. Well, they'll button, but they now dig into my arms and hurt quite a lot (and hence, are left unbuttoned...). There are parts of my body that I like (eyes, hands, calves, neck), and parts that I'm not too crazy about (tummy, thighs, love handles...). But the scale is just a number! It doesn't define you or me or anyone else. It doesn't mean you're better or worse than anyone else, or that you have anything to be ashamsed about.

Also, this model may be considered beautiful, but this body shape is not healthy! Someone give this poor girl a burger and some cheesecake, STAT.

I decided long ago that I would fight against the evil-scale and evil-food mantras can so easily plague women (and men) in our society. Sure, we'll eat a piece of chocolate cake, but only while proclaiming, "Oh, I'm so BAD!" Why? Did you rob a bank? It's just CAKE, folks. Don't eat a whole layer cake every day, eat some veggies sometimes, and you're pretty much good. Exercise when you can. More is better, but some is good.

I think I grew up in one of those rare households where nobody was ever on a diet. My mom, who has always been on the average-to-thinner side (but not unhealthily so), told me early on that if I deprived myself by thinking I could never eat certain things or over a certain number of calories, it would only make my eating habits worse. Moderation was key. Want a cookie? Have one. Or two. Or three. But when you don't want anymore cookies, stop eating them. Listen to your body. Are you hungry? What are you hungry for? I realize even now that I'll often go for the bag of Cheetos (gluten-free!) when I don't even want them. I want a carrot, or a glass of juice, or some chicken and rice.

The author Anne Lamott describes relearning to eat normally after years of fluctuating weight and self-esteem issues. She puts the scale away and decides to learn how to listen to her body and just eat. She describes herself as "the world's biggest toddler," peering down at her navel as she realizes that her body will actually speak to her if she only listens. At first she only wants Cheetos (a woman after my own heart). But then, a few days later, she realizes that she wants sautéed bell peppers. And fruit. And veggies. And she learns that feeling full is a delicious and wonderful feeling, not a disgusting and shameful one.

One of the best examples of female health and beauty I've seen recently is the female Olympic athlete population. The women came in all shapes and sizes (speed skaters with muscular thighs, short and tiny figure skaters, strong hockey players, athletic snowboarders, solid skiers). Sometimes NBC even listed their weights. 180, 145, 115, 170, 130. But the focus wasn't on the number, it was what these amazing women can accomplish with their well-trained bodies. Does that number on the scale matter as much to someone who just won a gold medal? I hope not.

One of my college roommates admitted to struggling with body image issues throughout her high school years. In college she discovered yoga and pilates. Suddenly her focus was not on making herself smaller, it was on the incredible things her body could do. After some dedication to exercise she found that she could do hundreds of sit-ups and incredible stretches. She had more endurance and flexibility, and began to carry herself with more confidence. She began to treat her body with gratitude rather than suspicion, building it up rather than concentrating on how much she could deprive it of nourishment and still make it through the day.

When I'm tempted to get down on myself for gaining a few pounds in the last few years of seminary, or for failing to exercise regularly during my busy weeks (I'm pretty neglectful of this...), I try to remember the lessons that roommate taught me about being grateful for all the things my body can do, and the lessons my mom taught me about just eating. Food isn't the enemy, and a human body is a truly amazing thing. Sure, I can't climb a 5.11 anymore (or even a 5.9...), but I can stand on my feet and lecture for a three hour class. I can act in the spring play. I can sing, go for a jog, climb a mountain. I can work two jobs without wearing out. My body allows me to hold a hospital patient's hand and pray with her, to lift up my arms in worship, to haul 40-pound bags of cat litter up the stairs. It can do tremendous things because it is a healthy, normal body, and for this I'm incredibly grateful. My body is an amazing gift. So is yours.

Weight is just a number. Don't let it get you down. There was a sign outside the Body Shop in London when I was living in England that said, in huge letters: "There are three billion women in the world who don't look like supermodels, and only six who do." Amen, sisters.

Mysterious Guests

I'm curious as to who reads this blog. I'm not a serious blogger; I write it for my own amusement and to share what I consider funny/insightful/entertaining/thought-provoking stuff. I know a few folks who read my ramblings (Hi, Megan, Tonia, Nicole, Daryl, Cam, Leah, Sharece, and Mom!), but those folks are about it.

I put up a "hit counter" for the site three days ago just for interest's sake. It is currently at 60. 60! In three days! Who are all you people? Granted, probably six of those hits are from me checking comments and making posts, but still. Those are 52 mysterious hits...

So if you're reading, drop me a comment. Leave a footprint. I'm intrigued...