Dorie Morgan’s Rising Up
Navigating Twenty-Something Suburban Life
Update: February 19th, 2010
My friend Evan Curry does these periodic updates about what is happening in his life. And for awhile I laughed at these updates. I vowed I would never do an update like one of his. Because in my mind I was a “serious” blogger. And then after further reflection, I remembered that Evan is also a serious blogger (and he blogs about things I barely understand).
So here’s an update on life in Bristol.
Highlights:
- As I write this, I have a kitty in my lap and another kitty on my feet. Which means that both of our rescue kitties not only trust me but are also starting to get along better. I’ve learned that caring for someone other than myself is important but sometimes it is better to practice on the cats. I have no expectations for their behavior and I’m never disappointed. Only happy when they choose to curl up on my lap.
- A year ago today, my grandfather passed away. It has messed with my head more than any other event today. I’m still not sure I’m entirely okay but I’ve become a lot better at putting one foot in front of the other.
- Our little church plant that could is the little church plant that does. We’ve started the paperwork for incorporation. We’ve been bringing the homeless to services. Our home groups (small intentional groups) have been flourishing.
What I’m Reading:
- I may have read Cassandra Clare’s “Mortal Instruments” this week. While not heavy reading, I did enjoy losing myself in a story for a few days. Note: If you liked Twilight, you might as well just go out now and pick up the three books in the “Mortal Instruments” series.
Looking Forward To:
- Our Ash Wednesday/Sunday service at Redemption this week.
- My friend Susan and I have decided that now is the time to start work on opening a coffee shop in Bristol. I’ve dreamed about this for years and we’ll see how it goes but I’m excited about the potential.
- Brian’s oldest sister is getting married in May and we get to go to a wedding in Vegas.
Have a good weekend.
Wondering what is next
I spend a lot of time thinking the phrase “I should blog about this”.
I should blog about my extended family’s Thanksgiving and how I’m not sure where I fit into everything. Or rather, how I’m not sure how I fit into the extended Bio-Fam or the extended Adopted-Fam, but at least I know where I fit in with my in-laws.
I should blog about church planting and how it is much harder than I thought it would be and much easier than I thought it would be (but for different reasons).
I should blog about the attempts to make Christmas at our house, now that Brian and I are finally on our own. I should blog about the important lessons I learned by not giving scathing commentary on Brian’s Christmas preferences during our Black Friday shopping excursion.
Oh, and I should blog about why I decided to venture out on Black Friday (for the first time ever as a consumer).
I should do a lot of blogging.
But I’m out of the habit. Moving into our home through off my routines. Getting sick obliterated what was left of those routines. Usually it is insanely difficult for me to break any habit but in this case, it slipped away very quickly.
So maybe I’m changing directions with where I’m taking this blog. Maybe it will be permanent, maybe just a passing transition. Because I do miss it, but I’m overwhelmed and scattered and I feel like I can make no promises at the moment of what my content will be in the future. I don’t want to create expectations that I cannot meet.
Working Questions: Bullies
Sitting in my cube last week, I started thinking about workplace bullies. Who are these people? What are they trying to compensate for in their own lives? Do they enjoy their attitudes or do they just not realize they are miserable? Who told them this was appropriate behavior? How do they justify treating their colleagues in such a toxic way? Did anyone ever tell them that you get more bees with honey?
I also started wondering: are the workplace bullies we encounter as adults the same bullies we encountered on the playground? Is it once a bully, always a bully? Or does something snap? Does a nerdy kid have a moment of “I’m not going to take this anymore” and just swing too far in the opposite direction?
Does the workplace bully just think they are practicing tough love?
Thoughts? Opinions?
How to name a cat
Over lunch at Panera a few weeks ago, my husband started questioning my ideal cat names. Usually, this is a topic he avoids like the plague because it ultimately ends with my relentless questioning of his ideal baby names but somehow, we plod through it without mocking each other too much.
I like names with character, names that are quirky. I think a name shapes a creature’s identity – a generic name would therefore lead to a life with a generic creature. I lean towards names like Roark (from Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead) or Mercutio or Puck. I like names that make my well read friends smile and my other friends say “what an unusual name!” One of my suggestions with Pierpont, as in J. Pierpont Finch from How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (one of my favorite musicals ever) but that was met with an embarrassing snort bursting out of my husband’s face so clearly, Pierpont was off the list.Naming a pet is a bizarre process. I guess it might be a little easier if you buy a kitty from a pet store or a breeder but Brian and I love the animal rescue route. Which means the newest addition to your family was recently the newest temporary addition to someone else’s family and that foster family has given your precious kitty a name.
My parents recently adopted a kitten from the SPCA who had named the kitten “Fang”. Fang. As in “I’m a vampire and I have a Fang”. Weird. “Fang” was quickly changed to “Alex” but then there were questions about “Alex” so it became “Sir Alex Meowsalot”. Ultimately, it was decided that the whole naming process was just too hasty and after much thought and deliberation Fang/Alex/Sir Alex Meowsalot became Pippin and then normally patient vet realized that my parents were nuts as they kept calling to change the name for the appointment.
The name you chose for your kitten says a lot about you as a person. Are you a crazy cat lady who names her kitten names like “Whiskers” or “Paws” or “Tiger”? Are you the person who is trying to meet your human needs with a cat so you name the cat something like “Pete” or “Sally” or “Ralph”? Maybe you are the sarcastic teenager who thinks it is very funny to name the cat “Cat” but in another language (FYI: Kissa is Finnish for cat). Ultimately, our cat name would reveal more about our hidden quirks and tendencies than the contents of our medicine cabinet.
After our lunch, we made our way over to pet store to see who was up for adoption on a Sunday afternoon. In the car, my husband started telling me a secret trip he made the day before to the pet store where he saw a black behemoth of a kitten. The kind of kitten that you look at and realize that you’ll need to feed it a small dog each morning for breakfast because kitten food is just not going to cut it. The kind of kitten that is one part adorable and one part panther escaped from the wild. Of course, my husband instantly loved this cat until he saw the name on the cage. “Twilight”. Like “I’m in love with a sparkly vampire”.
This was not the small dog eating kitty my husband dreamt of owning. Somewhere out there, a teenage girl desperately wanted a black cat named Twilight.
As always, we kept our expectations low. Or my husband did. I was too busy falling in love with a black four month old kitten named Oliver.
We are not having a baby – It’s better than that.
I usually try to stop myself when I have a “brilliant idea” to blog about “my faith”. I have no problem writing about the church I attend or things that happened in my Sunday School class but I’m really afraid when we cross over into the heavy stuff.
Of course, they are several factors behind this.
1. The first is that I failed miserably in my one and only attempt to write about where I was with my walk with God and I cried every time someone new linked to me to mock me.
2. The second is that I am very fearful of being labeled a “Christian Blogger”. I think there are more than enough Christian bloggers out there and if I’m going to tell you what I believe, its probably going to happen in my kitchen over dinner and not on the internet.
3. But the biggest reason is that I am not always a very good Christian. I do dumb things and I sin and I don’t want to put anything out there that would reflect badly on other Christians who are very good at being Christians. I don’t have illusions of grandeur in that I would damage the whole Christian community by my failures but I do fear that I would damage one child who is not physically related to me by my failures.
(By the way, that last reason is the largest failing of Christianity in my opinion. We have no problem talking about the sins of those who are not saved but we are really afraid to talk about our own big sins. We confess our road rage and our stolen office supplies to accountability groups but very rarely do Christians come to the group as a whole and talk about their jealousy, their hate, their resentments which pepper their lives. There are church communities that are able to have real confession and accountability and I have so much respect for them but I also realize they are the exception and not the rule.)So I keep my mouth shut. Of course there is a problem with this: something big happens and you want to share it with the world but you still really haven’t made the sweeping declaration of faith that logically comes before the big announcement. Sure, the sweeping declaration of faith isn’t really necessary, you’ve been dropping hints the whole time, but you still recognize that it has to be done just in case people were not paying attention.
Here goes: My name is Dorie and I am Christian. I believe in strong faith-based communities rooted in geographical areas. I believe with a missionary spirit in your own home time. I believe God calls us to do his good works in Jesus’ name. I believe Jesus died for my sins and I am forgiven. (I also believe in predestination but I haven’t worked it all out in my head in a way that I can easily and lovingly explain – I am not a theologian).
Which leaves us with the heart of what needs to be said, the big announcement instead of stating the obvious.
We’re planting a church. We’re planting a church in Bristol. We’re planting a church because it turns out it was more than just me that felt called to Bristol. We’re planting a church because we are called to love this community as God loves us.
(For me, the above paragraph is the spiritual equivalent of “We’re having a baby” only Brian and I are not having a baby, we are having a church and other people are involved whereas baby making would be an act that would just be us.)
For the last three months on Sunday nights, a group has been meeting in our living room to share a meal and share worship together. I’ve loved every minute of it, even when I was too tired to get off of the couch. Some of the people I’ve known for a while, others were new faces that are quickly becoming dear friends.
I know it is going to take a lot of work in the months and years ahead but that’s just what happens when you build a community, whether it be online or in person. I am just blessed to say I am on the journey.
The one where you find out where I’ve been
Before Labor Day, I took a lifetime supply of books on “How to Write” out from the public library with the intent that I would spend some serious time improving my skills. As with anything in life, writing is a skill that if not used, you will lose. And for the last three months, I just haven’t been flexing my writing muscles.
Then again, I haven’t really been flexing any muscles. And there is now a Homer Simpson style butt imprint on my new couch that belongs to me and a little kitty butt imprint right next to it. (By the way, we adopted a kitty.) We are nothing but class at the Morgan household.The big reason for all of this was that I was on a medical leave of absence from work for 6 weeks and I’ve only recently gone back to cube land part time. I’d like to say that cube land missed me but there were some dust bunnies forming on my desk while I was out that had started to impersonate me. At least the dust bunnies got a head start on some of my projects for me.
As for the medical leave of absence, the long and short of it is that I started off with bronchitis that was later re-diagnosed as “Acute Asthmatic Bronchitis” (which there is nothing cute about, FYI). That diagnosis was problematic since I don’t have asthma but they treated the asthma I don’t have any way but the medicine they gave me angered my heart problem and then I was done. 6 weeks later, I’m still moving at a quarter of the pace that I am used to moving at and I feel like I massively missed out on summer. Which are side effects of the fun filled beta-blockers I’ve since been consuming twice daily.
So while everyone else was out there enjoying the sun and wearing bikinis on the beach, I was on the couch. All day. Every day. I’d like to tell you that it was exciting but the most excitement I got was the day I decided to watch all of the Terminator movies in one sitting (hence the Homer Simpson style butt print). I also had great plans that I was going to expand my mind while I was out of work, but I was really lying to myself. I did a lot of reading but my mind was so foggy (and still is to a certain extent) that I wasn’t reading anything challenging. For example, I’ve had Saint Augustine’s “Confessions” on my reading list for about three years and this was not my summer to finally read it. I think I lasted about five pages before I decided to go back to bed.In the same line of thought, I had great plans to do lots of writing. After finding a box filled with my poetry from college, I thought I spend some time writing poems. Or maybe I’d would spend some time creating some blog drafts and cleaning up a few writing projects that have been littering my kitchen table for a while now. I did none of it.
The most ambition I had all summer was fold hundreds of paper stars while watching movies and painting my nails at least twice a week.
I’m not saying any of this to complain but more to explain: at the moment, I am prone to rambling due to a lack of human interaction. Remember community? I needed more of it than I was able to receive for six long weeks. Sadly, while I’m able to hide my temporary rambling tendencies in person (unless you are Brian or Oliver, in which case, you are getting hit with all of it) hiding those rambling tendencies is a bit more difficult while writing. Because in my head I have so much I want to share with everyone that I haven’t said in months.
And I miss blogging. I miss sharing ideas and encountering new ideas I can barely wrap my mind around and I miss commenting. I miss twitter and Facebook and the good feeling that comes with a morning coffee (decaf these days) and a full Google reader that desperately needs attention.
It is good to see all of you again. Excuse the rambling, the books I picked up just didn’t help with that.
His name is Steve
After about a month in the house, I began to realize that Brian did not kill the water bug. The giant, menacing water bug that was lurking in my house. And the giant menacing water bug start to become a little more brazen, running into the bathroom when I was brushing my teeth or coming into the office while I was reading. The water bug was starting to get comfortable.
I was not having any of it but I would not kill the bug myself. Bugs freak me out.
So I finally snapped one night as I was going up the stairs and the water bug ran past the top of the stairs. I started screaming my head and B came running as if I was seconds away from dying. Which I was contemplating. It would either be a heart attack or a murder-suicide (in which the bug killed me and then turned his evil methods on himself).
“Brian, the bug is still here. Why is the bug still here? I am freaking out.”
And my dear, sweet, kind husband replies: “Well. He’s just minding his own business. He runs around in the hallway and doesn’t go in the rooms. And he doesn’t really cause any trouble. He’s kinda like our pet.”
“Our pet?”
“Yeah. I was thinking we could name him Steve.”
“Um, Steve is a big, nasty bug. Steve is dirty. Are you emotionally attached to Steve?”
“No, but I just really don’t want to kill him.”
“I knew it! You’re emotionally attached to Steve. A big, nasty, dirty bug named Steve who is tormenting, tormenting!, your poor wife who just wants to walk down the hallway without wearing shoes. You know I keep shoes by the bed so I don’t step on ‘Steve’ in my bare feet?”
“No…”
“And now, you’re emotionally attached to Steve. You won’t kill Steve for me! You’ll never kill Steve! Our babies won’t ever learn to walk because we won’t be able to put them on the floor because Steve might eat our babies and we won’t want to kill Steve! And what about the cats? We won’t be able to get kitty friends because they might eat Steve and we’d have to save Steve from the kitty friends!”
“Fine. I’ll kill Steve.”
“Don’t kill Steve for me. Although I guess we’ll have to tell your sister that we can’t watch the baby anymore because Steve, a big, nasty bug is more important than the baby.”
“I’ll go kill Steve. Because you’re right. Steve is a big, nasty bug who doesn’t belong in our house.”
“I hope Steve isn’t a Stephanie.”
In the end, it took about half a can of Raid to kill Steve while I screamed my head off as he tried to escape my husband, the terminator (cue music). He fought hard against it but ultimately he lost his battle and his giant, nasty bug corpse found its way into the kitchen trash. Which I made Brian take out on trash day in case I was attacked by a mutant zombie Steve.
Really? You know a guy?
In the attempts of being neighborly, our next door neighbor asked us how our first night in our new home went. I start beaming. Brian scowls and starts muttering about not being able to sleep at all.
At the risk of being the “dirty” people, I decide that this is a great time to announce the bug incident. Complete with me leaping around the driveway to give our neighbor the full impact of my hysteria. Classy. But before I can finish telling him about the bug, he bursts out with “What? A Water Bug?”
Clearly, he doesn’t understand how traumatic this was so I break out the ridiculous hand gestures and failing limbs to add to the leaping in order to paint a truly vivid story about the horror that ensued. I’m about to tell him that the bug was larger than my cat, had a knife and seemed to be connected with the mob when Neighbor Friend interrupts.
“Yeah, we get water bugs all the time.”
“I thought it was a cockroach. I don’t want to be a dirty person.”
“Nah, a water bug. You know, we know a guy.” (I should add that most of the block appears to be Italian in a bad stereotype way so to hear “we know a guy” was bound to happen eventually.) “He’s my wife’s friend and he’s the exterminator.” (What? Are you trying to have us killed?) “Next time he comes over, we’ll have him get in touch with you.” (This can’t be good.) “He’ll give you a good price.” (Wait, who am I supposed to be killing? Oh yes, the giant “water bug”.)
To be fair, my neighbor and his family are perfectly normal. I don’t think they have any sort of affliations with any sort of mafia. Not even Mafia Wars on facebook.
I just pretend I’m not a lunatic
In an older home, I expect there to be bugs. I’m not talking about a complete infestation but I try to remember that over time, things settle and cracks form and bugs find their way in. But that’s okay because for the most part they don’t harm anyone and it is good motivation to keep a clean home because it will keep the bugs away for the most part.
They won’t stay if they cannot find food.
Since we bought a home built over 90 years ago, I thought I’d be well prepared for what was to come. Every time Brian ripped out a piece of baseboard to replace it, I expected to see bugs scurrying away. But there were none.
Never saw a single insect.
I expected to find bugs in the basement. I expect to find nasty yucky creatures behind the oil tank when it was replaced. Once again, nothing.
I was lucky. I was happy. Despite the volume of work my home required, I did not have bugs. This was the good life and this was my dream home.
So we moved in and on our first night in our new home I’m about to climb into bed with my dear sweet husband who provided me with this glorious house. And then I notice something on the floor and I go to pick it up and throw it out. It is dark in color and about an inch long.
It moves. And I fight the urge to scream my head off because we have friends staying with us and I don’t want them to think I’m a dirty person who lives in a bug infested house.
Instead I leap on top of the bed with the force and speed of an Olympic athlete, grab a hold of a very confused Brian and whisper frantically “it’s a bug, BRIAN, it’s a bug”.
Brian calmly gets out of bed and beats the insect with his sock until it scurries out of the room and through a crack in the wall in the hallway while I do the full body shudder like a small baby with a developing nervous system.
Then panic sets in. Because the truth of the matter is that I can expect to find bugs in my home but that doesn’t change the fact that I am terrified of bugs.
Suddenly my mind is racing and my mouth is struggling to keep up with the words spewing forth. “It must a cockroach. It has to be a cockroach. Of course we didn’t have any little bugs, the cockroach was eating the little bugs for survival. But I learned in my food and safety class that there is never just one…”
“I don’t think it was a cockroach” Brian attempts to interject.
“…cockroach. There are always multiple cockroaches. Multiple. Brian, I think our walls are filled with cockroaches and now we live in squalor. Do you think your dad will let us move back in with him?”
“I really don’t think it was a cockroach…”
“We’re now the dirty people, Brian. We’re living in my dream house and it’s filled with cockroaches and bugs and WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? We don’t have money for an exterminator! We just bought a house! What were we thinking?!?!”
“I’ll lay some traps tomorrow. I don’t think it was a cockroach. It’s going to be fine.”
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.”
“I’m going to bed now.”
Moral of the story: Don’t have house guests the first night you sleep in your new place. You can’t scream your head off like the lunatic you actually are when a giant insect tries to escape your insanity.
Save New Beginnings
Bensalem School District wants to cancel New Beginnings, a program geared towards helping teenage moms get their high school degrees and learn how to care for their children. I don’t live in Bensalem but this drives me nuts – the New Beginnings program is a great example of being proactive with a community problem. Run by Patti Pearson, New Beginnings has a 90% graduation rate for its program participants.
What I love most this program is that it breaks the cycle. By supporting these young women in difficult circumstances, New Beginnings give their children a better chance in life. Patti’s love for the young women she works with is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
The other thing I love about this program is that it is the community that solves the problem. Instead of waiting for the federal or state governement to step in and save the day, Bensalem School District took charge. These women were part of the community and were given resources to not onlyhelp themselves but ultimately contribute towards the community.
Please check out the following post by Kathrin Ivanovic at The Diversity Projekt. If you are able to help support this important program, it would be greatly appreciated.
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