During last weekend’s Christmas events I had wonderful opportunities to spend time with friends and family. They were very full few days and I felt blessed. Driving home in the wee hours of Christmas morning I found myself contemplating what really happened that night some 2,000 years ago. After spending an evening singing about warm fires, good cheer, and “tidings of comfort and joy,” I looked over to see a lit manger scene in front of a house and realized that while there was some joy that night, there was little comfort. In fact, there was probably much fear: shepherds frightened by angels, an inn with no room, a newborn child laid in scratchy straw, a young girl turned mother with no women around to help and support her, a husband beholding a child that was not his own. No, there was little comfort that night.
The word for glory in Hebrew is “kabōd.” It carries in its meaning the idea of weight something very heavy. It’s a new way to consider God’s glory. It is not all happiness and light—it is a weighty matter. God’s glory is too much for us to bear. This is why God only allowed Moses to see his back (Ex. 33:21-23). It also explains the seriousness the Israelites had when they beheld just a tidbit of God’s glory. They knew it was enough to crush them.
Just like when a heavy brick breaks through a pane of glass, God’s glory breaks into our lives. It leaves nothing unchanged, no stone unturned. It is an uncomfortable feeling. The world looks completely different. You have to reorient yourself.
On that first Christmas night, God’s glory came to earth in the tiny babe named Jesus. From that moment on, nothing was the same: a virgin gave birth, Jewish shepherds and Gentile kings were equally welcomed, a carpenter’s son became a man of great renown, a guiltless man was crucified, and all of humanity was offered the gift of forgiveness.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Food Amnesia
So, I bet you’ve heard of a food coma. Today I determined that I must have food amnesia, meaning I forget why I no longer eat stuff.
I recently met a milestone in the battle of the bulge and decided this morning that I would give in to my craving by eating a bacon egg and cheese bagel for breakfast. Well, that bagel sandwich made me like a stuffed turkey till about three this afternoon.
After work I went to the grocery this evening to shop for my annual cookie extravaganza which will commence this weekend. Problem was, I was soooo hungry from not eating lunch I kinda forgot what I had for breakfast and thought I could use some serious comfort food. I picked up my favorite frozen meatloaf dinner with about a zillion calories and a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies to take home. Misery again. (No, I didn’t eat the WHOLE bag . . . ) I did this to myself twice in one day – how stupid can you get??
All this is stuff I used to eat with pleasure – and some lingering pain . . . . I should have known better. This isn’t the first time I paid the price for eating this stuff. Am I doomed to a life of healthy eating? Oh, to just be able to enjoy something really, really bad once in a while.
© Michelle Scott 2005
I recently met a milestone in the battle of the bulge and decided this morning that I would give in to my craving by eating a bacon egg and cheese bagel for breakfast. Well, that bagel sandwich made me like a stuffed turkey till about three this afternoon.
After work I went to the grocery this evening to shop for my annual cookie extravaganza which will commence this weekend. Problem was, I was soooo hungry from not eating lunch I kinda forgot what I had for breakfast and thought I could use some serious comfort food. I picked up my favorite frozen meatloaf dinner with about a zillion calories and a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies to take home. Misery again. (No, I didn’t eat the WHOLE bag . . . ) I did this to myself twice in one day – how stupid can you get??
All this is stuff I used to eat with pleasure – and some lingering pain . . . . I should have known better. This isn’t the first time I paid the price for eating this stuff. Am I doomed to a life of healthy eating? Oh, to just be able to enjoy something really, really bad once in a while.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Head above Water
Grief is a funny thing. It comes in crests and troughs, it washes over you in waves, sometimes when you least expect it. Like a strong current it can knock your feet out from under you. It can pull you under with the tide. It can disorient you in the undertow. After awhile you get to better understand the ocean called loss—you know its high tides and low. You can judge how rough the waters will be by the season and the weather. You’re able to stand up and keep your balance better.
Just when you think you’ve charted this terrain what seems to be a small wave on the horizon turns grows to a tidal wave of longing. It crashes down around you and sucks you under so hard and turns you so that down feels like up and up feels like down and it seems you’ll never breathe again. But then you break the surface, plant your feet on the ground, and suck in sweet lungfuls of oxygen and realize, it’s all gonna be ok.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Just when you think you’ve charted this terrain what seems to be a small wave on the horizon turns grows to a tidal wave of longing. It crashes down around you and sucks you under so hard and turns you so that down feels like up and up feels like down and it seems you’ll never breathe again. But then you break the surface, plant your feet on the ground, and suck in sweet lungfuls of oxygen and realize, it’s all gonna be ok.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Monday, November 21, 2005
A Work in Progress
Good Enough
O God I am so tired of not being good enough.
Not smart enough, skinny enough, rich enough, patient enough
Not spiritual enough.
O Lord, it’s so hard to be so close, yet so far from the goal.
to not make the grade, to miss the mark
be the last one picked for the team
But that’s where your spirit comes in
And fills the space between
not enough
and
more than enough
Because I am not good enough
not enough for your love
for your perfect, eternal embrace
Yet, you hold me anyway.
With a love that cannot be erased
by my shortcomings, my falls,
the clumsy way I get around this life
You weep when I weep, rejoice when I rejoice
Calling me daughter
Naming me friend
Claiming me as your own.
For in my weakness you are strong.
And that turns, not enough
into abundance
In this cosmic equation
Your mathematics of grace
my shortcomings
my faults
Are the joints that make me move
Lubricated by the oil of your love
Held by the ligaments of grace
Powered by the fuel of your fire
You equip me to run this race.
© Michelle Scott 2005
O God I am so tired of not being good enough.
Not smart enough, skinny enough, rich enough, patient enough
Not spiritual enough.
O Lord, it’s so hard to be so close, yet so far from the goal.
to not make the grade, to miss the mark
be the last one picked for the team
But that’s where your spirit comes in
And fills the space between
not enough
and
more than enough
Because I am not good enough
not enough for your love
for your perfect, eternal embrace
Yet, you hold me anyway.
With a love that cannot be erased
by my shortcomings, my falls,
the clumsy way I get around this life
You weep when I weep, rejoice when I rejoice
Calling me daughter
Naming me friend
Claiming me as your own.
For in my weakness you are strong.
And that turns, not enough
into abundance
In this cosmic equation
Your mathematics of grace
my shortcomings
my faults
Are the joints that make me move
Lubricated by the oil of your love
Held by the ligaments of grace
Powered by the fuel of your fire
You equip me to run this race.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Freedom!
I’ve had an unlimited metro card for about a month now. I had no idea how much of a difference this would make in my life. I go where I want to, when I want to. I don’t have to calculate how much I’ll spend on each trip. I make stops on my way home. I go see friends on a whim. Shop, explore. I love it!! So much so, I’ve been pondering getting rid of my car and joining ZipCar (www.zipcar.com) . However, I’ve put a moratorium on big decisions like this until 2006. Also, ZipCar does not have any cars located near me. Maybe when I move this spring . . . It would be nice to not to worry about my car anymore. No oil changes, no insurance, no fear of the timing belt breaking . . . I hate car care and I love my new metrocard.
© Michelle Scott 2005
© Michelle Scott 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Honesty
I spent this last weekend in Philadelphia visiting some of the people nearest and dearest to me. In the course of the weekend I got in a discussion with a friend about TV shows. I admitted that I LOVE Boston Legal. My friend didn’t. I couldn’t but my finger on exactly why I like it so much until tonight.
I was riding home on the train and two guys were talking about all the women in their lives – those they are using, those they used, and those who won’t stop calling. It was a real degrading conversation to be subjected to—as a woman.
In the course of their conversation one of their cell phones rings. They guy looks at the number and says, “I shouldn’t even talk to this one. I tell her not to call anymore and she just doesn’t listen.” He then picks up the phone and talks to her in his nicest voice. He tells her he’ll be right over, etc., etc.
So . . . back to Boston Legal. I figured out why I like it so much. It’s full of dreadfully honest people – so honest that they have to be eccentric or we couldn’t deal with it. Allan Shore tells women he’s involved with that they enter the relationship at their peril because he is a deeply flawed man. Coworkers are honest about their motives. Friends are honest with each other about short comings and short-sighted behavior. It’s a comedy because it’s so brutally honest, we have no choice but to break out in nervous laughter.
So, I got to thinking, what would our lives, our relationships be like if we just let our intentions and short falls be known all along?
© Michelle Scott 2005
I was riding home on the train and two guys were talking about all the women in their lives – those they are using, those they used, and those who won’t stop calling. It was a real degrading conversation to be subjected to—as a woman.
In the course of their conversation one of their cell phones rings. They guy looks at the number and says, “I shouldn’t even talk to this one. I tell her not to call anymore and she just doesn’t listen.” He then picks up the phone and talks to her in his nicest voice. He tells her he’ll be right over, etc., etc.
So . . . back to Boston Legal. I figured out why I like it so much. It’s full of dreadfully honest people – so honest that they have to be eccentric or we couldn’t deal with it. Allan Shore tells women he’s involved with that they enter the relationship at their peril because he is a deeply flawed man. Coworkers are honest about their motives. Friends are honest with each other about short comings and short-sighted behavior. It’s a comedy because it’s so brutally honest, we have no choice but to break out in nervous laughter.
So, I got to thinking, what would our lives, our relationships be like if we just let our intentions and short falls be known all along?
© Michelle Scott 2005
Monday, October 17, 2005
Freefall
Cool autumn weather has arrived to NY. So, I’ve begun preparing for colder temperatures by taking out my window fans and air conditioners. I called a friend to help me take out my really big, really heavy AC last Saturday. We moved the furniture away, took down the tape that was plugging the cracks and prepared to hang on to the unit when I opened the window.
We were hanging on with all our strength when I opened the window just a crack. In a split second, the AC took a dive out the window. Me? Well I guess I thought I had developed superhuman strength and tried to stop it. This included hanging on to the electrical cord with all my might as the AC plummeted to the concrete below. I can still see it falling. And I can still remember actually thinking I had stopped it when the plug slipped through my fingers. I won’t go into the details of what my fruitless efforts to save my air conditioner did to my hand. We’ll just say, I’ll have some scars to remember this event for quite some time.
My friend and I then went downstairs to assess the damage. Much to my surprise, most of the unit was still intact. In fact, with some repairs, this thing could actually work. There was no discernable damage to the coils or the compressor. It’s now sitting in my kitchen floor waiting for that trip to the repair shop.
Now, because I see most of life’s events through the lens of metaphors, I got to thinking about that air conditioner.
Something recently happened in my life that sent me in a free fall out of what I thought was a secure place in the world. I had no idea that the place I had made for myself was so tenuous and so dependent on one element in my life. The window opened just a tiny bit, and I went flying into what felt like an uncontrollable tailspin. I too saw a concrete slab below and expected to shatter into pieces when I landed. Funny thing is I didn’t. I mean, I have some sore places and some bruises, of course. But, the bottom line is, I didn’t fall apart. The core of me, the most important part of me, is intact, unbroken, and undiminished.
© Michelle Scott 2005
We were hanging on with all our strength when I opened the window just a crack. In a split second, the AC took a dive out the window. Me? Well I guess I thought I had developed superhuman strength and tried to stop it. This included hanging on to the electrical cord with all my might as the AC plummeted to the concrete below. I can still see it falling. And I can still remember actually thinking I had stopped it when the plug slipped through my fingers. I won’t go into the details of what my fruitless efforts to save my air conditioner did to my hand. We’ll just say, I’ll have some scars to remember this event for quite some time.
My friend and I then went downstairs to assess the damage. Much to my surprise, most of the unit was still intact. In fact, with some repairs, this thing could actually work. There was no discernable damage to the coils or the compressor. It’s now sitting in my kitchen floor waiting for that trip to the repair shop.
Now, because I see most of life’s events through the lens of metaphors, I got to thinking about that air conditioner.
Something recently happened in my life that sent me in a free fall out of what I thought was a secure place in the world. I had no idea that the place I had made for myself was so tenuous and so dependent on one element in my life. The window opened just a tiny bit, and I went flying into what felt like an uncontrollable tailspin. I too saw a concrete slab below and expected to shatter into pieces when I landed. Funny thing is I didn’t. I mean, I have some sore places and some bruises, of course. But, the bottom line is, I didn’t fall apart. The core of me, the most important part of me, is intact, unbroken, and undiminished.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Friday, September 23, 2005
Waiting for the Inevitable
As Chuck told me last week, these seem to be dark times. Many of our friends and family are experiencing difficulties and loss. I’ve been to two wakes in the last two weeks alone: one for Chuck’s grandfather and one for a friend’s father. I think this, coupled with the grim reports on TV about Hurricane Katrina, have combined to give us that feeling that these are indeed dark times.
A little over a week ago, my own grandfather collapsed. It is now apparent that he is in the last days of his life. My parents are with him in Texas making him comfortable and being present with him as he passes from this world to the next. Grandpa used his last days of coherency to say good bye to those he loved. And now, as his mind dwells more and more in a place far removed from his hospital room, we wait. We wait for the inevitable.
At the same time as my Grandfather is making his exit, another massive hurricane is making an entrance, Rita. Preparations are nearly complete: people are evacuated, supplies are in place, repair and recovery teams are at the ready. Now, as the storm makes it slow approach, there is still more waiting and wondering—what will be left at the other side?
The watching, waiting, worrying, and plan making that is happening at a national level for Hurricane Rita is a larger depiction of what is going on in my own family. It is an anxious time. But these are things that are out of our control: hurricanes and death, among other things. That is what makes them so scary. But God reminds us that although these things are out of our control, they are held in the palm of his hand. God knows what is on the other side of all things and will sustain us in all circumstances. This is why Paul says, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7.
This is my prayer for myself, my family, and all those who are waiting with anxious heart about what Hurricane Rita will bring – that the peace of God will rule in us instead of the anxiety of powerlessness to change what is to come.
© Michelle Scott 2005
A little over a week ago, my own grandfather collapsed. It is now apparent that he is in the last days of his life. My parents are with him in Texas making him comfortable and being present with him as he passes from this world to the next. Grandpa used his last days of coherency to say good bye to those he loved. And now, as his mind dwells more and more in a place far removed from his hospital room, we wait. We wait for the inevitable.
At the same time as my Grandfather is making his exit, another massive hurricane is making an entrance, Rita. Preparations are nearly complete: people are evacuated, supplies are in place, repair and recovery teams are at the ready. Now, as the storm makes it slow approach, there is still more waiting and wondering—what will be left at the other side?
The watching, waiting, worrying, and plan making that is happening at a national level for Hurricane Rita is a larger depiction of what is going on in my own family. It is an anxious time. But these are things that are out of our control: hurricanes and death, among other things. That is what makes them so scary. But God reminds us that although these things are out of our control, they are held in the palm of his hand. God knows what is on the other side of all things and will sustain us in all circumstances. This is why Paul says, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7.
This is my prayer for myself, my family, and all those who are waiting with anxious heart about what Hurricane Rita will bring – that the peace of God will rule in us instead of the anxiety of powerlessness to change what is to come.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Renewed
At the beginning of this month I went to my church’s summer camp. The theme was Renewal. I knew I needed that, but I was also working on the teen program which didn’t leave much personal time. However, I was optimistic that the teens would not take up too much of my energy—wrong! I arrived at camp tired and worn out, more spiritually than physically, and it seemed that there were those determined to make me feel even more that way. We got off to a rough start and I was asking God where was I going to find the strength to continue not only in teen leadership but in the other ministries I had agreed to take on in the fall. If I can’t handle this one thing, what was I going to do with more? I just felt like I had nothing more to give to the teens or anyone. I hated that feeling and I hated how it made me act towards others, but I didn’t know how to resolve it.
On Sunday evening we had a worship time in which God gave me a vision. Not a vision as in “the angel of the Lord appeared to me . . . “ but more of a metaphor for where I was (dry) and where God is.
I thought of wells. Each of us has our own well to drink from and to share with others. When you well gets low, the water gets muddy, so you find someone around you who is willing to share their clean water with you until the water level rises again in your own well.
I felt like that person whose well only had mud in the bottom. However, the other people who would normally give me a refreshing drink were low on water, too. I was getting possessive of what little water I had and was tired of the muddy water others offered me.
But then I realized that there was a well in the center of us all: God’s Well. God’s Well is always full of fresh water and always ready to share. In fact, you can take more than a cup of water to drink at God’s Well, you can bring buckets back to your empty well and fill it with fresh, clean water to replenish it.
Once you find God’s Well, you never have to worry about running out of water. You can share freely and drink freely and never have to drink muddy water again.
Since God has given me this vision of his unending and inexhaustible love, I have indeed felt renewed. When I feel at the end of myself, I close my eyes and imagine taking a long drink from God’s Well. I realize that nothing I do is on my own strength, skill, or talent—it’s all from God’s good gifts to me. I just need a long refreshing drink from God’s Well.
On Sunday evening we had a worship time in which God gave me a vision. Not a vision as in “the angel of the Lord appeared to me . . . “ but more of a metaphor for where I was (dry) and where God is.
I thought of wells. Each of us has our own well to drink from and to share with others. When you well gets low, the water gets muddy, so you find someone around you who is willing to share their clean water with you until the water level rises again in your own well.
I felt like that person whose well only had mud in the bottom. However, the other people who would normally give me a refreshing drink were low on water, too. I was getting possessive of what little water I had and was tired of the muddy water others offered me.
But then I realized that there was a well in the center of us all: God’s Well. God’s Well is always full of fresh water and always ready to share. In fact, you can take more than a cup of water to drink at God’s Well, you can bring buckets back to your empty well and fill it with fresh, clean water to replenish it.
Once you find God’s Well, you never have to worry about running out of water. You can share freely and drink freely and never have to drink muddy water again.
Since God has given me this vision of his unending and inexhaustible love, I have indeed felt renewed. When I feel at the end of myself, I close my eyes and imagine taking a long drink from God’s Well. I realize that nothing I do is on my own strength, skill, or talent—it’s all from God’s good gifts to me. I just need a long refreshing drink from God’s Well.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
The Power of Cheese
Last week Chuck and I took a “Wine 101” class. It was a three hour class giving you an overview of wines and cheeses. The goal of the class was for you to figure out what kinds of wine you like and a little bit about what makes the flavors of wine. It also was set up for you to try some cheese pairings. I was all into the wine aspect, but the cheese . . . well I was not looking forward to that. I call myself a “cheese wimp” because anything beyond cheddar is pushing it for me. I will eat brie or swiss (only melted) but just about everything else is out of my league. I know so many people who enjoy cheeses and I never understood the wimpyness of my palette, so I decided to be brave and plan to try all the cheeses no matter what they brought out.
When the time came for the cheese plate to appear, all kinds of crumbly, hard, and mold-marbled slabs were placed before me. I thought this plate of enormous slices were to share, but noooo, they were all for me: Two goat cheeses, one sheep, one stinky and one blue. I was thinking of backing out. But I decided to hang in there. We started with the goat cheese (the “milder” ones) and worked our way to the blue. All night I stared at the blue cheese, telling myself that those dark veins were really spinach and not mold. I pretty-much suffered my way around the plate, however most of them were not as bad as I expected, though I still did not enjoy them. Then it came time for the blue cheese—the thing I had been dreading all night. Someone came around with slices of more blue cheese because most people had already eaten their first helping with relish. She got to me and she gave me this look of surprise when she saw my untouched triangle of moldy cheese. I said, “I think this will be enough,” and gulped. For my first bite I spread just a teeny tiny bit of blue cheese on my bread because my past experiences have not been very good. I took a bite and . . .I liked it. I really liked it. I even began eating forkfuls without bread. Now, I don’t know if it was the wine pared with the cheese, the really good quality cheese, the 13 wines I had beforehand, a new-found love for blue cheese, or heroine injected in the cheese itself, but I woke up the next morning craving it. Maybe my cheese wimp days are over.
© Michelle Scott 2005
When the time came for the cheese plate to appear, all kinds of crumbly, hard, and mold-marbled slabs were placed before me. I thought this plate of enormous slices were to share, but noooo, they were all for me: Two goat cheeses, one sheep, one stinky and one blue. I was thinking of backing out. But I decided to hang in there. We started with the goat cheese (the “milder” ones) and worked our way to the blue. All night I stared at the blue cheese, telling myself that those dark veins were really spinach and not mold. I pretty-much suffered my way around the plate, however most of them were not as bad as I expected, though I still did not enjoy them. Then it came time for the blue cheese—the thing I had been dreading all night. Someone came around with slices of more blue cheese because most people had already eaten their first helping with relish. She got to me and she gave me this look of surprise when she saw my untouched triangle of moldy cheese. I said, “I think this will be enough,” and gulped. For my first bite I spread just a teeny tiny bit of blue cheese on my bread because my past experiences have not been very good. I took a bite and . . .I liked it. I really liked it. I even began eating forkfuls without bread. Now, I don’t know if it was the wine pared with the cheese, the really good quality cheese, the 13 wines I had beforehand, a new-found love for blue cheese, or heroine injected in the cheese itself, but I woke up the next morning craving it. Maybe my cheese wimp days are over.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Anniversary
As of last Sunday I have lived in New York for one whole year! In some ways it seems incredibly short, in other ways this year has felt unbelieveably long. It’s taken a lot more work that I expected to adjust to living in this great city. A friend of mine who was a missionary in the Congo during the 60s used to say that God sent her to Africa to teach her patience. I think God sent me to New York to do the same. It’s hard living with so many other people.
There are a lot of perks to living here, but there are a lot of disadvantages, too. I still miss being able to hop in my car and drive out to run my errands knowing that #1 I will most likely be able to do them in one or two stops (ahh, the wonder of strip malls) and #2 be able to find parking when I get there. But alas, that is not to be found here.
There are wonderful other experiences to be had. Like last week when I had a couple of hours to kill between appointments. So, I just started walking down Broadway. I found the Museum of Biblical Art (free!) and cruised through that. Then I found a beautiful spot to sit, drink my coffee an just people watch around the park. Wandering about like this is something I would never be able to do in the ‘burbs. First of all—there are no sidewalks!
Well, that’s my brief reflection on my first year in NYC. This place is growing on me. After a recent trip to visit my old neighborhood in PA, I began to realize that New York may be ruining me for other places.
© Michelle Scott 2005
There are a lot of perks to living here, but there are a lot of disadvantages, too. I still miss being able to hop in my car and drive out to run my errands knowing that #1 I will most likely be able to do them in one or two stops (ahh, the wonder of strip malls) and #2 be able to find parking when I get there. But alas, that is not to be found here.
There are wonderful other experiences to be had. Like last week when I had a couple of hours to kill between appointments. So, I just started walking down Broadway. I found the Museum of Biblical Art (free!) and cruised through that. Then I found a beautiful spot to sit, drink my coffee an just people watch around the park. Wandering about like this is something I would never be able to do in the ‘burbs. First of all—there are no sidewalks!
Well, that’s my brief reflection on my first year in NYC. This place is growing on me. After a recent trip to visit my old neighborhood in PA, I began to realize that New York may be ruining me for other places.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Subway Rant
I realized today while watching a woman meticulously apply all of her makeup on the train while being forced off of a pole because of a “leaner” that I have developed a long list of what should be common sense social etiquette regarding subway behavior. So, to help people out, I have composed a list of things to avoid. I have witnessed all of these at least once (and I am sure there is more weirdness to come).
There are other people on the train with you . . .
Don’t lean on the poles, other people need them. The only reason I can find for someone to willfully to continue leaning after people are trying to find a space to hang on is that you want to be groped. (ewwww I just grossed myself out!)
Your down time on the train is NOTa perfect opportunity to test all the ringtones on your phone to decide which one you like best. I experience this at least once a week.
Neither do we want to listen to you try and pick up a girl (see previous post 5/10/05)
Please do not attempt to bring three instrument cases on the train and set them immediately in front of the door, THEN act confused when people have problems leaping over them on their way in and out of the train.
The train is not a spa . . .
I understand putting on some lipstick or powdering your nose, but doing the whole shebang from foundation to eyeliner on the train is a bit outrageous.
Nail polish and nail polish remover stink worse than the train already does. Have a heart.
Clipping your nails . . . . come on!!!! Those shards could land in my coffee. No one can really keep them under control.
Eyebrow plucking can get dangerous. Where do the tweezers go when the train comes to a sudden stop?
Flossing . . . .no commentary needed.
Common sense . . .
Aerosols should be avoided—like testing that can of spray paint on your jeans.
Polishing your shoes is on the edge of reasonable, but wiping the excess polish on the seat where someone is going to sit, is just plain mean.
Casting spells and curses on innocent train riders is generally not a good way to start the day.
Denying a seat to a pregnant woman because you’re saving it for your friend — who is getting on at the next stop is not nice.
Oh! And it really does “speed your ride” when you wait for everyone to get off the train before getting on.
I realize that some seasoned New Yorkers will read this and laugh at my naiveté. But this stuff is not normal.
© Michelle Scott 2005
There are other people on the train with you . . .
Don’t lean on the poles, other people need them. The only reason I can find for someone to willfully to continue leaning after people are trying to find a space to hang on is that you want to be groped. (ewwww I just grossed myself out!)
Your down time on the train is NOTa perfect opportunity to test all the ringtones on your phone to decide which one you like best. I experience this at least once a week.
Neither do we want to listen to you try and pick up a girl (see previous post 5/10/05)
Please do not attempt to bring three instrument cases on the train and set them immediately in front of the door, THEN act confused when people have problems leaping over them on their way in and out of the train.
The train is not a spa . . .
I understand putting on some lipstick or powdering your nose, but doing the whole shebang from foundation to eyeliner on the train is a bit outrageous.
Nail polish and nail polish remover stink worse than the train already does. Have a heart.
Clipping your nails . . . . come on!!!! Those shards could land in my coffee. No one can really keep them under control.
Eyebrow plucking can get dangerous. Where do the tweezers go when the train comes to a sudden stop?
Flossing . . . .no commentary needed.
Common sense . . .
Aerosols should be avoided—like testing that can of spray paint on your jeans.
Polishing your shoes is on the edge of reasonable, but wiping the excess polish on the seat where someone is going to sit, is just plain mean.
Casting spells and curses on innocent train riders is generally not a good way to start the day.
Denying a seat to a pregnant woman because you’re saving it for your friend — who is getting on at the next stop is not nice.
Oh! And it really does “speed your ride” when you wait for everyone to get off the train before getting on.
I realize that some seasoned New Yorkers will read this and laugh at my naiveté. But this stuff is not normal.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Friday, May 13, 2005
Waking Up Right
This morning I was sooo good, and now I feel good. I don’t know why I can’t seem to make myself do this more often. What I’m talking about is getting up an hour earlier, exercise and have some quiet time before starting my day. It makes such a difference. I have the intention nearly every night when I go to sleep, but when that alarm goes off at 6:00 I can normally think of enough excuses to sleep in and the other stuff gets put off until that evening, or not at all. I just wish I could remember how good I’ll feel afterward and get my butt out of bed more often.
So, since I was out of bed so early, I watched some news. They are doing a special on finding “cheap” or “reasonably priced” apartments in Manhattan. One woman was looking for an apartment for $1,000/month. The local news could not find one for her, but they did find one for $1,195. She was so excited, talked about how spacious it was, etc, etc. Okay, then they showed the place. It is a basement apartment that has (drum roll please) 400 square feet. Spacious?!?! Affordable?!?!! This place is crazy.
© Michelle Scott 2005
So, since I was out of bed so early, I watched some news. They are doing a special on finding “cheap” or “reasonably priced” apartments in Manhattan. One woman was looking for an apartment for $1,000/month. The local news could not find one for her, but they did find one for $1,195. She was so excited, talked about how spacious it was, etc, etc. Okay, then they showed the place. It is a basement apartment that has (drum roll please) 400 square feet. Spacious?!?! Affordable?!?!! This place is crazy.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
How NOT to pick up a woman
All I have to say is: the subway is not a single’s bar. That’s it. I don’t think it should be that confusing. It’s morning. You’re on a train. We are all slogging our way to work, and most of us just want some peace and quiet. Normally, people oblige. Today was not one of those days, I sitting in front of a nice looking woman who apparently, the man standing behind her mistook for someone looking for a date.
The conversation broke into my consciousness when the woman refused to give the man his name. His name is, “Mark, for what it’s worth. Are you sure you can’t tell me your name?” So, about four stops later he runs out of his rehearsed stories, planned to charm any woman about meeting celebrities on the train and how women in New York are either beautiful or nice, but never both (how was that supposed to make her feel??) and his aspirations of directing, acting and screen writing. He starts to move on to finding out more about her.
“So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a bookkeeper.”
“Fascinating,” (At this point, I am involuntarily rolling my eyes) “Maybe one day you can be my bookkeeper when I become rich and famous. You know, I’ll need someone to keep track of all that money for me.” (I’ve nearly rolled my eyes out of my head by this point.)
So, I just need to get this out there: Guys, we KNOW when you’re lying, we KNOW when what you’ve said is well rehearsed. And FINALLY it’s not nice to try to pick people up in front of a train packed with people trying to mind your own business.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Anticipation
For about a month, now, I’ve woke up with a feeling of anticipation; wondering if today is the day that I get “the call”. You see, I interviewed for a job about a month ago. It is one I want really, really, really badly. I felt great about the interview and I found out that I am going to be called back for a second one. I am just waiting on the committee to set a date and call me.
So, in the meantime I wait for a call I know is coming. I am also mentally preparing for the interview—learning more about the organization, thinking of possible reasons to take time off work for the interview, drafting my resignation letter . . . . The problem is that the more days that pass without “the call” the more anxious I get and the more “worst-case scenarious” I think of. I have quickly found myself consumed with what will happen and when it will happen. Let me tell you, it’s not a nice thing to do to yourself. I’ve been more and more self-involved.
This morning I was thinking about my situation and what I should be learning from it. The anticipation and active preparing reminded me of how I should be preparing and anticipating Christ’s return. I should be learning more and more about my God and Father so that I am ready to have a relationshp with him so that I know how to work for him and how to let him work in me.
It’s a good reminder to keep my priorities straight.
© Michelle Scott 2005
So, in the meantime I wait for a call I know is coming. I am also mentally preparing for the interview—learning more about the organization, thinking of possible reasons to take time off work for the interview, drafting my resignation letter . . . . The problem is that the more days that pass without “the call” the more anxious I get and the more “worst-case scenarious” I think of. I have quickly found myself consumed with what will happen and when it will happen. Let me tell you, it’s not a nice thing to do to yourself. I’ve been more and more self-involved.
This morning I was thinking about my situation and what I should be learning from it. The anticipation and active preparing reminded me of how I should be preparing and anticipating Christ’s return. I should be learning more and more about my God and Father so that I am ready to have a relationshp with him so that I know how to work for him and how to let him work in me.
It’s a good reminder to keep my priorities straight.
© Michelle Scott 2005
Saturday, February 26, 2005
The Power of My Voice
This past week someone tried to steal my purse. In the past I had shared my ruminitions about the dangerous properties of persimmons (10/20/04) and other things I might be carrying with me in case I needed to use them as weapons. On this day I was carrying hot tea and dried squid (the squid was not for me). I was not on a desolate street as I had imagined, but on a crowded sidewalk when I felt a hand on my purse and the other on my back. I didn’t realize until afterward what was happening, but my reaction was to yell, “HEY!” And for once in my life my big mouth did me some good. He dropped the purse and disappeared into the crowd. And so it was not the things I was carrying with me that helped me, but the power inside of me.
My sister was not as lucky this week. Off in a very different environment—a small town where people keep their front doors unlocked and their car keys in the ignition—she had her car window smashed and her purse and other belongings stolen. As we talked about all the calls she had to make I thought I’d share with you what both of us have been reminded of this week:
1. Know what’s in your wallet. Photocopy its contents or write down all your credit card numbers and phone numbers to call in case they are stolen and keep this in a safe place.
2. Don’t carry more than what is necessary.
3. Know the numbers of the three main credit bureaus and call them asap if your wallet is stolen. They are: Equifax 800-525-6285
Experian 800-301-7195
TransUnion 800-680-7289
My sister was not as lucky this week. Off in a very different environment—a small town where people keep their front doors unlocked and their car keys in the ignition—she had her car window smashed and her purse and other belongings stolen. As we talked about all the calls she had to make I thought I’d share with you what both of us have been reminded of this week:
1. Know what’s in your wallet. Photocopy its contents or write down all your credit card numbers and phone numbers to call in case they are stolen and keep this in a safe place.
2. Don’t carry more than what is necessary.
3. Know the numbers of the three main credit bureaus and call them asap if your wallet is stolen. They are: Equifax 800-525-6285
Experian 800-301-7195
TransUnion 800-680-7289
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Weekend Trains
I learned something today . . . never, ever, ever take a train to Brooklyn on the weekend. Everytime I try, there are unforseen and unpleasant adventures. As I was taking my normal express D train home I was surprised that it was making local stops. The announcer said that the N was running express so I transferred over thinking this would save me some time. On a normal weekday the N can take me most of the way home where I could then transfer back to the D. But as the N rolled into 36th street there was a very unpleasant announcement:
"This is the last stop for the N express train, the D train will be making all local N stops across the platform."
What??? Two trains, two different tracks what was happening here. So I poked my head into the D train to hear what the conductor was saying there . . . "This D train will be making all local stops on the N track."
I thought, oh, maybe another D will come that is running on the D track so I asked someone about it and the following conversation ensued:
Me: (to no one in particular) "Are there any D trains running today, then?"
Mr. Helpful: "This is the D train."
Me: (thinking I'm clarifying what I am looking for) "Yeah, but it is making N stops."
Mr. Helpful "Yes, but this is the D train."
Me: (noticing that he is not getting it) "I know that, but I am looking for a D train making D stops."
Mr Helpful: "This is the D train, but it is running on the N track."
Me: (growing frustrated, but still think there is hope of finding an answer) "I am aware of that. I would like to know if there are any D trains running on the D track. I'm guessing not."
Mr Helpful: "This is the D train."
Me: (finally realizing that he is just not going to get it) "Thanks for your help."
So, now after hearing repetitively that I was riding a D train following the N track and making N (not D) stops I realized that this D train was really an N incognito. Why the secrecy? Why the mystery? Why not just say - "No D trains outside of Manhattan"? Why send me confusing messages that give me hope of getting home without riding a bus? That's all I want to know.
"This is the last stop for the N express train, the D train will be making all local N stops across the platform."
What??? Two trains, two different tracks what was happening here. So I poked my head into the D train to hear what the conductor was saying there . . . "This D train will be making all local stops on the N track."
I thought, oh, maybe another D will come that is running on the D track so I asked someone about it and the following conversation ensued:
Me: (to no one in particular) "Are there any D trains running today, then?"
Mr. Helpful: "This is the D train."
Me: (thinking I'm clarifying what I am looking for) "Yeah, but it is making N stops."
Mr. Helpful "Yes, but this is the D train."
Me: (noticing that he is not getting it) "I know that, but I am looking for a D train making D stops."
Mr Helpful: "This is the D train, but it is running on the N track."
Me: (growing frustrated, but still think there is hope of finding an answer) "I am aware of that. I would like to know if there are any D trains running on the D track. I'm guessing not."
Mr Helpful: "This is the D train."
Me: (finally realizing that he is just not going to get it) "Thanks for your help."
So, now after hearing repetitively that I was riding a D train following the N track and making N (not D) stops I realized that this D train was really an N incognito. Why the secrecy? Why the mystery? Why not just say - "No D trains outside of Manhattan"? Why send me confusing messages that give me hope of getting home without riding a bus? That's all I want to know.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Death on Schedule
Modern medicine for all its miracles has created so many situations that I think we as people are just not equipped to deal with because . . . it just ain’t natural.
The other day as I was standing outside waiting on the kids to be dismissed from school one of the teacher’s aides I know passed by me. We said our greetings as normal and she said, “see you next week.” Now this was a Tuesday and so I took the cue and asked if she was going anywhere. She said, “I am having problems.” And then it came out. Her mom had been in the hospital and was supposed to be removed from life support that afternoon. She was sad, angry and confused. She was angry because she felt that her mom had a chance and the doctors were taking that away by saying that the family has no choice, her mother had to be removed from life support. She was also confused by her brother’s acceptance of this. He apparently had already gone and made funural arangements. She told me, “but my mother isn’t even dead, yet. It just seems wrong.” I talked to her for a few minutes. My chaplain intern training came in handy. I had attended dozens of deaths and had a good idea of what was to come. I told her I would keep her and her family in my prayers, and I have.
As I’ve thought of her, I’ve thought about dying. It’s not the same anymore. More and more people are dying the way this woman’s mother did. It was not a surprise, but a decision and one that happens according to a hospital schedule.
The other day as I was standing outside waiting on the kids to be dismissed from school one of the teacher’s aides I know passed by me. We said our greetings as normal and she said, “see you next week.” Now this was a Tuesday and so I took the cue and asked if she was going anywhere. She said, “I am having problems.” And then it came out. Her mom had been in the hospital and was supposed to be removed from life support that afternoon. She was sad, angry and confused. She was angry because she felt that her mom had a chance and the doctors were taking that away by saying that the family has no choice, her mother had to be removed from life support. She was also confused by her brother’s acceptance of this. He apparently had already gone and made funural arangements. She told me, “but my mother isn’t even dead, yet. It just seems wrong.” I talked to her for a few minutes. My chaplain intern training came in handy. I had attended dozens of deaths and had a good idea of what was to come. I told her I would keep her and her family in my prayers, and I have.
As I’ve thought of her, I’ve thought about dying. It’s not the same anymore. More and more people are dying the way this woman’s mother did. It was not a surprise, but a decision and one that happens according to a hospital schedule.
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