IVP - Strangely Dim - July 2008 Archives

The Books I Could Bring

From the time I was four up into my college years, my family and I spent at least one week of every summer with my grandparents at a cottage in a small town in Canada. We swam, we read, we went for long walks in the mornings, we read, we slept, we read, we ate good food, we read, we played games. And we read. Being avid booklovers, our whole family could often be seen sitting in the cottage's "living room" (which was also the "dining room"), each buried in a different book. I still remember the excitement of packing for that vacation each year, and in particular deciding which books to take with me. Usually I just took them all.

I'm feeling that same childlike excitement about a cottage vacation coming up in August. This time my family and I will be in Michigan (the cottage in Canada is no longer available), but I am anticipating a similar restful rhythm of sleeping, eating, walking and--mostly--reading. So I thought I'd give you a peek at a few of the books on my short list for vacation. And since my sister and I will be driving rather than flying, I'll have plenty of room for ten or twenty extra books, just in case. In no particular order, here they are:

1. Two books by Naomi Shihab Nye (who's a favorite of mine already): Her newest book of poems and short prose, called Honeybee, and a book of essays (to inspire me toward my grad-school aspirations in creative nonfiction), Never in a Hurry. The title alone tells me I need to read this one in particular, since my life feels like it could, unfortunately, be aptly titled Always in a Hurry.

2. Amazing Grace by Kathleen Norris. I've owned this one for a while now and never read it. I'm excited about what she's trying to do in this book--to name things in a new way, and explore of the power and limits of language.

3. Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall, Denver Moore and Lynn Vincent. This is a true story about the friendship formed between two men who come from completely different backgrounds, economic statuses and perspectives. They each write alternating chapters, so their own voices come through. I'm hoping it will help me get outside my own suburban world and see the reality of other people's existence--as well as the beauty of each person made in God's image.

4. And now for a little fiction: The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. I saw the movie of this and thought it was a little flat; characters and emotions were underdeveloped. I suspected, as I always do, that I'd like the book better. My sister just read the book and loved it for Lahiri's beautiful writing. So she's passed it on to me. Also, if you haven't seen the book--it's got a beautiful cover.

5. Also in the fiction genre, The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai. I just saw this one at Barnes & Noble this week, and it's gotten great reviews, including a starred review from Amazon. It takes place in India in the 1980s and is centered around a retired judge, his orphaned granddaughter, his cook and the cook's son (who lives in Manhattan). I'm attracted to it both for the range of themes it seems to cover (personal relationships, politics, modernization, economics) and, again, for perspective on the lives of people who live in cultures far different from the one I know.

On top of those, there's The Secret Life of Bees, Population 485, Left to Tell, maybe some Buechner or Mary Oliver, The Wild Iris . . . there are so many to choose from. Most likely, I won't even get through half of these. But most likely, you'll know which ones I did read, as I'm sure any of the books I've mentioned will spark many Strangely Dim-worthy thoughts and questions.

Grow Out Loud

My momma raised me right: Always try to think of at least one nice thing to say about everything. Here's what I have to say about Internet spam that's nice: every once in a while it gives me something interesting to do. For example, when I'm a lazy blogger and neglect to disable comments from archived blog posts, some well-intentioned spammer posts a comment, and I get a reminder that I need to close the loop on that post. If not for these blanket invitations to try new non-prescription medications or to gamble online, I might never look back on the things I'd once written.

It strikes me lately that if, in an Internet era, everything thought is stated, and everything stated archived, then either everything we think carries the weight of permanence or else we need to rethink the weight we give public statements. For example, a year or so from now some spammer will remind me that I once upon a time typed the previous sentence, and I will wonder what in the world I was thinking.

So I'm lately an advocate of the idea that anything given the permanence of archived data or the printed page should also be given the grace of tentativity. The wild-eyed thoughts posted online by your church's youth pastor, or even the radical thesis of the latest book-du-jour, ought no longer be considered a permanent reflection of their views. We should instead allow people to grow out loud--not to perpetually recant what they've previously stated with great conviction but to speculate thoughtfully and revise freely.

Actually, I think the act of revisiting our one-time convictions reinforces this notion that what we think--and by extension, what we speak or type or otherwise archive--is at best an educated guess, and we should be prepared to one day chuckle at ourselves over it. Thanks, spammers, for reminding us that we are finite works in progress.

Ironically enough, the post I've most recently been reminded of is titled "The Church with Nothing to Say," dating back to March 2005. In it I reflect on a church billboard with nothing on it, and I make a brazen plea for my readers to post effusive comments on the Amazon book page for my first book, Comic Book Character. Which reminds me: Deliver Us from Me-Ville is available from a fine bookseller near you. If you're so inclined, feel free to offer your own speculative thoughts about it on your blog or some other public venue. You won't regret it! (At least not for a while . . .)

Limerick-ick-ick-ick-ick-ick

Lisa's birthday generated a melee of limericks, if you can imagine such a thing. Here's what our precocious intern Tait offered with a corresponding "Boo yah!"

Le Jour de Gloire Est Arrivé

I don't remember much from French class, but I remember this: On July 14, 1789, French populists stormed the Bastille prison, a warehouse for military arms and penal institution for political dissidents, as an act of protest against the authoritarian rule of the French monarchy. Bastille Day thus set the French Revolution in motion and became a symbolic equivalent of the Boston Tea Party for the American Revolution.

Contemporary democracy is many things, but one such thing is a thumbing of the nose when the powers that be fail those they govern. So happy Bastille Day, everybody! Fight the power responsibly.

Another Candle on the Cake

All right, everybody. All together now:

Ahem.

Happy birthday to youuuuuuuu . . .

Happy birthday to youuuuuuuu . . .

Happy birthday, dear Lisaaaaaaa . . .

Happy birthday to you!

And now for a limerick:

There once was a woman named Lisa
whose bank card was branded with Visa.
She enjoys when she thinks just as much as hot drinks
Her Secretary of State's name is Condaleeza.

You think you can do better? Give it a shot. 

Rabbit Rage

This morning, as is often the case on the first day of a month, I had the double pleasure of saying "Rabbit" to Lisa before she could say it to me, and of actually seeing a rabbit bounding across my driveway before I came to work. That's right, folks: today's the day wherein countless friends of Strangely Dim develop a funky case of rabbit rage.

For the uninitiated, "Rabbit" is a game I learned from my brother and then forced Lisa and my other coworkers to play with me. It's now sweeping the nation, complete with a group on Facebook--"Rabbit Uber Alles"--and late-night phone calls, text messages and e-mails. The first to say "Rabbit" on the first of the month wins, well, nothing actually, except the fleeting satisfaction of a hollow victory.

We've now, however, had to adapt the game thanks to all these eager beavers. From here on out we'll acknowledge two winners: the night owl, who stays up late enough to be closest to midnight with their communique, and the early bird, who achieves mental acuity first in the morning. So now, on to this month's big winners:

The Night Owl: Dan Webster, who also gets props for his multimedia and multiple-persona assault.

The Early Bird: Andy Crouch, who thinks the game's so nice he says it twice.

Better luck next time, losers!

Oh, that didn't come out like I meant it . . .