Online Writing Program! May 31, 2009

I really miss teaching creative writing.  Leaving Cornerstone, where I taught classes for a year, was a big bummer in the process of moving to New Hampshire.  I love giving feedback on the work of both new and experienced writers — it’s invigorating to help other writers figure out what they’re going for in their work, and what’s going to make it really work.

Because of how much I’ve been missing teaching — and because I want to continually build my resume while I’m a grad student — I’m launching online writing classes at my new website, LizBoltzRanfeld.com. There is still some availability for the eight-week summer session, which costs $25 and will start on June 8th.  Let me know if y0u have any questions!

A Little Hair May 21, 2009

I recently drew a picturebook for Arya’s third birthday.  In it, a baby chick appears at my window, and I try to give her a good home.  I make her a nest and give her books to read while I’m at work, but she gets lonely.  My idea is to send her to live with Arya, which I do at the end of the book.  I packaged up her picturebook and a tiny pink stuffed Easter chick and sent it to her in March.

Sadly, Baby Chick is currently missing — she got lost somewhere in Mom’s yard last night while we were eating outside.  We told Arya that she probably flew away for a while, and maybe she’d be back.  I’ve been looking for her, and if she doesn’t show up, maybe I can buy a new one at the local pharmacy, if they have any left.

However, Arya and I had a fun conversation about Baby Chick the other night.  In one of the pictures in the book, Baby Chick sits on the couch between Chalupa and me, watching TV.  I drew us carefully, me with long yellow hair and Chalupa with a reddish beard and a shaved head.

She cracked up.  “HAHA!  This picture is wrong!”

“Why is it wrong?”

“In this picture, he doesn’t have any hair!  Except a little bit on his face.  But he DOES have hair!  He has a little bit of short hair!  This picture is funny!”

An Apology May 20, 2009

I know Mom likes having me around the house, but as I look at my two pairs of shoes by the glass door, my sweatshirt slung over the recliner, my purse on the counter, and my book/camera/cellphone pile on the railing between the kitchen and family room, I’ve got to admit that I must have been pretty darn annoying when I lived here.  Did I think it was my job or something to keep this house messy?

Mom, I love you, and I apologize.

Home Sweet Everywhere May 19, 2009

I’m on a bus from Dover, New Hampshire to Boston Logan Airport.  I hardly slept at all last night in anticipation for this trip home, which will last barely more than a week.

I really need to stop using the word “home” for just about everything.

“I forgot to grab a book from home this morning, but those b ooks I shipped home will be there by the time I get there, so I’ll have one to read on my way home next week.”

See? This is problematic.

Writing My 16-year-old Experience May 13, 2009

I just finished revising an essay on the time I spent in Nepal at 16.  That trip, more than any other summer mission I went on while a teenager, has stuck with me.  It was a pretty influential experience for me, and I can mark it now as the very beginning of my journey away from mainstream evangelicalism and conservative thought.

My trip was an intense one.  There were eighteen of us in one house in a rural village on the outskirts of the Kathmandu Valley.  We spent our days doing some hard work, like moving rocks from one side of the village to another (the rocks were used to rebuild a wall), carrying felled trees through cornfields (not sure what the purpose was on that one, but we did it), and weeding gardens.  It was also a serious hike from the closest town to the village, and we carried all of our belongings, food, and supplies for the six weeks we were spending in the village.  We didn’t have enough food, so we ate rice and green beans for almost every meal.  Most of the trip, I was tired, sunburned, and pretty darn happy.

What teenager wouldn’t be happy in my situation?  I felt independent (despite the plentiful and occasionally oppressive rules) because I was without any friends or family from home.  I felt included, because we all needed each other to accomplish what we were doing.  I felt important for two reasons: we were doing good work and we were told by every adult leader within earshot that we were important.  I was in secret, sixteen-year-old love with one of my teammates, and even though I didn’t dare even write it in my journal for fear of being found out (and reprimanded!), I was happy to just be near him every day.

Writing my essay was challenging, because I wanted to establish the feeling of inclusion and excitement AND the weight of the situation.  Thinking about it over the course of the next several years, I was overwhelmed by questions: are short term missions ethical?  Were we put at risk by an ill-prepared organization?  Did we make a difference in the village, or were we just perceived as strange and selfish Americans?

It was important to me to stay in my 16 year old voice and convey that this was just the very start of my questioning of what I was up to.

And so today I finished it and submitted it as my final piece in my Memoir class, and I think it’s close to being done.   It’s the first time I have really attempted to tackle the emotionally and ethically complicated issue of teen missions.  I hope that I accomplished setting the tone for readers unfamiliar with the whole concept.

I think that this is an essay I’ll submit for publication after a couple more revisions.

After Seeing Wolverine May 6, 2009

Maybe someday I’ll write an essay expanding on this annoying thing I find myself encountering sometime, but for now I’ll just make a note of it here.

Why do people at comic book movies (or any movies with beloved, action-based source materials) have to talk SO LOUDLY during the credits about how the movie stood up against the original material?  I don’t mind conversations critiquing and analyzing movies, but come on, man. It’s annoying when you’re having a conversation with your friends, but the general suspicion of everyone sitting nearby you in the theater is that you’re really just trying to impress all of us with your expansive movie knowledge.  Which isn’t all that impressive, to tell you the truth.

Plus, it’s kind of rude to your friends.  If you want to talk to them, talk to them.  But don’t use them as your opportunity to tell everyone else in the theater how much you know about Wolverine.

CAbi April 24, 2009

Tonight I was invited to a CAbi party — it’s sort of like Pampered Chef or Mary Kay, but for clothes designed by Carol Anderson.  This is the second time I’ve been to one of these parties, both at my neighbor Megan’s apartment.  Basically, a bunch of women get together, and then the CAbi consultant shows off the new collection of clothes.  After she goes through the clothes, everyone can try anything on.  And wow, are they great clothes.

Last fall, I wasn’t able to buy any clothes at the party, so I didn’t try anything on.  Tonight, though, I took my time and tried on a variety of outfits.  It was a blast!  I would have loved to buy everything I tried on, but I ended up going with a new pair of jeans and a great sleeveless top.  The thing that was amazing was the fact that these clothes were REALLY flattering.  Almost everything was perfect on everyone, no matter what they tried on or what body type they were. It felt awfully great to try on clothes that made me feel good rather than frumpy or uneven or blobby.

I had a lot of fun and enjoyed meeting some new people, including one woman who lives in my building but who I’d never met before.  Now I can’t wait to get my new clothes when they arrive in a couple of weeks!

A Bit Complainy, just to document my grad school state of mind. April 21, 2009

I’m a little bit tired of New Hampshire, with its crowded, too-small roads and its lack of normal hot dog buns and its people’s tendency to both say and write “draw” instead of “drawer.”  I criticize the region’s bad drivers (who have no idea of what it means to merge) and wonder why there aren’t any twenty-four hours grocery stores or restaurants around here.  I have to go to Wal-Mart if I want to buy smoked sausage, because the local groceries don’t carry it.  Everyone complained all winter about how cold it was, when it really wasn’t that cold at all — just very, very snowy.

I know the real reason I’m tired of New Hampshire is that I’d rather be at home in Indiana — where there are just as many weird people, but where there is also my family.  And my friends.  And my life.

Things are good here.  I have a pleasant enough job that’s teaching me a lot about the world of optics, which I was completely unaware of before now.   One of my classes has a ridiculously heavy workload, but also a phenomenal instructor.  The other students in my program are, for the most part, interesting and likeable.  I have a great apartment with a nice view of the river, where last week I sat outside and did homework under the trees.  I don’t have to move for at least another year.  I have Chalupa, who brings me a glass of water before bed most nights, and sleeps close to me, and knows when the only thing that will cure my foul mood is doing something away from the apartment — a dinner out, a movie, a walk.

But things are also tiring here.  My job is more stressful than I’d like it to be, and I have a lot of work-related bad dreams that keep me up at night.  I am still without funding for the next school year, which doesn’t make me feel supported or valued by my program.  I only get to talk to my family on the phone, when I’d rather be joining them for weekly lunches and trips to church and evenings at home.  I’ve only seen photos of my new nephew Alex, who was born at the end of March.

So. What do I do?  How do I keep from being annoyed at my situation, which really isn’t that bad, but is simply different from what it used to be?

The answer: moment-by-moment.

Oh, and keep a countdown to a specific day next month, when I finally get to go home and spend some time with people, not rushing through two holidays and a wedding, like last time.  I’ll meet you in May.

Mickey Rourke, AKA: Hamerborough April 5, 2009

The other morning, I was trying to stay asleep for a little while longer than my body wanted to.  The alarm had gone off,  but I still had a good fifteen, twenty minutes before I needed to get up and going.

I also wanted to stay in my dream, because it was interesting.

I dreamed that Mickey Rourke came into the store where I work and bought a pair of glasses.  When he came to pick them up, I was set to dispense them.  Dispensing glasses means finding the correct pair from the right bin, setting everything up so it looks pretty, and then fitting the glasses to the patient and checking to make sure everything feels and looks right.

But Mickey Rourke’s glasses were missing.  I had JUST seen them, but they were gone.  A pair of glasses labeled with the fake name he was using — Hamerborough, with just one “m” — was nowhere to be found.  Mickey (who has never shown up in one of my dreams before) sat in the waiting area, watching me as I tried to keep my cool.

I went into the lab, where he could see me through the big window.  “Anyone seen Hamerborough’s glasses?” I asked.

No response.

I went into the break room, where twelve people were sorting through boxes, sort of like the factory women looking for the golden ticket in Willy Wonka, but none of them would help me.

WHERE ARE HAMERBOROUGH’S GLASSES?  HE’S NOT GOING TO LIKE ME IF I CAN’T FIND HIS GLASSES!

When I’ve retold this dream to people, they’ve assumed that my fear was that Mickey Rourke would flip out on me, would cause a scene, would be unpredictable.  Sure, those weren’t far-off dream thoughts for me.  But more importantly, I was worried that he wouldn’t want to be my friend.  And for some reason, he and I had REALLY hit it off during the glasses-shopping part of the day.

The dream ended before I could find the glasses, but also before Hamerborugh judged me too much with his angry eyes.  The dream interpreter on Twitter says that Mickey represents an authority figure in my life who I’m trying to help see, and that this person is difficult to work with.

Twitter March 22, 2009

While my friend Nate and I were chatting the other day, he suggested that maybe my lack of blogging recently was due to the fact that I recently joined Twitter.

For the unfamiliar, Twitter is a sort of mini-blog service, where users post 140 or fewer characters in every entry.  They’re sort of like Facebook status updates. As a user, I follow a number of other users’ updates and can comment.  There are a lot of interesting celebrities and personalities using Twitter, like Rainn Wilson from the Office, Paul Feig of good TV (who I once heard speak in Indianapolis), and Floyd Landis.

I can’t blame Twitter for my lack of blogging, because there is a much more reliable source of blame for my recent slacking: school. I write so much nonfiction for school that it’s hard to find the motivation to writer frequently here. This is not an apology, but simply an explanation of what’s going on.

However, Twitter has definitely proven to be a faster and easier way of updating the world of my very important thoughts. After all, you don’t really need to know all about last night’s dream of sinking boats, the Obama family, and losing Chalupa in the ocean. You can be just as entertained by those few short details: there was a sinking boat, the Obamas were there, and I lost Chalupa in the ocean.

That’s what Twitter does for me. Forces me to be concise.

My profile is here, and it would be fun if you joined me over there in Twitter land.

1998, the Newsboys, and Burlap to Cashmere March 13, 2009

Had I heard this news in 1998, teenage me would have flipped out.  Michael Tait of dc Talk taking over for Peter Furler of the Newsboys?!

Yesterday was full of 1998-style flashbacks.  Doug Ross on ER.  Me actually looking at something produced by Teen Mania, which led me to searching for Christian music videos that I used to watch on VHS tapes in the basement.

And the flashbacks, then, cost me $5, because I just re-bought Is There Anybody Out There?, the Burlap to Cashmere album I originally purchased in ‘98, loved desperately, and then lost about six years ago.

I can’t wait to pop it back in and listen to it again.  I remember seeing that band open for Jars of Clay (my first real obsession) at a concert in a high school gym.  One of my future best friends was at that concert, too, but we didn’t know it then.

Latest Developments March 12, 2009

For the past six weeks or so, I have been in the midst of a quest for funding for the next school year.  I accepted admission to UNH’s MFA program with the understanding that there would be a good amount of Teaching Assistantsships available at the start of my second year.  Unfortunately, that has not been the case, and after several weeks of doing everything I could think of to secure one of the few TAships, I found out last night that I did not receive one.

This has been a blow.  There are some “next steps” in hopes of getting aid, but my main concern is that I’m going to graduate from an MFA program without any university-level teaching experience.  Of course this freaks me out and makes me question whether or not it was worth it for me to move all the way out here and pay for a program that others are getting for free.

Despite this letdown — and my frustration with the pitiful funding situation here — I am holding out hope that something will work out.  And I am so grateful to Chalupa, who is supporting me so much during this time.

Last night, when I was depressed and down about these latest developments, Chalupa told me to change into some real pants (red plaid flannels weren’t going to cut it), and he took me to dinner.  We don’t eat out much, so it was quite a treat to just take off and go do something to distract me from my frustrations.  Even though the food was pretty crappy (burnt ribs and a hair in my salad), it felt good to get out and do something.  And I was so happy that I have someone like Chalupa who recognizes my need to be distracted from negativity.

I’m on to pursue my “next steps” in this process.  I shouldn’t lose all hope yet.  It just might take me longer than I anticipated to finish this degree.

Post-Conversation (Not Argument) March 5, 2009

Chalupa: You just don’t like it when people tell you that you’re wrong.

Liz: You sound like my parents.

Chalupa: Maybe your parents are right!

A Phone Conversation with Arya (and Karen on speakerphone) February 12, 2009

Karen: Arya, tell Aunt Liz what we made yesterday.

Arya: We made cupcakes!

Liz: Oh, wow, cupcakes sound really good right now.  Maybe I should make some.

Arya (laughing): You can’t make cupcakes!

Liz: I can’t?

Arya: Not by yourself!  You need help!

Liz: Maybe I’ll have Uncle Chalupa help me make them.

Arya: No, you need help from a little kid!  Like me!

Liz: I have some neighbors.  Could they help me.

Arya: No, they have to be little neighbors!

Liz: I have a friend who’s pregnant like your mommy.  Can she help me?

Arya: Okay, but not today.

Liz: Who’s going to help me?

Arya: You need someone like me to help you!  Someone like Arya.  I can help you, Aunt L iz.

February 10, 2009

Ever since the tragic day in 2006 that Mr. Claus peed on my laptop and fried its little motherboard, I’ve been laptop-less.  I even had to take back my desktop from Sara in order to have any computer at all.  Every time I’ve seen people typing away on their little notebooks, I’ve been filled with computer envy.  It’s been especially bad since I returned to school, where other people are able to bring their computers into class with them instead of printing out massive text assignments.  When I was sick last week with a bad cold, I wished I could be working on my homework from bed instead of being stuck at my desk.

Perhaps most importantly, I’ve been aware of the impending death of my current computer, which I got in 2002 when I was entering my sophomore year of college.  It might keep chugging along for some time, but it’s certainly slower and more labored than ever before.

That’s why I purchased a netbook last week — a small, inexpensive Lenovo laptop that’s super lightweight.  It’s only got the essentials, so it won’t fully replace my current computer, but those essentials are going to give me the freedom to do my homework and writing from wherever I want to be (bed included), and also the freedom to carry my writing with me when I’m on the road for any reason.

Tonight I was curious to see what Lenovo netbooks sell for on ebay, and I found this ad. True, $300 is a nice price for a new computer, but I’m wary of the ad copy they’ve chosen for this listing:

HELLO UP FOR SELL IS A NEW OPEN BOX LAPTOP THESE LAPTOP IS PINK

IT IS SMALL AND VERY PORTIBLE

THEY STILL HAME MANFATHERE WARRENTY

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTION PLEASE ASK AND THANK YOU FOR LOOKING

I’m going to assume that English isn’t the seller’s native tongue, and I can’t imagine a situation in which a bot would be writing ebay copy.  Would you buy a computer from this person?