tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10451882485369100782024-02-20T11:49:24.672-05:00Long Purple BikeLydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-36998652733437115882014-12-07T13:53:00.002-05:002014-12-08T08:17:05.969-05:00India Trip, Verse-by-Verse and Play-by-Play (PHOTOS!)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Pamela asked me a good question, about two days before I left her beautiful country. "Why are you here?" she said. I responded with the litany of reasons that, one year ago, I made the decision to come back to India. "No," she said, "I don't mean why did you plan the trip. I mean, with everything stacked against you, and most people in the same situation would never have made it, why is it that you made it all the way back here?" That question has been echoing in my mind with only whispers of answers I hardly dare think. Only time will tell. But one thing I do know: God has been in this from the very beginning. Even the choice of plane ticket was in response to His instructions to "wait," then "go." The canceled American Airlines flight, the overnight stay in Charlotte, the 2 minute delay in paging my name so I'd be on the other side of security, the missed second flight so I'd be rerouted through London instead of Qatar - all that just so I could approach the Indian consulate in person instead of being trapped in a foreign airport. Sure, it would have been easier if God had simply revealed my little mix-up on the visa expiration date months ago, but no, this is all exactly how He wanted it to go down.<br />
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James 1 and lots of photos after the jump.<br />
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And there has been peace. Such peace, flooding me at every turn. Even in moments of unsureness, I have rested in His goodness and care. He has led me every step of the way. And blessed me with little adventures everywhere.<br />
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Verse By Verse</h3>
The week before I left, a dear sister at church told me to read James chapter 1, that she was memorizing it and I should too. She texted me the first part:<br />
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<b><i>"Count it all joy, brothers, whenever you endure trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." James 1:2-3</i></b>
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I have been living the words of this chapter throughout my trip. When the Christian is met with blockages in her path, she has two options: 1, accept the blockage as a wall God has thrown in her way to stop her or at least reroute her, and give up on that path; or 2, joyfully count the blockage as a perseverance-building gift and set about finding any way under, over, around, or through it. I guess giving up was an option at many points, but with James 1:2 ringing in my ears, at every point I chose God-assisted stubbornness instead. <br />
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You know those red telephone booths that make London look so picturesque? Tip: they are best enjoyed at a distance. After seeing (and smelling) the inside of at least six of them in a few city blocks, and not being able to make a call from ANY of them, I was TIRED. The next one I came to had an incoming message for me. As in, it literally flashed "INCOMING MESSAGE" where the dialed number was supposed to appear. "Ok God," I prayed aloud, half-angry with frustration, half-laughing with the whimsy that comes at the point past all frustration - "what message do you have for me?" I picked up the phone. "Please hang up and try again...hang up and try again...try again..." I hung up the phone and picked it up again, listening to the message several more times, giggling wildly, before setting off again on my crazy mission. I have learned, on this trip, to try harder, to fight harder, for what I want, than I think I ever have in my life.<br />
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<b><i>"If anyone lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives generously to all, without finding fault, and it will be given to him." James 1:5</i></b><br />
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I prayed and prayed for wisdom. Indian bureaucracy is a fearsome thing. But this verse gave me the confidence that God really would grant my request. From wise tips from friends like "get to the visa office early - the line is long" and "make sure to mention your wedding invitation" to just the words and the actions that even surprised me sometimes...He certainly delivered. He gave me a persona that was calm (but with deep emotion visible under the surface) smiling and pleasant, but direct and persistent. Words that were hard to argue with and counters to just about every verbal block they threw my way. The insight to do all my paperwork over again the night before - even taking a new photo. I let them know that I was taking every measure there was to take, following their rules to the T until the rules broke down and then making sure they wouldn't be at peace until that gap was bridged. "It is impossible," the guy at the consulate told me. "I <i>believe </i>it <i>is</i> possible," I replied. "How is it possible, Ma'am?" "I don't know, let's figure it out together. I have faith that we can" ...That's not me. That's some wise voice that God put into my mouth, because I asked for it. And because He loves me.<br />
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<b><i>"The brother in humble circumstances ought to take pride in his high position. But the one who is rich should take pride in his low position, because he will pass away like the wild flower. The sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant. Its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business." James 1:9-11</i></b><br />
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Coming to India I have to own up to one basic fact. I am rich. However I seem, comparatively, to other Americans, when I see much more 'normal' living conditions, (and I think India fits much better with the international standard of 'normal') it shows me sharply just how rich I am to enjoy what I do in my American middle-class life. Even more when I realize what my year's worth of savings can buy once converted to Indian rupees.<br />
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So what is God's word for me, the rich sister? Take pride in my low position. I'm not sure what that means for others, but for me it was very literal - here I came expressly to take the role of a servant - washing dishes, cooking,laundry, diapers. At the same time, because of my American savings I was also equipped to be a benefactor - taxi fare, buying groceries, etc. It was like both ends of the spectrum at once. Weird and cool and a very personal application of this scripture. But the word also reminds me I will pass away like a wild flower. My beautiful American life, with its meaningful, well-paid job and festivals and music and good food and dancing and art and pretty posessions - it's all temporary. Pamela said, “Don't forget everything has its season.” Perhaps this is my earning phase, my living it up phase. I mustn't make the mistake of assuming it's my permanent reality. So there is no sadness for me in the words "scorching," "wither," "destroyed" or "fade" because it is all simply part of a plan that is far more beautiful than the sliver of life I now know. Who knows what even lovelier reality awaits just on the other side of the end of me "going about my business."<br />
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But I know, dear readers (the ones who didn't abandon me in frustration years ago, bless you) that what you really want to hear is what I actually did in India. It's not super exciting, but here's a day-by-day, play-by-play account for you:<br />
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Play By Play</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqEup0eFOIlZ_3vkXXAPiROiiRJT3GE1Ejkmsn2ACReL2lf9j7v3bw2xubGbsZ_r6AZmINCJU-HD5YfFEdbIWxfqYSRwtggqBS26ASGQqHNLZO1ZX04Zi9UJVfGN3A1r7OYy5b_IMA-fA/s1600/2014-11-22+15.55.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqEup0eFOIlZ_3vkXXAPiROiiRJT3GE1Ejkmsn2ACReL2lf9j7v3bw2xubGbsZ_r6AZmINCJU-HD5YfFEdbIWxfqYSRwtggqBS26ASGQqHNLZO1ZX04Zi9UJVfGN3A1r7OYy5b_IMA-fA/s1600/2014-11-22+15.55.11.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Autorickshaws - the most popular transport</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_EV6UakgH5wuRWdtzG27kwIoKwtlPpQ6VXP_46oM9ii1EybHJIaVI_7NDtLt05I13eQVGiQhDUjefoBkglV1sjfGv0AC48mjpcKwTe8Axz4NUxzDm0AxKPhC3tw6ri9kpnV3bbxz2Tyb/s1600/2014-11-26+16.11.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_EV6UakgH5wuRWdtzG27kwIoKwtlPpQ6VXP_46oM9ii1EybHJIaVI_7NDtLt05I13eQVGiQhDUjefoBkglV1sjfGv0AC48mjpcKwTe8Axz4NUxzDm0AxKPhC3tw6ri9kpnV3bbxz2Tyb/s1600/2014-11-26+16.11.12.jpg" height="190" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pam's neighborhood, Sushant Lok</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxGZUN86Eq6jMvTubjTqRzln_yFThqCvYntPNjFdL1162QNWDaTn012lY8Pp4a2RqfeDPyEvwq_KlRZcbTbQUaHXyB-f1TE0qKjjeLEptl67zEVj5P_acI-K1qPpstLLZeDCqjXXBcvxd/s1600/2014-11-26+16.10.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxGZUN86Eq6jMvTubjTqRzln_yFThqCvYntPNjFdL1162QNWDaTn012lY8Pp4a2RqfeDPyEvwq_KlRZcbTbQUaHXyB-f1TE0qKjjeLEptl67zEVj5P_acI-K1qPpstLLZeDCqjXXBcvxd/s1600/2014-11-26+16.10.43.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking in Gurgaon. That's Shushant on right.</td></tr>
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<b>Wednesday:</b> Arrive in Delhi, at last. Think airport image of dancer with dandiya is a particularly well-dress ed female warrior. Attempt to buy Mango Slice from drink machine, no small bills, fail. Retrieve, with great difficulty, the broomstick from Odd Sized Baggage. Spend a few unsuccessful hours attempting to retrieve suitcase, then meet Pam's husband Ryan at the taxi. Meet Baby. Present small gifts purchased in London.<br />
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<b>Thursday:</b> Jetlagged blur. Drink chai, scramble eggs, hang laundry, hang out with Pam and Baby, dishes. Walk to small neighborhood store to restock on eggs (purchased individually) and milk (in bags). Buy Mango Slice, which will become a fridge staple while I'm there. Call airline about baggage.<br />
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<b>Friday:</b> Call airline again. Male friend Shushant chaperones Pam and me on a shopping trip, purchase gifts. More laundry, dishes, and chai. Dinner at a favorite Arabic restaurant from last year. Guitar and songs. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnSu6i7n9y4Mj6zVHcnsxwZsl7d7n910vTPkrnLuv2wZAsbxM0E1Lh0CELU-FF8rZfNqiFTVAzYBID1yxeXHui_m5DiAf1UB1_2WDfyLLhFc9vw2XcFwtc5xFWpyLDG82ILbowqAfBDi1/s1600/Metroride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnSu6i7n9y4Mj6zVHcnsxwZsl7d7n910vTPkrnLuv2wZAsbxM0E1Lh0CELU-FF8rZfNqiFTVAzYBID1yxeXHui_m5DiAf1UB1_2WDfyLLhFc9vw2XcFwtc5xFWpyLDG82ILbowqAfBDi1/s1600/Metroride.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Metro selfie</td></tr>
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<b>Saturday:</b> Baby's first metro ride. She is not a fan. Visit Dilli Haat, a delightfully touristy, thoroughly Indian cultural center full of traditional handicrafts, entertainers, music, and food from every state. Eat chicken biryani and prawns,drink fruit beer and lassis. Ryan's parents' house for dinner.<br />
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<b>Sunday:</b> Ryan takes me to church. Pam is sleeping out a late night with fussy, teething Baby. Cook a marvelous Sunday lunch for Pam, Ryan, Shushant and Anil featuring Thai Curry with coconut and cashews. Buy more Mango Slice. Call airline again.<br />
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<b>Monday:</b> Spend the morning on the back of a motorbike running errands. Pick up Shushant's brother from school, visit Hindi pastor's wife. Call airline again. More chai, laundry and dishes while listening to Taylor Swift. Evening hanging out at the mall with Shushant while Pam and Ryan have dinner with Ryan's uncle, visiting from America.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJ_wD_7EMAJBRBecAYHba1bAzMgC1rIIB5DZ5QRAxmPZr2AOhsIOI2USlvT48yn_ojIye3M9zO7GPJY9YOYq2sBYgEj3OEgdWWY6yqNYndWYeVQO_BOye_QmK6Vlq0FbHO_ld9fIZH6F6/s1600/qutabminar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJ_wD_7EMAJBRBecAYHba1bAzMgC1rIIB5DZ5QRAxmPZr2AOhsIOI2USlvT48yn_ojIye3M9zO7GPJY9YOYq2sBYgEj3OEgdWWY6yqNYndWYeVQO_BOye_QmK6Vlq0FbHO_ld9fIZH6F6/s1600/qutabminar.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<b>Tuesday:</b> Baggage finally arrives. Go to Qutab Minar with Pam and fellow expat Amy. Get stuck in traffic, go 1 block in 1 hour. Eat Seekh Kebabs at Kebab House in Delhi. Drink delicious Sweet Lassis out of clay pots, sitting in the car in front of a random store selling hub caps, electrical parts, and apparently the best lassis in Delhi. Help Pam buy backed moorhas, the kind of chair she's been wanting for over a year, with money my parents sent. Squeeze them very carefully into Amy's car and squeeze myself in under them. Go home and sleep for hours because starting to get sick.<br />
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<b>Wednesday: </b>Plan for Thanksgiving, shop for Thanksgiving, cook for Thanksgiving. Chai and laundry squeezed in. Peel at least 3 pounds of potatoes with Pam while watching Dr. Who.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving Spread, photo by Anil</td></tr>
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<b>Thursday:</b> Cook all day, coughing and sneezing and praying I won't get everyone else sick. Whipped cream for pie, cooked red beans, mashed potatoes and garlic potatoes, toasted rolls, and made 2 kinds of gravy. Take food to Amy's house where we feed Pam and Ryan's friends Shushant, Anil, Aveek and new wife Sonia. Crash for an hour or two on Amy's couch.<br />
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<b>Friday:</b> Sick and too exhausted to clean. House is a wreck, laundry and dishes are backed up. Pack bags, do final laundry, one more shopping trip for last minute gifts, watch Baby while Pam wraps gifts for her family and friends. Visit Aveek and Sonia, the newly wedded couple, and sing the song Pam and I would have sung at their wedding. Soak up every last precious minute with my India family, sing a parting song, stay up until time to leave for the airport at 1am.<br />
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<b>Saturday:</b> Changing into my travel clothes marks the beginning of a new day. Tearful goodbyes, lots of hugs and kisses. Dropped off at the airport for a 4:30am flight. Buy final Mango Slice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They confiscated it at security, then gave it back for me to finish drinking. :)</td></tr>
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PS. read the first <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2014/11/thankful-in-india-getting-here.html" target="_blank">India 2014 blog post</a>, or the <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2013/11/greetings-from-india.html" target="_blank">India 2013 post</a>.</div>
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Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-83473962335855056132014-11-21T19:14:00.000-05:002014-12-08T08:19:30.638-05:00Thankful in India: Getting Here<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi everybody! Guess where I am! Haha, I know, only the most unobservant wouldn't have gathered it from the title.<br />
Well, I am compelled to blog better than I did on my first India trip. Again I'm confronted with the struggle to write one more narrative when I've already relayed it to so many people in diverse ways (mostly Facebook messages, status updates and photo upload). Then I thought, why don't I just use that to my advantage? So here is the story, so far, as told through Facebook snippets. <br />
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In Charlotte they cancelled my first flight and put me up in a hotel. This delayed my ETA by 24 hours.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>In Houston (where they rerouted me) I was ushered through security to the ticket station because I didn't have a boarding pass for the connecting flight that was boarding immediately. As soon as I got to the other side, I heard my name paged telling me to report to gate D4 where I assume my boarding pass was waiting for me. I was informed that I could not now go back through security without a boarding pass, and the airline would not give me my boarding pass - they said I had to get it at the terminal that was far away. So I missed my connecting flight. After a couple prayerful hours I was given a new booking through British Airways. When I went to get my boarding pass I was informed that my visa had expired. Of course I had checked my visa before the trip - it said 12-03-2014. December 3, 2014, right? Wrong. March 12, 2014. She gave me boarding passes as far as London and asked me if I wanted to take my chances with the Indian Consulate in London, or should I rebook my flight to go home. <br />
Sometimes you have to make a snap decision and you pray and you can't tell if you're hearing God but you just decide. When I finally made it through security with my boarding pass, the TSA lady was happy to see me. She said, "You made it! I was praying hard for you. You are going to get where God wants you to go." So then I knew, India or no, I was still walking His path.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fred is from Mars. Making a stop in Covent Garden,<br />
London. Prepared for snow with his shovel there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Covent Garden Market.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfBUS8h5BIyVt1gPVxipRhc3Qp01LXipuYYV5fhwa9QvdoCg4N-ONFYYb5-LmpKGusHCrO6gVe5sMWYPG5GPXpdOdN0oA_zl8kAbBhFxjcB558gbautDxXDghEP0sjY_w8Hhc47Aaevrp/s1600/drurylane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfBUS8h5BIyVt1gPVxipRhc3Qp01LXipuYYV5fhwa9QvdoCg4N-ONFYYb5-LmpKGusHCrO6gVe5sMWYPG5GPXpdOdN0oA_zl8kAbBhFxjcB558gbautDxXDghEP0sjY_w8Hhc47Aaevrp/s1600/drurylane.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drury Lane. Yes, really.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PLmjom4uGsTL4igp2FpEP35ZB5qbsgHh9JRu-tlaKSq-aLrHC7FEUWgSAWqFmKJ0dLrGrf0juPLBLi53QTPbOsf6UrdnJrOgqCBS563NtMGbwt0L6AjRIfMgtHU4YAZ5_90HFvaCtuII/s1600/westend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PLmjom4uGsTL4igp2FpEP35ZB5qbsgHh9JRu-tlaKSq-aLrHC7FEUWgSAWqFmKJ0dLrGrf0juPLBLi53QTPbOsf6UrdnJrOgqCBS563NtMGbwt0L6AjRIfMgtHU4YAZ5_90HFvaCtuII/s1600/westend.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently I've been hanging out on the West End. Or Theatreland. <br />
Or maybe they are the same thing.</td></tr>
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Lots of walking. And praying. James 1 is my motto scripture for this trip. James wasn't kidding when he said ask for wisdom and it will be granted. It was like heavenly negotiating power and divine persistence.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOl8UN0wWcoifv77yLTGAnf70WVgkPBCyhsOieNN7jwvXpTXuNCwmShbu3xIrlvOQ9yvRtoKTAXts1hvBVML10BMW3gRaHLwKWJ8gqkY6x6OUhrtJIiFzPYaKnNRsNuBWHff2EH0zPBpL/s1600/highcommission.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOl8UN0wWcoifv77yLTGAnf70WVgkPBCyhsOieNN7jwvXpTXuNCwmShbu3xIrlvOQ9yvRtoKTAXts1hvBVML10BMW3gRaHLwKWJ8gqkY6x6OUhrtJIiFzPYaKnNRsNuBWHff2EH0zPBpL/s1600/highcommission.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The High Commission of India - glad they looked upon this <br />
lowly traveler with benevolence.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3OL6HnhMWoQ18Z9IVrkSeAfPB_h9829LTyITCyh7eLaWj3xAhNg8W3v0EHmDPCrc_uWzV7fmgvLkQA1Gvudi4Rw_bRMoeD4cU4ZWi1LErPEE_O4kYe0ENUcOMw0ACgtSRFpJcSy11e9w/s1600/prayer2inlondon.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3OL6HnhMWoQ18Z9IVrkSeAfPB_h9829LTyITCyh7eLaWj3xAhNg8W3v0EHmDPCrc_uWzV7fmgvLkQA1Gvudi4Rw_bRMoeD4cU4ZWi1LErPEE_O4kYe0ENUcOMw0ACgtSRFpJcSy11e9w/s1600/prayer2inlondon.PNG" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ANpTfhRJ2t-teybvt1rz2dsLgEHO8jgu3r8uK3JUzFshkWY3kKrPwaUgOqDqB-2iZ70cH8n09xprQuMez7HRZycq3Bgx1-e_GLRS29Rq-b4jX6u1kQpjHKvQhQn1wG3yhyxobjnFgiJE/s1600/bathroomjesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ANpTfhRJ2t-teybvt1rz2dsLgEHO8jgu3r8uK3JUzFshkWY3kKrPwaUgOqDqB-2iZ70cH8n09xprQuMez7HRZycq3Bgx1-e_GLRS29Rq-b4jX6u1kQpjHKvQhQn1wG3yhyxobjnFgiJE/s1600/bathroomjesus.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So...this little scuff on the bathroom stall reminded<br />
me of Jesus' ascension...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaQy98TEyJnecnaSIk_xLptwNH7U3lnmfXFsPKxleXDb-KXucw_LJrtPPpiAOvWxaKJKVwHw0Wxss6mqhvKLB6k2gGIWR4wVPaN485Q0KEl88i2JPkIv7cno2rwLBMMCj6U2eTEqiutI6/s1600/latte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaQy98TEyJnecnaSIk_xLptwNH7U3lnmfXFsPKxleXDb-KXucw_LJrtPPpiAOvWxaKJKVwHw0Wxss6mqhvKLB6k2gGIWR4wVPaN485Q0KEl88i2JPkIv7cno2rwLBMMCj6U2eTEqiutI6/s1600/latte.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delicious latte no. 2 at Caffe Nero. Celebrating visa victory.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA39Z3CbOzGoJyCB0kBZRFIFEuOGbBFIC1OORze04IZK2okGCaPyba5wHhShhECVUxlfxb7z8uxwWw_00OxOE3tGyk17osE4_MjUCadvoh_F4hiKOFPQKLZNLk5MnNnDo2AqXtUKRrcGM8/s1600/prayer3ingurgaon.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA39Z3CbOzGoJyCB0kBZRFIFEuOGbBFIC1OORze04IZK2okGCaPyba5wHhShhECVUxlfxb7z8uxwWw_00OxOE3tGyk17osE4_MjUCadvoh_F4hiKOFPQKLZNLk5MnNnDo2AqXtUKRrcGM8/s1600/prayer3ingurgaon.PNG" /></a></div>
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So here I am. Jetlagged, and thankful.<br />
PS. PS. read the next <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2014/12/india-trip-verse-by-verse-and-play-by.html" target="_blank">India 2014 blog post</a>, or the <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2013/11/greetings-from-india.html" target="_blank">India 2013 post</a>.</div>
Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-60109409401397892812014-03-10T22:57:00.000-04:002014-03-10T23:21:38.304-04:00It's Not Easy, Being Green<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sorry for leaving y'all hanging with the India thing. When I tell my stories extensively in person, through letters, journals, and Facebook albums, I have little energy left to blog about it too. Next time (November 2014) will be different though. I'll keep field notes like I did when I <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/search/label/New%20Orleans" target="_blank">went to New Orleans</a>. If you're reading this blog then you are likely my friend on Facebook anyway. Look there for pictures.</div>
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One of my friends has taken an interest in my Theory of Colors so I've decided to share a little more about it. It started coming together for me in 2010, during the altered state of consciousness I think of now as "<a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2010/11/life-post-hospital.html" style="color: #1155cc;">the Time.</a>" I've referenced the theory a little bit before in my post, "<a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2010/12/drop-of-red.html" style="color: #1155cc;">A Drop of Red.</a>" I wouldn't be so bold (or stupid) as to claim God created the Theory. He just created the Colors. And a fanciful young woman who enjoys theorizing about them. I call this my "personal symbology" because I know it doesn't hold up universally. In fact I can see it is actually quite Lydia-shaped. There are myriads of ways to slice and dice Truth. Mine isn't particularly better or all-encompassing, it's just one more way of making sense of self and world.</div>
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But, for what it's worth...</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(First, credit where credit is due - in addition to drawing inspiration from nature, bits and fragments of human culture and artifice, and even the Bible, my theory owes much to the <a href="http://truecolorsintl.com/about-us/what-is-true-colors/" style="color: #1155cc;">True Colors</a> personality test, as well as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_temperaments" style="color: #1155cc;">classic four personality types</a> that date back to ancient times.)</span></div>
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Today I'm writing to you about Green. Green like <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&docid=gGBygZvt726HYM&tbnid=LnUrv-0lYGmJhM:&ved=0CAYQjRw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fnews.softpedia.com%2FnewsImage%2FArtificial-Fuel-Cell-Produces-Hydrogen-from-Water-with-Sunlight-Just-Like-Plants-2.jpg%2F&ei=jFceU7vNBKT60wHum4DoBg&bvm=bv.62788935,d.dmQ&psig=AFQjCNGJKS9pgWZgOl293hFq09NjIzq0oQ&ust=1394583769298107" style="color: #1155cc;">a leaf</a>. Green like the bunny from the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MvPs7NByd8" style="color: #1155cc;">Last Mimzy</a>. Green like the Android and the inside of an iPhone. Green like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pV2N_NRmzng" style="color: #1155cc;">The Robinsons</a>. Forgive me while I speak in similies. Some things are too difficult to explain without them. <a href="http://www.farfarawaysite.com/merlin/randoms/dvdwallpapers/24.jpg" target="_blank">Wizard</a>. Mad Scientist. <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&docid=ovjbOT_CkjLVMM&tbnid=PBHPuuNcp5m2bM:&ved=0CAYQjRw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.impawards.com%2F2010%2Fmegamind.html&ei=mmgeU674C4jz0gGuyoCABA&bvm=bv.62788935,d.dmQ&psig=AFQjCNEB4A3HoTWNsE3sdyokgQaj3eNoHQ&ust=1394588173594808" style="color: #1155cc;">Evil Genius</a>. Medicine Woman. "Witch." Green is a trait that, when noticed, is often misunderstood. Yet, it is always there behind the scenes planning for the future, making things run smoothly, making things go. Oftentimes just making things. But rarely without purpose. Green is celebrated today as "science" and was variously worshipped and feared in earlier times as "magic." It is the systematic creativity of architecture, mathematics, music. Observation meets creation. Intuition meets logic.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad - My favorite Green.</td></tr>
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As a Green person, like my father, I have always been utterly fascinated by how things work. Poring over charts and diagrams, spending hours in the non-fiction section of the library, taking apart my laptop to see if I could fix it. Leornardo Da Vinci has been my muse since childhood because he is both artist and scientist. Attended to both form and function. The art I call red. The function, I call green. <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=nikola+tesla&rlz=1C1SKPL_enUS428US430&oq=nikola+tesla&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.2683j0j4&sourceid=chrome&espv=210&es_sm=93&ie=UTF-8" style="color: #1155cc;">Nikola Tesla</a> is another Green who captured my imagination from an early age.</div>
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Probably the most popular Green stereotype of modern times is the "nerd." The brainiac with thick glasses, the Unix programmer in his underwear with a beard 4 feet long because he is too consumed with code to bother with mundane things like clothes and shaving. Most of the characters on Big Bang theory. Read the book, <a href="http://www.stevenlevy.com/index.php/books/hackers" style="color: #1155cc;">Hackers: Heros of the Computer Revolution</a>. I read it and loved it. Loved it because I identified so much with these guys, these "geeks," who just wanted to explore and make things work. They didn't care about their reputation, they didn't care about the authorities, they weren't interested in making trouble though if they happened to step into it, they weren't too concerned. They knew they were changing the world, they didn't need credit for it, and they didn't care that nobody in the whole world "got it" but them. </div>
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That's one thing about Greens, we are always ahead of our time.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>This can get us in trouble, so we tend to stay out of the limelight. We are used to being misunderstood, misinterpreted, dismissed. Our inventions are wierd, pointless, a waste of time. Our words are cryptic, nonsensical. Until 10 or 20 years later when everyone has one in their pocket and is quoting us like a mantra. Except it's usually not our name assigned to the quote, and the invention was made famous and mass-produced by someone else. Someone else takes the fame and the money, we're just forgotten nobodies, smiling small, self-satisfied smiles and thinking "Yes, but I did it <i>first</i>." Not that we always get shortchanged. Steve Wozniak seems to be pretty pleased with his lot in life.</div>
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If you are reading this and thinking "Wow, I am really a green! Finally, someone who gets me!" take this tip from me and I believe you will get much farther in life. Learn to play a game I call "Outside-Inside." I first conceived of Outside-Inside in the Training, studying for exams with note cards. On the "outside" of the card, a simple term or a picture. On the "inside," the full explanation. The nuts and bolts, so to speak. Most people in the world are only interested in the outside. Unlike us, they don't care <i>how</i> it works, they just want to know <i>that</i> it works. People like you and me, we are so fascinated by the details of <i>how</i>, we can find ourselves monologuing about filaments and fixtures, or knits, purls, and pssos, or a href= tags and extensibility, while the eyes of those we are with are glossing over and they are looking for the nearest exit.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm1.staticflickr.com/131/360000970_203eacae88_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://farm1.staticflickr.com/131/360000970_203eacae88_b.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ahe001/" target="_blank">Anthony He</a> on Flickr</td></tr>
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Imagine removing the hood - no, the entire fiberglass body - from a car. Now you can see EVERYTHING that goes on in there. But...that level of detail is exhausting for most humans. They like it pretty and shiny. So do I, really. KISS. Keep It Simple Stupid. You and I know that nothing is truly simple - there are layers of complexity waiting to be peeled back everywhere we turn - but go ahead and let the masses think it's simple. Don't cast your pearls before swine. Leave the hood on the car. Play the game - just show them the front side of the card while you enjoy the complexities that only you know are there. Oh, and save the condescending attitude - it won't earn you any friends.</div>
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Apple plays Outside-Inside extroardinarily well. Unix...not so much. But then, the inventors of Unix weren't trying to get rich or famous or have their work become ubiquitous in every household. They were just trying to make something that works. Classic Greens.</div>
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I'll end with two objects that represent the best of Green to me, one from popular culture and one from nature. I mentioned them at the beginning of this post: the bunny from "The Last Mimzy," and a leaf.</div>
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I don't know how many of you have seen that wierd 2007 sci-fi movie, the "Last Mimzy." The general consensus seemed to be that it was kind of creepy and almost beautiful. *SPOILER ALERT.* The storyline revolves around this stuffed bunny discovered by a little girl. The bunny moves, murmers, and acts so lifelike that the little girl falls in love with it - it feels like a living being to her. But inside the soft fabric, crude stitches and fluffy stuffing it is actually the most advanced AI technology the world has ever seen, from the future in fact. It is sent back to the past to accomplish a mission to save the human race. But its mission has been condensed, crystallized, and presented in terms so simple, even a little girl can understand and play her part.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaves at Table Rock.</td></tr>
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Leaves are a gift from God that I thank and praise Him for. Today I was lying in my hammock under the canopy, gazing up at the beautiful, fractaline chaos of leaves from all different trees, cutting relief against the sky. How can such chaos feel so peaceful? It's more than a common color palette. A leaf is a simple looking thing. Usually a solid color, some shade of green, often flat. One end is attached to a plant and the other is free. There are lots of variations of leaves but you can still pretty much tell one when you see one. And I have to say, leaves, on the whole, are pretty attractive, shapely little things. But a leaf is by no means simple. </div>
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Firstly, it is composed of cells. Cells of at least two different types, with different functions. Those cells are composed of molecules, and those molecules are composed of atoms, the atoms of electrons, the electrons, quarks (somebody correct me if I'm getting this wrong - I really didn't pay much attention in science class). Taken as a whole, the cells in a leaf are working together toward a common goal. A beautiful thing known as photosynthesis - the conversion of sunlight to food. They are also taking in carbon dioxide and converting it into oxygen (awfully convenient for us oxygen-to-CO2 creatures) and often serve other functions simultaneously. </div>
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That's an awful lot for one little piece of one little plant to accomplish, don't you think? Do you ever just stop to marvel at the complexity, the efficiency of it all? The beauty, the elegance? For me, it just makes me marvel and praise the Inventor of this ingenous, ubiquitous machine, this perfect system. In classic Green fashion, He has always been ahead of the curve, delights in making marvelous things that work, and doesn't need our praise or credit. Still, don't you think He enjoys it when we stop, notice, and let Him know we appreciate His brilliance?</div>
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Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-39075620005168300942013-11-24T22:37:00.000-05:002013-11-24T22:37:11.973-05:00Greetings from India!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm in India. Yep. Been here for 7 days now. I'm visiting my <a href="http://www.thesongsontheway.com/2013/11/so-excited.html" target="_blank">best friend Pamela</a>. She moved here a year ago to marry Ryan, a Christian Anglo-Indian known by his friends as "the American." We're going to celebrate an American Thanksgiving on Thursday. Wednesday we are going to the Taj Mahal. I am so excited. That's an understatement. It is so wonderful here. Everything is so bright and colorful, there are so many people, the smells, the sounds...every morning the fruit seller goes through the neighborhood singing (in Hindi) "I have mangoes, get your mangos, I have bananas, try these bananas..." <br />
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The shopping is fantastic. I have acquired an almost ungodly collection of beautiful bangles in a lovely box. Not to mention the fashion! The women here really know how to be beautiful and practical and express their personality all at the same time. Take the "suit." In America, a woman's suit is a drab black or gray blazer and pants or a skirt - either trying to get as close to a man's suit as possible or putting a vaguely feminine spin on it. In India, the suit is inherently feminine. Three pieces: comfy flowy salwar pants, or figure-flattering skinny trousers, on top of that a wide variety of frilly, flowing, flattering, brilliantly colored and richly embellished long tops - that manage to both show off your figure and somehow leave room to serve as maternity wear later - and to top it all off, the longest most luxurious scarf-shawl things called choli - that serve alternately as accessories, neckwarmers, hats, towels, shoulder wraps, and even napkins in a pinch. Completely stylish and practical. I really don't want to go back to wearing western clothes after all this. Life in America is going to feel so drab.<br />
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On to the food. Everything is bursting with flavor. What's funny is that Ryan likes a lot of Western food so we've been doing a lot of American fast food chains - Subway, KFC, Dominoes, McDonald's...and the funny thing is, it's all got its own Indian twist. For instance nobody really eats beef here so the "burgers" are defined not by the patty but by the fact they are served on a bun. So I ordered a chicken masala hamburger at Mcdonalds. Also a lot of people are vegetarians so like at Subway, they have all these variety of bean patties and falafel-like thingies that add protein to the sandwiches. Indians love flavor so take all the foods you are used to from these places and intensify them - KFC chicken is spicy, fries at McDonald's are now called "shake shake fries" and served with a bag and a packet of spices. Wierdest food so far? Cookies with cumin in them. Just...weird.<br />
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Well I have plenty more to say but I am tired. Also I want to write you with real pix instead of these snaps from Ryan's phone.<br />
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More to come!<br />
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Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-9153182905284587452013-08-31T20:34:00.000-04:002013-10-24T20:39:19.046-04:00Nine Things I Did This SummerEvery summer, as long as I can remember, I thought up a list of summer goals, great things I'd like to do with all that extra time I didn't have to spend studying. These were big things like build a shed, reorganize my room, write a book, read Miller's Church History(all 1091 pages). And at the end of every summer I'd go back to school defeated, lucky if I managed to cross even one item off the list. One thing about people with ADHD: We start waaay more than we finish. It's depressing.<br />
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So for the summer of 2013, I decided to do something different. I was totally <i>over</i> the obsession with productivity and the inevitable sense of failure. So I thought, what if I set no goals? What if I just made a point to write down every accomplishment, after it was completed? Oddly enough, it was more motivating than the goals list - it made me want to finish things instead of starting other things. It also gave me a space to celebrate what was going on in my life instead of stressing out trying to plan it. It was a great summer. </div>
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Without further ado, the list:<br />
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<li>Fixed the electrical outlet in my room</li>
<li>Hung my guitar on the wall</li>
<li>Danced with the fireflies</li>
<li>Gave Dad a mohawk</li>
<li>Launched <a href="http://sharecroppersfarm.com/">SHAREcroppersfarm.com</a> </li>
<li>Gave Shakti her dress-up clothes (Hand-me-downs from generations of Anthony-Dowden women)</li>
<li>Became music coordinator for <a href="http://kscopechurch.com/">Kaleidoscope</a></li>
<li>Played at Open Mic Night</li>
<li>Rode the Ferris Wheel</li>
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Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-76659490126816923212013-05-27T19:25:00.000-04:002013-06-14T16:03:30.781-04:00Bovinova, and assorted goings-onI'm taking banjo lessons now. Clawhammer style. Like the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmPf1CJaF5s">Carolina Chocolate Drops</a>. And <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIA2D0jfF6Q">David Holt</a>. Yay.<br />
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My dad's spent three out of the past four weeks in the hospital. He's had four brain surgeries, two of which involved removing part of his skull.<br />
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In April, I went to the Azalea Ball, and danced the Carolina Promenade with a bunch of impeccably-dressed and -mannered homeschooled teenagers.<br />
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I also joined a church. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kaleidoscope-Multi-Ethnic-Fellowship/202826669780268">Kaleidoscope</a> multi-ethnic fellowship. It's weird, feels kind of like a marriage or something. After decades of restlessness in Spartanburg, this free spirit finally tied the knot with a single body of believers. But my heart was with these people, and God is among them and in them, and everything just...clicked. Plus the food is AMAZING. :-)<br />
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In May, I finished another semester of grad school. It's getting harder and harder to keep going, so much LIFE to live in my non-working hours, plus it's tough to stare at a computer screen all day only to come home and stare at yet another computer screen for another few hours.<br />
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I also went to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/bovineroast">Bovinova</a>. It was AWESOME. There was lots of meat, music and hooping and <a href="http://www.timstvs.com/">Tim TV</a>. I might possibly be Tim TV's biggest fan ever. I picked up one of his blue dreadlocks that got separated from his head, possibly by a flaming jumprope, one of three hoops he had spinning at once, or a glass scrap after he laid in a bed of glass while a whole circus troupe balanced on his belly. I'm going to put it in a locket or something. I also got "adopted" by the video crew, made new friends, learned to spin poi, and ate emu, mussel, whole-roasted cow, paella, rum cake and other delicacies. Oh and did I mention Tim TV was there?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim TV getting cozy on a bed of glass. <br />
He did this whole routine while singing a Tom Waits song. #starstruck</td></tr>
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Oh and I bought a knife at Bovinova that I took with me to the hospital. There in the ICU I fashioned a pillow for my father out of a swimming noodle. That made him very happy.<br />
<br />Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-16874438118143132112013-03-19T21:34:00.000-04:002013-03-25T20:30:42.713-04:00A Fridayful of friends, music, and sakeFriday night was one of those serendipitous evenings that just make you happy to be alive. It didn't start out so good. I had been practicing for a month to get ready for my second open mic night at the Coffee Bar. Last time the Ballad of the Polka Dot Lizard seemed to go over really well. The entire coffee shop went silent for the duration of my song. But, last time I had all these friends complain because they didn't know about it, so I just decided to cover all the bases this time and make a facebook event. I invited like, a hundred people. I was going to bust out the toy piano and do the Ballad of Katy Bee.<br />
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Well, I get there at 6:30 and can't find a parking space close to the Coffee Bar so I lug my guitar and toy piano from a block away. When I get inside there is no "stage area" at the front, just tables. I knew something was wrong, and sure enough, it was cancelled. Why? Because they share a PA system with the Hub City Bookshop and that night the bookshop was having a reading. "Lady Parts."<br />
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Yeah, I was bummed. Majorly bummed. I didn't know what to do with myself. I stood there for a minute, then slunk out. Still toting my toy piano and guitar. There were some guys hanging out on the patio, and as I was rounding the corner I heard one say "Yeah, I have my guitar in my car. We could hang out and jam..." One of the guys noticed me lingering, ever so slightly, before ducking my head around the corner. I really wanted to make music. Once I get the mind to make music, it is REALLY hard to get it out of my system. I guess it's kind of like a french fry addict at the scent of McDonald's. Anyway, there's this spot, called the "Pocket Park," and I've always wanted to jam there. It's really just a glorified alley in between Carriage House Wines and the Mason building, but it's nice.<br />
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It was particularly windy that evening, but pleasant. Didn't really want to go home, was kind of hoping I could somehow join whatever musical hangout was being discussed around the corner, so I just parked in the Pocket Park. Sat down at one of the tables, took the colorful pillowcase off of Timothy the Toy Piano, and started plunking on it, rather forlornly. I texted a few folks to let them know not to come to Open Mic. Then this dude comes round the corner. He very consciously does not look at me, and I don't look at him, but he stops just behind my peripheral vision and lingers there, all awkward-like. Then goes back around the corner the way he came, but a few minutes later, he's back. He stops about ten feet from me and stands there, pretending to make busy between his cigarette and phone. He was real big, real tan, slightly unkempt, maybe a little older than me. I wasn't frightened, there were plenty of people around, but it was just kind of weird. He tries to make small talk, and I talk back, but don't stop plunking. "So you're just going to stand there?" I ask. "Is that alright?" "Sure, whatever, you're not hurting me."<br />
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Then I thought, hey, maybe it's not enough that I texted a few people, since I invited like a hundred people to this thing, maybe I should post on the facebook event to say it's cancelled. But my Android app won't let you post on events, so I knew I was going to have to find a laptop or something. So I pack up Timothy and leave Awkward Guy to lurk alone. I ask Eric (remember <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2011/08/air-jam.html">the jam at Eric's apartment</a> back when he was a WiR? He stuck around and works at the Coffee Bar) if there was a laptop or iPad I could use to tell my friends the event was cancelled. He let me use the iPad they use for a cash register. I logged on quick, trying to get off before a customer came and needed to make a purchase. Then I just sat down on the couch, forlorn once again, wondering what to do.<br />
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That's when Bryant texted me. He hadn't got the memo it was cancelled, and he was downtown looking for the Coffee Bar. Hooray, a friendly face. I was so glad to hear from him. He made it over and we sat on the patio talking for a while. Unfortunately the two guys talking about jamming had left. Fortunately, so had Awkward Guy. A friend from work came by, expecting to hear me play, and I had to give her the bad news. Then we saw Andrew Molinaro and another Hub-Bub friend. This was the first of four Andrew Molinaro appearances that evening. His Kermit shirt, green specs, and green sneaks lifted my spirits slightly. It was St. Patrick's day weekend, after all, surely there was fun to be had somewhere... Eventually Bryant and I decided we should eat dinner, and landed on sushi. Then another friend responded to my text about making alternate plans so we decided we'd all meet up at Miyako's.<br />
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So Bryant hoists my toy piano and we make for my car, when we see, walking down the sidewalk toward us, the same guy I had overheard earlier, this time with guitar in tow. Hey, I said, are you up for jamming? 'Cuz I would really like to make some music right now. He said sure, yeah I was just gonna strum a little in that alley...So we go over to the alley, a.k.a. the Pocket Park, and his friend meets us there, and the four of us have a great time. That dude was rocking the toy piano, and the guitar guy just wanted to follow so I got to play the songs I was going to play at open mic and more. Their names were Zack and Michell. Zack had a long beard and glasses. Then their friend Drew who I had seen earlier came and brought more friends, and we played as the sun set and the wind settled down and it wasn't too cold and everybody was having a really good time.<br />
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Then one of them decided to run and grab some beer and Bryant and I decided it was about time to meet my other friend for dinner. It's about 8:15 at this point. So we part ways with our new friends, go to Miyako's, decide it was too expensive, and end up at Monsoon. That's when we see Andrew Molinaro for the second time, meeting up with some of his friends at Monsoon as well. Bryant and I both order a sake, forgetting that an order of sake is not just the little cup, it's like the whole little decanter thing. So we've got two decanters of warm sake with four cups to go with our noodles. Wow, we need more people to help us drink all this sake! At that point, I hadn't heard from my friend Micah about dinner and I figured she wasn't showing, and I was starting to think, that's a good thing. I didn't know her very well, but we knew each other from church, what was she going to think when she saw us with all this sake?<br />
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Well I soon found out because no sooner had I decided she wasn't coming than she shows up. I'd missed her text saying she was on her way. I kind of laugh off all the sake, ask her if she wants some (she politely declined) and we catch up. You know when you've got two friends who don't know each other and don't have anything in common and you're trying to set everyone at ease? It was kinda tricky. But Bryant had had most of the first decanter of sake by that point and had ordered more potstickers so he was feeling pretty good. And Micah is pretty sociable, so we had a nice little chat. She decided to take her food to go. We were mostly through with dinner by that point, but it was a nice visit. Bryant and I finished off all the sake by ourselves. It's rice wine. I guess it's a little stronger than regular wine but not a whole lot. Still we were feeling it. So after Micah left we decided to walk it off.<br />
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The weather was so great that evening. We headed back to the Pocket Park just in case our new friends were still jamming. They weren't , but guess who we did see. Again. Andrew Molinaro! We asked him if he knew of anything cool going on this evening. Yeah, actually, the Antibodies were playing at the Nu Way. Score! I love the Antibodies. They are one of Spartanburg's most established bands, serving up a spunky-smooth New Wave/surf sound that still rocks as hard as it did in its heyday 30 years ago. So Bryant and I decided to walk to the New Way from Ezell Street. It was slightly farther than we initially visualized. But again, it was a lovely night, we were full of sake and enjoying each other's company, so we didn't mind the distance.<br />
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We get there, the Antibodies are right up against the front door, so we sneak in the back. Actually it was pretty funny, the lead singer would give a hard time to anybody trying to come in the front door. He would even get a laugh out of walking outside in the middle of a song. He's a character. And of course, who do we see at Nu Way? Andrew Molinaro. We sit with him and have a bit of a chat in between rocking out to the Antibodies. The are so...just...mmmm. Narcotic. We joke about the "nasty" bathrooms and Bryant gets an ale. I get a Sprite. She doesn't charge me for it. Then, who do we see but Zack and Mitchell again, our friends from the Pocket Park. They invite us out to the back patio where they are hanging with friends. I was loathe to leave the Antibodies, but thought, maybe you can still hear them outside...<br />
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I was glad we went out. Met cool people who shared their pitcher of beer, also caught up with an old friend who used to come to our Hub City Jams way back in the day (Patrick Bryan woo!), and the band ended up joining us out there fairly shortly afterward. After some great conversation, invitations to other cool happenings, and having to decline more booze, Bryant and I eventually decided it was time to call it a night. It was shortly after midnight and I had planned a major homework day on Saturday. So we started the long walk back. Bryant grabbed a coffee at the corner mart, and we just chatted and reminisced all the way back to our cars.<br />
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A truly charming evening. But I really coulda done without that second order of sake. Studying was rough the next day.Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-77669749180506536842013-01-25T19:31:00.000-05:002013-03-25T20:31:02.019-04:00SpectacleI decided something this week. As you know I like to dance. A lot. I don't do it so people can watch me, I don't do it to get attention. That's not to say I don't like attention. Of course it's nice when people appreciate your moves, or at least your guts. But seriously, I would be just as happy dancing in a corner, or in the dark where nobody can see me. In fact I often do just that. It's about the music, and being in it, really in it. But sometimes there's no music. Sometimes it's about how I'm feeling, and sometimes, it's about God.<br />
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I have about three very clear memories of dancing in public as a child. It always followed the same pattern - I just started moving to the music, I couldn't help it, my feet were going crazy, then people started to turn and pay attention, then they were pulling me up onto the stage, or out into the front, and people were snapping pictures or videos and smiling and asking me if I took lessons, or was "a professional." <i>No, I'm not a professional, I'm just a kid who likes to dance. Why are you all looking at me? </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"We know we're gorgeous" - Triona and I at Peppermint Ball</td></tr>
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But those moments were few and far between. My dad was raised Baptist - strict baptist. He taught me (or at least so I understood) that there was two kinds of dancing. The first was the "vertical expression of a horizontal desire" A.K.A. couples dancing A.K.A. the "lust of the flesh." The second was the kind that was inspired by "the pride of life" and meant to inspire "the lust of the eyes" A.K.A. people dancing to get other people's attention. Both of those led to trouble. What other kind was there? Oh yes, what David did when he was praising God in the streets, that made his wife Michal despise him. Obviously, that wasn't anything to emulate if it made him look stupid. The conclusion was that dancing, if not actually a sin was...better avoided. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Girls being girls - my sister, my niece, and I</td></tr>
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That viewpoint became harder and harder to hold onto the more I was exposed to the world. First of all, my mother, as a teen, danced ballet and taught lessons. He married her. His sister was a professional ballerina. He was proud of her. Why did Dad seem to be ok with tap dancing and Riverdance? Why did my parents take me to ballets and musicals? My Christian drama group threw a dance into one of our plays. My sister taught me about the origins of bellydance - originally it was just a bunch of ladies gathering in a house having fun - no men allowed. Folk dancing, swing dancing, square dancing, "interpretive movement teams," moshing at rock concerts - there was all kinds of dancing, for all kinds of reasons - and I started trying it all. And then the clincher. My dad and I both got roped to a musical production (it's a long story) The Pirates of Penzance. And there was my own father on the stage, trying to keep in step with a dozen other senior gentlemen in the "singing policemen" number. That obviously didn't fall into the "lust of the flesh" or "pride of life" categories.</div>
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Then there was my friend Kara that I met in college. She was a senior when I was a freshman, and I really looked up to her. She was so passionate about God and so down to earth, and sort of took me under her wing. She had this part in a play. I'll never forget. It was a very serious, adult play, and she played this girl who was "different." Maybe autistic, it was hard to tell, but mostly she just sat and stared, and made cryptic statements. When you asked her a question, about an hour later, she might give you an answer. But when everyone else was gone, she would stand up, and completely silently, start to move and twirl in the most lyrical, graceful way. Never when anyone was around, and no music to be heard. That etched a deep impression in my 15-year-old brain. Why in the world was SHE dancing? But I knew. I couldn't explain it, but I got it.</div>
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Not long after that, I went to a Pentecostal church and there were these smiling ladies in bright, flowy satin with scarves and tambourines, flouncing up and down the aisles. When I first saw that, I judged those ladies very harshly. They would dare pretend to praise the Lord when they were so obviously just showing off? While my worldview had broadened enough to accept that maybe people could dance just for fun without it being sexual, the idea of making it spiritual felt like people trying to justify doing what they wanted to do anyway.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't have to worry about being "spiritual" teaching kids about God</td></tr>
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I remember the point at which the weight of trying to separate soul from spirit, the human from the divine, was so heavy on me that it snapped. It's hard to explain the baggage in my past that made it so important to me to sort every human experience into either God's will or man's, so necessary to categorize every decision made by myself and by the people around me as being either Spirit-led, or wrong. In the churches I grew up in, it was "use your spirit, follow your spirit, are you in your spirit, or are you in your mind?" But the problem with that is that my spirit is not the Spirit - it's only the container. And so are the soul and the body. Focusing on any of them, worrying and choosing between them, is just fragmenting what God created to be whole. God showed me the human and the divine is sometimes so mixed up you can't separate them, and it's not my job to. My job is to focus on Him, love Him, follow Him, and just live. </div>
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So how does that connect to dancing? And if you remember, I said at the beginning of this, I decided something. That's what I'm leading up to. The impulse to dance can come out of the body (from an abundance of energy, or from lust); out of the soul (self-expression, aesthetics, intense emotion, communication), or out of the spirit. I believe a dance can be a sacred prayer. Sometimes it is the only way to let out something that is in you so deep that you don't even understand what it is. I have experienced all of the above. And what I decided was simply, that dancing has a place and needs to remain in it. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting crazy at Ground Zero</td></tr>
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There are a few instances lately that I let myself cross a line. For all my self-righteous defenses, at <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/05/summer-begins-matthew-visits-and-feist.html#more">that Feist concert</a>, I was A. making a spectacle of myself, and B. distracting myself. Intentions aside, I didn't need to do that. I could have done without the pleasure of being that free at that moment. I got so absorbed within myself I wasn't as fully present as I could have been if I'd just stood there and listened. Next time I won't feel so compelled. </div>
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And then there was a recent friend's wedding. I get nervous at places where I don't know people, and dancing is a way to let out that kinetic energy. But that's not justification for hopping about like a jumping bean alone on the dance floor...that was just being a spectacle. It didn't matter that I wasn't trying to show off. It wasn't being sensitive to the bride and groom. Me having the pleasure of dancing wasn't worth being an embarrassment and distraction to the people there. I'll know better next time.</div>
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I had an experience last Sunday which got me thinking about all of this. It was an honest expression of joy in the Lord in a place where that may not be typical but isn't condemned. That was a beautiful moment. But of course someone commented on my dancing and says "You should do that every week!" This was the first time I'd allowed myself that freedom, for fear of being an object of scorn, and at first I was like "hooray, so I can dance whenever I feel like it now!" But no. Maybe it's God instilling in me a sense of modesty. There's no pressing reason for me to risk taking anyone's focus away from God just to exercise my personal right to free expression. And unless the Spirit moves me in a very profound way once again, that's all it would be the second time around. Maybe it would be easy for someone else to "not take him literally" but for me, it was a breakthrough, if a small one.</div>
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So there's the story. I hope there was something edifying or at least entertaining about it. I like to think my writing actually has a purpose.</div>
Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-76649931392751829742012-12-31T00:21:00.000-05:002012-12-31T00:21:27.055-05:00Misery and CompassionI saw Les Miserables today. I knew very little of the novel or the musical, so I approached the music, story, and cinematography with fresh eyes and an open mind.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://articles.latimes.com/2012/nov/23/entertainment/la-et-mn-les-miserables-debuts-anne-hathaway-hugh-jackman-tom-hooper-20121123"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://www.trbimg.com/img-50b11b70/turbine/la-et-mn-les-miserables-debuts-anne-hathaway-h-001/600" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
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It's one of those stories that changes you. I suppose you could name several different themes for it - the devastation of poverty, revolution and the power of freedom, the folly of justice without mercy. But for me, it resonated with a single message: compassion. That single act of forgiveness and love - a priest, robbed after showing kindness to a forlorn stranger, not only forgiving the deed but covering it up and giving more than was taken from him - changed not only a life, but a whole city.<br />
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In gratitude and confusion, the story's protagonist, Jean Valjean, (portrayed movingly by Hugh Jackman) pours out the hatred and resentment he's harbored for 20 years in prison, and allows himself to be filled instead by mercy. He grows into a compassionate businessman, leader, father and hero, and changes lives wherever he goes.<br />
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In contrast, the policeman who upholds the law at all costs and vows to hunt him down (a wooden performance by Russell Crowe - I expected more of him) possesses such an untouchable, unbendable sense of rightness that he seems devoid of a soul. The contrast in these two men made me think about all the times I upheld the letter of the law, thinking I knew so much while understanding so little. Little things of course - like being the camp counselor who actually confiscated playing cards because "the rule book said," or not extending the benefit of the doubt to someone accused. But still, those little choices never felt like the right thing afterward. This movie really stirred my heart to tenderness, and reminded me of the great compassion and mercy already extended to me by the most just Judge of all.<br />
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I have been shown love, and trust, and generosity by the Father of my blessed Savior. I have been given so much and have deserved so little - how could I be exacting and unforgiving toward His children? The acts of selflessness in Les Miserables, this fictional story, moved me to a conviction stronger than ever - If I am to err, (and I will) better that it be on the side of love and generosity - never again on the side of mistrust and so-called "justice." I am not wise, and I'm no man's judge - yet how easily we all assume that role! What makes us think we can see the whole situation clearly, or that we even have the right? Why not place a little more faith in God as our protector and the rightful enforcer of justice in our lives?<br />
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I think I've hit upon my new year's resolution. May I benefit others with all I've been blessed with and always show them the light of love, even when the world says they don't deserve my sympathy. May I give freely, without expectations - recognizing that I have already been given so much more. I place myself into God's hands and trust that the pain that will at times come from choosing compassion will be no more than He allows in His goodness.<br />
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It's odd, for the past few weeks I've been listlessly "going to church" and reading the Bible to try to find God, and yet seeing this movie has brought me to a richer contemplation of the character of my Savior, a profounder love for Him, and a stronger commitment to walk the faith than the whole lot of it. He's full of surprises, isn't He?Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-42820510897689359032012-12-11T21:01:00.000-05:002012-12-11T21:01:49.741-05:00A feline friend<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyovi2LUDxmzcxCpx6rn_NClI8dd2-m_G3ZIWDdtNd89ojK8NsMBiPECnyGGqD9t4mfTBI9vlXEdbKqMzAyb_ZsGSxuU7xLcevnq3cu9CjGo15Pl7pFDCWG0uzZaLmSA-rxLgb7R1p7uAx/s1600/lilychristmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyovi2LUDxmzcxCpx6rn_NClI8dd2-m_G3ZIWDdtNd89ojK8NsMBiPECnyGGqD9t4mfTBI9vlXEdbKqMzAyb_ZsGSxuU7xLcevnq3cu9CjGo15Pl7pFDCWG0uzZaLmSA-rxLgb7R1p7uAx/s200/lilychristmas.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lily, my first cat.</td></tr>
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I haven't told you about my cat yet, have I? About two months ago, I decided I wanted a new cat. I was unhappy and lonely and I remembered how much joy and comfort my first cat Lily brought. Lily was a beautiful, blue-eyed Siamese mix I took home from the animal shelter the year we moved here. She lived with us for 12 happy years and then one day simply disappeared. I thought she'd come back since she disappeared once before, so I wasn't really worried for the first month or so, then I began to be concerned and started searching for her, but there was no trace. Eventually I just assumed her dead. Cats go off to die sometimes. It's been over a year now and a catless home is...well, sad.<br />
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At first my mother did not want another cat in the home...<br />
<a name='more'></a>...justifiably, considering how Lily scratched, marked, and peed and could be a general nuisance at times. I had resigned myself to no more pets until I had a home of my own. But in October, I decided I needed a cat, and perhaps because she'd been worried about me, my mother relented. That weekend I went to the shelter. There were several lovely cats there, adorable kittens, talkative tabbies, cats that would reach their paws out through the bars and bat at you playfully. But there was one cat hiding in his cardboard box with his face pressed into the corner. The tag on his cage said he was 2 and a half years old and had been surrendered by his elderly owners because they could no longer afford him. His name was Smokey. I called his name, cajoled him, and finally got him to come out of the box and look at me. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smokey was so shy at first. </td></tr>
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As soon as I saw his big, soulful, blue eyes, my heart went out to him. He stared at me for a long time with this deep sadness and fear, and I felt like we understood each other. He communicated so much in that gaze - he hated it here, all the frightening noise and other animals and people going in and out, and was wondering why the people who loved him had abandoned him. Could he ever trust anyone again? I had to get him out of this place. It was like, the other cats would be ok, but this cat <i>needed</i> me. Not only that, but he was strikingly beautiful. A rare pale grey-tipped fur with a white undercoat, faint tabby stripes, lynx-like markings on a strong-boned face, and of course those huge round blue eyes like Lily's.</div>
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After an extended visit in the "family room," where he could hardly be cajoled out of his box, I decided I would take a risk on him. I was afraid he might be one of those timid cats who never comes out of hiding - I didn't want a cat like that, but Smokey was just so traumatized, I took a gamble that he would be come out of his shell when he had a new home. </div>
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It was the right move. At first Smokey did nothing but hide. It worried me, for the first two days he didn't even come out to eat, drink, or use the litterbox. He found a new hiding place every few hours - between the shower curtains, behind the washing machine, inside the back of the couch. Lily had never been so creative. But after a few days, his personality started to come out. He is a VERY affectionate cat. He loves my mother, and he loves me. He will rub up against us and want to snuggle and leap up to be beside us as soon as we sit down. He has the tiniest little meow, like a kitten, which is funny coming from a 15 pound cat. He also loves to climb and leap all over things Lily never jumped on. My desk, my dresser, the kitchen table, the piano...we have to wave him down off things, but Pamela told me that's a good sign.</div>
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Pam said that animals tend to be on their very best behavior when they first get into a home, so afraid they're going to be abandoned again. But as they feel more comfortable and safe, they "let down their hair" and start to behave normally. Which, for a cat, a natural tree dweller, usually means getting up as high as possible and prowling around. A cat that crouches, hides and stays low is an unhappy, frightened cat. A cat that leaps over tables and furniture is a confident cat.<br />
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Now he's been at home for a couple months and I can tell he is perfectly at peace. He lets me know whenever he's the slightest bit hungry, or lonely, or bored, with that tiny mew, still squeaky but no longer shy. He prowls his terrain, high and low, with pride. He goes wild at the sight of the most remotely string-like dangling object, including drawstrings on my pj's, earphones, my knitting of course, and even things like skirts and sleeves. He's completely won over my mother by being adorable and sweet to her. And the funniest part: he rolls over and wants to be scratched on his belly, and he'll lie there rolling back and forth while I ruffle his fluffy white tummy fur. So soft.<br />
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Smokey has become a real companion and comfort to me. His beauty, his movements, his playfulness, his acceptance and affection have brought so much joy and healing into my life, and I am thankful for that.<br />
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Well, my pet rambling has probably gone on about as long as you can stand. I should tell you about my Thanksgiving trip to Austin to visit my siblings...maybe another time. Oh, my best friend is in India now with her fiancee. Who knows if she'll ever be back. It's surreal, like a fairytale...like Cinderella. She's been wanting to go, dreaming about it for so long, now she's actually there. She had no money, no career prospects, little earthly possessions, just love, and a whole lot of faith. Now her love has given her a whole new life. <a href="http://www.thesongsontheway.com/">You can read about it in her words if you're interested.</a> I'm planning to be there for their wedding...sometime in 2013. A trip to India...that's something to look forward to.</div>
Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-11514058627583123542012-10-10T21:47:00.000-04:002012-10-11T21:58:59.938-04:00Bed of Roses<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Glendale Shoals making new memories</td></tr>
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A few years back, as I was thanking God for the rich, beautiful, blessed life He'd given me, I felt...almost guilty. I had known little real suffering (or so I thought) while others suffered so much all around me. I prayed that when God saw fit to change the tide of my life and bring me real pain, He'd also strengthen me to be able to face it. I prayed in the face of inevitable sadness He'd cause me to remember His joy.<br />
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Maybe my problems are still small in the scheme of things, maybe people all around me are still suffering so much more. But in the last 3 weeks of my life I've been unhappier than I can ever remember being. The beginning of September was so bittersweet but full of promise - seeing my love off to his new life, and embracing the 9 to 5 life of working adulthood. I knew it was going to be hard. I was right.</div>
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What I didn't realize was how much the joy of my soul had become wrapped up in one man, and how my happiness would fall to pieces in the wake of rejection, just weeks since I was floating on a cloud, feeling like the most loved woman in the world. Though I was steeling myself for a long and meager love's winter, I didn't expect it to just...end. And I <i>never</i> anticipated how much it would hurt. I won't go into messy break-up details here. I'm simply writing about pain. Real pain, my pain. It hurts, damn it. It hurts a lot.<br />
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I've come to realize that I was, in a sense, right about myself when I feared that my happy, accepting disposition was pretty much a product of a happy, pleasant life. Throw some curve balls my way and I don't handle them any more gracefully than the next person. I'm ashamed to say I have been bitter, I have been unkind, I have snapped at loved ones and strangers alike in my pain. It's certainly given me a lot more compassion and sympathy for grumpy strangers and snappy co-workers. Who knows what deep sorrows or nagging thorns have been eating them, and for how long. </div>
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I know and trust that this too, will work out for my salvation, for not only my good, but his as well. I thought that we could simply be reasonable, come to an understanding, shake on it, and start over as "just friends." But hearts are far more complex and wily creatures, I am finding out. I'm no longer sure "just friends" is really an option. And that hurts. The possibility of nothing, just a big empty place where someone used to be, hurts like hell. It's going to take far longer than the time I allotted to "get over" this.</div>
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On a completely different note, my first month of work has been everything I dreaded and everything I hoped. One minute I am overwhelmed and discouraged, the next minute affirmed and energized. Failing when attempting the impossible is, I think, nobler than failing to attempt. I'm simply charged with trying, and announcing equally both the effort and the failure. I feel like just being in this job while accepting its impossibility is accomplishing something important - helping lay the groundwork for a great change that is far past due. I can sense it coming...the seeds I planted are starting to sprout. But it sure is slow going.<br />
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If you pray, pray for me. I could use it.</div>
Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-32714834440125993602012-08-04T00:05:00.000-04:002012-08-04T00:08:11.243-04:00The Van Dangs at Cribb's KitchenTwo Saturdays ago I snuck into my office. My laptop had lost internet, I had taken it to the shop, and I was supposed to have something to show Robin (the CSA farmer for whom I am building a website in exchange for vegetables) the following week. I hadn't been sleeping much and my boss had just offered me a full-time salaried position at Converse - I told her I needed to think about it. Even though I had applied for the job as soon as I graduated Converse and wanted it ever since...once I started doing the work part time I was like "Holy mackerel! This is hard! They need at least a 3-person team to do they everything they are expecting out of a person and a half!"<br />
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But I digress. It was Saturday, I was supposed to be researching salaries and finding out how to haggle for my first full-time position, (and I had done some of that on my parent's flaky, virus-ridden internet) but I also was feeling backed into a corner, like I had to get this website finished this weekend OR ELSE. So I was mooching internet and air conditioning from Converse bright and early in the morning, working and praying and generally driving myself crazy, until about 1:30pm when I thought to myself, I HAVE HAD IT. I need to rest or something is going to break. The Sabbath officially begins NOW.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Barbeque. Courtesy of Cribb's Kitchen via Facebook</td></tr>
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I took off to get some food. Miyako Sushi Group was closed! Oh but look, there's the pawn shop, I think I'll ask them if they sell gold. They only sold gold jewelry. I remembered I was hungry and the friendly manager suggested Subway two doors down. Good idea! I was so hungry and tired I couldn't even think in a straight line and a nice footlong and cookie sounded like heaven. But it turns out that Subway is closed on Saturdays. What kind of Subway is closed on Saturdays? I was starting to get a tad disheartened at this point. That's when I heard the music. Loud, spicy...rockabilly? What? In Spartanburg? Where is that coming from? I followed my ears down two blocks to Cribb's Kitchen, where they were celebrating their one year anniversary with a giant barbeque. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioHAQfXW9fizigkfoCbFlVVmf8z-zVRYMjsdx940lR5mk0YJvRDfb774qeaNIOeL-PZ5-F3g3ceVkZwaHd4Su_8DJmMkwOKiKg8Hqj2RUlDtPFNoKspfM75Q88NCPvMs49bEqN4wE7WhVM/s1600/vandangs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioHAQfXW9fizigkfoCbFlVVmf8z-zVRYMjsdx940lR5mk0YJvRDfb774qeaNIOeL-PZ5-F3g3ceVkZwaHd4Su_8DJmMkwOKiKg8Hqj2RUlDtPFNoKspfM75Q88NCPvMs49bEqN4wE7WhVM/s320/vandangs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Band. Courtesy of the Van Dangs via Myspace</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1045188248536910078" name="music"></a>The band was called the Van Dangs. Loud, proud, tattooed, and oh-so-Southern. But not obnoxious Nashville country. We are talking raw drunken finger-flying foot-stomping awesomeness. I was hooked.</div>
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Oh guess what, I found them on Reverbnation! Listen for yourself:</div>
<iframe class="widget_iframe" frameborder="0" height="370" scrolling="no" src="http://www.reverbnation.com/widget_code/html_widget/artist_947533?widget_id=50&pwc[design]=default&pwc[background_color]=%23333333&pwc[included_songs]=1&pwc[photo]=1%2C0&pwc[size]=fit" width="100%"></iframe>
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I got myself a heaping plate of barbeque and coleslaw with sweet tea to wash it down, and sat on the park bench about 4 feet from the bassist for the next 2 hours. They are a really talented Spartanburg-based band and played a combination of covers with some great originals. I sat there til they ran out of songs. Well, until the singer's mic blew out. But they kept right on playing, the dobro and lead guitar soloing back and forth until the entire band was about to keel over. I can't tell you how impressed I was with their energy and stick-with-it-ness, or how unspeakably happy this entire shindig made me.<br />
I met Billy Cribb. He was really nice. We chatted for a while after the band stopped playing. We talked a little bit about working in academia. Turns out he has family connections to Converse. <a href="http://www.cribbsonmain.com/" target="_blank">Oh, this is Cribbs' Kitchen in case you want to check it out.</a> I went there when it was still Cribb's on Spring Street (I think it was Spring Street) and the food was classy and delicious.<br />
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What started out as a desperate, stressed-out day with nothing going my way turned into the kind of mellow, soul-food summer afternoon that's so good you think you're dreaming. Thank you, Cribb's Kitchen.<br />
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In case you were wondering, I said yes to the job. I'm starting officially at the beginning of September. Between now and then I am finishing a website, my aunt is visiting from Kentucky, Matthew is spending nearly a week with me, and then I am going to Georgia to see him fly off. He starts his MDiv at Princeton Theological the same day I start full-time at Converse. A new chapter in both of our lives. I'm nervous, terrified really - trading in my freedom for a paycheck and health insurance, taking a semester off of grad school, and Matthew is starting to use the M word. But I'm terribly excited at the same time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUdUQfd5lTgaEcWSXGVhfmEwRS_UjKhk38G_7rlLnPXI3_7sEmsbTBh7nnq0VgxkhZOpedeVSw21Dd9LyqtGPFN995ldiQlWuJwO60solTJ-HaE5ygKxe7kO88G7UtVVGO4HOq0zHhyphenhyphenlS/s1600/100_4054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUdUQfd5lTgaEcWSXGVhfmEwRS_UjKhk38G_7rlLnPXI3_7sEmsbTBh7nnq0VgxkhZOpedeVSw21Dd9LyqtGPFN995ldiQlWuJwO60solTJ-HaE5ygKxe7kO88G7UtVVGO4HOq0zHhyphenhyphenlS/s320/100_4054.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matthew's latest visit: a story for a different day.</td></tr>
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Goodnight, world!</div>
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</div>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-50204584581722811432012-06-06T15:28:00.001-04:002012-06-06T15:40:51.655-04:00Renaissance Festival 2012<div style="margin: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 0; width: 500px;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7158572983/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="The daring grave robber meets the reluctant monk."><img alt="The daring grave robber meets the reluctant monk." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8005/7158572983_b58401a6d2_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7158573397/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="Brother Matt never goes anywhere without his first edition KJV and copy of Martin Luther's treatises."><img alt="Brother Matt never goes anywhere without his first edition KJV and copy of Martin Luther's treatises." src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7242/7158573397_eabf9a9dfe_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7343781348/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="Matt said I looked like a confused Victorian adventuress."><img alt="Matt said I looked like a confused Victorian adventuress." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8156/7343781348_2f2a8510f7_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7158574327/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="God did not destine such good looks for a life of celibacy."><img alt="God did not destine such good looks for a life of celibacy." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8012/7158574327_bd4dcfcf9d_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7343782488/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="Pretty fairies."><img alt="Pretty fairies." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8150/7343782488_d1e61e95cc_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7158575253/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="These girls were the biggest fans of our costumes. Matt was actually very popular. He got more complements and photos than I did."><img alt="These girls were the biggest fans of our costumes. Matt was actually very popular. He got more complements and photos than I did." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8015/7158575253_02a1530686_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7343784110/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="Brother Matthew is bemused by my enchantment with fairy music."><img alt="Brother Matthew is bemused by my enchantment with fairy music." src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7079/7343784110_6238dd7131_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7343783406/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="I had to restrain myself from joining the fairy dance. Brother Matthew would not have approved."><img alt="I had to restrain myself from joining the fairy dance. Brother Matthew would not have approved." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8149/7343783406_201f9f0123_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7158576885/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="I recognized the Irish tunes these musicians were playing."><img alt="I recognized the Irish tunes these musicians were playing." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8026/7158576885_b432cd2f04_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7343785012/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="Gargoyle."><img alt="Gargoyle." src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7074/7343785012_e5ec6974e0_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7158577887/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="Fairy, or Pookah?"><img alt="Fairy, or Pookah?" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7093/7158577887_0252036768_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/7343786032/in/set-72157630062762402/" style="display: block; float: left; height: 75px; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px;" title="Tired and happy at the end of the day."><img alt="Tired and happy at the end of the day." src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8026/7343786032_d3e708cb20_s.jpg" style="border: none; height: 75px; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px;" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lydialikesrandomness/sets/72157630062762402/">Renaissance Festival 2012</a>, a set on Flickr.</div>
Matthew's mom won tickets to the Georgia Rennaissance Festival. He'd never been before. I told him I don't know how many times that he didn't need to dress up, but he was determined to impress me. I think he had a lot of fun. I certainly did.Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-28178878322458267672012-05-28T19:41:00.000-04:002012-05-30T18:07:16.663-04:00Summer Begins, Matthew Visits, and Feist SingsHello! It's been a while.<br />
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Life is good. I am out of school for the summer. I'm working 25 hours a week at Converse. I am loved by an amazing Godly man, and a wonderful family, and awesome friends.<br />
I've been sick this weekend. I got it from Daniel, Grace's 2 year old. I should have known better than to share my food with him and let him drink out of my water bottle, but he just looked so miserable and pitiful that I wanted to take care of him! That was Monday. Grace came over to help us plant a few rows of green beans. Daniel was feverish so we took turns coddling him while the others worked the garden. Saturday morning I started getting a sore throat and headache and then it just got worse with aches and chills and nausea. I could barely move, I felt so weak. No wonder Daniel looked so miserable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHxwHehoYFas6B7-GfYcmD6qWnzqLaNyXzOdZbhqnGG90motmrqLoiG1l2AYBkeAAM0HwyObcverdhG13OQUx4V5QyYVTr3_PsUrG3f-ojIMPLuMD4lAx40NVdX1CEHAMzR6vY_cLyoI4/s1600/2012-05-19+Sunday+at+Milliken+Pam+&+Lydia.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHxwHehoYFas6B7-GfYcmD6qWnzqLaNyXzOdZbhqnGG90motmrqLoiG1l2AYBkeAAM0HwyObcverdhG13OQUx4V5QyYVTr3_PsUrG3f-ojIMPLuMD4lAx40NVdX1CEHAMzR6vY_cLyoI4/s320/2012-05-19+Sunday+at+Milliken+Pam+&+Lydia.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Pam at Milliken Park. <a href="http://www.songsontheway.com/" target="_blank">(from Pam's blog)</a></td></tr>
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But after 2 days of doing absolutely nothing, I'm starting to feel a little better. Besides getting sick, I've been having a great summer so far. <a href="http://www.thesongsontheway.com/2012/05/sunday-afternoon.html" target="_blank">I hung out with Pam on Sunday.</a> It's good to have a friend to frolic with.<br />
Monday I planted green beans with Grace. Tuesday and Wednesday I hired my young neighbor, Soline, to help me de-vine the front bushes and haul brush. Friday, Pam and I went to an Indian market, where I bought some Indian music videos. Those videos were the perfect thing to watch while I was sick, trying to stomach a little chicken soup and jello. Romance, dancing, costumes, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shahrukh_Khan" target="_blank">Shahruhk Khan</a> helped me forget my misery. Saturday, before I started feeling really miserable, I got to study the Bible and pray with Kinsey at Chic-fil-A. She invited me to a cookout yesterday, but unfortunately I was too weak to go. Didn't even make it to church. Missed the church's Memorial Day cookout today as well.<br />
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Matthew's visit, stockings photos, and a video of Feist in concert after the jump.</div>
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Matthew visited three weeks ago. It was a whirlwind visit, but we had a good time. He got into town early and surprised me at work. A very good surprise. We spent some time at <a href="http://www.hatchergarden.org/" target="_blank">Hatcher Garden</a>, and then hung out with Grace, Jacob, Cole and Amanda. That was a pretty zany night, between the girls giggling over our new stash of vintage stockings from the <a href="http://www.orgsites.com/oh/nylon-stocking-society/" target="_blank">Nylon Stocking Society</a>, and a late-night Krispy Kreme run with the guys. I forget how immature Cole and Jacob get when you put them in a room together. Matt seemed to get a kick out of them though.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1bQS1r5tluJ9CdHPTpwRp8Dspiu8uO9NpGZligjx9cbK4DIHt3Wqlf2jzTB1NOK64yVH31fTj8nc0j_ltDAQpdG_9uNZEbeo0c-PX5Y8m04xVJcpyyAQAMFqSE1YZQL3AWzLFveU0dMu/s1600/2012-05-10+grace+amanda+lydia+georgie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1bQS1r5tluJ9CdHPTpwRp8Dspiu8uO9NpGZligjx9cbK4DIHt3Wqlf2jzTB1NOK64yVH31fTj8nc0j_ltDAQpdG_9uNZEbeo0c-PX5Y8m04xVJcpyyAQAMFqSE1YZQL3AWzLFveU0dMu/s400/2012-05-10+grace+amanda+lydia+georgie.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Here's the ladies with Georgie. We dressed up to show off our new stockings.</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdT1g6YQE3YXJTU5MRDZNHUA4vMB1lULCelxjM7vvCqeHX5aIVMKY_2zE9DobT_HJCAEpgXZGljDi340jlWth6Q9bJgLJHcLUGVgHfOY0dTgNeTxOCfVYj42L3z6UArAAqcrX6x-oWUk7d/s1600/2012-05-10+Matt+n+Georgie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdT1g6YQE3YXJTU5MRDZNHUA4vMB1lULCelxjM7vvCqeHX5aIVMKY_2zE9DobT_HJCAEpgXZGljDi340jlWth6Q9bJgLJHcLUGVgHfOY0dTgNeTxOCfVYj42L3z6UArAAqcrX6x-oWUk7d/s400/2012-05-10+Matt+n+Georgie.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt & Georgie. Sorry, pup, you are no longer the handsomest.</td></tr>
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The week before that, Bryant and I went to Asheville to see <a href="http://www.listentofeist.com/" target="_blank">Feist</a> ("Bittersweet Memories" video NSFW). It was very exciting. When we got to the Civic Center, we found out Feist had moved to the Orange Peel. When found parking behind the Orange Peel and walked up the hill to the front door, I saw the band buses and some cool-looking people chilling at the back door of the Orange Peel. <i>Wouldn't it be cool if those were members of Feist's band</i>, I thought. Next thing I know, a small, sprightly woman with long black hair and cute high-heeled oxfords pops out of the bus, and smiles at me as she trots across the sidewalk to the Orange Peel. I smiled real big at her. I was pretty sure I knew who she was. After we walked past I said to Bryant, "That's her! That's totally her!" and he was like "Nah, I'd recognize her." It WAS her. She was wearing those same cute oxfords on stage half an hour later.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dycWMn03ocXVme0XMW-HFa0cgguNXnVEIOvPQU5uhiLywj1XFwh11YJZJc_wKtHHJLub5vI92TvU93geiE6Fw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I don't guess you can see her shoes in this video. But you can hear her improvising on "So Sorry." She was so...spunky! I wish I could describe the way she moved. I don't know if the video does her justice. She had this girlish energy, the way she would throw her fists up in the air and stomp around, and converse with the audience in a singsong, and toss off fascinating improvised rhythms and runs like they were nothing. What a voice. It was a great show. Lots of pretty images and video on the big screens, and sparkling lights and effects, and the backup singers were having fun making up dance moves.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qHjqvVh2j141LnZyaTf67Efk4VjWSqkeWB6heVrjUoujiJECLNccXUU6vADzGQOExhgh-KcyJYGhm5ZGGoh30KYmqugk7ydguc-3gARhLvjWaf6ggGTMpRclB5-RF-TD4HBLF1JKC-cE/s1600/2012-05-02+feist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qHjqvVh2j141LnZyaTf67Efk4VjWSqkeWB6heVrjUoujiJECLNccXUU6vADzGQOExhgh-KcyJYGhm5ZGGoh30KYmqugk7ydguc-3gARhLvjWaf6ggGTMpRclB5-RF-TD4HBLF1JKC-cE/s400/2012-05-02+feist.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feist and her ethereal backup singers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlFGqY0EhuIU9ELv5x0iIdUB0TPJhlackajY04MBfWWFkgqJ7GWInzItPWpYjwBSxWfr1lrhVLJ2_Q0m7NbdjikVYQZD8Ot-aa9RdILAE26CmQWMIuDA8PKMZOhZHYYBrpKf8XDrFvjjg/s1600/2012-05-02+Feist+me+n+Bryant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlFGqY0EhuIU9ELv5x0iIdUB0TPJhlackajY04MBfWWFkgqJ7GWInzItPWpYjwBSxWfr1lrhVLJ2_Q0m7NbdjikVYQZD8Ot-aa9RdILAE26CmQWMIuDA8PKMZOhZHYYBrpKf8XDrFvjjg/s400/2012-05-02+Feist+me+n+Bryant.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bryant and me</td></tr>
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Bryant and I had a great time. I danced like mad, of course. On occasion, I wonder if my gyrations violate social protocol to the point of earning a label like "socially inept" or "mentally impaired." Are you really just supposed to stand there at a standing-room-only concert? Is it only acceptable to "get down" once you are thoroughly inebriated? I think folks are just chicken. They wish they were having as much fun as me.<br />
If you play music and don't want me to dance, sit me in a chair. Hmm, you may have to buckle me down too.<br />
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This has been a reverse-chronological ramble brought to you by Lydia. Until next time!Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-19340981928687050662012-04-07T12:14:00.001-04:002012-04-10T12:55:56.633-04:00"Good" Christian musicHappy internet jaunt when I should have been finishing my overdue paper.<br />
It started off with a blog post by Paul Angone on <a href="http://www.jonacuff.com/stuffchristianslike/2012/04/claiming-musicians-as-one-of-us/" target="_blank">Christians claiming musicians as "one of us</a>," a tongue in cheek look at some common self-deceptive behaviors among young Christians. Great discussion in the comments, which led me to this <a href="http://gungormusic.com/2011/11/zombies-wine-and-christian-music/" target="_blank">fascinating blog post by Michael Gungor likening the Christian music industry to "zombie propaganda."</a> He makes a lot of really good points, especially about drinking. Funny how a Christian will feel nothing morally wrong with one beer among non-believer friends, but put them with brothers and they're suddenly a teetotaler.<br />
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Last night, a newlywed couple I adore but don't see very often came to Bible Study. They taught me a few great new tunes to old hymns and new hymns that could pass for old ones, next thing we know we were talking about the Welcome Wagon and exchanging band names to check out. Ryan said "I'm always on the lookout for <i>good </i>Christian music." A telling remark. Me too.<br />
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Here's a list for my readers of favorite "<i>good</i> Christian music."<br />
<a name='more'></a>Defined as good music, performed by true Christians, as far as I can tell. Not vouching for any of these in terms of theological soundness, but I will vouch for their musical integrity.<br />
<br />
Long-time favorites:<br />
DC Talk - the original Christian rock crossover band.<br />
Half-handed Cloud - adorably kiddish indie pop with profound Biblical symbolism.<br />
Danielson Famile - Avante-garde indie rock with a sweet spirituality & humor.<br />
Psalters - wild punk-gypsy-middle eastern music with pointed spiritual-political themes.<br />
Sufjan Stevens - gorgeous & very real folk-indie you have to listen to for a while before you realize this guy's a believer. He does a lot of great hymn covers.<br />
Eisley - ok their music isn't Christian but it's adorable and beautiful and not profane.<br />
Welcome Wagon - friends of Sufjan. Folk-indie with a sweetly spiritual authenticity. Like to write new tunes to classic hymns.<br />
<br />
On my radar, need to buy an album:<br />
Jars of Clay<br />
Caedmon's Call<br />
Switchfoot<br />
Superchic[k]<br />
Flyleaf<br />
Owl City<br />
<br />
Brand new recommendations (haven't looked into these yet):<br />
Sandra McCracken<br />
Derek Webb<br />
Carolina Broadcaster<br />
Gungor<br />
Paper Tongues<br />
FireflightLydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-30090240301400228402012-03-28T00:07:00.007-04:002012-03-29T13:57:43.336-04:00IA Summit New Orleans 5 - The Festival, the City, & the Way HomeHome. And exhausted. Exhilarated and changed for good. I'm determined to write the final three days of my journey before I collapse into bed for the next <strike>week</strike> ten hours to be up at 6 for the return to normal life.<br />
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Read about awesome ideas below, or, <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-5-festival-city.html#adventure">skip to the adventures, pics, and video.</a><br />
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A couple sessions stand out to me from Saturday at the IA summit. No actually, I guess one was on Saturday and one was on Sunday. They are starting to blend together in my mind. One was two Australian dudes who I'd been noticing the entire weekend because of their awesome hats. They were like Indiana Jones hats, fedoras with broad brims, and these two guys were the only people at the conference wearing hats. Until Crawford came, but that's a later story. Their names were Paris Buttfield-Addison and Jon Manning, and their workshop was called "Clutter is King." It was all about how people do not live in these pristine environments we tend to design for, nor do they particularly want the "paperless office" the so-called tech visionaries have been heralding for years. They researched hundreds of people about their office organization habits and came to some realizations. We like our clutter, our mess. It works for us. It reminds us of things we need to do and sparks innovation as "unrelated" things are juxtaposed in our field of vision. With few exceptions, those who take great pains to organize their working office documents into highly-structured systems are more stressed and less productive. Often we try to force ourselves to organize in a way that is unnatural to us and really all it does is create more work for ourselves.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQh8s8LRo_uIUQyNmmrOKhNC5DnVIlhWDr7Tp5oPw7e9GbopGnaW1ehehF8BdHjRFcf58xdVR-3rrhknDNQ59RJZJ4W3TW5zyq2WNbHUhRS82z-8lfnsJRPcVr9S0tjytYL-QlBzUacYHo/s1600/steve+jobs+in+his+office.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQh8s8LRo_uIUQyNmmrOKhNC5DnVIlhWDr7Tp5oPw7e9GbopGnaW1ehehF8BdHjRFcf58xdVR-3rrhknDNQ59RJZJ4W3TW5zyq2WNbHUhRS82z-8lfnsJRPcVr9S0tjytYL-QlBzUacYHo/s400/steve+jobs+in+his+office.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve Jobs, Apple CEO, in his natural habitat - <a href="http://lightbox.time.com/2011/10/06/in-a-private-light-diana-walkers-photos-of-steve-jobs/#4" target="_blank">Diana Walker</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
They then applied these observations to how we design digital spaces.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
One principle was being responsive to their use patterns instead of asking them for preferences, such as when Safari remembers the top sites you visit. Contrast this with bookmarking and making folders for bookmarks. One is just quietly useful, while the other involves a lot of additional work which doesn't necessarily lead to revisiting those pages. More thoughts were, don't be afraid of the mess, don't hide everything, especially the things important to them or frequently used, let them customize their workspaces, and, make things attractive no matter what the user does. Pinterest, Instagram and Twitter are perfect example of the last thing. They are basically unorganized piles of snippets, sometimes not related in any way besides sharing an author/collector. Yet they work for people, people feel comfortable using them. And one of the reasons why is that the visual clutter has been removed, and everything is just happily juxtaposed together without expecting deeper sense from it. Make the piles pretty. Visual clutter is bad, because it adds distraction and stress to something that may already be very complex. But clutter in content that utilizes spacial memory more than labels may well map better to the way people actually think than stiff, heirarchical organization schemes. Quite eye-opening for a library student in the middle of studying classification, taxonomies, and "classical" IA.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwW_7N48Z6mHHNHZM6_wtQYn-0X_WdqXemG8EabHVj426AyrcWGGgxcSVXqnRdEoz26E_EdGHcouAMufXEUsBe1u7tZjdA-9jieXrF9TVqHyJGJkSOo746P7qI7TjtA98lOYskez4DkZg/s1600/Pinterest.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwW_7N48Z6mHHNHZM6_wtQYn-0X_WdqXemG8EabHVj426AyrcWGGgxcSVXqnRdEoz26E_EdGHcouAMufXEUsBe1u7tZjdA-9jieXrF9TVqHyJGJkSOo746P7qI7TjtA98lOYskez4DkZg/s400/Pinterest.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stress-free organization: Pinterest makes piles pretty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
But I definitely relate to things being over-organized. Sometimes I create file structures for my personal computer documents that are so deep I never remember where anything is and I look in four different places to find something. I feel the Converse website has this problem too. There is a fine balance to be struck between deep site structures and broad site structures. In trying to limit the number of links in a navigation, a "tuck things away neatly out of sight" mentality, often, it becomes out of sight and out of mind. In my experience, this leaves site users feeling they know what all the site has to offer when they don't, plus they just have a harder time finding the things they're looking for. I'm increasingly embracing a broader site structure, making more "quick links," or at least, exposing more layers at once through dropdowns and the like. It seems people would much rather scan more links to gain a sense of what all is there, than try something, realize they made the wrong choice, back out, and try again, over and over. Of course neither can you throw at them an undifferentiated sea of links and expect them to derive meaning from it or really absorb their options. It's like what Andrea Resmini said, people don't look at a city from the top down like city planners do. They look at it in experiences and paths and known vs unknown. In the same way, websites aren't perceived at all as the tidy hierarchies information architects so lovingly craft. People are looking to find paths through the site, to filter out the noise, to find what they want, or to make discoveries. Site navigation needs to be conducive to that.<br />
Goodness, this riffs with so many other ideas by so many other speakers that I just started describing another session and ended up getting three different ones tangled. It was amazing how by the end it was like a symphony of ideas, repeating themes being developed across different people's brains. So beautiful and powerful and enriching.<br />
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=1045188248536910078&postID=3009024030140022840&from=pencil" name="adventure"></a><br />
Ok so probably what you really want to hear about are the adventures.<br />
On Saturday night people wanted to go to the Congo Festival - that was in Louis Armstrong park. I went with my roommate, Mobina, and her classmate, Adam. Armstrong Park is a must if you are visiting NOLA. A great combination of lovely ponds, landscaping, and fountains with fun and colorful constructs, bridges, and sculptures. Here are Mobina and Adam at the gate:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4Am9nVjKddMgk-LL8_zEKRYSd9RN9_Jr7R2AOCm1zomP3NzktDvOYStJPEHu1MplRam2Z7hBX14ZbQEQnF25riL0btwX4VxVYvXcvNmRRZcDqdyly-8g9dJexZoVnesKyVJRGKYEO8mI/s1600/2012-03-24+18.36.30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4Am9nVjKddMgk-LL8_zEKRYSd9RN9_Jr7R2AOCm1zomP3NzktDvOYStJPEHu1MplRam2Z7hBX14ZbQEQnF25riL0btwX4VxVYvXcvNmRRZcDqdyly-8g9dJexZoVnesKyVJRGKYEO8mI/s640/2012-03-24+18.36.30.jpg" width="600" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mobina and Adam at Armstrong Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I took the following video with my phone. It gives the vibe of the festival a lot better than I could explain with words. The ones waving are Mobina my roommate and Adam. At one point you'll hear me shouting. I am talking about the singer. She is in the cast of the Lion King (which was playing right next to the park) and she dropped in to sing one song.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/CpyDDs5CUfs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I love to dance. This you know. But now, thanks to my roommate, we have evidence.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7tsErvyi8_zK0PR5tZFTlVQn4ew7yvD85YQNM1gfHeGgR5bdG3HhqAvLg1UW94-NyHsWgetv-LLA5qimd7q0OrDdPe2BwimukaYr91jhjPrmUM-sX00j1R3Zp5fs5xNSGxHuM3MKKWahM/s1600/me-dancing.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7tsErvyi8_zK0PR5tZFTlVQn4ew7yvD85YQNM1gfHeGgR5bdG3HhqAvLg1UW94-NyHsWgetv-LLA5qimd7q0OrDdPe2BwimukaYr91jhjPrmUM-sX00j1R3Zp5fs5xNSGxHuM3MKKWahM/s320/me-dancing.gif" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me dancing - yes, it moves!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After the Congo Festival, we wandered around Louis Armstrong Park for a bit. This statue kind of disturbs me. I think it was supposed to capture a musician in motion but it ends up just looking like a 3-headed monster.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUmBvyqG3Mvjta-d3e6LJp1FzT9lDsVlhLuybkx4NVLhev9Jg_iyBAXRDgzt16V1iGZUDmltMxUICiHBeNhkD01GW_oCzpvdijceBVNJErCkkL0eZBDouLiwOyVSfvC3BWfk3SL2sZkkp/s1600/blog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUmBvyqG3Mvjta-d3e6LJp1FzT9lDsVlhLuybkx4NVLhev9Jg_iyBAXRDgzt16V1iGZUDmltMxUICiHBeNhkD01GW_oCzpvdijceBVNJErCkkL0eZBDouLiwOyVSfvC3BWfk3SL2sZkkp/s320/blog1.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creepy Trumpet Statue - by Mobina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Then we walked into the French Quarter. Adam wanted gumbo. Mobina wanted good New Orleans food. I wanted an adventure. I'm pleased to say we all got what we wanted. Plus I got a pretty dress. And on Jackson Square we found this guy, who was quite charming:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxthfjZ5toEtt-I9fV0GaODl55AKCCjE4LF4Sgpm8wQUs-VShgT-hRX4pIeOtpADXpmq68UzDaQ3mXX3slzjAwmfg41VoTBkLxISxxdZkJdRnMYGilUBYzO10Mh2eUKSwaF5pHTgATYXB/s1600/P3240212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxthfjZ5toEtt-I9fV0GaODl55AKCCjE4LF4Sgpm8wQUs-VShgT-hRX4pIeOtpADXpmq68UzDaQ3mXX3slzjAwmfg41VoTBkLxISxxdZkJdRnMYGilUBYzO10Mh2eUKSwaF5pHTgATYXB/s400/P3240212.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
Water Glass Music Guy - by Mobina </td></tr>
</tbody></table>He was a seasoned entertainer. It took a while for the wedding bells to stop ringing and the brass band to stop playing so we could hear the quiet ring of the glasses, but he entertained us with little stories and built up a good crowd in the meantime. It was well worth the wait. And he let me play the glass. I can never do that when I try at home. Apparently the secret is to have a clean finger and apply a lot of pressure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC0lK9qvNEyNtjKO5ppt0333VBArNPbqioIJ1FykUOk7i-0VH0Ljob0ME5ykcZvSAAWHYGHOuKQU3KaetbLVfxInu8cUDCsIQTKq5IkryySfAWk_4VC7jECCoqb0VAfsBp9gMnK1TfdSU5/s1600/blog2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC0lK9qvNEyNtjKO5ppt0333VBArNPbqioIJ1FykUOk7i-0VH0Ljob0ME5ykcZvSAAWHYGHOuKQU3KaetbLVfxInu8cUDCsIQTKq5IkryySfAWk_4VC7jECCoqb0VAfsBp9gMnK1TfdSU5/s400/blog2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Adam at the Gumbo Shop - by Mobina</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">We got crawfish etouffee, jambalaya, gumbo, amazing french bread, blackened fish nuggets, spinach and artichoke dip, and red beans and rice. It was delicious, but so salty I couldn't eat much of it. I needed more rice to cut the flavors or something. I also tried a honeydew daqueri. Mobina is Muslim by heritage, and Adam believes in "something bigger than us." Mobina's abstinence from alcohol led into a lovely, thoughtful conversation on religion. </div><div style="text-align: left;">There was a really freaky monster tapping at the windows. I mean, it was about 7 feet tall, black with colored spikes and lights all over, and big, googly eyes. Sounds surreal, but it was really there, ask Mobina! I wish we had a picture of it. After dinner we took a stroll down Bourbon Street.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAUkXoVZF4pnbtcNhAMsYVQOA-VGj9DKWknSG0QXuWGtSB9zatkXjIcynZDrGcSh2P77R9GKjFWDEp7RTTRT7e5RLxX9lpNPoITE7CQlI-qmeisQQJYEjSBr-8JRKgn_RJOfAJf54H26j/s1600/blog4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAUkXoVZF4pnbtcNhAMsYVQOA-VGj9DKWknSG0QXuWGtSB9zatkXjIcynZDrGcSh2P77R9GKjFWDEp7RTTRT7e5RLxX9lpNPoITE7CQlI-qmeisQQJYEjSBr-8JRKgn_RJOfAJf54H26j/s400/blog4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corner of Bourbon Street and...? - by Mobina</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">It was certainly novel, but there was only so much of this we could handle:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqOIaXFsSDGQyCf7HQ7N8MXgZD8Nw8j90su0vOOxuhtT5uoX4k_g9LsSwR5CVCatejgvB9j1-1izoVaU6_YBbmadtj5wQsrlNF8CCJKQgJNcq53UriyVTItK6rn81_3jwwqP0xAd2RP0F/s1600/blog5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqOIaXFsSDGQyCf7HQ7N8MXgZD8Nw8j90su0vOOxuhtT5uoX4k_g9LsSwR5CVCatejgvB9j1-1izoVaU6_YBbmadtj5wQsrlNF8CCJKQgJNcq53UriyVTItK6rn81_3jwwqP0xAd2RP0F/s400/blog5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bourbon Street Crush and Bustle - by Mobina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So many drunk people, with folks on the balconies cheering, leering and throwing beads - it was kind of overwhelming. On the upside, there were pirates. Jack Sparrow flirted with me. I think he liked my cape. (I wore my new dress around my shoulders so I didn't have to carry it.) We saw an interesting shadow and retreated to a quieter lane, where we discovered a wedding party seeing off the bride and groom in a horse and buggy:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIJInLOXjS-3iu5V8aR5MnQr5ID9s0eGWLogMTKBFoSZHYEw9nQy4__DcM6F7S-lyI3uBfiKRPfQ26Wu0drTfKRATxQ8zJu1gMLdiVY7zkbY4Fp9TKm7_121-9I9h0Vo-NIs89L4-RaHT/s1600/blog6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIJInLOXjS-3iu5V8aR5MnQr5ID9s0eGWLogMTKBFoSZHYEw9nQy4__DcM6F7S-lyI3uBfiKRPfQ26Wu0drTfKRATxQ8zJu1gMLdiVY7zkbY4Fp9TKm7_121-9I9h0Vo-NIs89L4-RaHT/s400/blog6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jesus Statue's Shadow Looms over a Wedding Party - by Mobina </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vWettbvQGoays3JfUCv2L9nNOR5tHMtyFnCa5SksMydVGR1BmH8iYH2WBaNFn2OcY28ZouvLpV17W_ErUbC4CfbXiTEa4PAYoWB9ELrPEpbB8bLl971c0BpFyNCrvpkIRSHRLtQkQKlB/s1600/blog7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vWettbvQGoays3JfUCv2L9nNOR5tHMtyFnCa5SksMydVGR1BmH8iYH2WBaNFn2OcY28ZouvLpV17W_ErUbC4CfbXiTEa4PAYoWB9ELrPEpbB8bLl971c0BpFyNCrvpkIRSHRLtQkQKlB/s320/blog7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bride and Groom - by Mobina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We saw at least 6 wedding processions that weekend. This couple hopped into their buggy with beer bottles and cigars in hand. Ah, New Orleans.<br />
<br />
My favorite street is Royal Street. So that's the route we took back home. It is just as enjoyable in the evening, in its quiet loveliness with lit shop windows and elegantly-dressed dinner parties, as it is in the daytime with its bustle of musicians and art galleries. Thankfully Mobina is a photographer after my own heart and took the shots I would have if I'd had a real camera.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTVBLD26YW41Oz1T6N6l_xHa8aD21Ftm-kD4jJ4ZoMyo1DnNURR_LnGZGwOX2OAn89sTjSNAWNK1oxYeSvRfXHi8-T16Neac9RED_S72kyzdk_9rQ0FM4pVVBBf_tN4c77C_kJrjbWhfv/s1600/blog8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTVBLD26YW41Oz1T6N6l_xHa8aD21Ftm-kD4jJ4ZoMyo1DnNURR_LnGZGwOX2OAn89sTjSNAWNK1oxYeSvRfXHi8-T16Neac9RED_S72kyzdk_9rQ0FM4pVVBBf_tN4c77C_kJrjbWhfv/s400/blog8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fleurs de Paris Evening Gowns & Hats - by Mobina</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmISwhGpQDR7SFTHmXgftNDnuVGhOl2fFSoA6FAsYlFtYBBOetc2KGU8_onUdzNAPDMQRmIHFYpeJI-IB9ImGKHiTBWCC8UiHziOIyL_6asJ7cngEwAB3BlmzEA1cbxALn-VhH6QIpxEV/s1600/blog9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmISwhGpQDR7SFTHmXgftNDnuVGhOl2fFSoA6FAsYlFtYBBOetc2KGU8_onUdzNAPDMQRmIHFYpeJI-IB9ImGKHiTBWCC8UiHziOIyL_6asJ7cngEwAB3BlmzEA1cbxALn-VhH6QIpxEV/s400/blog9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild Old Ladies Parade - by Mobina</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqymDGc2PeLslNw4HQhyphenhyphen34VWwSwLQ59h9BbtQHpTE_M6GAlveoSR4vIwFV9_jV6gksVAW9qHrZFlvwmh9b6OgDFSyLaDbvWoOZRJG5lpg3HlND4PcX8KB2zzf1rqu-mA15ndjSZPG6-wzy/s1600/blog10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqymDGc2PeLslNw4HQhyphenhyphen34VWwSwLQ59h9BbtQHpTE_M6GAlveoSR4vIwFV9_jV6gksVAW9qHrZFlvwmh9b6OgDFSyLaDbvWoOZRJG5lpg3HlND4PcX8KB2zzf1rqu-mA15ndjSZPG6-wzy/s400/blog10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous Antique Shop - by Mobina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The evening faded into quietness as we left Adam at his hotel and returned to our own. We popped in at Games Night briefly to watch a few rounds of Apples to Apples, and then on the way to our room I had to stop Mobina to listen to that same great singer, <a href="http://www.anaisstjohn.com/" target="_blank">Anais St. John</a>, perform one of my favorites, My Mama Done Tol' Me. We crawled into bed completely worn out and utterly happy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Ok it is 10:45 and I have two more days to go. I also have real life crowding into my awareness beginning tomorrow at 6am. But I have this unshakable feeling that if I don't tell the story tonight, it won't get told. I suppose I'll tell the rest in brief. It involves me singing "Summertime" to wake up a hungover, but happy bunch at the closing "Five Minute Madness" and having a drink with a "brainstorming addict" who crashed the last day of the conference. His name was Crawford, he's a visionary and a bit of a pirate. He wears a fedora and is trying to get together a "team" with whom he can start up a new venture. He told me his big ideas while walking me to the bus station. Interesting stuff, I wish him luck.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then there was the harrowing experience in the middle of the night in Mobile when a late cab caused me to miss the Megabus. I panicked, a bit, but God provided. Just like Joshua said. Joshua and Emily (?) were seeing off a beautiful older lady who was constantly praising God under her breath. I didn't get her name. Anyway, they overheard my whole drama. There was a Greyhound leaving at 12:45am but they said it was full, and wouldn't even sell me a standby ticket. The next one wasn't until 4:25 and I could hardly bear the thought of those hours on an uncomfortable bus station bench, stolen away from the precious day I had planned with Matthew. I called Matthew in tears, and explained the situation. He asked, "are you sure there's no space on that bus?" Joshua said "there will be room" in that kind of completely confident voice that suggests divine backing. So I was sitting there at the end of this huge, long line with no ticket, praying that someone would decide not to go or that there would otherwise be space for one more person. </div><div style="text-align: left;">And then there was this lady, her hands were filled with stuff, and she had two bags whose handles were breaking. She looked so frazzled and tired, and she was trying to drag the bag across the floor with one handle. I had to help her. So I picked up her extra bags and walked with her to the door. I explained to the bus driver collecting tickets that I was just helping her load her bags. At some point a woman had said to me, just talk to the bus driver, he'll let you on and then you can buy your ticket at the next station. So after I helped her get her bags on the bus and helped her up the stairs (I think she might have been strung out, she wasn't entirely present) meanwhile keeping an eye on my bags inside the station, I saw my opportunity. I rushed in, grabbed my bags, and set my suitcase down while I stood at the bus door trying to find the bus driver to talk to him. The next thing I know, the loader had thrown my suitcase on the bus and it was about to drive off. Either my suitcase would be traveling to Atlanta without me or I was riding that bus. So I hopped inside and there were so many people I thought,<i> maybe I'll just sit on the floor. Are they going to count, are they going to kick people off if they don't have actual seats? </i>But then I found a seat. The old woman was in the front of the bus praising God, and Joshua and Emily were outside grinning like mad, waving, and pointing heavenward.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I got things straightened out at the Montgomery station. The ticket girl gave me a funny look when I asked to buy a ticket from Mobile to Atlanta. "Long story."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">(The rest is mushy stuff - I'll forgive you if you stop reading now. In fact, if you've gotten this far, I commend you!)</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">At last, after a few hours' fitful sleep and only an hour and a half later than scheduled, I saw what my heart had been yearning for for the past month and a half. There on the street, studying the windows of the bus, was my beloved, Matthew! He had rushed over from the MARTA station just moments before. The sight of him, the feel of his embrace just kind of erased all the trauma and the exhaustion and put the world to rights. He took me to a marvelous breakfast and then to Oglethorpe where a nap on a friend's comfy couch and a shower helped restore my spirits. Then, the sweetheart, he drove me home so I didn't have to ride the bus any more! Let me tell you, three hours riding in the car with my beloved is far better than 4 hours in a bus on top of another hour and a half to get home from the Charlotte bus station. Matthew just takes care of me and cherishes me. Just the little things, like when I was choosing a drink and he says "Why don't you get orange juice?" He knows how fragile my immune system is after traveling. Shows he's really thinking about me.</div><div style="text-align: left;">At home, my parents were excited to see us and wanted to take us out to a classy dinner. The food was amazing, but we both just about fell asleep in our plates. Matthew had a long day too, what with my calling in the middle of the night and then him trying to find me at a different bus station in the early morning hours. We spent most of today on the couch, just sort of leaning on each other dozing. It was so hard to say goodbye. It gets harder and harder every time. It is going to be a very long next few years. But God will grant the grace. He's never failed me yet. Not once.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I hope you've enjoyed the story. I don't have a tip jar, but the comment button goes a long way.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Goodbye New Orleans adventures and IA visionaries, hello work and school and normal old life. Goodnight.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/01/ia-summit-in-new-orleans.html" target="_blank">IA Summit in New Orleans</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-1-getting-there.html" target="_blank">1 - Getting There</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-2-french-quarter.html">2 - French Quarter Buskers</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-rain-on-my.html" target="_blank">3 - Rain on My Parade</a> || <a _blank"="" href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-new-ideas-new.html" target="_blank">4 - New Ideas, New Friends, & Bourbon Street</a> || 5 - The Festival, the City, & the Way HomeLydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-64292320301683839012012-03-24T13:12:00.001-04:002012-03-28T00:25:41.779-04:00IA Summit New Orleans 4 - New ideas, new friends, & Bourbon StreetI don't know where to begin. My mind has been blown so many times the pieces are still all just shifting around, trying to come back together to make a new sense of the world.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I'm just going to start with pictures and go from there.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TEb7sKLDvyaSBdT8vsrQ9vnncv3TcVGUBBPOiWGVcsRKcHluLCL3aiqK8QRMXeHjy9vQaotjL3Hv-qPVlL2JDZ9bNBll27N5Mrzjiz-QouYy5QbRh-C3ow4nW3RlM_3Zl1ATBKxm289q/s1600/blog+4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TEb7sKLDvyaSBdT8vsrQ9vnncv3TcVGUBBPOiWGVcsRKcHluLCL3aiqK8QRMXeHjy9vQaotjL3Hv-qPVlL2JDZ9bNBll27N5Mrzjiz-QouYy5QbRh-C3ow4nW3RlM_3Zl1ATBKxm289q/s320/blog+4-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donna Spencer teaching "IA Theory and Practice"</td></tr>
</tbody></table> The Thursday workshop was a mixture of enjoyment, disappointment, and affirmation. It was my first opportunity to meet people and I very much enjoyed getting to know my table mates over the course of the day. The teacher was also very personable, knowledgeable and well-prepared. It's amazing that 8 hours flew by with no fatigue, concentration loss or antsiness - for me that is a huge accomplishment and it is to Donna's credit that she kept us all engaged by mixing theory, case studies and hands-on application. The disappointment was in not learning as many new things I expected to. But on the other hand it was very affirming in that I knew more about the field than I realized. A library education is a real asset in this industry because it gives a lot of theoretical basis that people picking it up on the go don't get.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8OI3aC46Nozs0gqCmAzJZuzZ4p32dkQdao4XxczGnnaBUDKK2N8iwtP-Rnbga3jA1OL5dRKjsZLukv1gHOdvG0gArfMcR_NBAj6hY0Hg0Lbbkg73H12eUfcxaOU0133hjHEy0CGrbIZ1/s1600/blog+4-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8OI3aC46Nozs0gqCmAzJZuzZ4p32dkQdao4XxczGnnaBUDKK2N8iwtP-Rnbga3jA1OL5dRKjsZLukv1gHOdvG0gArfMcR_NBAj6hY0Hg0Lbbkg73H12eUfcxaOU0133hjHEy0CGrbIZ1/s320/blog+4-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"IA Theory and Practice" card-sorting exercise</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Card-sorting was probably the single biggest takeaway for me. Well, besides knowing more than I thought I did. This is a very flexible exercise to conduct with clients/stakeholders where you represent pieces of content with cards, then ask them to categorize the cards, and create labels to describe the groups. You learn more from the discussions about why things do or don't belong together than you do from the actual sorted stacks.<br />
Then, with that knowledge and user research all sort of rattling around your brain informing you, you construct an information architecture to organize a website. This step is best done alone. Then the IA is extensively tested, discussed, and revised. And, when you're not a freelancer like Donna, but rather, stuck long-term with a site like me, periodically revisited.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUndMFqsiuBdc_sDKdu8Y_CJYEsGg7jZ7zorBfMcOJR2IF2cvJDRlhvsPnLGWLtEOozLWdou7cZMRDqdOBgmkVpfbeoB4m5PPWaBye1Wa7iLv-7jHHJr02hrQW_qNN41L6hSCDgAfSoZnk/s1600/blog+4-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUndMFqsiuBdc_sDKdu8Y_CJYEsGg7jZ7zorBfMcOJR2IF2cvJDRlhvsPnLGWLtEOozLWdou7cZMRDqdOBgmkVpfbeoB4m5PPWaBye1Wa7iLv-7jHHJr02hrQW_qNN41L6hSCDgAfSoZnk/s320/blog+4-4.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott Root</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Scott was at the IA workshop with me.<br />
<a name='more'></a>I perked up when he made some comments about document libraries and content types. He works with Sharepoint, which is a document/data/content organizational system that I don't entirely understand. But it seems to be pretty high on the list of marketable skills so it may be worth looking into. Scott and I ended up hanging out for a big chunk of Thursday evening. You'd never guess from his fresh-faced demeanor that he has played in a punk band for years. He's also recently picked up piano. I had been dying to play the Steinway in the lobby for days. I wheedled and begged and got him a drink and he finally agreed to come play some of his new compositions on the piano. He had never played a real piano before. It was a pleasure to introduce him to one. And a Steinway at that. He ended up being very glad I convinced him. Of course the hotel staff had to ruin our fun. "The piano is not for playing." What kind of line is that?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-qSpPUqLKmFkoDV-gyCCG6UYLJJwsaAn464z7iUf3P2r4AMO9_UWzNKSTyzD1U90v6JhluyWh0wTdFBM2T1mruqgeLyGuR_hivcVY4kxUbQPDMn1_Ak3Y_kDYKylaK7F02tp92Aw6YnW/s1600/blog+4-5.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-qSpPUqLKmFkoDV-gyCCG6UYLJJwsaAn464z7iUf3P2r4AMO9_UWzNKSTyzD1U90v6JhluyWh0wTdFBM2T1mruqgeLyGuR_hivcVY4kxUbQPDMn1_Ak3Y_kDYKylaK7F02tp92Aw6YnW/s320/blog+4-5.5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karen McGrane talks about "Adaptive Content."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYg8LC8x8PnHIfsw12uy7rlhe-686vdmdQ9V6BCq81ATYs3Yr2FCaP9X5f1VUcbOvdkcXazDGLdEZ9lII6Zvzb90nWld_-L7OP5C9EC99UovEyzNu5Ze2brscpJAo6cMxRZ7ejdfMGQJr/s1600/blog+4-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYg8LC8x8PnHIfsw12uy7rlhe-686vdmdQ9V6BCq81ATYs3Yr2FCaP9X5f1VUcbOvdkcXazDGLdEZ9lII6Zvzb90nWld_-L7OP5C9EC99UovEyzNu5Ze2brscpJAo6cMxRZ7ejdfMGQJr/s320/blog+4-5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To a packed house.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> This is one of two talks that absolutely blew my mind. The session room was PACKED. I mean, people were sitting on the floor in front and crowding in to stand at the sides. And Karen deserved it. She talked about changing our entire perception of content - it's not about print, web, or mobile it's about the presentation of words and images in cohesive units independent of any channel. It's hard to make clear what she's talking about without examples, which she had plenty of. Conde is a magazine publisher that does Wired and Glamour, among others. They have been working very hard to get on the iPad bandwagon, building special apps for the device for each magazine. So now, when they go to lay out a magazine, the same designers have to lay out 3 different versions of every single page - print, iPad portrait and iPad landscape. These behave basically like giant photographs of a page - no ability to search, resize text, or really interact meaningfully. Their graphic designers are staying up after everyone else goes home, working three times as hard, for what? For a screen facsimile of a print experience. And then, what about desktop and mobile content? What is that, an afterthought?<br />
In contrast, NPR has been gathering content using a database-like content management system with many clearly defined fields and metadata associated. Things like event title, photograph, name, time, teaser, long description, are all broken out and their API generates a clean version of this content that can be used by a hugely diverse number of devices - phones, internet radio stations, web sites, apps, feedreaders...they build the content once, and let the platforms decide how to use it and how to present it that makes sense for the very unique contexts and constraints of each channel. NPR can focus on what they do best - quality content. Saves them an awful lot of work and gives a better result for end users.<br />
When you're using mobile, you usually don't want the fluff, you want clear, actionable data and photos. When you're browsing on your iPad, you want a visually rich experience that you can engage with using your fingers. The content generators should be aware of these contexts and constraints and organize and build their content accordingly, without trying to be an expert on implementation for each individual setting. It's all about making the content as flexible, reusable, and well-described as possible, so that you and others can use your content in ways you maybe haven't even envisioned yet. I know I'm rambling, but it's exciting. <a href="http://about.me/karenmcgrane" target="_blank">Find out more about Karen McGrane.</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPHrNbx1mVmY_mE24ZZThKCxD2zRsGRB7IR3TIU6iiMyOPRvh-mNdmWxt7icrigy02-olIQMZmzjoeEGTA5FlRjzKIk-FI2Z9Lyy1I-G_FWScLw8xH6CUSQWRLd7kOoaX1opRD7mcPE9M/s1600/blog+4-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPHrNbx1mVmY_mE24ZZThKCxD2zRsGRB7IR3TIU6iiMyOPRvh-mNdmWxt7icrigy02-olIQMZmzjoeEGTA5FlRjzKIk-FI2Z9Lyy1I-G_FWScLw8xH6CUSQWRLd7kOoaX1opRD7mcPE9M/s320/blog+4-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dinner party linked up via Twitter.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> So in the evening, somebody tweeted about getting dinner, and the next thing I know, we've got 11 (mostly) former strangers meeting up in the lobby to set off for an adventure on Bourbon Street. We had great chats while we walked.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoSKksQn7qhj8viofd6hLiyo4xEw-XoRmwVQnDcpKJOZmkxaPnRB8Pc5KkV14gWVTM4AzyY8rw7UT9bgOnPSGZP5PB28uHMq-tlXHZuhsjrqJ2OCM4CiF7Y5h9dyD_wwvfoKLrVdxFzOT-/s1600/blog+4-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoSKksQn7qhj8viofd6hLiyo4xEw-XoRmwVQnDcpKJOZmkxaPnRB8Pc5KkV14gWVTM4AzyY8rw7UT9bgOnPSGZP5PB28uHMq-tlXHZuhsjrqJ2OCM4CiF7Y5h9dyD_wwvfoKLrVdxFzOT-/s320/blog+4-7.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike Xu, entepeneur and ex-Apple employee</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I met Mike at the pre-conference workshop yesterday and invited him to join us so we wouldn't all be strangers. He's from Cupertino, that's in the San Fransisco Bay Area. Kind of the "genius kid" type, very smart, a little ADD and usually excited. We hit it off from the beginning because we are both intensely interested in applying user research to our sites. He "stalks" his users, and gave me some great tips on a user tracking product called <a href="https://mixpanel.com/" target="_blank">Mixpanel</a>. This actually lets you follow individual paths so you can get a sense of how users really interact with your site.<br />
Mike used to work at Apple, but he got bored, and his friend wanted to start up a business to do an online marketplace for used manufacturing goods so he quit and is now doing the startup. I really admire them for taking a great idea and running with it. And judging from Mike, they are serious, long-term thinkers who are committed to research and using what they learn. They seem to have a great beginning and I'm excited to follow their progress.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNl7ueHxyfSJ-h6EghwZ78OshQN52FPgcXaub7f9q6gSSiYzREqH8VmCO2gxGSWxv_8yExz-9YIqfRGpVmsM0fEzm8N_BA8ycLTHlAS2OFEIhg3833DUyk9TPFtggFhxjSjekt9a7yUHC8/s1600/blog+4-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNl7ueHxyfSJ-h6EghwZ78OshQN52FPgcXaub7f9q6gSSiYzREqH8VmCO2gxGSWxv_8yExz-9YIqfRGpVmsM0fEzm8N_BA8ycLTHlAS2OFEIhg3833DUyk9TPFtggFhxjSjekt9a7yUHC8/s320/blog+4-8.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The corner of Bourbon and Canal</td></tr>
</tbody></table> So this is our first view of the French quarter on a Friday night. As we got into the narrow streets it was packed, ridiculously loud, and full of partiers stumbling or dancing around with giant containers of booze in hand. No open container laws in Lousiana. It's a very different place.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-jqduCSC7TEhQaaqVpm6w7_wcG4IKDscIGD3uVOOmpw-OEme9NcoQp1SvBY-ZtLo-1T5-I5vJJjq6F45lSHBtF6YnQAWiMGo2XAl32Gke2g5xmzbgzkhCLtNVw7mFp7qA3LZI2y29wANn/s1600/blog+4-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-jqduCSC7TEhQaaqVpm6w7_wcG4IKDscIGD3uVOOmpw-OEme9NcoQp1SvBY-ZtLo-1T5-I5vJJjq6F45lSHBtF6YnQAWiMGo2XAl32Gke2g5xmzbgzkhCLtNVw7mFp7qA3LZI2y29wANn/s320/blog+4-9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carol Smith, dinner at Mr. B Bistro</td></tr>
</tbody></table> This was the first restaurant we found that could seat all of us, and it had also gotten good reviews on Urban Spoon. They ended up seating us across the room from eachother, which was not what we had in mind. But the food was amazing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxZp71JiWuHmJF6IrYM1NQ9xv-cL3aUPgXMdjWm5RCkiv91aSMM1rM38hj8KAlayMNLSpB6nUU3cYS-qGcLS3x2x32UlSCHaS6B_OqjogCew_O6WqFvaJKpuNqCjBXsYTmYkCgnrGsJ-5/s1600/blog+4-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxZp71JiWuHmJF6IrYM1NQ9xv-cL3aUPgXMdjWm5RCkiv91aSMM1rM38hj8KAlayMNLSpB6nUU3cYS-qGcLS3x2x32UlSCHaS6B_OqjogCew_O6WqFvaJKpuNqCjBXsYTmYkCgnrGsJ-5/s320/blog+4-10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The other half of our dinner party at Mr. B</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I had braised rabbit, a seasonal salad, a <a href="http://www.neworleansonline.com/neworleans/cuisine/drinks/sazerac.html" target="_blank">Sazerac</a>, and a white chocolate brownie. It was divine. And 50 bucks. Totally worth it.<br />
<br />
I wish I had pictures of the events that followed, but my camera battery was dying (Thus the blurriness of the last several) <i>EDIT: Thanks to the magic of camera phones, I have both a picture by Fredrik of me dancing, and one of Fredrik.</i><br />
<br />
After dinner we splintered into those who wanted to party and those who wanted to get back and rest. So I started back toward the hotel with the majority. But back on Bourbon Street, there was this crazy awesome brass band playing and a huge party in the street. People were dancing and singing. I did not want to just pass through that experience. Luckily, neither did one of my companions, Fredrik Ohlin. So the two of us tarried while the rest went on.<br />
Oh, how do I describe the feeling? The music and the cameraderie was the drug. Yes, many were intoxicated, but the music...the music, it just lifted our spirits and made us ridiculously happy. It was boisterous and sometimes raunchy and so catchy you just couldn't help but move. As usually happens when I encounter good music, I began just tapping, tried to stay in my little corner and sway some more, then my feet just start going and my hips start shaking and it's all over. Next thing I know they are dragging me into the center of the ring and I am doing the Charleston and people are wide eyed and cheering and taking videos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjasA5FmW_ZTl1MZGilEKiHpNfbs0EII8iipv0nooCfIIZJeeJzR3CCRUG3Dns8fv3AXpGywIN5ssgRzho7JN8cIRS1oYDCTiHKUtfMOpXYXAY7ivCcpZBzqgLfbQc6psL5MpOha32MvcUW/s1600/Bourbon+Street+Pic+from+Fredrik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjasA5FmW_ZTl1MZGilEKiHpNfbs0EII8iipv0nooCfIIZJeeJzR3CCRUG3Dns8fv3AXpGywIN5ssgRzho7JN8cIRS1oYDCTiHKUtfMOpXYXAY7ivCcpZBzqgLfbQc6psL5MpOha32MvcUW/s400/Bourbon+Street+Pic+from+Fredrik.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me dancing the Charleston in the crowd - by Fredrik</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Then they are all congratulating me and hi-fiving me saying "Nobody's got footwork like that that these days!" I thoroughly enjoyed the attention. But also people are patting me on the back and this one tourist is sidling up to me trying to make moves and this one woman is trying to pull me by the arm off somewhere and I'm trying to keep my hands on my purse. I was very, very glad Fredrik was there.<br />
So eventually the band stops playing and we start off again to the hotel. Guys were hawking CDs and I wanted one but I had already given them all my cash, but Fredrik gave them a 10 and wasn't even going to take a CD and I was like hey, buy it for me! So now I have a treasured memento. I listened to it this morning, it's the same song I was dancing to, with that same energy, and it puts me right back there.<br />
Fredrik and I had a great chat on the way to the hotel. He is Swedish (I totally didn't know it at first he sounds like he's from Connecticut) and is working on his PhD and lecturing at Malmo University. So we were planning to go to the <a href="http://www.boxesandarrows.com/" target="_blank">Boxes and Arrows</a> birthday party but it started at 8:30 and it's about 10:30 before we're leaving Bourbon Street. By the time we get to the hotel bar where it is, it's just a clump of people deeply involved in conversation, there is no booze to be seen, and we just didn't know how to plug in. So we drifted across the way, following the scent of music, and discover a live (and very talented) band is playing at the main Hyatt restaurant. So I'm leaning up against the wall in the corner admiring the skills of the torch singer, and she sees us, sings to us, even waves at us. Fredrik is like "we could park here and listen" which sounds great to me, so he gets a gin and tonic, I get a water, and we find a spot on the upper level in front which is literally feet from the singer. She was so captivating. She had a solid musicality and voice, but what made her a great entertainer was her stage presence. She danced, flirted, bantered with the audience, and her face was marvelously expressive. It was hard to take your eyes off her. I kind of want to try that. It looks like so much fun.<br />
I eventually caved and got a Kahlua and cream. Mmm. The bum thing was, our drinks arrived about midnight, they were on a song I didn't care for so much and I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, they were packing up! The star was nowhere in sight! It was so depressing. But I did get to chat with the other musicians a bit. The bassist played an acoustic. That's pretty rare.<br />
So there we were with new drinks and no music. We wandered down to the piano, but didn't dare play it with the hotel staff patrolling like hawks. But it ended up being very pleasant, just having a quiet and thoughtful chat into the early morning hours.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWQCamc-owQy64cTddmp3c6vLJegXmRloJTfVwFBm7lL2m7Du3UQuMnoF8BqUi-daGlDHqEMHu6P7dsmUGZBb1_VidlAWu5Y20dVpAt2ws54B6cAQODPsqs-rf3EMf8sZayNYvFrvScNh/s1600/2012-03-24+00.31.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWQCamc-owQy64cTddmp3c6vLJegXmRloJTfVwFBm7lL2m7Du3UQuMnoF8BqUi-daGlDHqEMHu6P7dsmUGZBb1_VidlAWu5Y20dVpAt2ws54B6cAQODPsqs-rf3EMf8sZayNYvFrvScNh/s320/2012-03-24+00.31.25.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fredrik, my Swedish friend</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Well, I have been writing all morning and now if I don't throw some clothes on and head downstairs I am going to miss an amazing free lunch. If you read this and enjoy it, please leave a comment because this is hard work and sometimes I wonder if it's worth it.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/01/ia-summit-in-new-orleans.html" target="_blank">IA Summit in New Orleans</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-1-getting-there.html" target="_blank">1 - Getting There</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-2-french-quarter.html">2 - French Quarter Buskers</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-rain-on-my.html" target="_blank">3 - Rain on My Parade</a> || 4 - New Ideas, New Friends, & Bourbon Street || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-5-festival-city.html" target="_blank">5 - The Festival, the City, & the Way Home</a>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-14720313685731029792012-03-21T20:11:00.003-04:002012-03-28T00:57:17.350-04:00IA Summit New Orleans 3 - Rain on My ParadeThis day did not turn out as I was expecting.<br />
It started out promising. I got a good 8 hours of sleep and laid in bed for another hour and a half before doing anything. This is a rare luxury in the life of Lydia. I read a little and looked up song lyrics and versions for some songs Woody the busker and I were trying to remember yesterday.<br />
<br />
As much as I admire Billie for being mother of the blues, it's swingstress Ella who continues to be my inspiration. Her range, her tone, her utter musicality, her sparkling stage personality...what's not to love? <a href="http://youtu.be/6pdyiK5kziw">Listen for yourself.</a><br />
<br />
After a brief incident involving a certain hotel door refusing to open, I got my continental breakfast and by 11am I was on my way into town. I've about given up on the bus. It confuses me even at home when I'm familiar with the area. And I always seem to get to the bus stop right after the bus leaves. So I took a cab. The cab driver alone was worth the money. She was real chatty and told me <a href="http://www.dimartinos.com/" target="_blank">the best place to get a muffuletta</a> ("muffle-AH-tuh") (They're better here on the West Bank, she said) and a po-boy (<a href="http://www.mothersrestaurant.net/" target="_blank">Mother's po-boys are apparently world famous.</a>) She also told me where to go for music and took me through the Warehouse district. I'm going to have to check out the "Hollywoof" (<a href="http://www.thehowlinwolf.com/" target="_blank">Howlin' Wolf</a>) - maybe next trip when I'm not on business. I think she may have taken me the scenic route to rack up a few extra bucks, but I'm not complaining. She cued me in to Mother's after all. Best meal I've had since I got to New Orleans.<br />
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So about the time I finished up my debris & gravy ferdi and turnip greens (rather, reached the three-quarter mark and decided to call it quits) it starts beating down rain. I mean, seriously storming. Thus began a serious of rather poor decisions. Armed with my new umbrella, I decided I was invincible so I sallied forth.<br />
<a name='more'></a>In 30 seconds my pants were soaked through and my glasses covered in droplets. I decided maybe this wasn't such a good idea so I went back into Mother's. But I was torn. Registration had begun for IA Summit, the pre-conference workshop that I really wanted to attend was starting in an hour, and the Hyatt Regency was (I thought) only three blocks away. I just wanted to be on the other side of the storm and start into the conference experience. I couldn't get a cab, because my meal had cost me 19 bucks and ate right through my cab budget. I tried waiting it out for a few minutes, but somebody said it was probably going to get worse before it got better and it wouldn't likely stop for at least an hour.<br />
<br />
I am a terribly impatient person, and also rather fanciful. I imagined meeting some friendly IA lady who happened to be my size staying at the Hyatt Regency seeing me all wet and offering to lend me some clothes, while the ever-so-helpful hotel staff popped my own wet clothes into the dryer. Galvanized with this vision, and tempted by the adventurous possibilities of a (possibly dangerous) jaunt through the storm, I sallied forth again. This time the bluster did not catch me off-guard. I deftly wielded my umbrella against the wild elements with one hand while carrying my root beer in the other. Ok maybe I used both hands. I was soaked through in half a block. My shoes were buckets by block 2. Then I started singing. Summertime. The storm was so loud, and the music had been locked up in me since yesterday. I just let it all out. At the top of my lungs in the Central Business District. Harried business people and travelers rushed around me, ducked under eaves, and gave me bewildered smiles. It was so liberating to be out there tromping steadily through the torrents and wildly singing the blues. I usually don't have the freedom to sing like that.<br />
<br />
Fun as that was, I'm sure you can guess what followed. Bedraggled and drenched from the tips of my hair to the soles of my feet, I bust into the Hyatt-Regency. I couldn't quite reign in the music but I managed to reduce it to a whistle. I found the ASIS&T registration table and was met with a slightly bemused "May I help you?" I guess I looked a sorry sight. I got my registration packet and asked about the pre-conference workshop I was interested in. The lady's facial expression gave me a clue that maybe I needed to re-evaluate the situation. "I guess I need to go dry off a bit first, huh." "Yes, that would probably be a good idea."<br />
<br />
Deflated, I started off in a random direction and was met by a hotel staff person. "Can I help you with anything?" "Yes, I'm looking for a place where I can sit and think without getting your furniture all wet." "No problem at all. There's a leather chair. Can I get you some towels?" "Yes, that would be wonderful!"<br />
<br />
It took me a while to pull myself back together. I took off my drenched socks (wet feet always give me a cold) and surveyed the damage to my belongings. Luckily I was using water-proof ink in my journal. My books and papers are looking a little worse for wear, but at least everything is still legible. I turned on my phone and responded to a few texts. Talking to loved ones always helps me get some perspective.<br />
<br />
Slowly, reality sunk in. The workshop started in half an hour, my IA fairy godmother had failed to appear, and passing Intel workers (also conferencing at the Hyatt) were giving me a look that seemed to mean "Does that vagabond realize she is in the Hyatt-Regency?" Ok maybe that's just my imagination. But still, those Intel people look like a snooty bunch. I was momentarily buoyed as I started to notice the tattooed and trendy IA Summit attendees. At last, my first sight of the people I have been dying to meet for months! But there I was, huddled in a towel, socks and backpack contents strewn about me. I furtively tucked my IA summit badge out of sight.<br />
<br />
There was no helping it. I did not have time to go to my hotel, change, and come back in half an hour. And I had not yet made any friends to make dinner plans with, so there was no reason to shell out another $30 to go back into town for the evening. I accepted defeat, packed up my things, visited the ATM, and hailed a cab.<br />
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It hasn't been all bad, here at the hotel. My clothes are drying, it's a toasty 80 degrees in here, and I was able to get my Google Analytics conversion goals set up for the <a href="http://www.google.com/onlinechallenge/" target="_blank">GOMC Adwords campaign</a> which starts in three days. <a href="http://groups.google.com/a/googleproductforums.com/forum/#!category-topic/adwords/analytics--conversion-tracking/6hY1C1yelwo" target="_blank">Well, I have a major complaint about Google Analytics, but others have already expressed it quite eloquently.</a> I took a nap and spent the rest of the afternoon surfing the internet. Again, rare luxuries in Lydialand.<br />
<br />
Felicia Day is beginning to get my attention. I adored her in <a href="http://drhorrible.com/" target="_blank">Dr. Horrible's</a>, and some of my friends have been talking about <a href="http://www.youtube.com/show?p=eYROA5iyqDw&tracker=show_av" target="_blank">the Guild</a>. Then when she modeled for <a href="http://www.clockworkcouture.com/" target="_blank">my favorite Steampunk clothier, Clockwork Couture</a>, she was on my radar once again. Her <a href="http://www.youtube.com/geekandsundry" target="_blank">new web TV channel Geek & Sundry</a> looks promising. A spunky, geeky redhead, homeschooled, started college at 16... Hmm. Maybe I'll explore an alternate career as an internet star.<br />
<br />
I'll definitely be rested and ready for the <a href="http://2012.iasummit.org/schedule/information_architecture_theory_and_practice.html" target="_blank">Intro to Information Architecture workshop</a> in the morning. I also get to move to the Hyatt and meet my roommate, Mobina from Seattle. The best is yet to come.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/01/ia-summit-in-new-orleans.html" target="_blank">IA Summit in New Orleans</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-1-getting-there.html" target="_blank">1 - Getting There</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-2-french-quarter.html">2 - French Quarter Buskers</a> || 3 - Rain on My Parade || <a _blank"="" href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-new-ideas-new.html" target="_blank">4 - New Ideas, New Friends, & Bourbon Street</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-5-festival-city.html" target="_blank">5 - The Festival, the City, & the Way Home</a>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-54749673375481768322012-03-20T22:08:00.005-04:002012-03-28T00:39:25.098-04:00IA Summit New Orleans 2 - French Quarter Buskers<div style="text-align: center;">Glorious afternoon! I am now in that happy, delirious sort of exhaustion.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDNJb9i9fuL8fJWpkKKOUiT6H0Ardo9xaAJ637VfznvsLF2Od6yGvvprpLgfXpbjCq1g_qqmGk3Ix-EWifOuzQyjW6aTR74_ELEi9Gx4zQHVIYAgKGoa5hZ14rld7EcCi41e2_yGJ6heh/s1600/100_3503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDNJb9i9fuL8fJWpkKKOUiT6H0Ardo9xaAJ637VfznvsLF2Od6yGvvprpLgfXpbjCq1g_qqmGk3Ix-EWifOuzQyjW6aTR74_ELEi9Gx4zQHVIYAgKGoa5hZ14rld7EcCi41e2_yGJ6heh/s640/100_3503.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teens performing in Jackson Square</td></tr>
</tbody></table> These kids were cool. They came from Oklahoma and are spreading the gospel through dance. One of them also approached me and asked if they could pray over me. So we prayed for the Chic-fil-A Bible study. So unexpectedly uplifting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMEnCgt1G2heE94sTRYWLBfBloQqA3271su8isoXjXxWQwgU9JrDvaz-EmXovvFnTZ1AFhiduEcHoNxHL6PioOaama1cC0sxP5VytzXqWg1lKd4shUouDQiXMxGtIfbvGpkXPNOQJCJ8W/s1600/100_3507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMEnCgt1G2heE94sTRYWLBfBloQqA3271su8isoXjXxWQwgU9JrDvaz-EmXovvFnTZ1AFhiduEcHoNxHL6PioOaama1cC0sxP5VytzXqWg1lKd4shUouDQiXMxGtIfbvGpkXPNOQJCJ8W/s320/100_3507.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guitarist holding my Long Purple Bike card</td></tr>
</tbody></table> This guy's name is Woody. He was playing in front of the Cafe Du Monde and he's the first musician I found. He's from Vermont and came to New Orleans five weeks ago seeking fame and fortune through music, or something like that. He's got a great voice. He picked up trombone a few days ago. He invited me to play and sing with him. We had a blast.<br />
Woody told me there were more musicians on Royal Street. Sure enough, there were two fantastic fiddlers. But I had a problem. No more small bills to tip them! So I popped in the nearest door intending to ask for change for my ten. Boy was I surprised to see all of these exquisite paintings!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNowwLy1pMjP6YPt_F5OV-tcSFFCYGdS9BiihatmpRI-LflA1jrjjqkXY_noDlvFhkQ12-EOUQKxR2z6E7vfqS4kN8GaXYv3u6f3hDeMl398NmulPpWxjM9lSYdndx4e8xPY9iIdKROyoX/s1600/100_3512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNowwLy1pMjP6YPt_F5OV-tcSFFCYGdS9BiihatmpRI-LflA1jrjjqkXY_noDlvFhkQ12-EOUQKxR2z6E7vfqS4kN8GaXYv3u6f3hDeMl398NmulPpWxjM9lSYdndx4e8xPY9iIdKROyoX/s640/100_3512.JPG" width="600" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gallery Burguires</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlEC4HjCgYQTwC_3PMSrYuo0DTvE_gncHYTaBze2U5P54kDCOl5h-P1CTrq7-xoo7JcqX0s7-fSgyEX44PwHYsfI0V9_ZYYQTR-GOshCFPj1taN3qqKZJ7gjFvxlMhbG8iqg-mK-mPWwj/s1600/100_3509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlEC4HjCgYQTwC_3PMSrYuo0DTvE_gncHYTaBze2U5P54kDCOl5h-P1CTrq7-xoo7JcqX0s7-fSgyEX44PwHYsfI0V9_ZYYQTR-GOshCFPj1taN3qqKZJ7gjFvxlMhbG8iqg-mK-mPWwj/s400/100_3509.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ally Burguires in her gallery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The artist's name is Ally Burguires. She has been showing her art in New York and I think Los Angeles. She got her PhD in Ireland. I bought a postcard instead of asking for change. Obviously I'm not a rich patron so there's only so much I can do, but when I see beautiful art I want to support it. <a href="http://www.galleryburguieres.com/">Find more of Ally's paintings here.</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq35cxpUZVxt92JK5ezzkvEPeCUA4J6ClmEhbBJ7-CQ5E5Bb53B7uTASFx3M0lCsNdNwDWM857dL1ff2MJhYXMalqG7z6Ij2JKBswT2aE6BeqYeNj0WgUklwAfDNFoohSZ0m53uNQm4La7/s1600/100_3524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq35cxpUZVxt92JK5ezzkvEPeCUA4J6ClmEhbBJ7-CQ5E5Bb53B7uTASFx3M0lCsNdNwDWM857dL1ff2MJhYXMalqG7z6Ij2JKBswT2aE6BeqYeNj0WgUklwAfDNFoohSZ0m53uNQm4La7/s320/100_3524.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zachariah Coldhouse Waters</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
This guy's guitar skills and voice really moved me. He played funk and blues. Here he is explaining about people trying to label the delta blues. He says, he's from the delta, and he plays the blues. That's the delta blues.<br />
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I also met a lady named Christine from Denmark who liked to play Joni Mitchell covers. She played Big Yellow Taxi for me.<br />
<br />
Lastly, my favorite buskers, fiddlers John and Lyle. They were right outside of the artist's gallery. Lyle teaches fiddle lessons. I was going to buy them some beer but I left my driver's license in my suitcase. So I bought them sweet tea and cherry coke instead. John's wolf was really sweet. <a href="http://youtu.be/mP4k8MnnGRE" style="text-align: -webkit-center;">Watch John and Lyle perform another piece, this one an original composition, here.</a><br />
<div style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-QyKKwWblKM" width="480"></iframe></div><center style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</center><center><br />
</center><center><a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/01/ia-summit-in-new-orleans.html" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;" target="_blank">IA Summit in New Orleans</a><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> || </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-1-getting-there.html" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;" target="_blank">1 - Getting There</a><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> || </span>2 - French Quarter Buskers<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> || </span><a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-rain-on-my.html" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;" target="_blank">3 - Rain on My Parade</a><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> ||</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><a _blank"="" href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-new-ideas-new.html" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;" target="_blank">4 - New Ideas, New Friends, & Bourbon Street</a><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">|| </span><a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-5-festival-city.html" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;" target="_blank">5 - The Festival, the City, & the Way Home</a> </center>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-23011251962178603942012-03-20T14:45:00.008-04:002012-03-29T18:30:46.570-04:00IA Summit New Orleans 1 - Getting There<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlS9f6q502Eieh7rbtKIkUGl4jpNbfEybObWOJ8B0bNv4eufGY5ucdq420l9NmqjbPtLxiZzGSWHTl_oc84-1LyTvo7v7-wrqDBURuw4NpfmcPZ_82KblLK7fR74ToMtaxDaxKXZfAU8b/s1600/100_3478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlS9f6q502Eieh7rbtKIkUGl4jpNbfEybObWOJ8B0bNv4eufGY5ucdq420l9NmqjbPtLxiZzGSWHTl_oc84-1LyTvo7v7-wrqDBURuw4NpfmcPZ_82KblLK7fR74ToMtaxDaxKXZfAU8b/s320/100_3478.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packing as Art. Next to my laptop are my spiffy new business <br />
cards, a lint roller, & the Great Dalmuti for game night.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I am writing this on my phone on the Megabus on my way from Charlotte to Atlanta. This is the second leg of a 15 hour trip taking me from Spartanburg, SC to New Orleans, LA for IA Summit 2012. I'll be blogging my adventure all along the way. <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/01/ia-summit-in-new-orleans.html">Read about how I found out about the IA Summit and what it is.</a><br />
<br />
I've been prepping for months - talking to folks who'd been there & picking up tips, <a href="http://www.lydiaanthony.com/" target="_blank">revamping my portfolio</a>, getting spiffy networking cards, finding a roommate, booking hotels and planning bus routes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>...five hours later...</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbgpqWQEwYMi6NQHTSA-PzyVzhaqE5DQ-dy78PwcU7alEo1_CSBxyDViGkedopBMYy7eBGKVyLU_LIw90caLM0i4UfoB9Imvzx6Em4daMJhf0in501DpcaFXuxPWdcE9qkp3ASIn_Et1J/s1600/100_3488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbgpqWQEwYMi6NQHTSA-PzyVzhaqE5DQ-dy78PwcU7alEo1_CSBxyDViGkedopBMYy7eBGKVyLU_LIw90caLM0i4UfoB9Imvzx6Em4daMJhf0in501DpcaFXuxPWdcE9qkp3ASIn_Et1J/s320/100_3488.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lydia the Traveller in Atlanta</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I am now in between Montgomery and Mobile, AL. I still can't pronounce Mobile right. Mo-BEEL. I've seen and met some interesting people. A lot of wierdos hang out at bus stations. People who rock, stare at you, and wear funny wigs. People who talk to themselves, and people who have cardboard signs about Google being "HOSTTOTHEDEAD" whatever that means. But the people who actually get on the bus seem sane, and relatively nice. I met some students on their way to or from Spring Break, and a Mobile native who was quick to give me safety tips. I forgot hand sanitizer and sunscreen. Oh well, my mom gave me a pretty new umbrella. I'll just pretend it's a parasol.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0vEAyQAnB9J7xopQ7uulrLKLPfx2O6tdUOx9oe3QY_YAusLvDDK_MGUd4Llb8kYj8Nv92uMSbwOilrWNBT_vckyzwGod8qc8J6gbabqEOuyghlYjCnPSB4JfeiVmOhLpsWm5qsvZ76JoN/s1600/100_3484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0vEAyQAnB9J7xopQ7uulrLKLPfx2O6tdUOx9oe3QY_YAusLvDDK_MGUd4Llb8kYj8Nv92uMSbwOilrWNBT_vckyzwGod8qc8J6gbabqEOuyghlYjCnPSB4JfeiVmOhLpsWm5qsvZ76JoN/s200/100_3484.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A 15-minute layover becomes 1 hour.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It's been a fairly pleasant bus trip. I have probably gotten more schoolwork done than I would have during the same amount of time at home. I've also gotten a lot of great ideas to take back to Converse already. I'm reading <a href="http://www.yourseoplan.com/" target="_blank">a fabulous SEO book</a> and can't wait to apply some of this stuff to the Converse website. Next step: create a Mentions of Converse dashboard in iGoogle. Whenever people are talking about us, anywhere on the web, we'll be alerted. Eavesdropping made simple! An excellent way to stay in touch with perceptions of our brand.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKK1n1zA-P8qbqtOe8kV7AlY-rQLev4rZ_eousRj-JktjYbxs5lM8podGxp6Ghk2RoBmoQO-gwI5Gm9WjxfpdnSm5NtVe50wIUyY2oRDssLYVH5C2uR0qSQJH8WMKseWt4Z1NhUDvtov0/s1600/100_3489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKK1n1zA-P8qbqtOe8kV7AlY-rQLev4rZ_eousRj-JktjYbxs5lM8podGxp6Ghk2RoBmoQO-gwI5Gm9WjxfpdnSm5NtVe50wIUyY2oRDssLYVH5C2uR0qSQJH8WMKseWt4Z1NhUDvtov0/s320/100_3489.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>Megabus > Greyhound.</u></td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>...next day...</b><br />
I made it at last. The last bit of the bus trip yesterday was less than pleasant thanks to a migraine and a bout of bussickness. I never get sick in the car, plane, or boat. Wierd.<br />
Oh, and the bus was an hour late. Between that, general disorientation, and the<a href="http://www.google.com/onlinechallenge/" target="_blank"> Google Online Marketing Challenge</a> pre-campaign strategy being due last night, I did not have a very restful evening, though the Ashbury Hotel was surprisingly nice. And Matthew and I got to pray over Skype which was doubly nice.<br />
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Read about the creepy bus station mural, the Hyatt-Regency, and the local grocery after the jump.<br />
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Set two alarms for 3:30 this morning. Didn't hear either of them. A text from my mom woke me out of fitful dreams at 4:45am. Boy, that was providence. Panicking, I threw my stuff in the suitcase (I was so exhausted last night I hadn't even gotten out of my clothes, and now I didn't have time to change) and called a cab. He got me to the Greyhound station in time to hear the guy yell "Anyone else for New Orleans?" and I bolted to the bus. I was the very last one but I made it. I payed $88 for Greyhound to get about 100 miles. I payed $4 for Megabus to get me 600 miles. Megabus is twice as clean, comfortable, and accommodating as Greyhound. Figure that one out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLF3abLUasApflVWSWG6PTD9t0IYXm5u7BVwT26OlDx8FVnQjHCZCJjdCoq8xLOFYVWiNDC5AUONKQTYyFKEiHtrrb83mWIfuZDq_p2KBPW3fSSIl_olIUjfHGKytXxP-r9Xlp3YNLaKPq/s1600/100_3497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLF3abLUasApflVWSWG6PTD9t0IYXm5u7BVwT26OlDx8FVnQjHCZCJjdCoq8xLOFYVWiNDC5AUONKQTYyFKEiHtrrb83mWIfuZDq_p2KBPW3fSSIl_olIUjfHGKytXxP-r9Xlp3YNLaKPq/s320/100_3497.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Orleans Amtrak station with creepy murals</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anyway, the bus was supposed to be a through-way but they stopped about 4 times and we were an hour late. Pulling into the Greyhound/Amtrak station at 9:15am, the first thing I noticed were the murals. Dark, writing figures that reminded me simultaneously of nightmarish graffitti and <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=el+greco&hl=en&rlz=1C1SKPL_enUS428US430&prmd=imvnso&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=AMdoT7DYKMnq0gGn8_H6CA&ved=0CEMQsAQ&biw=1051&bih=679" target="_blank">El Greco</a>. Grotesque. But I think they were showing the history of New Orleans. I wish I'd had a native to tell me some of the stories. I'm sure they were fascinating. The overall impression, combined with boarded-up windows and black-and-red marble slashed with white, was rather foreboding. Welcome to New Orleans.<br />
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Once I got to the Hyatt-Regency, things looked a lot more positive. The concierge was amazingly friendly and kept my luggage for me even though I am not checking in for 2 more days. He also helped me get my bus route to my pre-conference hotel straightened out, and directed me to an awesome local grocery store, Rouse's. I got a ham sandwich, fresh-squeezed strawberry-pineapple juice, and a berry chantilly donut. (When they say donut, they mean any variety of fried treats - this one was triangular and filled with creme.) For the past few hours I've been relaxing in the Hyatt lobby and freshening up. After I post this I'm heading over to the French Quarter. Ready to catch the street musicians!<br />
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<a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/01/ia-summit-in-new-orleans.html" target="_blank">IA Summit in New Orleans</a> || 1 - Getting There || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-2-french-quarter.html">2 - French Quarter Buskers</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-rain-on-my.html" target="_blank">3 - Rain on My Parade</a> || <a _blank"="" href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-new-ideas-new.html" target="_blank">4 - New Ideas, New Friends, & Bourbon Street</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-5-festival-city.html" target="_blank">5 - The Festival, the City, & the Way Home</a>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-80992343724961097632012-02-28T09:18:00.000-05:002012-02-28T09:18:20.395-05:00Matthew in SeminaryMatthew got accepted to Princeton Theological last week! Hooray! He's got some time to think before he makes his final decision. But I'm really proud of him that he got accepted. We are praying a lot. Of course Princeton, NJ is a lot farther away from here, so we wouldn't be able to see each other as much, but we are no strangers to Skype. The main thing is that he ends up where God wants him to be.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"></div>Here are pictures of us at the Cottonwood Trail last time he came to visit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/418226_536404694998_146700367_30843677_1545732816_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/418226_536404694998_146700367_30843677_1545732816_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt is ready for an adventure!<br />
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</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/420267_536404869648_146700367_30843679_776394130_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/420267_536404869648_146700367_30843679_776394130_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the pulpit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/432170_536404919548_146700367_30843680_539633866_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/432170_536404919548_146700367_30843680_539633866_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He looks entirely too at home there.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/425334_536405029328_146700367_30843682_1184185653_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/425334_536405029328_146700367_30843682_1184185653_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That was a really happy day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-14601028606047645782012-02-18T15:06:00.042-05:002012-02-20T18:14:42.629-05:00Doodle BlogLet me know if my life illustrated is any less boring than my life in text.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfW-cwumCe70SEH_Fg71qhN7W8aBzqKmJOMtjQ-BVCwZQu9HuwGOsC3EwmZg5Pnxh9yUL-c6jZc9Hoz9iQ7z0MEFlvGIDgenDvvtWrEBDyHps5RwQXgrtohWkpAXZ65K9BRgHt3ZqyaDz/s1600/February+18+Doodle+Blog.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="February 18, 2012.[Drippy nose.] I have a cold. This morning, I dreamed that my best guy friend got really angry and kissed me on the forehead. [angry guy with pouty lips] When I woke up I didn't want to do anything but play Enya songs on the harp. [Harp.] My mom didn't want to do anything but get me to watch Enya videos on Youtube. I ate a biscuit. [biscuit.] I drank soup and alka-seltzer and felt slightly better. [cup with fizzy alka-seltzer] I spent a good two hours writing a paper and almost as long researching the new Facebook meme. line. Doodle Blogger: [swirly, star, smiley face] my friends think. [Heart, XOXO, 'Lydia hearts Matt.'] my boyfriend thinks. [house, stick figure, 'lol its pix now yayness'] my mom thinks. [Starry night by Van Gogh] I think. [Drippy nose, 'blah blah blah'] really. line. I prayed with Kinsey. I ate froyo with Katie. [Twisty's yogurt cup] I was too tired to eat dinner. I wanted to create something strikingly beautiful and artistic. [woman's eye with decorations] Instead I made this." border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfW-cwumCe70SEH_Fg71qhN7W8aBzqKmJOMtjQ-BVCwZQu9HuwGOsC3EwmZg5Pnxh9yUL-c6jZc9Hoz9iQ7z0MEFlvGIDgenDvvtWrEBDyHps5RwQXgrtohWkpAXZ65K9BRgHt3ZqyaDz/s1600/February+18+Doodle+Blog.png" title="February 18, 2012.[Drippy nose.] I have a cold. This morning, I dreamed that my best guy friend got really angry and kissed me on the forehead. [angry guy with pouty lips] When I woke up I didn't want to do anything but play Enya songs on the harp. [Harp.] My mom didn't want to do anything but get me to watch Enya videos on Youtube. I ate a biscuit. [biscuit.] I drank soup and alka-seltzer and felt slightly better. [cup with fizzy alka-seltzer] I spent a good two hours writing a paper and almost as long researching the new Facebook meme. line. Doodle Blogger: [swirly, star, smiley face] my friends think. [Heart, XOXO, 'Lydia hearts Matt.'] my boyfriend thinks. [house, stick figure, 'lol its pix now yayness'] my mom thinks. [Starry night by Van Gogh] I think. [Drippy nose, 'blah blah blah'] really. line. I prayed with Kinsey. I ate froyo with Katie. [Twisty's yogurt cup] I was too tired to eat dinner. I wanted to create something strikingly beautiful and artistic. [woman's eye with decorations] Instead I made this." width="600" /></a></div>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-38978486895463770932012-01-21T21:23:00.003-05:002012-03-28T00:44:19.369-04:00IA Summit in New Orleans!Today was my last day at Chick-fil-A. Boy am I glad to be done there. I was doing way too much between Chick Fil A, Converse, and classes, and it was taking a toll on my health and the quality of my education. I am paying good money for this MLIS. I want to squeeze every drop of learning from it I can. Now I can focus those eight hours a week on career development, and being better prepared for class.<br />
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This week, I have been preparing to go to <a href="http://2012.iasummit.org/" target="_blank">IA Summit</a>. I am really excited about this - someone at <a href="http://infocampsc.info/" target="_blank">InfoCamp</a> told me about it - it's the event where User Experience and Information Architecture professionals gather. Information Architecture is basically the structuring of information on the web so it makes sense and people can find what they're looking for. You could think of Information Architects as "web librarians." User Experience is about looking at your website (or any product, service, or place) through the eyes of the person using it - What are they trying to do? What do they notice? How does this come across to them? Then you can design or refine your thing so that it really serves the end user, and gives them a positive total experience. If you're curious, you can listen to the 30-second explanations on <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2011/12/why-not-make-night-of-it.html">my Prezi</a>, or visit the <a href="http://www.iainstitute.org/" target="_blank">Information Architecture Institute</a>, <a href="http://www.upassoc.org/usability_resources/about_usability/what_is_ucd.html" target="_blank">Usability Professionals Association</a>, or <a href="http://www.ixda.org/" target="_blank">Interaction Designers Association</a>.<br />
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So I registered and got the early bird rates, researched transportation and lodging (I love <a href="http://www.megabus.com/" target="_blank">Megabus</a> - round trip to Mobile for $4!!) made a budget, applied for funding, and started beefing up my professional presence online. I have the beginnings of a professional portfolio I made for class last semester. <a href="http://www.lydiaanthony.com/" target="_blank">Check out my portfolio!</a> (and let me know what you think...)<br />
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Oh and I'm also just excited because it's going to be in New Orleans. I've never been there before! I'm gonna get there a day early and do a little sightseeing. And I will definitely be blogging about it. I love writing about my travels! Just for fun, I dug up my old college blogs about Spring Break '08 in Athens, GA. You can read them <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2008/03/greetings-from-athens-georgia.html" target="">here</a> and <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2008/04/adventures-in-athens.html">here</a>.<br />
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Re-living some of the fun of InfoCampSC. Here are some pix.<br />
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IA Summit in New Orleans || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-1-getting-there.html" target="_blank">1 - Getting There</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-2-french-quarter.html">2 - French Quarter Buskers</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-rain-on-my.html" target="_blank">3 - Rain on My Parade</a> || <a _blank"="" href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-3-new-ideas-new.html" target="_blank">4 - New Ideas, New Friends, & Bourbon Street</a> || <a href="http://www.longpurplebike.com/2012/03/ia-summit-new-orleans-5-festival-city.html" target="_blank">5 - The Festival, the City, & the Way Home</a>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-86210297484986068912012-01-10T01:47:00.003-05:002012-01-16T15:57:59.154-05:00Prayers for MatthewI finished reading <i>Praying for Your Future Husband. </i>It was excellent. Like <a href="http://www.thesongsontheway.com/2011/12/book-review-praying-for-your-future.html">Pam said</a>, it is definitely geared toward teen girls but certainly of value to unmarried sisters of any age, even if they have someone in mind at the time.<br />
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A long time ago, I made a silly little pact with God. I wanted to pray for my future husband, whoever he really was, but I didn't know how. I could only pray in vague generalities. Then my affections locked onto a particular brother. Rather than exhausting my mental capacities in fighting it, as my stoic tendencies and the church culture seemed to dictate, I decided, instead, to pray for him.<br />
<a name='more'></a> If my thoughts were to turn to him every hour, at least I could turn those thoughts into prayers. The pact I made with God was that every prayer I prayed for him, could also be applied to whoever my future husband really was, assuming it wasn't him. I figured prayer could only help, even better if it helped two people at once. And learning the habit of intercessory prayer was certainly more beneficial than idle fantasizing. I don't know how God felt about that pact, but it was what it was.<br />
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Fast forward seven years. Now there is a brother who stands a good chance of being my future husband. Instead of imagining all the things he may be going through or that the Lord may need to do in his life, I can ask him, I can see for myself. Now, no longer are my prayers a young girl's attempt to make something useful out of a bunch of frustrating and potentially wasted feelings, but rather the earnest seeking of the very best of God's will for another human being whose life may end up inextricably intertwined with my own. I feel it is my duty to pray for Matthew. It is also my delight. And I don't even feel the need to make a pact like I did before - instead I'm just taking a step of faith that he is the one, and recognizing God's goodness in any agape love I have for him, regardless. The funny thing is, as God has given me a heart to pray for him, He is enlarging my heart to intercede for others as well.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJM0v7QQ534EbZUsfCbRtJFa_B1FtxcUXNPUlb-5p40wURZ-Jd6cIu-6Fzs9Rs99ADYO3QXtd7VLeRy_txroJnmbZNEV7DKkWHtTsAruF7AHWQtUsjC4sx8O0QBPU_ydQcvUBHT3cuf96s/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJM0v7QQ534EbZUsfCbRtJFa_B1FtxcUXNPUlb-5p40wURZ-Jd6cIu-6Fzs9Rs99ADYO3QXtd7VLeRy_txroJnmbZNEV7DKkWHtTsAruF7AHWQtUsjC4sx8O0QBPU_ydQcvUBHT3cuf96s/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Matthew and I spend New Year's together. I met his family, his friends, and his spiritual companions and mentors. We talked a lot, we did other things as well, like visit the High museum of art, drink Korean tea, and dance in the firelight. But the best part was the heartfelt fellowship and the prayer. It is amazing how our hearts beat with the same purpose, the same vision. Even though we came to it from such wildly different directions. Matthew, raised a Methodist, saved at the moment of his baptism, serving as a lay pastor, the heat and pressure of a missional life under attack by a secular college culture charting a rapid course of Christian growth. Me, anti-denominational, anti-clergy/laity, Christian since the age of 5, filled with the Spirit, sheltered and nurtured in a thickly Christian community, seeking a life of monastic purity and rigid discipline whilst God showed me freedom and richness of experience over and over.<br />
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When I first saw the vision of the glorious church life, the life of shepherding the saints, the life of hospitality and true communion in Christ, the life of a family dedicated, one hundred percent, to existing by God's grace and power as a light in this dark, dark world, I could not have imagined fulfilling it in the kind of setting God may be calling us into. (I hesitate to spell it out here, for one because it is still so tentative, and two because I yet fear it will be misinterpreted and judged by many dear to me.) But the point is, we are given to following the Lord, <i>wherever</i> He may lead. If there is any thing God has taught me it's that I can't limit Him, neither can I know exactly what He intends until He's done it. All I can do is pray, and walk in faith, one step at a time.<br />
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I wanted to write about my New Year's resolution (to observe the Sabbath truly and meaningfully). I also wanted to narrate the highlights of the last month (Christmas with family - this year including my sister and hers). I had planned photo slideshows (of my CSA veggie creations for one). I wanted to mention how God answered my prayers about serving the saints by sending an invitation to help lead a Bible study, out of the blue. I wanted to introduce what I will be expecting for school this term (Info organization and online marketing) and new developments at work (I'm guaranteed at Converse at least through June). I suppose now I've at least given those things a nod. But the one image that I can't get out of my mind, what I feel compelled to record, above all the others, is how I spent the turning of the new year - in my beloved's arms. They say how you spend New Year's day is a forecast of how you will spend your year.<i> I</i> say<i> they </i>are superstitious. But I also hope, in this case, that they're right.<br />
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Prayers:<br />
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<ul><li>For patience to endure the years that may pass before we can act upon the love begun between us</li>
<li>For clarity in all our dealings with one another</li>
<li>For wisdom in Matthew choosing a seminary and discerning God's will for his path this fall</li>
<li>For diligence in me remaining faithful to my studies</li>
<li>For commitment in our relationships and responsibilities to those around us</li>
<li>For healing from wounds opened by ones held dear and by circumstances</li>
<li>For openness to God's penetrating, perfecting work in our hearts</li>
<li>For contentment in the exact situations in which God has placed us - and eyes to see the work cut out for us where we are</li>
<li>For God's perfect will, not His second best, unhindered by our impatience, assumptions of who we should be, or presumptions of what we should do</li>
<li>For continued faith in the absolute, unfathomable goodness of God - especially when some facets of our lives don't bear immediate witness to it</li>
<li>For the real influence of Godly counselors to point us to God, the path, and the truth </li>
<li>For the daily presence of the Holy Spirit to comfort and guide us</li>
<li>For a steady contact with the<i> living</i> Word of God.</li>
</ul><div>I have to stop. It is so late. But God is good. Love is good too.</div>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045188248536910078.post-92100939889576484162011-12-16T16:01:00.002-05:002011-12-17T18:51:42.803-05:00Do Hard StuffAfter discovering<a href="http://www.therebelution.com/modestysurvey/"> the Modesty Survey</a> (fascinating!) through <a href="http://brideofthewarrior.blogspot.com/">a random blog</a> I found after reading <a href="http://www.thesongsontheway.com/2011/12/book-review-praying-for-your-future.html">Pam's review on "Praying for Your Future Husband,"</a> an internet jaunt landed me on<a href="http://www.therebelution.com/blog/2006/05/my-first-shower-nearly-killed-me/"> this excellent blog post </a>written by a 17-year-old in 2006 about success and failure as perceived through the eyes of a child, versus the eyes of a teen. Imagine your reaction if a four-year-old told you, "I'm just not a toilet person." Now imagine, or remember, your reaction when a teen or adult says "I'm just not a math person," or "I'm just not a people person."<br />
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How much are we letting our limitations define us? I could go off on this, but I need to go cook dinner. Lunch was a turnip. And a very good turnip it was.<br />
I need rest.<br />
Go read <a href="http://www.therebelution.com/blog/2006/05/my-first-shower-nearly-killed-me/">"My First Shower Nearly Killed Me."</a>Lydia Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09360354533482878916noreply@blogger.com0