Uke

My ukulele has an odd habit of never being quite in tune, but I think that one which was perfectly tuned would fail to sound like a ukulele, at least as I know it.

I have always enjoyed making music, even though I've never been very stellar at it. I learned to play the guitar a couple of years ago, and soon after picked up my mother's ukulele and started to play that. At first all I played were little melodies that I picked up, most notably "Somewhere over the Rainbow." Slowly I began to learn proper tuning and chords (which, I noticed embarrassedly two years after I started playing, were ridiculously easy - I should have learned them right away).

I also bought a case for the little instrument. It makes it look like I'm carrying around a 3/4 violin or maybe a mafia-esque assassination tool. The case came with a little book of chords and songs, which I have since added to my repertoire.

It's much easier to carry around a ukulele than a guitar, and while it doesn't have the variations possible on a guitar (the ukulele has a range of just under two octaves) it definitely provides a base for singing, and the ability to pick out simple tunes.

I play it to calm myself, to entertain friends, to lead a song during class.
I also like the ukulele for its esoteric qualities. Most people don't know what it is, thinking it's a baby guitar (no, it will not grow up into a full-size) or a mandolin. There's a part of me that relishes in things that not everybody else knows about. 90% of Wheaton students play the guitar to some extent (my best estimate). I don't know anyone else who has a ukulele.

I am not sure if the ukulele is my attempt to live simply and leave my dad's guitar at home, or if it's a way for me to retain a sense of individuality in this community, or if it's simply something I enjoy. I can make music almost anywhere. Perhaps not the best quality, but it makes me smile.

"A shout out to my mom for giving me birth and letting me play her ukulele. I'll tattoo your name on my arm someday."

Just keep swimming, swimming swimming.

Is trust like letting go and floating,

Or is trust like swimming,
swimming when you don't know how far shore is, or even which direction, and it's starting to get dark, and you're getting tired.

But you keep swimming.

Here at the end of all things

I'm celebrating a fake holiday today.
It's March 25, and the Ring has been destroyed.

What a great day! An emblem and embodiment of evil and power and control has been done away with, due to the tremendous efforts and sacrifice.

I'd rather we celebrate our New Year on a day like this, when the seasons are actually changing, and the March wind blows a change, than a cold, bitter day in the midst of winter. This day has meaning.

"...the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach." (The Return of the King pg. 199)

"They stood now; and Sam still holding his master's hand caressed it. He sighed. 'What a tale we have been in, Mr. Frodo, haven't we?' he said. ...But even as he spoke so, to keep fear away until the very last, his eyes still strayed north, north into the eye of the wind, to where the sky far off was clear, as the cold blast, rising to a gale, drove back the darkness and the ruin of the clouds." (Ibid, 229).

The only way out is through

Lent is difficult for me. I have too much of the Protestant in my theological blood. I prefer the Resurrected Christ, without problems. Christ is Risen. He is Risen Indeed. For this reason, my cross is empty - there is no suffering, emaciated figure hanging there to bring me discomfort (or is it comfort in disguise?).

At Lenten services I know the priest won't dismiss us with a "Go in peace." We are meant to leave troubled by our sin and the great sacrifice it precipitated. I don't want to dwell on suffering. I don't like thinking of myself as a vile sinner, saved through the grace of God but still struggling.
And I don't know what to do with the God-man. Behold, the Creator, stooped in dust, bloody.

I feel like Prince Humperdinck, muttering out of the side of my mouth "skip to the end."

But the only way out is through.

Do I cheat the Resurrection of its power when I neglect what it defeats? If I don't understand death, how do I know true life? How do I know how to feast, unless I first experience the fast.

14 digits

There are little things about living at Wheaton that I will miss. Little, rather insignificant things except for what they represent - belonging.

For instance, I really enjoy typing my fourteen digit ID number into the computer to access my library account. I have it memorized. Likewise, I like turning the dial on my CPO lock, waiting for the expectant catch when it clicks and I can open it.

I enjoy textures - running my finger along the groove in a brick wall, resting my unfinished carrot on my lips while I chew. Likewise, what I like about the above things are the tangible feelings they give my fingers - I like watching my fingers move quickly across the key pad and like feeling the tug of the lock as it catches. It is easy for me to think about how I'll miss them because I like them at such a basic (though not quite visceral) level.

Both of these activities are privileges of belonging to this community. Once I graduate my library account will be disabled and my college post office box will be given to an incoming freshman. This is the way of life - it keeps moving and changing. It is easier to think on these trappings of belonging rather than on the true substance of the community that I will miss. My future has a bend in the road which I cannot see beyond so I busy myself enjoying opening my CPO box.

Narrow, man

The ladies sitting across from me in the computer lab are the culprits. They are the epitome of Why It is Not as it Should Be. They and their negative comments are the reason that so many are afraid of change and daring and trying something new.

"I saw my TA and he was growing this mustache!"
"yeah, I heard that it's 'Mustache March' or something like that."
"...Permanently grossed out."

Thanks a lot! There are those of us who think that facial hair of different varieties is a nice addition to a man's face but because of your peer rejection the cultural climate is anti-mustaches.

I just have to get out of here. Narrow-minded people.

Cardinal

This morning as I walked from my townhouse through the secret passage I heard a bird rapidly spewing "tew tew tew tew tew." I hadn't heard that in a while but it sounded like a cardinal. I scanned the trees for the flash of red, and was rewarded with a vision of a tiny red paint stroke in a naked tree across the parking lot. Would I have been able to see it if the tree had been lush and blooming?

I guess there's not much really exciting about this post. I was happy to see that the cardinals are returning. I am also, as always, glad that it is March. The turning of seasons has always been a fun time for me, and especially the beginnings of spring. It's also Shanna's birthday tomorrow. Sixteen years old. I'm so glad to know you.