The Unicorn is not the Only One

Now, you and I know what a unicorn is. We know it when we see that beard and that horn and those four cloven hooves. The purple unicorn looked at those same things and knew, at least, that he was something different, even if he didn't know what exactly. And it was odd to hear, from the brush behind him, that someone else agreed.

"Who just said that?" he called out. "Who just said I'd make a...a...'rod shod' hippo?"

Rustling out into view, fluffed up all in rusty-red feathers, a great big bird hopped up toward the unicorn's head and bobbed his beak in greeting.

"Top o' the mornin'," he said. "Yoo're lookin' bleak as an un-kissed blarney stone."

Another popped out from the sage, just as rust red. He twisted his neck around and reached back with his hooked beak to preen some wing feathers. Then he said, "Yeah, mate. What's the rub?"

The unicorn liked his pity parties. He'd liked them ever since his mis-classification. So he flopped his chin back down between his hooves and sighed, "Oh, never mind. Just leave me alone."

"G'wan, mate," said the second bird. "What's a coupl'a copperheads like us done t'get you so crook?"

"Look, I don't want any-" the unicorn paused and lifted his head. " 'Copperheads'?"

"Aye, t'be shoor," said the first bird. " 'Tis our classification."

The unicorn now rose up on his front hooves. He tilted his head to look at the two birds from a different angle. "Er, I hope you know this, but--"

"We dun' look like copperheads, laddie? Aye, s'truth and no mistake." The first bird lifted one wing and then the other, and he studied them like he was trying to find some scales where all the feathers were. "We ken wha' ye've been throo."

"Fair dinkum," said the second. "When we came 'round t'be classified, all the animals scoped us out n' saw this color." He pointed with one wing tip to the crown of his red-downed head. "Whaddya think, mate? S'pretty coppery, yeah?"

And NOW the unicorn got up on all fours, and his purple chest started heaving. He snorted. "Doesn't that make you angry? I mean, look at you! You're not snakes; you're, I don't know, eagles or something!"

"Shoor and begore, lad," said the second. "But yoo're missin' the point. Let us fill ye in."

~To be Continued again. Sheesh. This is getting long.~

Seashell Markings

Look at it. It's broken. Imperfect.
Most of it has been chipped away.
But the surfaces are smooth. White, too.
See the ridges?
They are made from years of work.
Each one is unique from any other.
Like a pearl, its milky shine defines it.
It has hands that reach out,
arms that circle like a crescent moon.
And beyond these arms
embedded in the ocean-damp beach
are little paths--
markings in the sand.
It will never be the same again,
for the ocean has washed over the shell
and created a permanent stamp in the earth.

Father, you are the ocean;
I am your shell.
My ridged, broken body
can reach more than I'll ever know.

~I found this note in a box where I keep letters from friends and relatives. I'd written it after I received a seashell from a friend who'd gone to the beach. He said it reminded him of me. I haven't changed much since then, I think. It's good to have read this again and remember Christ's eternal work in and through my life.

The Unicorn Looks for a New Classification

It was unheard of. Leaving the hippos! The classified cat hissed. The classified owl booed. The classified fish blew a raspberry. But the nitty gritty of it was the unicorn couldn't STAND it anymore. He couldn't yawn as large as the hippos. He couldn't hold his breath underwater as long as they could, and they ALWAYS mocked him when he thrashed around in deep water, trying to float on the kicks of his narrow hooves.

The unicorn didn't even try to be discreet when he left. He. was. THROUGH. Didn't care who saw him leave, didn't care about the gossip that trailed behind him between all those snobby classifieds who thought they were so right about where the unicorn belonged. He was going to show them all. He was going to DEFY classification.

So he climbed far, far away--up on a mountain where classified goats eyed his beard but still thought to themselves: "What is that hippo doing all the way up here?" The unicorn didn't talk to them. In fact, he sat himself down in a cluster of prickly sage brush and brooded silently with his horsey face between his legs.

"I'm just me," he muttered to himself, "whatever I am, and nothing else. No stupid purple hippo, that's for sure."

He was surprised to hear, from the sage brush behind him, a reply:

"Good thing, fella! You'd make a rod-shod one, no fib!"

To be continued...again!

For Gira...

...because she nagged and pouted. ;)

Once upon a time there was a purple unicorn who was not very happy with his life. No, he was not happy at all, because long long ago, he was mis-classified. What does this mean, you ask?

Well, every new animal pops into the world by magic. When that new animal pops in, all the other animals who came before gather to determine how the new animal should be classified. For, you see, there are many kinds of dogs and many kinds of cats and many kinds of birds, and each is classified accordingly at their first appearance in the world.

Back to the unicorn. When the unicorn popped into the world, all the animals gathered as usual; they looked him up and down, sniffed him, nudged him, appraised his height and length. A classified rodent looked at his horn and said he should be a ram. A classified bear looked at his hooves and said he should be a horse. A classified reptile looked at his little beard and said he should be a goat. No one could decide. Animals fought. They bickered and shouted until one classified fish took a look at the unicorn's purple fur and declared,

"He's a hippo!"

And for some reason, all the animals forgot the horn and the hooves and the beard and liked this classification best. Without asking the unicorn what he thought of the matter (because it was never so with any other classifications), they hauled him off to the hippo pool and shoved him in with all sorts of encouragement and congratulations at being joined with his right group.

And so began the unicorn's misery.

To Be Continued...Maybe. :)

I've Been Thinking about Pancakes

In my dream, you were standing by the oven, pulling out chocolate chip cookies fresh-baked on aluminum trays. I stood by you and told you how delicious the cookies looked. (They were for our Bible study group.) I may have even tried one.

Then I turned and threw something at a wall and broke it. It didn't even belong to me.

You said to me, as you hovered over your batch, that after all the cookies were done, you might begin making pancakes, so we could eat them in the morning, after we'd finished off the cookies. I said to you: What a nice thing to think of!

I walked by and broke another thing by fiddling with it. Though I felt embarrassed, I did nothing to fix it, and I did not apologize.

I want to make pancakes like you. But instead I hover over people like an ambiguous cloud that has nothing visible inside of it. I break things that do not belong to me. I break potential friendships; I break hands that reach out; I break words meant for care and restoration; I break the graciousness of others by with-holding my own gratitude. I'm a shriveled heart surrounded by tall and thick walls all covered in spikes.

There's no resolution to this yet, so I won't make a false one. May God show me how my heart should swell for others.

The Wisdom of the English Department

I want to hear no complaints about how long it's been since I've posted. None, do you hear me, Gira? (You will anyway, but it's nice to PRETEND that I have some say over your behavior.)

Moving to the meat of the matter, I'd like to share with my incredibly tiny readership the genius that is Professor Spencer. This term he taught my Literary Criticism class and my Early Modern European Drama class. Here is what I learned from him (no, seriously, about 75% of my notes constitute these quotes):

From Literary Criticism:
"There's a lot of interesting crap in the world."

*remarking on the syllabus* "Oh, I have snotty advice about reading...skip that..."

Well, this is what I got out of it! *raspberry* It made me think about my gramma!"

"Well, I was only gonna be less clear."

"This torture is really for your own good."

"Questionés? ...That's really not a word, is it?"

Student: "Could you ask that one more time?"
Spencer: "Yeah, 'cause I have no idea what I just said."

Student: "I've talked myself stupid."
Spencer: "Oh, yeah! Welcome to my life!"

"And believe me, I KNOW wishy-washy. That's my middle name!"

"...to take the pill when it's mixed with...chocolate-frosted sugar bombs!"

"Now! To quote someone who's clearer than I am."

"...in this universal...floooooow of life."

"That's why you probably noticed--Oops! And we're outta time."

"...the volcanic juice of...aww, stupid analogy."

"Do you want criticism or STIRFRY?"

"The other thing we're not gonna do? Synopsis and paraphrase! Boo! Hiss!"

"It finally means something to be an omega male!"

"...And I'm very impressed by how many polysyllabic words I got in that sentence."

"OBJECTIVE INTERPRETATION, BY GUM!"

"Oh, good! Here's a loooong passage with an asterisk after it!"

"I think Jauss wins the award for the single worst sentence we've seen yet. I want your nominations."

"Woohoo! FREEEEDOM! ...Braveheart?"

"Hermeneutical Anarchy...now THAT could be the name for a punk band!"

"That's just me late at night, getting tired of abstract prose."

"There's a lot of idiots out there. I'm probably one of them."

"The thing about incomprehensible French theorists is that they are more comprehensible than incomprehensible German theorists."

"I'm putting it in quotation marks because I don't really know WHAT I mean by it. I'm hoping to get away with it."

"That's one thing you can do with this: every time you see a mirror, say, "Ooh! Lacan!'"

"I have an ideology...about what I wanna do with my life. NO! That's NOT an ideology!"

"I just wanna say 'SPECulary' a lot."

"Page 42...sail the ocean blue..."

"Let's try to punctuate in some form that's recognizable on this planet."

"I don't particularly LIKE their guns..."

"You can't read this, but it makes me happy to write it on the board."

Student: "Could you explain the quote on page--"
Spencer: "No."

"One class! How much is THAT going to oppress you?"

"If you write one page, if you do that, I'll KILL you!"

From Early Modern European Drama:
"You don't grab the seat in front of you and scream, "Put the pedal to the medal!'"

"There was a point to that; hopefully it'll come back to me."

"Now I'll make the point anyway, even though it's DEAD on the vine..."

"This is where you give me the gold star and tell me I'm clever."

"You should eat the FORM of cake!"

"...because everyone needs a 'Portable Machiavelli'..."

"Mm..'kay, that sentence began about 15 minutes ago, didn't it?"

"Oh, get this week over with before I keel over!"

"It was UNUSUALLY stupid."

"There's underwear and there's otherwhere!"

"I need more drugs."

"That's why I mess my syllabus up, so people won't leave in FLOCKS!"

"A resounding 'NO!' would be good. Followed by evidence."

"I'm looking forward to lots of parasites!"

"Ver-i-si-mil-i-tu-de-ness! Eight syllables, baby!"

"Reading Racine is like high altitude: the air is clear and pure, but it's hard to exercise up there!"

"Quizorama...quizaganza...nothing you can't do with suffixes; it's great."
---
You can see that I took COPIOUS notes in my classes. ;)

Not So Separate

Mindful: A brother sends flowers to his convalescent sister. The note that comes with them, processed by the flower company, is chopped short.

Spacey: A girl offers to brainstorm web ideas for her friend. She writes them down in an old notebook. When garbage day arrives, she sees the old notebook and believes she no longer needs it. It goes in the trash.

(An exercise we did in my Creative Writing Capstone: using opposites to express different situations.)