Irvine

Irvine is

corporate
hilly
full of bike trails
surprising creeks
lots of wetland birds
and near the beach.

March 3 * Can Openers and Shit, and then grace

Where were you C.O.?!

Today was like so many days that I've experienced in the last five months. Unstructured, free flowing, laid back. Involving a pleasant waking up, a coffee shop, a run at the Rose Bowl, a little bit of tv. But it was also very different.

I packed my room up in Pasadena and ran out of boxes.
I thought about what to take and what to throw away and what to give away.
I sat in Jones and filled out a marriage expectations inventory. It took 2 hours.
I was ecstatic for a friend who told me he got into a graduate writing program.
And then I was sad wondering why didn't I get in last year.
I felt lost and pathetic.

In the afternoon, I went to the grocery store to make Lemony Chickpea Stir-fry from 101cookbooks.com and came home only to remember that the housemate who had just moved out had also moved the can opener out. I stared at the can of chick peas. I opened every drawer and cabinet. I called my roommate only to realize I had the wrong number, the same number I had texted last night while watching The Bachelor and understandably gotten no response to "He's so full of shit!". I got on foot stools to inspect old Charles Shaw boxes in the far reaches of the closet for a can opener. Empty.

The stir-fry was for an Espicopalian dinner party of young adult leaders in the Los Angeles diocese and after staring at the unlit gas burner, I realized it was going to stay unlit. I called J. just to make sure that the can of chick peas was going to really stay that way. He confirmed gently but firmly, "Hanna, at this point, you just need to show up."

I flipped out. Just a little. I was not going to just show up. I got my ass out the door and decided to buy the requisite dessert from Trader Joe's. The one everyone brings and nobody really wants to eat (yup--happened again).

I chanted "The grace of God is with me" as I drove through the dark streets of Highland Park so I wouldn't walk into the house stressed.

There was wine. That was good.

WJ, my priest from COS, was there. So was Albert, a new friend and lay leader of young adult ministries at All Saints. Jason, a priest and director of urban internships for the denomination, who I met once at an unrelated grant writing workshop a year ago was there. And then there was Sarah, an Episcopalian chaplain and urban farm activist, who I had met twice--at a workshop in the fall and then again at a retreat last month. And Josh, a youth pastor, who I had met at the same workshop.

I didn't know they all knew each other when I first met them. Many of the meetings seemed like random run-ins or coincidences. But as I sat there drinking wine, sharing food, and listening to each person share, I realized there was something more divine than coincidence that had brought me to the table. I felt grace. The grace of being able to sit down with so many people I had met only once or briefly throughout the span of a year. The grace of conversation and shared journeys. The grace to ask questions and be heard. The grace to listen and learn more about my own journey through their stories. The grace of God within me.

It's funny and slightly tragic (depends on what mood I'm in). As much as I don't want anything to do with the church professionally, the doors keep opening to lead or be involved. I keep running into the right people, even when I'm desperate to run into people in other fields. I used to think it was because I lived in a sick Christian bubble or I was a sick Christian puppy and couldn't help running into them because my social life was that narrow. But I'm actually happy now and not feeling trapped or wanting to escape and being with these people tonight made me feel--dare I say it--at home.

and reflective.

Sweet pillow dreams.

Reading

I've been reading a lot lately. This past week, I read two books by Kazuo Ishiguro: A Pale View of Hills and An Artist of the Floating World. I also read Letters to Montgomery Cliff by Noel Alumit, a former writing instructor of mine.

All books written by Asians in the diaspora. I like how Kazuo uses the polite indirect communication style of Japanese culture to build suspense for the reader and only unveil what happened with time. I like how Noel portrays Los Angeles in his novel.

It's food for thought. My mind is churning with images, ideas, and memories.