Itsy Bitsy Boris

So twice a week I work with tiny kiddos who are language delayed (some may be disordered but some may just be delayed; it's too early to tell).  Every week we have a different theme and me and the other student clinicians take turns planning songs and activities for the upcoming week.

Next week it's my turn, so yesterday I had to turn in a plan for our theme "Creepy Crawly Bugs!"  We need songs that have a nice easy repetitive refrain that the kids know what lyrics to expect so they can maybe chime in with a word or a word approximation if we give them a nice big pause.

You know what song would be totally perfect?  "Boris the Spider", by the Who.  

Of course, I knew it was not to be.  I figured a heavy metal song by The Who about smushing a spider was too morbid for kids....and then I remembered that there's that kids song "I'm bringing home a baby bumblebee" in which the kid describes being stung by the bee, killing the bee and wiping the bee's innards onto her shirt.  That's at least as morbid as "Boris", and perhaps creepier because it's supposed to be sung in a singsong child voice.

I still chose "Itsy bitsy".  At least that song has G-rated lyrics.

A blast from the

Once upon a time on Friday I was doing practicum up at the undergraduate campus (there's a clinic up there too so I'm there once a week).  Afterward, I decided to grab a slice of pizza and people-watch.  Turns out, the university was having a comic-con of sorts, and I saw these two parked cars outside.  One of them was greyish tannish and the other was white—and they had weird stuff on their roofs.  When I got closer, I soon realized that the first car was none other than the time-traveling car from Back to the Future, and the white car was the Ghost-busters car!  The guys who made them were hanging out talking to people; they make replica cars and drive them around places.  I got pictures with both of them, of course, but they're on my phone, which doesn't always like to talk to my computer because I'm bad at technology.

Then yesterday, I was at a family convention to recruit participants for my lab's eye tracking study.  The convention was actually pretty huge—complete with giant moon-bounce slides, about six or seven trampolines, and a petting zoo (including a llama, or maybe an alpaca).  There were actually quite a few SLPs there advertising their clinics.  And there were stormtroopers walking around.  Yes, that's right, stormtroopers from the 501st were there, just strolling around, super casual.  Well, as casual as you can be in a stormtrooper suit.  They even sounded just like stormtroopers when they talked; they had a mic and speakers in their helmets, I presume.

My lab director has an obsession with Star Wars that rivals my own (and perhaps surpasses it).  He was so excited, when he arrived we immediately left our booth to go look for them.  "I see him!  He's over there!"  And of course we had to get a picture with him.  After one with both of us in it, I wanted to take one with the stormtrooper shooting my boss—but I couldn't figure out how to work his smartphone.

"How do I make it take a picture?  It's stuck," I said.

The stormtrooper cocked his head to one side and asked, "Are you from the past?"

The power of storytelling

"Myth is a lane down which we walk in order to repossess our soul." ~Clyde Kilby, quoted by Jon Eldridge in Waking the Dead  (page 83)

When I was in highschool, one of my friends and I wrote half a novel.  It was a pretty epic undertaking, but we got surprisingly far.  (One day, I'd love to finish it with her.)  The work centered around four protagonists who were thrown together much by chance and eventually they'll have to face (much against their will) world-changing magic.  

Why fantasy? everyone would ask, and my friend fiercely explained to them that fantasy has been around much longer than literary fiction—look at the great epics of Homer, Gilgamesh, Beowulf, Greek dramas, etc.  Why would you write about normal life when normal life is what happens to you every day?  Myths allow us to explore more interesting possibilities.  That was her explanation.  

Like my friend, I used to think that I loved fantasy because it was an escape, a chance to live a different life, to pretend to be more exciting than I actually was.  In fantastical worlds, nerd girls with frizzy hair and braces and glasses and questionable social skills were replaced by smart, resourceful, beautiful girls who were feminine and gentle, so of course the handsome princes fell in love with them.

I loved Eowyn from Lord of the Rings, who defeats the king of the Nazgul—without her, that world-changing battle surely would have been lost.  And I loved Goldberry (also from the Lord of the Rings), who is silly, but feminine, and hangs out with her even sillier husband Tom Bombadil—her presence brings the hobbits peace and joy.  I had always secretly wished I was as brave as Eowyn and as bright as Goldberry.  But I knew I was just the girl with the wide grin and goofy mannerisms.  I could be the Fool, but never the wise, clever, pretty princess.

When I was really little, Pocahontas was my favorite Disney princess—until I figured out the real Pocahontas story was a bit different.  Devastated, I stopped playing Pocahontas games, put away my Pocahontas doll, stopped singing songs from the movie, tucked away my dreams of being a warrior princess, put them in a drawer like Mr. Darling does in Peter Pan.  I could be a warrior, sure, but not a princess.  This was proof that those sorts of stories don't happen in real life, I thought.  Fantasy was escape; it could never be real.

I think it was when I started LARPing that I realized that storytelling was at least a little more than an escape.  When my friends and I put on the skins of our invented characters, some of us were totally play-acting as people we would never want to be.  But try to invent a character you can play for an entire weekend, stopping only to sleep.  A little bit of your decision-making process, a few of your unspoken desires leak into the character.  My first character collected around herself a small family of brothers and sisters—and a satyr she was rather enamoured with.  She loved how silly they were, and how loyal.  Eventually, when she was captured by her unwelcome betrothed, her little family gathered together most of the town to go rescue her.  The satyr put on his best shining golden armour, and they all fought long and hard until she was finally free to return to her adoptive family.  That evening after game-off, I was so happy I was ready to burst.  I, who was used to usually being a leader, hadn't felt wanted—hadn't felt fought for—in a very long time.  In another event, this same character teamed up with the personification of Death to scare off all the bad guys and bring back to life all the members of the town; she was a hero because she chose to ally herself with Death, probably the most powerful and kind character in that world.  I think that was when I admitted that through fantasy, I could explore not only interesting possibilities, but something about what I wanted for myself.  I wanted to be desired and fought for, and I also wanted to be a hero—but never alone.

(Now, I must add the caveat that not every character I play reveals something true about my desires.  Since that first character, I've been a blue imp whose idea of fun is to chop off people's limbs, an unspeakably selfish fairy who uses soap as a weapon when she doesn't get her way, and skeletons and lava monsters whose only purpose is to be beaten to death.  For these characters, fantasy is fun and games, and that's why I love playing them so much!)

Maybe this is why so many people love Captain Picard of Star Trek:  Next Generation.  He is noble, he is brave, he is wise.  In some essential way, he has what it takes to be a real man in very trying circumstances.  And Doctor Who fans—I believe most of us watch that show to live vicariously through the Doctor and his companions.  Admit it:  you want to be daring and brilliant and charming like the Doctor, or you want to be clever and strong and pretty, and so captivating that someone like the Doctor will do anything to protect you—or some combination of the two.  And what about superhero movies and comics, and what about Beowulf?    What about the webcomic Weregeek, in which it is the very passion that makes the geeks awkward also gives them superpowers?  Even pirate stories and space/cowboy stories—wouldn't we like to be as brave and moral as Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island, or as fiercely loyal as Mal in Firefly, or secretly destined to bring peace to the galaxy, like Luke and Leia in Star Wars?  Even when these heroes have flaws, we love them all the more—they are like us, imperfect, and yet look what they have achieved!

I think this is the reason we love Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer—he is always searching for his inner hero—the hero he's read about in storybooks, and he's not afraid to go to great, ridiculous, mythical lengths to find himself.

Try to remember how you felt when you first read Harry Potter.  For those of us who were around Harry's age, the idea of getting a Hogwarts letter was tantalizing.  It would be lovely to have secret powers that the world didn't know about that we could use to do fantastical and wonderful things.  

And, going further back in time (probably), when you first read Narnia.  Wouldn't it be grand to be destined to rule a magical kingdom, appointed by Aslan the Good Lion to bring peace and prosperity to an entire land?

I definitely believe that fantastical stories tap into our deeper desires.

Fast forward now to my current life, if you will.  (Alas, I haven't been larping in several years, and it's not looking likely any time soon.)  Last year, I read Stasi and Jon Eldridge's book Captivating, and for my birthday this year a dear friend gave me Waking the Dead by Jon.  In these books, The Eldridges are not afraid to use fantasy to talk about God.  In fact, they use mythical stories to tap into our desires—and our true selves!  They want us to believe that God has created us to be these heroes and princesses we dream of being, and that deep inside ourselves, we already are!  I'm not sure I totally believe that yet, but I'd really like to!  Otherwise, what is a nerd girl doing but wasting away her life pretending things that could never be?  

Can myth really be a way to recapture our true selves, our souls?

If that is the case, then storytelling is a crucial part of what it is to be human.  Poets and novelists and playwrights and screenwriters are more than just entertainers.  They are teachers, they are griots, they are leading us into our deeper selves.  They are giving us the keys to recapture our souls.  Dreaming, then, isn't escapism—it is essential!

Allow me to end this post with a few verses from an anthropomorphic frog with a banjo:

"Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?  

I've heard them calling my name.  

Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailor?  

The voice might be one and the same.  

I've heard it too many times to ignore it.  

Is it something that I'm supposed to be?  

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection, 

the lovers, the dreamers, and me.  

Why are there so many songs about rainbows?  

That's part of what rainbows do.  

Rainbows are memories, sweet dream reminders—

what is it you'd like to do?  

All of us watching and wishing we'd find it; 

I know you're watching it too.  

Someday you'll find it, the rainbow connection, 

the lovers, the dreamers, and you!"

More fridge poetry!

Whimsical and fantastical, in keeping with our flying blue animals theme.  I'm not really sure what it means, but feel free to analyze it all you want!

Sheepbees

More lab adventures!

The other day, I was taking a language sample and the niño was describing a scene in which a dog was being chased by a swarm of bees.

In Spanish, the word for bee is "abeja" and the word for sheep is "oveja".  In most dialects, b and v are pronounced the same.  So bees and sheep are different by only one sound (the o/a).

You see where this is going.

The niño kept saying "ovejas" instead of "abejas"—sheep instead of bees.  So I imagined a swarm of flying sheep exploding out of the beehive.  What a surprise to that poor dog!  (This is definitely not the first time I've heard this mistake from a niño, and I'm sure it won't be the last.)

In my imagination, the sheepbees are blue, because one of our students in the school in Los Tres Brazos insisted that he had seen blue sheep "en el campo" (in the countryside).  Thus, my co-boss and I have a running joke about blue sheep in el campo.

Then, last Sunday during the Gospel reading, Padre accidentally said "ovejas" (sheep) instead of "aves" (birds).  There's sheep flying around everywhere!  God and I laughed at our inside joke.

Sheepbees should totally be a thing.  Have you guys read Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld?  If you haven't, you should.  It's a YA steampunk about World War I, and it is magnificent.  Anyway, for those who have read it (and everyone else too), please enjoy the following unfinished sketch of some boffins at work:

And that is the story of me working with sheepbees in the lab.

Science is the funnest!

Mama Mary and the Son of God

This Tuesday, my parish was fortunate enough to host the pilgrim statue of Our Lady of Fatima.  We had an evening of prayer with our Blessed Mother asking for her intercession and guidance as we seek to put our lives, our petitions, our thanksgivings wholly in the hands of her Son.

I know, I know, in this depiction, she is very white.  That always bothers me; Mary was Middle Eastern!  Pictures of blue-eyed, blonde Mary and Jesus always make me pretty uncomfortable.  Black Jesus and Mary, Korean Jesus and Mary, etc. don't bother me a bit.  But because of the racial tension still present in many places, especially regarding color, I feel a little weird about white depictions of our Lord and His mother.

This is also the closest I have ever experienced to idolatry within the Catholic faith.  It is necessary to use precaution when venerating a statue of any saint—especially a statue of such renown.  What we are doing is NOT statue worship, nor is it Mary worship—the statue is an image of our Lady and being in the presence of the image helps us to remember that she is praying with us.  Just as a photograph of my grandmother reminds me that she is watching over me, praying for me in Heaven.  Mary is, as someone recently told me, our "prayer partner"—just like when I ask my own mom to pray for me or for a petition I have, I can ask Mary to pray for me also.

Even when there are issues like this, I try not to let it distract me from prayer.  The point of being in the presence of this statue is to pray with Mary, to spend time with the Lord as she has taught us to do.

And her eyes—her eyes sparkle like real eyes.

The message of Our Lady of Fatima is one of peace, the kind of peace that can only be found in God.  This statue travels around the whole world to remind people of the message Mary preaches of peace that Jesus can bring us.  In fact, in April, the statue will be in Washington, D.C.  (Christlife—heads up!)

As I was praying with Mama Mary, I started by asking for a miracle—the same miracle I've been praying for for a little over a year now.  I thought that was the only miracle I was supposed to pray for that night, but the Lord put some other people on my heart, some dear dear friends who don't know God's love for them—and I was moved to tears.  God pressed on my heart some things I'd been hiding from, and in some ways it hurt.  But overall it has brought me clarity and reminded me of some very important prayers I need to pray.

My Callada (quiet) friend, my Payaso (goofy) friend, and my Soccer-loving friend, and a couple of the other jovenes were there, and we all prayed together, holding hands.  I was a little embarrassed that I had cried so much, I apologized the next day.  But they assured me, "Cuentas con nosotros."  You count with us.

Callada told me that when you cry during prayer, God is cleaning your heart.

Then, on Friday night, a bunch of us went to see the Son of God movie.  We saw it dubbed in Spanish at a movie theater/restaurant place.  We all got really into the movie—it's a beautiful portrayal of our Lord.  I give it a B for cinematography, an A for music (Hans Zimmer!), and an A for its message.  The emotions of the disciples were really well explored, and the acting was great!  I even liked the portrayal of Jesus, emotion-wise, which I was the most worried about.  The actor portrayed him as gentle and kind but not a pushover—and he smiled a lot.  He was too white for my liking, but the whole cast was pretty diverse, and it was NOT a white = good guy casting situation (which was what I feared the most).  The disciples were really well done, especially John, Mary Magdalene, and Peter.  Overall, I give it a thumbs up and I highly recommend it!

The way we got split up at the theater, I sat next to Soccer, and he is the funniest movie talker!  I had to keep reminding him to keep his voice down.  He also warned me before the movie that he is a movie crier—and sure enough, every time there was violence, he whimpered sympathetically.  During the entire crucifixion scene, he was holding my hand and crying into my shoulder.  It was hard to watch!  I think God was cleaning all our hearts; I'm pretty sure most of us cried.

We sat in the dark, holding hands.  Terrified, we watched Jesus cry out, drenched in blood, still able to pray a psalm on the cross.  I'm pretty sure we were all thinking about the fact that He went through all that pain—for us.  For me.  For you!

In times like these, my upcoming midterms seem pretty trivial.  All the same, pray for me this week?