Life: There's nothing like it.

I have never been a big picture-taker; the effort of taking a picture--getting the camera out, focusing it, posing--takes me out of the moment while creating something false to remember it by. I mean, how often do I really sit on a couch or stand in front of a wall with my friends all in a row, grinning like fools, unless a picture is being taken? Such pictures only help us to remember the act of having the picture taken. And even if a picture is taken candidly, without posing, it's still an inadequate reminder of the moment.

Maybe our brains would benefit from consciously NOT taking pictures, and instead trying to just soak in the experience; I wonder if we'd have better memories if we had fewer memory aids. Take wedding pictures, for example: they cost thousands of dollars, and how often am I really going to look at them? My kids might find it interesting to see Mommy and Daddy in their crazy clothes and haircuts, but I might get a lot more out of my wedding day if I just accepted the fact that this day will never come again, I will never be surrounded by exactly this group of people again . . . if I just enjoy the day in all its ephemeral goodness.

We spend so much of life collecting items to remind us of our past, instead of just living the present. If I hear a good song on the radio, I want to go out and buy the album so I can own the song, playing it again and again until it has lost its original meaning to me. If a movie speaks to mel, I want to go buy the movie, hoping to recreate that message in my mind. A couple Sabbaths ago, I was sitting on my friend's porch, listening to her mom read Romans 12 out of the Bible. The stars were out, candles were lit, and we were silent, absorbing the words of the text. As soon as I got home, I pulled out my Bible, hoping to re-read the verses, but when I flipped to the page, the words seemed stale and boring. Something about that moment, the live performance, made the words come alive for me in a way I couldn't recreate at home.

This past Monday was open-mic night at the Livery in Benton Harbor. My friends and I sat up in the loft, enjoying the sounds of some good, some not-so-good, local bands. The atmosphere was folksy, relaxed, yet vibrant; as one woman said, "This is the part of the night where everyone smells like sweat, patchouli, and a little bit of marijuana". The faces of the audience were smiling, reflecting the glow of the stage-lights. The bands shouted and sang for all they were worth, and some of the audience members started dancing in the back. Everyone felt so alive, immersed in the moment. No one was grasping to record the moment--it just happened, and we lived it.

"Just living" is something I am going to consciously attempt this summer. More absorbing, less grasping. More relaxing, less recording. Of course this entire missive is complicated by the fact that I am trying to record that moment at the Livery, to allow readers to experience it through my words. But let's ignore that ironic tidbit for now and go for a bike ride instead.

The ocean: nowhere else does nature have as many gradations of color as in a sunset over the water. The ocean sparkles with peach, pearl, bottle green, glacier blue, and lemon. Waves sway bits of hair-like seaweed, driftwood as dark as charcoal, and pairs of mating crabs around my ankles. Jellyfish the size and color of bright pink fingernails litter the shore. Light fills the bowl of the sky and lays a blanket over that liminal space where water washes sand and sand swirls in water. I stare, and stare, and still can't get enough to fill my eyes as the sun sinks into a bank of smoky clouds.

My heart aches and longs. For what? For everything. There is nothing good out of this world that I don't want, that I wouldn't gladly accept in my youth, health, and lust for life. But it's not all the things on my life's wish-list that make me ache. It's something deeper, a shuddering space that isn't filled, a longing for what the sunset means. It's like being so completely head-over-heels in love with someone that you cry instead of laugh. I want more. I want heaven. And, based on moments like these, I believe I'm built for it. Why else would a moment like this not fill me up completely? Why else would it leave me longing more deeply than before?

I don't know much about poetry, and other than a few of the classics, I'm not a big reader of it. But this one, by Gerard Manley Hopkins, has been a favorite ever since I was a freshman in Dr. Fitt's Survey of British Literature. I find myself repeating it on beaches and mountaintops, whenever I am swept away by nature in all its glory.

God’s Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

I usually disdain these types of things and the people who participate, but Daniel tagged me, and I respect Daniel.

A-Available or Single? D.
B-Best Friend: Jessica and Melissa.
C-Cake or Pie: Cake.
D-Drink of Choice: Orange Juice.
E-Essential Item(s): A book. A sweater. A place to get away.
F- Favourite Colour(s): Clover Green. Sunset Orange. Peacock Blue.
G- Gummy Bears or Worms? Worms.
H- Hometown: Chattanooga, TN.
I- Indulgence: TV shows on DVD.
J- January or February: February. The damn month gets over quicker.
K- Kids: If around, I pay attention to no one else.
L- Life is incomplete without: Community.
M- Marriage Date: When I know, you'll know.
N- Number of Siblings: One.
O- Oranges or Apples? Oranges.
P- Phobias/Fears: Heights. Spiders. Being attacked.
Q- Favourite Quote: "He tells me in his bedroom voice, 'C'mon, honey, let's go make some noise'." The Bangles.
R- Reasons to smile: Love. Children. Beauty. Sunshine.
S- Season: Summer, Basil.
T- Tag Three: Scott. (I know 3.)
U- Unknown Fact about Me: See M.
V – Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals? Even worse. Cannibal.
W- Worst Habit(s): Procrastinating on the Internet.
X – X-rays or Ultrasounds?: Ultrasounds usually connote happier medical situations than X-rays.
Y- Your Favourite Foods: Arugula, TB bean burritos, Cherries, Papa John's pepperoncinis dipped in garlic butter.
Z- Zodiac: Scorpio, Rooster

Speaking of being an English major . . . I passed my comps. I'm done with my finals and with my last few papers and projects for classes. Only two more hurdles to jump--project papers, and Spanish. I can do this.

Okay, so I was reading JRRT's Lost Tales last night, which are edited and commented on by his son, Christopher. Christopher says that his father was trying to create a specifically English mythology, since he felt that England had no mythology of its own, or at least not anything as large and unified as Greek, Norse, Roman, or German mythology. He wove elements of the legendary history of England, as well as notable places in England, into his stories.

And I began thinking . . . what would a specifically American mythology look like? What elements of our cultural and legendary history would be included or alluded to? Tolkien's mythology was a life-work, steeped in his knowledge of and background in medieval European history and languages, as well as the stories and myths common to his area. And his conception of Middle-Earth and Valinor was always evolving. So obviously writing an American mythology wouldn't be as simple (or as trite) as just plugging elements of American history in. You know, start with some Native Americans chasing buffalo, add a dollop of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree, a few teaspoons of Washington Irving tales, and several million immigrants and we've got it made.

BUT I really think it could be done. It's a fascinating idea. What is American? What stories and dreams make up the American cultural identity? The only problem is that Americans don't tend to be as into fantasy as some other literary cultures. We're opening up to the idea more lately--the immense popularity of movies like Star Wars and LOTR helped, but we're still a pretty practical reading culture whose brief literary dip into the genre of fantasy includes . . . well, The Wizard of Oz. We'd rather ingest science fiction (StarTrek, Michael Crichton) or horror (The Twilight Zone, Edgar Allan Poe) than straight-up fantasy (okay, here I'm treading on thin ice. I can already hear your question: "what exactly is the definition of straight-up fantasy, Katie?" I'm not going there.) I mean, wizards? Fairies? Magical lands? That's for little kids and C.S. Lewis-lovers, right?

However, I think it's about time for an American fantasy/mythology. Someone who was likewise steeped in the history and languages and cultures of the USA, who read American literature of the past and present until it became a part of their blood and their consciousness, and who had a lifetime to devote to this idea could maybe, just maybe, with enough time and ingenuity, pull it off.

WHAT A FUN IDEA.