packing, among others

one. it helps that i've almost done this before. it must get easier every time, perhaps?

they tell us to expect temperatures as cold as thirty and as hot as one hundred (fahrenheit). at this i raised my eyebrows a bit--four months in northeastern illinois (known for four complete seasons) hardly sees that kind of range. about forty-five seconds worth of research concluded that averages range from mid-forties to mid-seventies, although i'm sure it can and does get colder and hotter. however, i'm really thinking that preparing for four months of those two extremes is highly different than preparing for the averages. any student who was at wheaton this spring could tell you that, as the mercury only rose above freezing in two days out of thirty-four from mid-january to mid-february. (that was a very special month--people just scuttling from one building to another. oh memories.)

anyway. the packing fun is underway. my first step was to do an inventory check--see how newer items settled in with old. i don't think i've done that in a very long time. i picked out everything i wouldn't mind wearing repeatedly for four months. there's quite a bit there. this says that one, of the clothes i have, i like many of them very much. two, i have a lot of clothes. (rabblerabblerabblematerialismrabblerabblerabble.) i'm going to have to cut the entire lot of it in half, at least a third for sure.

two. i've found myself listening to Christmas this evening. specifically, a series of albums titled "hark! songs for Christmas" by an artist named sufjan stevens. my dad makes fun of my fascination for this artist because of his funny name (pronounced "SOOF-yawn"), but i'm convinced at the very least that he has made the only Christmas music listenable all year long. it is not obnoxious or overly-Christmasey, in the way that perry como or the chimpmunks would be in july. it's soft-spoken yet lush and deep; the themes are treated in such a way that you understand at first listen that this man loves God. i hate it when modern artists will take a traditional song like silent night and rework it like a pop ballad, complete with vocal flourishes, climactic synth backup and an obligatory key change in the middle--it starts to sound almost in praise of itself instead of the Lord. that's where stevens nails it. the music itself is quiet, taking it back before the hype replaced "miracle" with "magic." the event was so small--just a baby born in a shed. so understated. so humble. stevens echoes that. and i love it.

anyway. i'm remembering one of my favorite parts about the language of the Christmas story. we always talk about Christ in a manger, an item i was always knew to be a feed trough but looked suspiciously like a rough wooden crib in depictions and lighted lawn ornaments. in french, manger means "to eat." it also has connections to "mangeoire," which is associated with agriculture. i'm sure any historian, etymologist, or christmas enthusiast will tell me how those words are actually unrelated nad how wrong i am to try to associate them to each other. but i like the idea that somewhere down the line of cultures and generations of friends and family telling the Christmas story, one particular culture left their fingerprints on it in one particular way. and well, i'm stubborn.

three. tomorrow's story is my list of expectations. tomorrow's? alright, i'll level. it's tough to have something to say every day, especially because i'm still at home. but it's still my plan to be one-a-day, and hopefully when i'm on the road it'll be more feasible.