Sorting and Savoring

I really like dark chocolate, especially that 90% cocoa stuff. I like it because it’s bitter, but the sweet parts round out the flavor enough to make it one of the most pleasurable food experiences I can think of. Savoring a piece of dark chocolate is an exercise in appreciation. The lower the sugar content, the more you have to dig deep into the bitter flavors to get to the rich undertones. Appreciating the fullness of the chocolate requires a taster to exchange her desire for the fleeting taste of sugar for the lasting richness of cocoa. And so it was with London. That city and the summer I spent there was 90% cocoa. The experiences were rich and deep, but there was little sugar to counter the initial bitterness. I’m still savoring. What can I say? I took a pretty big bite. ;)

One day near the end of last semester, I was walking along with Hanna and expressed a strange feeling that had come up at times over the previous few weeks. I wanted to go back. I wanted to be there, in my flat, my church, my grocery store, my Tube station, everywhere. I longed to be there and walk the streets again just to remember. I think about Sainsbury’s now and mentally walk through each aisle, knowing where everything is from the British beef to the four pound Hagen-Daaz chocolate ice creams. It’s all so vivid.

Hanna called me a battered woman. From what I do know about those women, which is pitifully little, they are hurt by their husbands but, for whatever reason, go back to them. Perhaps I feel a fraction of what they experience. It’s so weird. As much as I know London was difficult and hard and all manner of things complex, I want to be there. Not working there or even touring (I actually visited every place I wanted to see in London), just going back through the places where my feet, or the Tube, took me months ago.

I remember a phrase from some fiction book I read a while back. In it, the character has moved around a lot and has just arrived at a new place. But it doesn’t feel right. She longs for home, but home is really a jumble of many experiences. Home becomes a strange amalgamation of things, none that really fit. Parents, siblings, two dogs, a queen-size bed. Two roommates, a duplex, a twin bed. Four roommates and seven million people, a flat, and a bunk bed. What is home? Is home a place where you stay long enough to be comfortable and familiar with your surroundings? Is it the people or the things that make home?

Yes, I know I’ve written about it before, but to emphasize this point further I’ll keep harping on it: one of the ways I dealt with London was by creating structure. My first day in the flat, I picked out a cup, drank some water with it, and set it behind the drying rack near the sink. That was cup that I used every single day for the rest of the summer. I considered bringing it home at the end but decided I didn’t really want too many intimate reminders of the summer. My shampoo and conditioner faced exactly the same way in the shower, and every evening after work I would have a glass of my sparking apple juice. In the morning, I’d get up at 6 every day and prepare a breakfast of two pieces of toast- one cream cheese with raspberry jelly, one with peanut butter, fruit- usually a clementine, a glass of milk, and a cup of Taylors of Harrogate English breakfast tea. During breakfast I’d read a chapter from my Bible and journal and afterwards make my lunch of a sandwich (one third of a one pound baguette with lettuce, meat, and whatever cheese I had chosen that week), some sort of fruit or vegetable, and a digestive or two. (You’d think I would have lost weight eating healthy like that, but alas, I did not) I’d leave the flat at 7:45 AM and return at 6:15 PM, every day. I’ve probably written about this already in this blog but doing so again is letting me relive those days.

Anyway, so I created structure. That’s apparently how I deal with life when put in chaotic situations—I superstructurize everything. Everything is set and very, very predictable. I can take comfort in the order. That said, if I’m comfortable, the need for structure diminishes. For example, this past semester my life was atypically unstructured. I was incredibly secure, especially after the stress that was London. Life was grand. My friends were great, I had an AMAZING duplex, my room fit my tastes exactly. I could leisurely spend many a Monday afternoon working on some recipe I was trying out for supper. Classes were busy, but I knew people in them and was comfortable as a junior at Truman State University. I’m quite positive I didn’t have a single productive weekend.

But there was very little order. I never did figure out what to have for breakfast every day and often resorted to bacon, egg, and cheese toaster pastries. Even my attempts at packing lunches for my 10:30AM-4:30PM classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays were erratic at best. I didn’t need the security afforded by order. Now, I want to impose some order on this coming semester not because I need life to be organized but rather to make better use of my time.

I’ve also discovered a startling tendency. In the world of insecurity there in London, there was little push to pursue the darker things I’d like to have. I was more obedient to my Father. But when comfortable and quite secure, I find myself falling prey to temptations. It’s so much easier for me to disregard my relationship with God when I’m surrounded by things and people I love and care about. Perhaps the safety distracts me. I don’t feel like I need anything. And yet I do, more than ever. Perhaps it’s just easier to see when the security is ripped away, leaving me bare to stare dumbly at the absolute need there. Remember when I typed “a beautiful sort of pain”? That’s what it is. To realize that you’re nothing without your Savior. It’s painful. You have nothing to claim as your own, nothing to count in your favor. In fact, what you do have, that is sin, is revolting to the Father you so very much want to be near. But from that realization comes another—that you really can, only through no effort of your own. In fact, the effort is entirely out of your hands. The effort was in the nail-pierced hands and feet of one Jewish man two thousand years ago. That man, Jesus, died for me, for us. His, and only his, sacrifice can bring us to God. That is beautiful.

On the surface of reflections, I had to lean on God to provide for me and I can rattle on for pages about that, but now that I’m savoring, making my way to the rich waves of flavor, I’m relating the experience back to salvation. It’s an interesting way of looking at it, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around even the smallest conclusions. There are so many directions.

Why does order provide security? Because order causes things to become familiar.
Why does familiarity breed security? Because familiar things are predictable and can be relied upon.
Laura Beth, should you rely upon things? No.
Why not? Because they’re transitory and never guaranteed.
Why is that? Because they’re earthly.
So then what should you rely on? God.
Ok, so why did you encounter such problems when you went to London? Because I relied on things for comfort.
Are you relying on things now? Yes.
Why? It’s easy, especially when they’re right there.

That was the skeleton of one of the thought processes. They take about half of a second and much after that they’re shooting off in so many directions I can’t keep track. Even in the nine questions above I can take off on any number of discussions (hence the skeletal descriptor). That’s why this London savoring business takes so long. There are so many paths, so many undertones, to explore. Last night I listened to the Wicked soundtrack the whole way through. I’d listen to it on my 45 minute commute every day. As I lay on my bed following every tune, I opened those places closed off for months now. The music brought back a tenth of the feelings, but even that was enough for discomfort. I kept a tight hold on the spigot threatening to gush.

It helps that the flow is controllable. In fact, I sometimes enjoy rolling the feelings around. The experience is...interesting. I like to process things, events, emotions, and whathaveyou internally. The interconnections are fascinating to follow.

I’ve got more to write, so there will be additional blog entries. Not sure when they’ll come, but there’s still a bit more stewin’ up there in the ‘ol brain.