First, let it be known that the picture of Derrick's sad face has nothing to do with the fact that I am posting. If anything, it encouraged me to stay away. ha. And yet, due to subconscious people-pleasing compulsions that I cannot control, here I am.
I will take this opportunity to say that my ankle was itchy on the way home from my class today. That's all. Now you know.
Just kidding! There is, of course, a story! My ankle is itchy because it's healing. I had a pretty hefty abrasion there (not quite a cut, though it bled -- one of those weird oozing wounds. yum.), along with several other scratches and bruises on my shins. Last week sometime, I went out for a walk in the woods behind our house to avoid spontaneously combusting and to escape life for a bit. I didn't quite succeed in doing that entirely (though the combusting part was successfully averted), but I ended up having a pretty good time anyway reading my Bible and enjoying the beautiful day. On my way back to the house, I decided to avoid life some more and do my civic duty by clearing out some of the log jams of leaves and sticks and large tree trunks in the dry stream bed (I didn't do so well with the trees, but my attempts were downright amazonian). It was nice to get a little dirty and exert some sort of energy as I imagined the rushing of unresricted water that will flow in the fall because of my herculean efforts.
Unfortunately, my imaginings were being constantly interrupted by Jake (our dog), as he wailed frantically from the other side of the invisible fence several feet away (I was going to say electric fence, but no, we're not that paranoid about them escaping). I put up with it for a while, but since I was in earth-and-animal-friendly mode, I decided to carry him across the fenceline so he could enjoy digging around in the leaves I was moving. He didn't have his collar on, by the way, or he would have been completely traumatized... like that other time when somebody got him zapped by doing that and he was terrified of taking one step in any direction after that. Anyway, as soon as I put him down, I vaguely sensed that it was a stupid thing to do. Sure enough, after 6.2 seconds of sniffing around the stream, it suddenly dawned on Jake that he was free, and he went bounding off gleefully into the miles of underbrush. ARGH! So I went tearing off in what I figured would be a fruitless chase, as I quickly lost sight of him in the woods. But thankfully Jake is incredibly stupid, and he ran around in a big circle and raced right at me. So I tackled him, resulting in the wounds on my right leg.
On the other side of the fence once more, where the grass was distinctly un-green, Jake started howling again. This time I ignored him. That is, until the howling stopped, and I looked up to see him standing in front of me, trembling with excitement. It was the weirdest thing -- he was grinning. It was like he couldn't believe what he'd just gotten away with, and in his pride and ecstacy (and maybe a twinge of conscience), he'd come to show me what he'd done. So we stared each other down for a few seconds before he veered right, ready to disappear forever. However, MY cat-like reflexes (which we all know never fail me...we'll just forget that little quote of yours, laughter) were too quick for him, and I dived into the woods, grabbing his back leg and dragging him to the ground, while simultaneously dragging my left leg on something that hurt (thus the big ol' scrape). Ah, well... battle wounds.
So, poor Jake was thwarted once again (and soon had his collar on again in case he decided to test the fence again), and I decided I was done clearing out the stream. Enough wilderness-woman out of me for one day...
At the risk of sounding a bit cheezy, I have to admit I feel for Jake. He could taste the freedom on the other side enough to know there were joys unimaginable -- new smells, new rodents, new holes to explore -- but they were snatched away as he got dragged back to the confines of his borders. He wasn't allowed to go; he was stuck wondering if it was as amazing as that first taste told him it was. Sorry, Jake. Someday we'll get to the other side... and we'll run forever.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Planning for the Girls Week
Sometimes it is possible to shove your flaws to the back of your mind, and tell yourself that you are a pretty well-adjusted person. Planning a week-long event for girls is not such a time. I have compiled a list of flaws that have recently resurfaced in my consciousness (some examples may be exaggerated to make a more interesting story - a statement which should really be added to every blog - in fact it should be added to my life in general. Consider that a life-long disclaimer):
1. No Organizational Skills.
Oh no. I have been working from an incomplete e-mail list, and several girls are totally in the dark with less than a week to pack! [5 second pause] Uh oh. I have 21 girls, and 20 seats in the van. [I panic and suggest rash solutions] Oh, wait! Here is an e-mail saying one girl won't be able to make it. We do have room after all!
2. Inability to deal with set backs.
It doesn't matter that the problem of seats in the van was solved. I spent so much emotional energy early in the day, worrying about what to do, that I will now have a completely unproductive afternoon.
3. ADD-ness
Well, that's okay. I really don't need to push because I worked really hard yesterday, and I can't work really hard two days in a row. That would be asking way too much of myself. Instead I'll go read blogs...
4. Procrastination
And it doesn't matter, because I'm going to have three more days before the week actually begins. And I can probably get a ton done in the two hours I'll be functional after sundown on Saturday.
5. Inability to think of all eventualities
What do you mean 15 girls' luggage will not fit in the van with the fifteen girls?!
6. Inability to get out of the door for a grocery shopping trip
Oh wait, I need to make a phone call to my sister about something completely unrelated to the task at hand. Make that a couple of phone calls. Oooh, I think I have some library books that are due soon. And where did I leave my glasses (see flaw #1)? Hm, I can't borrow Uncle Paul's car after all because it's a standard. Whoops, can't take a 10 minute trip without my CDs...
7. Inability to communicate
Oh ya, I should probably tell helper #1 what time this thing is starting on Sunday. Ohhh ya, I should probably tell helper #2 that I asked for a helper #3. Ohhhhhhhhh ya, I should probably send out that e-mail to the girls inviting them to come.
But, despite these seven deadly flaws, this week is going to come off, and it's going to be GREAT! I'm looking forward to it - I have the biggest group yet, and they are all winners!
And this post is a fancy way of saying that I probably won't be posting for the next week or so. Ta ta until July!
1. No Organizational Skills.
Oh no. I have been working from an incomplete e-mail list, and several girls are totally in the dark with less than a week to pack! [5 second pause] Uh oh. I have 21 girls, and 20 seats in the van. [I panic and suggest rash solutions] Oh, wait! Here is an e-mail saying one girl won't be able to make it. We do have room after all!
2. Inability to deal with set backs.
It doesn't matter that the problem of seats in the van was solved. I spent so much emotional energy early in the day, worrying about what to do, that I will now have a completely unproductive afternoon.
3. ADD-ness
Well, that's okay. I really don't need to push because I worked really hard yesterday, and I can't work really hard two days in a row. That would be asking way too much of myself. Instead I'll go read blogs...
4. Procrastination
And it doesn't matter, because I'm going to have three more days before the week actually begins. And I can probably get a ton done in the two hours I'll be functional after sundown on Saturday.
5. Inability to think of all eventualities
What do you mean 15 girls' luggage will not fit in the van with the fifteen girls?!
6. Inability to get out of the door for a grocery shopping trip
Oh wait, I need to make a phone call to my sister about something completely unrelated to the task at hand. Make that a couple of phone calls. Oooh, I think I have some library books that are due soon. And where did I leave my glasses (see flaw #1)? Hm, I can't borrow Uncle Paul's car after all because it's a standard. Whoops, can't take a 10 minute trip without my CDs...
7. Inability to communicate
Oh ya, I should probably tell helper #1 what time this thing is starting on Sunday. Ohhh ya, I should probably tell helper #2 that I asked for a helper #3. Ohhhhhhhhh ya, I should probably send out that e-mail to the girls inviting them to come.
But, despite these seven deadly flaws, this week is going to come off, and it's going to be GREAT! I'm looking forward to it - I have the biggest group yet, and they are all winners!
And this post is a fancy way of saying that I probably won't be posting for the next week or so. Ta ta until July!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Ahhhh Summer Evenings
Last night was simply beautiful - just the right temperature, with a golden full moon. Amy, Melissa, and I decided to go for a walk. We ventured out of the house, talking amiably and enjoying the perfection of the night.
As we passed Grandpa's house, I felt a slightly uncomfortable sensation under my heel as I walked. I decided not to say anything, but the discomfort did not go away. There was definitely something wet on my foot. Finally I uttered my unspoken fear: "Guys, I think I might have stepped on something really gross."
Interested, the three of us went back to have a look. I crouched down, squinting into the darkness of the driveway. There, to my horror, was what appeared to be a salamander. I had stepped on, and apparently squished, a salamander! I was horrified, and completely grossed out.
Amy and Melissa raced to Sara's house to see if we could borrow a flashlight. I followed behind, dragging my foot in the wet grass. They did not have a flashlight, but Amy remembered her light-up-able cell phone. Back we went to survey the damage.
Lo, it was a snake. I had stepped squarely on a snake and killed it with my proportionately overwhelming weight. I cavorted around the driveway, screaming with horror. Of course, the screams were muffled by my sweatshirt, since it was after 10:30.
As we walked back to the house, I wondered (amidst my periodic groans) why God would need, in the grand scheme of things, to send three girls out on a walk in order that one of them might step on a snake and kill it with her bare feet. Maybe it was terribly poisonous. Or rabid, suggested Amy, reasonably.
When we returned, I told the tale of woe to Aunt Laura. She commented that it sounded very Biblical! Aha! There it was. We were sent on the walk to be reminded of the Gospel! So we all thought about it and talked about it, and thereby infused some meaning into the sordid affair.
As we passed Grandpa's house, I felt a slightly uncomfortable sensation under my heel as I walked. I decided not to say anything, but the discomfort did not go away. There was definitely something wet on my foot. Finally I uttered my unspoken fear: "Guys, I think I might have stepped on something really gross."
Interested, the three of us went back to have a look. I crouched down, squinting into the darkness of the driveway. There, to my horror, was what appeared to be a salamander. I had stepped on, and apparently squished, a salamander! I was horrified, and completely grossed out.
Amy and Melissa raced to Sara's house to see if we could borrow a flashlight. I followed behind, dragging my foot in the wet grass. They did not have a flashlight, but Amy remembered her light-up-able cell phone. Back we went to survey the damage.
Lo, it was a snake. I had stepped squarely on a snake and killed it with my proportionately overwhelming weight. I cavorted around the driveway, screaming with horror. Of course, the screams were muffled by my sweatshirt, since it was after 10:30.
As we walked back to the house, I wondered (amidst my periodic groans) why God would need, in the grand scheme of things, to send three girls out on a walk in order that one of them might step on a snake and kill it with her bare feet. Maybe it was terribly poisonous. Or rabid, suggested Amy, reasonably.
When we returned, I told the tale of woe to Aunt Laura. She commented that it sounded very Biblical! Aha! There it was. We were sent on the walk to be reminded of the Gospel! So we all thought about it and talked about it, and thereby infused some meaning into the sordid affair.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Long Evening's Journey into Childhood
Last night I was caught in a peculiar time warp. I wasn't fully in the past, because I was a conscious now-me, looking back on a then-me, but I was pretty close. I was home with the rest of my family for Father's Day, and Mama had pulled out all of our old childhood papers: cards we'd made, letters we'd written, school papers, drawings, etc. I was amazed at how much it brought back. The living room was soon filled with laughter as we took turns reading and showing various treasures we were unearthing.
I was laughing so hard that I had tears streaming down my face as I read my "about the author" at the end of a story I'd written: "My name is Andrea. I like to pick beans."
What!? Where in the world did that come from? So much for the more traditional "I have a dog" or "I like to ride my bike." Bean-picking all the way.
Soon I was discovering little indications, in those early writings, of the person I would later become. For instance, Gretchen found a book that she and I had written together, and the dedication page said: "This book is dedicated to people who say hi to people they don't even know."
I found this little essay from second grade: "Someday I'm going to be a techer. I will be a nice techer. I will give the girls ponys and book and candy for thare dirthday. I will live in a Machon. [Teacher with a mansion. Riiiight.] I will give the boys machboxes and gi joe stuff and candy for thare birthday... I will be vary fun. the end"
I found many things I'd written about friends: Jenny, Timmy, Rosie and Craig factored in regularly. "Me and Craig made up a sog. It wus abot The Snow." I would like to claim some credit for Craig's more recent musical achievements, because I was obviously very instrumental in getting him started.
I found several letters from both Melissa and Claire. Melissa (whose letters were dictated through her father or mother, since she was about three at the time) wondered what I had had for dinner: oatmeal or oranges? My school writing assignments had many references to happy visits to Rhode Island. "We played all day. We played outdoors and we played in. We had all the fun we could."
Claire wrote to me when I had the chicken pox, and I have never seen so many exclamation points in one place in my life. I have no doubt I was very cheered by it. I also found a secret code we had made up for our secret game, and number seven was "let's hide from K." Ironically enough, Kimberly was reading this one out loud without having read it through first, and this part brought a little howl of protest.
I also discovered early signs of familial loyalty and protectiveness. I suggested that we put the following sign on our door: "The answer is yes or no. Which ever you want. Please don't knock unless you must. My father is sick of it. After all its the SABBATH." And there were also early evidences of later friendships with siblings, despite the above paragraph.
Mama found this list of my age 9 ambitions:
1. Cashier
2. Nurse
3. Teacher
4. Table Captain
Actually, go back and read that list with about a 3 minute pause between number 3 and number 4. That is about how long it took Mama to stop laughing enough to read it out loud.
It was a fun, fascinating evening of revisiting my childhood. I went to bed with the overwhelming feeling that I had had the happiest of childhoods.
I was laughing so hard that I had tears streaming down my face as I read my "about the author" at the end of a story I'd written: "My name is Andrea. I like to pick beans."
What!? Where in the world did that come from? So much for the more traditional "I have a dog" or "I like to ride my bike." Bean-picking all the way.
Soon I was discovering little indications, in those early writings, of the person I would later become. For instance, Gretchen found a book that she and I had written together, and the dedication page said: "This book is dedicated to people who say hi to people they don't even know."
I found this little essay from second grade: "Someday I'm going to be a techer. I will be a nice techer. I will give the girls ponys and book and candy for thare dirthday. I will live in a Machon. [Teacher with a mansion. Riiiight.] I will give the boys machboxes and gi joe stuff and candy for thare birthday... I will be vary fun. the end"
I found many things I'd written about friends: Jenny, Timmy, Rosie and Craig factored in regularly. "Me and Craig made up a sog. It wus abot The Snow." I would like to claim some credit for Craig's more recent musical achievements, because I was obviously very instrumental in getting him started.
I found several letters from both Melissa and Claire. Melissa (whose letters were dictated through her father or mother, since she was about three at the time) wondered what I had had for dinner: oatmeal or oranges? My school writing assignments had many references to happy visits to Rhode Island. "We played all day. We played outdoors and we played in. We had all the fun we could."
Claire wrote to me when I had the chicken pox, and I have never seen so many exclamation points in one place in my life. I have no doubt I was very cheered by it. I also found a secret code we had made up for our secret game, and number seven was "let's hide from K." Ironically enough, Kimberly was reading this one out loud without having read it through first, and this part brought a little howl of protest.
I also discovered early signs of familial loyalty and protectiveness. I suggested that we put the following sign on our door: "The answer is yes or no. Which ever you want. Please don't knock unless you must. My father is sick of it. After all its the SABBATH." And there were also early evidences of later friendships with siblings, despite the above paragraph.
Mama found this list of my age 9 ambitions:
1. Cashier
2. Nurse
3. Teacher
4. Table Captain
Actually, go back and read that list with about a 3 minute pause between number 3 and number 4. That is about how long it took Mama to stop laughing enough to read it out loud.
It was a fun, fascinating evening of revisiting my childhood. I went to bed with the overwhelming feeling that I had had the happiest of childhoods.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Interview #2 (or Success to the Brave)
I am happy to report that I got the teaching job!!! I will henceforth be called by my last name, provoke fear and trembling with my brutal writing assignments, and cause the Board members to shake their heads on a regular basis. I can’t believe I’m going to be a teacher at last, after approximately 20 years of talking about being one!
The principal called yesterday afternoon, and said “I know this is kind of last minute, but can you be here tomorrow morning at 8:00?” Ay ay ay. But of course I said yes. The morning, however, did not start promisingly. The electricity went out about 8 minutes after I woke up. Thus I couldn’t see very well. Thankfully I’d picked out an outfit the night before, or who knows what I would have hit upon in the darkness. And I had to make chai using a match to get the gas stove going. I fortuitously avoided blowing up the house. And of course, my car battery was dead. Providentially dear Uncle Paul was up and gave me the use of another car.
I got down to Aquidneck Island (in less time – new directions this time!) to discover the principal’s day had not started all the promisingly either. He was bleeding (“rough morning,” said the board member, “rough razor,” said the principal), and had been the victim of a flat tire!
But we quickly got down to business, and I was grilled on many hypothetical situations, questioned as to my opinions on this or that subject, etc. At one point I was asked if I was organized. There were no two ways about it – I had to simply say no. But then I remembered that I actually was pretty organized for school out of necessity. So I threw that in, too. The principal talked about the importance of being a good role model, and asked what I would exemplify for my students. All kinds of things flitted through my mind (perfection and things like that), but finally I hit upon a super answer all about how the role of a teacher itself is an example of the selflessness required of the Christian, and the laying down of ones life for something greater than the self. The principal nodded, and said “good answer.” Yesssssss.
The interview was drawing to a close, the salary was brought up and agreed to, and I was hired!!! I got home and called my parents and KJ and we had a wonderful, joyful conversation, which even included singing The Doxology together, right over the phone. And I thanked my parents. I know I am a good fit for this job, and it is because of their training. It was no surprise to me to hear of a place where every single area of life ties into Christianity – I have been trained with a Christian worldview from the cradle, even though I never slept in a cradle. And I am coming with no baggage – no weird liberal ideology that I will have to be trained away from – no “issues” (well… except the little OCD thing). I thank them for what they did in laying down their lives to bring me to this place. And most of all, I thank God, who heard my prayers for my future, and heard the school’s prayers for an English teacher, and answered both prayers on this day.
The principal called yesterday afternoon, and said “I know this is kind of last minute, but can you be here tomorrow morning at 8:00?” Ay ay ay. But of course I said yes. The morning, however, did not start promisingly. The electricity went out about 8 minutes after I woke up. Thus I couldn’t see very well. Thankfully I’d picked out an outfit the night before, or who knows what I would have hit upon in the darkness. And I had to make chai using a match to get the gas stove going. I fortuitously avoided blowing up the house. And of course, my car battery was dead. Providentially dear Uncle Paul was up and gave me the use of another car.
I got down to Aquidneck Island (in less time – new directions this time!) to discover the principal’s day had not started all the promisingly either. He was bleeding (“rough morning,” said the board member, “rough razor,” said the principal), and had been the victim of a flat tire!
But we quickly got down to business, and I was grilled on many hypothetical situations, questioned as to my opinions on this or that subject, etc. At one point I was asked if I was organized. There were no two ways about it – I had to simply say no. But then I remembered that I actually was pretty organized for school out of necessity. So I threw that in, too. The principal talked about the importance of being a good role model, and asked what I would exemplify for my students. All kinds of things flitted through my mind (perfection and things like that), but finally I hit upon a super answer all about how the role of a teacher itself is an example of the selflessness required of the Christian, and the laying down of ones life for something greater than the self. The principal nodded, and said “good answer.” Yesssssss.
The interview was drawing to a close, the salary was brought up and agreed to, and I was hired!!! I got home and called my parents and KJ and we had a wonderful, joyful conversation, which even included singing The Doxology together, right over the phone. And I thanked my parents. I know I am a good fit for this job, and it is because of their training. It was no surprise to me to hear of a place where every single area of life ties into Christianity – I have been trained with a Christian worldview from the cradle, even though I never slept in a cradle. And I am coming with no baggage – no weird liberal ideology that I will have to be trained away from – no “issues” (well… except the little OCD thing). I thank them for what they did in laying down their lives to bring me to this place. And most of all, I thank God, who heard my prayers for my future, and heard the school’s prayers for an English teacher, and answered both prayers on this day.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Grocery Shopping Thrills
Today, driven by the desperation of a starving household, I set out in the company of Amy and Laura to do some grocery shopping. We had a list a mile long, a blank check (unfortunately already made out to Shaws), our trusty Shaws card, and a coupon that boasted 10 dollars off any purchase over 100 dollars. We entered the store with gusto and began the hunt for the perfect food.
I am a very slow shopper. I was looking for napkins, for instance, and deliberated for minutes before finding white ones that were pretty cheap. Meanwhile the girls had found baking soda, baking powder, granola, and salsa. Sigh. Good thing they were there.
But it was okay, because while I was debating the great napkin question (which reminds me of the last time I went grocery shopping - this time with Melissa - when we stood, together, looking at strawberries - the first item on our list - for about 5 minutes. What a trip that was!) a young man walked by, merrily singing "Keep your eyes upon the eastern sky!" I was desperately trying to think of whence that phrase had come when he finished it as he rounded the corner: "Lift up your heads! Redemption draweth nigh." He was a very normal looking guy, adding his own little twists to the music. It made me happy.
That's the part I like about grocery shopping: the human touches. I passed this young woman who avoided eye contact and looked kind of troubled. I wished I could have connected with her. And then, later, we found ourselves on a collision course with our huge carts, and we had to joke about it. It was a great connection!
I find that the fuller carts get, the harder they are to maneuver. I had congratulated myself on getting a cart that didn't steer sideways or anything, but once you get 100 lbs of granola, cat food, cherries, popsicles, and juice, it really doesn't matter whether the cart steers sideways or not, since it is pretty much completely resistant to motion of any kind.
We got to the checkout, and started putting our food on the belt. The entire thing, from the end to the cashier, was covered with our food. The receipt was probably three feet long. And I am happy to report that almost every single item there was a sale item. And now our larders are no longer reminiscent of nursery rhymes with old women and dogs in them!
I am a very slow shopper. I was looking for napkins, for instance, and deliberated for minutes before finding white ones that were pretty cheap. Meanwhile the girls had found baking soda, baking powder, granola, and salsa. Sigh. Good thing they were there.
But it was okay, because while I was debating the great napkin question (which reminds me of the last time I went grocery shopping - this time with Melissa - when we stood, together, looking at strawberries - the first item on our list - for about 5 minutes. What a trip that was!) a young man walked by, merrily singing "Keep your eyes upon the eastern sky!" I was desperately trying to think of whence that phrase had come when he finished it as he rounded the corner: "Lift up your heads! Redemption draweth nigh." He was a very normal looking guy, adding his own little twists to the music. It made me happy.
That's the part I like about grocery shopping: the human touches. I passed this young woman who avoided eye contact and looked kind of troubled. I wished I could have connected with her. And then, later, we found ourselves on a collision course with our huge carts, and we had to joke about it. It was a great connection!
I find that the fuller carts get, the harder they are to maneuver. I had congratulated myself on getting a cart that didn't steer sideways or anything, but once you get 100 lbs of granola, cat food, cherries, popsicles, and juice, it really doesn't matter whether the cart steers sideways or not, since it is pretty much completely resistant to motion of any kind.
We got to the checkout, and started putting our food on the belt. The entire thing, from the end to the cashier, was covered with our food. The receipt was probably three feet long. And I am happy to report that almost every single item there was a sale item. And now our larders are no longer reminiscent of nursery rhymes with old women and dogs in them!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Time and Mini-Wheats Are On My Side...
It seems pretty low to join someone's blog and then immediately turn around and mock them, but we all know that if the mocking is blog material, one must GO for it (am I a natural or what?).
After I had taken an hour and a half to compose my introduction post (well, you know, give or take 15 minutes...), I showed it to Andrea before the moment of publication (dramatic theme music here). I felt much affirmed by the laughs of glee it evoked from Andrea my proofreader, until she said, in sudden solemnity, "well, there's one thing I'm wondering if you can do with these posts..." and my heart sank. By her tone, I knew I had somehow committed some egregious error and offended her deeply! I KNEW this blog thing was a bad idea! "um, I really don't like it when they're published at an odd time, so would you mind changing it to 8:40?" I stared at her open-mouthed for several minutes until it seemed rude, and then looked down to see that I had been about to click the "publish" button at (horrors!) 8:37!!! So, for all of you who have been amazed at all of Andrea's coincidentally even-numbered posts, be deceived no longer-- some of them are FAKED!! (My sensitive conscience quaking, I asked about the ethics of this "rounding off"-- what about all the poor people who are stalking us and planning their lives around what they assume are exact times of our postings? But she assured me that she has already acquitted herself of all blog-related guilt. Freedom!) Anyway, I must admit (as I'm sure you've all just found after scrolling through the archives), that her times are very aesthetically pleasing.
Andrea and I watched a movie recently about a guy with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), so of course we're both convinced we have it. The above account is evidence of her disease, but I have my own symptoms. Many have probably heard, because my dad delights in telling the story to everyone he comes across, but I have issues with Bite-Size Frosted Mini Wheats (TM). I'm getting a little better, but for years I have had to individually place the tasty morsels into my bowl from the box so that every piece was frosting-side up. I really like F.M.W.s (sounds like initials you'd find in a Warrior Song Book), but I don't always choose them first because they take so long to eat... sigh. But I persevere, because there is a REASON. They TASTE better that way. If you just pour the cereal in any old jumbled way, by the time you get to the bottom, all that's left of the F.M.W. is the M.W., if you know what I mean. It's just all soggy and wheaty! No slightly crunchy sweetness! No reward at the end of a well-consumed bowl of cereal! But if you do it MY way, you get what you paid for from the first bite to the last. The poor lil minis haven't had to suffocate at the bottom of MY bowl, struggling until their frosting is all but forgotten... they reward you for taking the time to eat them correctly.
I'm sure it's clear for all to see that Andrea is the more OCD of the two of us.
[oh, I forgot! Lest people take my advice and run amok with it, don't forget that when you actually get the F.M.W to your mouth, you have to flip it around with your tongue so that the frosting side is connecting with your taste buds...]
After I had taken an hour and a half to compose my introduction post (well, you know, give or take 15 minutes...), I showed it to Andrea before the moment of publication (dramatic theme music here). I felt much affirmed by the laughs of glee it evoked from Andrea my proofreader, until she said, in sudden solemnity, "well, there's one thing I'm wondering if you can do with these posts..." and my heart sank. By her tone, I knew I had somehow committed some egregious error and offended her deeply! I KNEW this blog thing was a bad idea! "um, I really don't like it when they're published at an odd time, so would you mind changing it to 8:40?" I stared at her open-mouthed for several minutes until it seemed rude, and then looked down to see that I had been about to click the "publish" button at (horrors!) 8:37!!! So, for all of you who have been amazed at all of Andrea's coincidentally even-numbered posts, be deceived no longer-- some of them are FAKED!! (My sensitive conscience quaking, I asked about the ethics of this "rounding off"-- what about all the poor people who are stalking us and planning their lives around what they assume are exact times of our postings? But she assured me that she has already acquitted herself of all blog-related guilt. Freedom!) Anyway, I must admit (as I'm sure you've all just found after scrolling through the archives), that her times are very aesthetically pleasing.
Andrea and I watched a movie recently about a guy with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), so of course we're both convinced we have it. The above account is evidence of her disease, but I have my own symptoms. Many have probably heard, because my dad delights in telling the story to everyone he comes across, but I have issues with Bite-Size Frosted Mini Wheats (TM). I'm getting a little better, but for years I have had to individually place the tasty morsels into my bowl from the box so that every piece was frosting-side up. I really like F.M.W.s (sounds like initials you'd find in a Warrior Song Book), but I don't always choose them first because they take so long to eat... sigh. But I persevere, because there is a REASON. They TASTE better that way. If you just pour the cereal in any old jumbled way, by the time you get to the bottom, all that's left of the F.M.W. is the M.W., if you know what I mean. It's just all soggy and wheaty! No slightly crunchy sweetness! No reward at the end of a well-consumed bowl of cereal! But if you do it MY way, you get what you paid for from the first bite to the last. The poor lil minis haven't had to suffocate at the bottom of MY bowl, struggling until their frosting is all but forgotten... they reward you for taking the time to eat them correctly.
I'm sure it's clear for all to see that Andrea is the more OCD of the two of us.
[oh, I forgot! Lest people take my advice and run amok with it, don't forget that when you actually get the F.M.W to your mouth, you have to flip it around with your tongue so that the frosting side is connecting with your taste buds...]
War Games
My nephews were here yesterday, and we had a wonderful time together. We squirted the huge water gun, played with the dogs, walked through the woods, swung on the rope swing... But most of all we warred.
Our battles began with some action figures. Michael assembled the largest army, Gabriel was second, and I was last - with a grand total of one action figure. I was the bad guy. They were the good guys.
I soon discovered that Michael has some clear ideas about justice and honor. For instance, Gabriel wanted to be on my side, but Michael explained that he would have to lose if he was on my side, because the good guys always win. Hear, hear! Similarly, there were no such things as surprise attacks. Battle must only be waged when all parties were thoroughly ready. Also, if he was fighting my lone action figure with "the sword guy," my guy had to die at the first stroke. When Gabriel tried to do something contrary to this code of justice and honor, Michael told him that was "not how the army works."
Soon battle was waged - action figure vs. action figure (with a tractor and trailer and a plastic slinky as "bombers"). It was an epic struggle. I, of course, lost. Repeatedly.
But soon I was allowed to be a good guy, too. Thus we amassed a huge army (what they had plus my guy). But what to do about an enemy? Of course! The entire kitchen was the enemy! Soon the room was filled with the sounds of combat - slinky versus dishwasher - what a fight!
Justice prevailed, and the evil kitchen was smitten to rise no more. We even took care of the ceiling (that was my personal duty).
And the side benefits of war were the glimpses I got into the ideas of right and wrong, good and evil, that are so embedded in man - even as young as five and three years old. It was fascinating, funny, and even a little inspiring, actually. Hurrah for nephews!
Our battles began with some action figures. Michael assembled the largest army, Gabriel was second, and I was last - with a grand total of one action figure. I was the bad guy. They were the good guys.
I soon discovered that Michael has some clear ideas about justice and honor. For instance, Gabriel wanted to be on my side, but Michael explained that he would have to lose if he was on my side, because the good guys always win. Hear, hear! Similarly, there were no such things as surprise attacks. Battle must only be waged when all parties were thoroughly ready. Also, if he was fighting my lone action figure with "the sword guy," my guy had to die at the first stroke. When Gabriel tried to do something contrary to this code of justice and honor, Michael told him that was "not how the army works."
Soon battle was waged - action figure vs. action figure (with a tractor and trailer and a plastic slinky as "bombers"). It was an epic struggle. I, of course, lost. Repeatedly.
But soon I was allowed to be a good guy, too. Thus we amassed a huge army (what they had plus my guy). But what to do about an enemy? Of course! The entire kitchen was the enemy! Soon the room was filled with the sounds of combat - slinky versus dishwasher - what a fight!
Justice prevailed, and the evil kitchen was smitten to rise no more. We even took care of the ceiling (that was my personal duty).
And the side benefits of war were the glimpses I got into the ideas of right and wrong, good and evil, that are so embedded in man - even as young as five and three years old. It was fascinating, funny, and even a little inspiring, actually. Hurrah for nephews!
Sunday, June 12, 2005
AAAAHHHHHH!!!!! The PRESSURE!!!
No, this is not Andrea stressing about job interviews. This is guest speaker Melissa, and I'm withering already. Before you get all excited, I will make it clear that I am NOT a real blogger; I am only a CONTRIBUTOR to a blog. Therefore I have no responsibilities whatsoever. I do not promise to ever post anything, and if you hate what I do rarely post, it's Andrea's fault because it's her blog. (She agrees, as she's busy in the background giving me every "out" in the book...) This bold move to blogsite "member" is just in case I suddenly have epiphanies and/or thrilling tales that simply must be shared with the entire universe. Mostly I just want my name to come up in underlined blue (like Brandon's) when I leave comments. AND, of course, now everyone will check Andrea's blog twice as often (she's paying me a tidy sum for all the publicity). Ok... so now that I've waffled to lengths that would do all phlegmatics proud, I will conclude this speech of introduction, and welcome you to peruse my potential ramblings in this little corner of blogdom.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
My Mechanicalness
Yesterday I accomplished a great and mechanical feat. I assembled a lamp, all by myself! This was no small and tidy lamp, either. It was tall, and had shelves, and is some what pyramid shaped. Well, it would be a very skinny and tall pyramid, but you get the idea.
When Aunt Laura asked me if I could do it, my first response was a happy one. Frequently in my scholastic pursuits of the past four years I have suddenly been seized by the desire to do something with my hands - something physical. Most often I just thought about it, and then moved on to the next book. But once it did result in my going up to the men's dorm and throwing wood for about an hour. Some people, of course, do this kind of thing all the time. I was talking to Mum on the phone last night, and she told me about Daddy single-handedly (well, close) building the kitchen in the basement of the church. Framing, sheetrocking, sanding, plumbing, wiring, he was doing it all. All I can do is type! Sigh. So here, with the lamp, was my opportunity to do something with my hands besides wielding the keyboard.
My second response was to look for the instructions. I have not read comic books with a closed mind, and I know that people get into all kinds of trouble when they insist upon working without the instructions. I soon discovered, however, that there were no instructions. Apparently the makers of said lamp assumed it was child's play to assemble a lamp of such proportions.
I quickly found that it was indeed child's play. The lamp was packaged in such a way that it would be almost impossible for a reasonable person to assemble it in any other way than that prescribed by the lamp-making company. Basically all one had to do was screw the little rods into each other, repeatedly, four times, to make the legs. The only complicated part was making sure the four legs went through the four holes of each shelf. Soon the lamp was together and standing and looking mighty elegant. A jorb well done, if I do say so myself.
When Aunt Laura asked me if I could do it, my first response was a happy one. Frequently in my scholastic pursuits of the past four years I have suddenly been seized by the desire to do something with my hands - something physical. Most often I just thought about it, and then moved on to the next book. But once it did result in my going up to the men's dorm and throwing wood for about an hour. Some people, of course, do this kind of thing all the time. I was talking to Mum on the phone last night, and she told me about Daddy single-handedly (well, close) building the kitchen in the basement of the church. Framing, sheetrocking, sanding, plumbing, wiring, he was doing it all. All I can do is type! Sigh. So here, with the lamp, was my opportunity to do something with my hands besides wielding the keyboard.
My second response was to look for the instructions. I have not read comic books with a closed mind, and I know that people get into all kinds of trouble when they insist upon working without the instructions. I soon discovered, however, that there were no instructions. Apparently the makers of said lamp assumed it was child's play to assemble a lamp of such proportions.
I quickly found that it was indeed child's play. The lamp was packaged in such a way that it would be almost impossible for a reasonable person to assemble it in any other way than that prescribed by the lamp-making company. Basically all one had to do was screw the little rods into each other, repeatedly, four times, to make the legs. The only complicated part was making sure the four legs went through the four holes of each shelf. Soon the lamp was together and standing and looking mighty elegant. A jorb well done, if I do say so myself.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Practicing BBB (Blog Before Breakfast)
I woke up SO sore this morning. Shoulders...neck... But it wasn't due to any strenuous workout, nor some heroic good deed. No, it was from three hours of washing dishes!
Last night Aunt Laura and I went to help a woman with her dinner party on the East side of Providence. Her husband is a prof at Brown (yes, I talked about PC, and how much I loved it), and they have a beautiful home right near the university.
It was about the most exciting dish washing I'd ever done. Beautiful surroundings, interesting people, great company (Aunt Laura and I had a really good talk - sometime I should do a blog about how awesome she is).
I had the weirdest moment of relating to modern classical composers (brace yourself, Craig). I was sitting in the kitchen (before the dishes started coming), and I could hear the vibrant conversation, without actually picking out individual threads or even many distinct words. So I just sat there listening to the combined sounds of the conversation and it was fascinating. I started wondering about the possibilities of conveying such an experience through music. I don't know if it could be done. But some modern composers use pre-recorded stuff, so that might be a possibility.
My musings were quickly set aside as the dishes started pouring in. That was a scary experience. My first dish was a wine goblet (plug nose here - so smelly!) made of crystal that was so delicate and thin feeling that a sharp glance could probably have cracked it. The bowl made out of similar crystal was the scariest of all. But it didn't break even when I bumped it against the sink once, so I'm guessing the stuff is sturdier than it feels. Whew!
There were beautiful dishes - some that were handpainted in France, some that were that wicked famous kind of China from England (I forget the name right now). OH! Thanks Granddaddy Fred! It was Wedgewood. And then there were some from Germany. I am happy to report that I made it through the whole evening without breaking ANYTHING. (Ditto for helping the Demmes move!)
So then I drove home, through the streets of East Providence, and decided my greatest ambition in life is to live on the East side. Of course, this doesn't go along with my ambition to be a high school English teacher. So I knew I'd have to marry for money. But then I began thinking about how much pressure it is to have money (I was getting stressed out with the money I got for graduation, for goodness sake!). Of course it's also too much pressure to have no money (hmm, should I get gas or food today?). SO, I decided I want to have just the right amount to get by - aha! English teacher-dom here I come!
Last night Aunt Laura and I went to help a woman with her dinner party on the East side of Providence. Her husband is a prof at Brown (yes, I talked about PC, and how much I loved it), and they have a beautiful home right near the university.
It was about the most exciting dish washing I'd ever done. Beautiful surroundings, interesting people, great company (Aunt Laura and I had a really good talk - sometime I should do a blog about how awesome she is).
I had the weirdest moment of relating to modern classical composers (brace yourself, Craig). I was sitting in the kitchen (before the dishes started coming), and I could hear the vibrant conversation, without actually picking out individual threads or even many distinct words. So I just sat there listening to the combined sounds of the conversation and it was fascinating. I started wondering about the possibilities of conveying such an experience through music. I don't know if it could be done. But some modern composers use pre-recorded stuff, so that might be a possibility.
My musings were quickly set aside as the dishes started pouring in. That was a scary experience. My first dish was a wine goblet (plug nose here - so smelly!) made of crystal that was so delicate and thin feeling that a sharp glance could probably have cracked it. The bowl made out of similar crystal was the scariest of all. But it didn't break even when I bumped it against the sink once, so I'm guessing the stuff is sturdier than it feels. Whew!
There were beautiful dishes - some that were handpainted in France, some that were that wicked famous kind of China from England (I forget the name right now). OH! Thanks Granddaddy Fred! It was Wedgewood. And then there were some from Germany. I am happy to report that I made it through the whole evening without breaking ANYTHING. (Ditto for helping the Demmes move!)
So then I drove home, through the streets of East Providence, and decided my greatest ambition in life is to live on the East side. Of course, this doesn't go along with my ambition to be a high school English teacher. So I knew I'd have to marry for money. But then I began thinking about how much pressure it is to have money (I was getting stressed out with the money I got for graduation, for goodness sake!). Of course it's also too much pressure to have no money (hmm, should I get gas or food today?). SO, I decided I want to have just the right amount to get by - aha! English teacher-dom here I come!
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Big Time Productivity
I'll have you all know that I have written SIXTEEN e-mails today! I feel like Sid, the "Conquering Hero" (to be read with the snobby kind of English accent). Of course, some of those were about three sentences long, asking about Family Convention stuff. But some were real! Oh I do love e-mail.
One of the first criticisms I heard of blogging was that people would cease their personal contacts. I beg to differ. I still e-mail people (16 in fact! Oh wait, several of those were Craig, poor soul), and because of blogging am able to keep in touch with more people than I ever would have by e-mail. However, I admit I didn't send out tons of e-mails about my interview yesterday because I knew most people would read about it on my blog. But it probably would have been a group e-mail anyway, so it's okay!
Justify, justify, justify, to rephrase a Thoreauian phrase...
One of the first criticisms I heard of blogging was that people would cease their personal contacts. I beg to differ. I still e-mail people (16 in fact! Oh wait, several of those were Craig, poor soul), and because of blogging am able to keep in touch with more people than I ever would have by e-mail. However, I admit I didn't send out tons of e-mails about my interview yesterday because I knew most people would read about it on my blog. But it probably would have been a group e-mail anyway, so it's okay!
Justify, justify, justify, to rephrase a Thoreauian phrase...
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Look out World...
Here I come! I had my first real interview today. For some reason after talking to the principal on the phone I got the impression that he was without a sense of humor. This did not bode well for interview success. Au Contraire! He was very funny, and he (this is the important part) thought I was funny, too! And so my bid for filling the English teacher position began.
We began with some doctrinal issues. He asked me what my doctrinal bent was. Ummmm - the Bible?? I had to admit I wasn't all that up on various doctrinal positions. Then he asked if I was more like the Arminians, the Calvinists... Ah! I knew one thing about Calvinists - predestination. So I explained our unique both/and stance in a way that made him laugh and then relieve me by saying that was scriptural. Well, ya! He gave up on the big word thing, and began asking me things like whether I believed Jesus was fully God. Ah - now there was something I could answer! He was a little nervous about the whole Catholic college thing, but I soothed his fears by assuring him I didn't think the Pope was infallible and such. But we did agree that he was a good man.
We moved on to talking about the school itself, its philosophy of education, and its God-centered world view. The more he talked the more excited I became. This was sounding more and more like the place for me!
I had to fake it a bit when it came to the discipline aspect of things, and was happy to hear that the main discipline tactic is to send kids to the principle. Hurrah! No need for me to yell and hit the desk with a ruler and stuff!
And then he began talking about their dire need for an English teacher to cover the upper grades (7-10). I was very happy to hear that, since the web site listed only grades K-8. [Of course, I might have guessed that their web site might not be all that accurate. That morning I had arrived at the location specified on their site only to find there was no sign of any school for blocks around. I called the school and found out they had moved to the next town over! Thank goodness for Danny's sound advice to leave a large cushion of time - I used 40 of the 45 minutes extra that I had allowed.] He also, in a hopeful sort of a way, mentioned their need for a History teacher! So I might be doing some double duty...
By the time the interview was closing up, the principal was talking about how I would be a great asset to the school, and I was exclaiming about how I was more enthusiastic than ever about teaching there.
He'll be calling in a couple of days in order to set up an interview with the three-man board (gulp).
Praise the Lord for directing me to that school, and for giving me such a good interview!
We began with some doctrinal issues. He asked me what my doctrinal bent was. Ummmm - the Bible?? I had to admit I wasn't all that up on various doctrinal positions. Then he asked if I was more like the Arminians, the Calvinists... Ah! I knew one thing about Calvinists - predestination. So I explained our unique both/and stance in a way that made him laugh and then relieve me by saying that was scriptural. Well, ya! He gave up on the big word thing, and began asking me things like whether I believed Jesus was fully God. Ah - now there was something I could answer! He was a little nervous about the whole Catholic college thing, but I soothed his fears by assuring him I didn't think the Pope was infallible and such. But we did agree that he was a good man.
We moved on to talking about the school itself, its philosophy of education, and its God-centered world view. The more he talked the more excited I became. This was sounding more and more like the place for me!
I had to fake it a bit when it came to the discipline aspect of things, and was happy to hear that the main discipline tactic is to send kids to the principle. Hurrah! No need for me to yell and hit the desk with a ruler and stuff!
And then he began talking about their dire need for an English teacher to cover the upper grades (7-10). I was very happy to hear that, since the web site listed only grades K-8. [Of course, I might have guessed that their web site might not be all that accurate. That morning I had arrived at the location specified on their site only to find there was no sign of any school for blocks around. I called the school and found out they had moved to the next town over! Thank goodness for Danny's sound advice to leave a large cushion of time - I used 40 of the 45 minutes extra that I had allowed.] He also, in a hopeful sort of a way, mentioned their need for a History teacher! So I might be doing some double duty...
By the time the interview was closing up, the principal was talking about how I would be a great asset to the school, and I was exclaiming about how I was more enthusiastic than ever about teaching there.
He'll be calling in a couple of days in order to set up an interview with the three-man board (gulp).
Praise the Lord for directing me to that school, and for giving me such a good interview!
Friday, June 03, 2005
Triumphant Return
I have returned from my exile from blogger-dom! I was vacationing in Florida where there was not Internet access to be had for miles around (or at least a short car ride). I handled the hardship tolerably well by means of various breathing techniques and “picture yourself on a sea horse in the ocean” sessions.
But now I have returned, and am a better person for the trip, for now I can truthfully say that I have conquered 95 with a truck (SUV, whatever) and trailer! I was helping the Demmes in their move, and Fritha and I headed up the transport-the-stuff-from-the-NJ-house department.
My first shift began at 11:30pm, after a day of loading furniture. I was drowsy, to say the least. But with the help of coffee and Nickel Creek I woke up pretty well. That and a little adrenaline. I had barely driven anything larger than a station wagon – and pulling a trailer on the highway was definitely a new experience. From 11:30 to 1:30 I was stiff as a ramrod. My legs and arms were tired from the strain. By 2am, however, I was relaxed enough to actually bring my back into contact with the seat back.
And before long I was a pro! I wasn’t even noticing the peculiar fact that there were three ka-chunks when I went over bumps, instead of the usual two. And I took us through a one-lane construction area without knocking over any barrels, despite the fact that they were disturbingly close to the cement barricades on the other side.
I was even enough at ease to imagine bizarre explanations for why the guy behind me wouldn’t pass me, even though I was going 5mph under the speed limit (we had to pull the trailer at 65 the whole way, even when the speed limit was 70 – very trying in a way, but also quite relaxing!). I decided he was a very paranoid individual who was scared to pass my menacing looking vehicle for fear that masked men would leap from the trailer and begin to systematically bomb him. I had myself so convinced of the story that, when another car passed me safely, I was surprised that he didn’t follow suit since of course now he could see I was perfectly harmless.
All in all it was an invigorating experience. Quite a power trip. I can pretty much conquer everything now that I’ve done that. And what’s more, to my everlasting delight, Fritha’s famous grandmother wanted to give me one of the special carnival shirts, since pulling a trailer practically made me an honorary carnie. I have now arrived.
But now I have returned, and am a better person for the trip, for now I can truthfully say that I have conquered 95 with a truck (SUV, whatever) and trailer! I was helping the Demmes in their move, and Fritha and I headed up the transport-the-stuff-from-the-NJ-house department.
My first shift began at 11:30pm, after a day of loading furniture. I was drowsy, to say the least. But with the help of coffee and Nickel Creek I woke up pretty well. That and a little adrenaline. I had barely driven anything larger than a station wagon – and pulling a trailer on the highway was definitely a new experience. From 11:30 to 1:30 I was stiff as a ramrod. My legs and arms were tired from the strain. By 2am, however, I was relaxed enough to actually bring my back into contact with the seat back.
And before long I was a pro! I wasn’t even noticing the peculiar fact that there were three ka-chunks when I went over bumps, instead of the usual two. And I took us through a one-lane construction area without knocking over any barrels, despite the fact that they were disturbingly close to the cement barricades on the other side.
I was even enough at ease to imagine bizarre explanations for why the guy behind me wouldn’t pass me, even though I was going 5mph under the speed limit (we had to pull the trailer at 65 the whole way, even when the speed limit was 70 – very trying in a way, but also quite relaxing!). I decided he was a very paranoid individual who was scared to pass my menacing looking vehicle for fear that masked men would leap from the trailer and begin to systematically bomb him. I had myself so convinced of the story that, when another car passed me safely, I was surprised that he didn’t follow suit since of course now he could see I was perfectly harmless.
All in all it was an invigorating experience. Quite a power trip. I can pretty much conquer everything now that I’ve done that. And what’s more, to my everlasting delight, Fritha’s famous grandmother wanted to give me one of the special carnival shirts, since pulling a trailer practically made me an honorary carnie. I have now arrived.
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