Cruisin'

Yes, I still exist. Once again, I have been rejoicing in the freedom of obligation-free bandwagoning. But I decided that it really is time to throw a bone to my eager readers, especially with such goings on of late. So get ready for over-compensation of femur-like proportions.

For those of you who don't know, I went on a cruise last week! Kind of a last-minute, last-family-vacation-before-everyone-moves-away type deal. So where did we go? To the Caribbean, you may ask? Well, no. To Canada. Poor TJ -- when he told his friends, they responded, "yeah, that sounds like a typical Tim vacation: Israel, Canada...". Hey, not EVERYBODY goes to Puerto Rico and Italy, people. I wonder what they would have said if Amy and I had dragged TJ along on the Vatican City trip we were dreaming about...

Anyway, as we left the hot, wet blanket that passed as air in New York, I was glad we were going north. I wore my Sox visor proudly as we were getting ready to board the ship, and to my delight I got a negative response from the security guys. I told them smugly that I just had to rub it in a little... One of them was a Mets fan and tried to pull an '86 jab on me, but it was completely lame and I reminded him that '86 meant nothing anymore. It's a beautiful thing.

So, the ship was pretty much huge. Crazy huge. With pools, fancy restaurants, shops, a theater, a gym and spa (and yes... the inevitable casino and many minibar-housing lounge).... All big and impressive until we saw our room. We knew it would be pretty tight fitting five of us in one stateroom... and we were not disappointed. It was probably 10x20, with two twin size beds, a cot set up next to one of them, two bunk thingies that folded down from the wall, and a tv shoved in the corner. And one bathroom. Cozy. No, actually it really ended up being fine. There were plenty of drawers and such so we didn't have to deal with suitcases, and we were gone doing other things most of the day anyway. The only time it was really a pain was in the morning and at night when people were up at different times and you had to maneuver your way around the remaining 2 feet of space looking for your stuff in the windowless darkness. Good thing we're all so naturally patient with one another...

There was lots of stuff to do onboard -- games and trivia, various shows, contests, and the inevitable karaoke. No, we didn't participate in the karaoke, though it was tempting as person after tone-deaf person got up there and made fools of themselves. I have to admit that some of the singers were actually quite good, and all were braver than I. It made for amusing entertainment. I got called up for one of the gameshow type trivia things, and I got my own chance to make a fool of myself... there was a question about what one would do when one heard this particular song, and then next thing I knew, the three contestants (my dad was another one, coincidentally) were supposed to perform the "YMCA" on stage (with the audience joining in). Good thing I'm such a killer dancer. HA. I pathetically tried to follow what everyone else was doing, but in the end I just kind of bobbed around and waved my arms. I always have been confused about how to make the "M" and the "A"... The gameshow "host," British assistant cruise director Marcus (who reminded me of a taller and slimmer version of Marnus, you food bank folk), declared all our attempts "rubbish." Ah, well. I made TJ proud, as was of course my goal (yes, he did eventually speak to me again). And for the record, I have since learned how to do the "YMCA" properly (the downside being the stupid song has been stuck in my head now for days...).

Another personal highlight was the day when my dad and I wandered in partway through a "win, lose, or draw" competition. I gasped as I caught sight of the big white board containing indecipherable scribbles, observed the desperate gestures of the marker-laden hands of the man in front, and heard the cacophony of shouted nouns. Could it be? Yes! PICTIONARY!!!! WOOO!!! They were getting ready for a speed round, where one contestant from each team tries to get through as many drawings as possible in two minutes. My pride swelled: "pshh -- I do that for fun at home!" I leapt in as an unknown ringer for my team (since the word had spread, thanks to my dad, that "she's an artist"). Oh yes. The organizer of the game seemed to take pity on me as a young naive player in over her head (everyone seems to think I'm 16 or something... I'm still waiting for the day when it will be a compliment to hear I look younger than my sister), and she let me skip the first clue, which was "Sleepless in Seattle." I admit I was thankful, but when I got the next clue ("Lassie") I was on a roll. Though my knees were literally shaking (weird), I was in my element. The blue team cruised to the finish with one more point than the second-place team, and I was a hero. I won a 24-karat-gold plastic ship on a stick (a joke used approximately 15 times a day which, amazingly, people around me laughed at every time). Thus, I have officially "arrived" in the competitive world of Pictionary.

I can't leave out the food. Basically the majority of our activities involved eating. We were assigned our table for a fancy dinner every night, with our jokester waiter Iputu (from Indonesia, I believe... the crew was quite the league of nations. Our assistant waitress was from Romania). All the food was included on the cruise, so pigging out was a must. Appetizers, salads, entrees and desserts. Yum. I tried quail or pheasant or some such small fowl one night, and though it was a little disturbing to see the whole thing sitting on my plate with its little crossed legs and jutting wings, I got over it and it tasted pretty good. [Ew. It grossed me out again writing that] Anyway... there were buffets galore, including one at midnight some nights, and unlimited soft-serve ice cream, and 24-hour pizzas. One night there was a big shindig where all the world-class chefs displayed their carved vegetable sculptures and other meals that were works of art in themselves... At first they just opened the buffet line so people could look at and take PICTURES of the food, which was interesting yet torturous, and then later they opened it up again for consumption. We sampled some of the dishes, but for the most part they looked better than they tasted. That could partly be because we ate it at like 1 am, when gourmet food isn't quite as impressive to the stomach.

Our stops in St. John and Halifax were quite pleasant, made far more pleasant by the fact that I got to see both Susie and Maureen! What are the odds that my two Canada friends would be in the two very cities we docked at? Somehow I managed to forget about the one-hour time difference on BOTH days, so they both had to wait around and wonder if I'd fallen overboard. But when we finally connected they proved excellent tour guides for our excursion days, and it was so awesome to see them and get a chance to catch up after all this time. Susie took me to one of the most amazing breakfast places I've ever been to (free advertising for Cora's), where I had a massive crepe filled with strawberries and chocolate hazelnut spread, topped with whipped cream. OH MY. On the other end of the spectrum, I was introduced to some freakish substance the natives call "dulce" -- basically dried seaweed that they sell in bags like popcorn. We asked if we could try a sample, and the vendor cheerily showed me a picture of the "before" version of what I was eating: piles of slimy seaweed on rocks that I recognized from trips to the beach. It was pretty much the grossest thing I've ever tasted: like chewy, salty, rotten-fish-flavored grass. But somehow, I feel it needed to be experienced. In Halifax, I got to see the famed "Bluenose" with her sails unfurled,


and the added bonus of Theodore Tugboat:

Maureen showed us some of the places where she hangs out; it was a really cool lil city. Lots of hills and old stone buildings and cool little shops and such. We went to a place called "Freak Lunchbox" which was quite entertaining. They must have every kind of weird "candy" in the world, including gummy fried eggs and dried worms. Yum. We had nice weather on both off-shore days, which made everything even better, as I got to ineffectively work on my nonexistent tan. But of course the best part was the personal connections. Yay for good friends in faraway lands! EVERYBODY GO VISIT SUSIE AND MO IN CANADA!!

So, to conclude this massive post (giving you a run for you money there, eh Craig?), we had a great time. Sometimes the carnality got to be a bit overwhelming, as could be expected on such a vacation, but I was pleasantly surprised by how good things were in general, and there was lots to enjoy. Sunsets over the unending horizon of the Atlantic, naps on deck with the breeze blowing by (and out of earshot of the constant Calypso music), wandering around exploring the various sights and sounds and smells of the perpetual activity below deck, getting pictures taken by persuasive photographers (almost Jerusalem shopkeeper caliber, though less stressful), spending some quality time with the fam... good times. I'm thankful for such a unique opportunity.

The problem is, I keep on swaying... and they tell me the house isn't moving. I'm such a seafarer all of a sudden. Put me back on a boat!

Faith Journeys

In recent months I have been learning some valuable lessons about faith. I have learned that those simple little chorus words "to trust in a way that I cannot see" are a pretty good description of what it's all about. Faith is continuing to trust in God even when you can't see and you can't understand. Otherwise it would be called sight, not faith. It is the main task of the Christian – and the one that will get the incredible reward of sight at last.

More recently I learned what it is to have simple, childlike trust mingled with that solid faith. I was faced with a potentially tough situation, and at first was thrown into confusion. But the previous lesson had not been learned in vain, and I knew, even while the questions whirled, that He was totally trustworthy. But it was when I reflected (or was helped to reflect) on the nature of God that the peace of childlike trust entered the picture. I serve a God who loves His people. I serve a God who is totally good. I serve a God who has a plan that reflects that love and that goodness. Therefore I can make my requests known to Him in perfect confidence that He will do the right and best and highest thing. I have been resting in that sure knowledge ever since then. My God loves His people! He will care for them perfectly. I can ask Him with fullness of faith for the best things.

Today we had a wonderful prayer meeting here in RI. We did the work of God ("This is the work of God that you believe..."). We expressed faith in a powerful God. I thought of that verse "We are not of them that shrink back to perdition, but of them that have faith to the saving of the soul." We can have perfect faith in a perfect God. So let's do it! Let's connect with His goodness and His love and His power, and believe for big things.

Another New England Rhapsody

Days like today are the reason I think New England is the best place in the world. The temperature is perfect – a little this side of warm – the sky is blue, blue, blue, and the rest of the world is in vivid color that suggests Ritz developing. And on top of all that, Dad recently set up the hammock. Sorry everyone, about the fact that I am using the best spot in the best place in the world. I've been there for hours, reading a fascinating teaching book, but interrupting my reading periodically to look up at the sun in the maple leaves – an amazing contrast in light and greens – and to listen to the nearby running water or the chirping bugs. Phew! What a place! I even relented and let Bluebell (our cat) into the hammock to enjoy it all with me. She had been poking her face between the cords (a most amusing sight) in an effort to get in. I don't blame her. It was blissful.

The day was enhanced by a barefoot walk to the garden to pick corn. You can't get much more carefree than that. Although I did get more carefree by shouting merrily back and forth with KJ who was at the main house. That reminded me of yesterday, when I was seized with a similar affection for the place and opened my front door to yell about it. I was quite surprised to get a shout of agreement back from the main house! And THAT reminds me of the time I walked out of the main house singing "Summertime, and the living is easy…" only to hear the next line wafting down from the apartments (it was Tim Stoneman). Ah the happy summer moments.

Like I said, I'm afraid I took the best spot. But I trust you will all find second best spots to enjoy this beautiful weather!

HAPPY CORONET DAY!

"Conquering and to Conquer"

On a More Serious Note than Usual...

I recently had one of those quality discussions with friends, and we arrived at some important and thought provoking conclusions.

Travelling a circuitous route that included blogging, children, and tales of substitute teachers past, our final conversational destination was the spiritual state of the 20/30-somethings in the church. We recalled the meeting at the Fall Convention, and the call to action we'd had at that time. We spoke of the blows we have faced and the fatigue that seems to be plaguing our number. No one seems to have energy to spare, and each is just trying to keep afloat. We acknowledged the fact that this may very well be the time of the “wearing out of the saints.”

And yet this cannot be an excuse to slack off in our pursuit of God, and in our furthering of His Kingdom. One of the girls I was talking with said something about our group seeming to “drag its feet.” I could identify with that. In one sense I feel like I'm doing everything I can do. I've been called to teach. Fine, I'll teach. But is this the best? Is this the highest? Would I be willing to ditch the job, move, and live by faith in some kind of community situation (that was the most drastic thing I could think of)?

In a way I almost wish we would be called to something drastic. A clean break with the old routine and the usual cares of life - a group of like minded followers of Christ willing to put everything they have into His service - some more of the old glory days. I would be willing! And yet it seems like that probably isn't what God is requiring of us at this point. So what is He calling for? How can we be sure that our group is doing what it needs to be doing?

Soon the conversation turned just enough to remind me of something I felt God brought to my attention a few years ago. At the time I was praying for the church, and praying that we would be able to fulfill what God had in mind for us. All at once it was very real to me that the most important thing I could do for the church is to be right with God myself. I need to make sure that my relationship with God is alive and flourishing. I need to make sure I am totally submitted to His will myself. I need to “tend my own vinyard” (Song of Solomon) before I can worry about anything on a community/corporate level.

This was eye opening to me at the time, and was again the other night while we were talking. If all we 20/30-somethings are totally committed to the will of God then we will be sure to be doing what He intends for us! If we are doing His will totally, then we are okay.

The conversation was so rich at the time that I think we should have a 20/30-somethings meeting at the upcoming convention in order to talk through some of these things. Anyone want to join me?

Joe Schlabotnick

When I was young and idolized Danny's every move, I picked up on his fascination with Joe Schlabotnick. Joe Schlabotnick, for those of you less comic literate, is Charlie Brown's baseball hero, from the comic strip Peanuts. Unfortunately he is a pretty lousy player, with a batting average of something around.016. And .016, for those of you less baseball literate, is terrible.

Now that I am older and still idolize Danny's every move, my childhood fascination lingers. Joe Schlabotnick has become my standard filler. Next time there is an awkward pause in conversation, try inserting a reference to this comic/baseball great. Or if you are struggling to remember a name, just use his instead. I even type his name when I'm having writer's block on an essay or an e-mail.

His name is like a magic charm. It staves off the pauses, the writer's block, and all manner of faux pas. It forces my brain to include something new in its thought processes, thus stimulating it to re-invigorated action.

Although Joe Schlabotnick never made it big in the world of baseball, he made it big in my world. I have certainly never used any other fictional person's name so frequently. He has bailed me out many a time. Most recently, he bailed me out when I sat down to a lovely new document to compose a new post (when I'm home I type the post off-line so I don't tie up the phone line). As I sat there thinking about what to write my fingers automatically flew to the J-o-e S-c-h-l-a-b-o-t-n-i-c-k keys. And I thought, aha! Joe Schlabotnick deserves recogniztion after these years of faithful service.

So thank you, Joe, for enriching my life in so many ways.

FYI

I agreed to be spokesman for the most esteemed of Lindsays in order to come before you at this time and inform you that, although her blogging has seemed to fall out of existence of late, it is not because of any lack of desire on her part. On the contrary, she has much about which to blog. Unfortunately, her computer is suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and is on the blink. She will therefore be unable to update until such time as the humidity decreases or she wins the lottery and gets a new computer. Don't give up hope, Lindsay's dear readers. She will indeed be back.

Family Fiesta

Note: I haven't asked parental permission to use children's names on this blog, so I'm going to refer to them by first initials only. I don't think they'd say not to use names, but it's more exciting this way anyway. They do it in books sometimes, and it makes me SO curious.

I am sitting here, hunched over my computer screen, while Kimberly is downstairs playing a beautiful Chopin piece on the piano. Wow do I feel like the uncultured sheep of the family. But I feel better knowing that she is playing the piano while she waits for me to get off the computer. That does not diminish the fact that she blows me out of the water when it comes to Chopin pieces. Not to mention her throwing arm. Oh well, she has to be compensated somehow for being the youngest (and therefore slave) of the family.

Speaking of families, ours had a wonderful outing to the Seashore today. (Have you ever noticed how Victorian children's books talk about the seashore a lot? Or enough for me to realize it just now, anyway.) We haven't taken an outing all together since our family started rapidly expanding, and it turned out to be such a success that we might actually make an annual pilgrimage of it! I think Kimberly will have a more detailed report (outdoing me yet again), so I will leave that to her and just describe a few highlights of the day.

As I headed toward the rendezvous point (the van, of course) I saw T___ riding about on a little plastic riding device (can you call it a tricycle if it is made out of plastic?) and was suddenly filled with this incredibly warm and fuzzy feeling to think that now all of my nephews are getting the chance to grow up in the idyllic circumstances and surroundings that I did. I had the same reaction when I saw a picture of M___ looking in awe at some Bible School students during some function or other. I remember that feeling. And my childhood was so incredibly happy that I rejoice at their opportunities.

Another highlight came when I decided to teach M___ how to play 20 questions on the trip. He is a little young for it still, but I simplified it down a bit, and he understood right away. And it was so much fun to see his absolute delight when he would guess mine, or I his. It was really an exciting little triumph every time. Ah the joys of seeing things through fresh eyes. G___, however, had a harder time with things. The first time he was “it” we started guessing and it quickly became apparent that he had nobody in mind at all, but was relishing being able to say “yeeeees,” and “nooooo” in an authoritative and mysterious manner. The second time it was his turn Gretchen told him to make sure he was thinking of an actual person. “Are you thinking of a person?” she asked. “No I want to think about a statue!” he responded.

The joys of sharing happiness with a new generation increased when we actually arrived at the ocean. They have very rarely seen the ocean, and they all loved it. I__ especially enjoyed the waves, and having Dad hold him with his feet in the way of the spray. We were in an area that was rocky, not a beach, and we climbed all over the place finding new breath-taking vistas and seaweed treasures and even feathers and shells.

These are just a few snapshots of what was a wonderful day - a definite highlight moment in family history. I took (speaking of snapshots) a bazillion pictures, and now that Blogger lets you put them up so easily, some of them might actually end up here! But not being the digital type, I'll have to wait until I get the pictures developed next week.

Some of My Favorite People

And then, all at once, I remembered that you can easily put pictures on your blog now! And blogs are always so interesting when they include pictures. Of course, not having a ready stash of digital photos on computer, my options were limited. But I remembered that I had saved this one, and so here it is. Hurrah for Bushy and Mrs. Bushy!

And this font is called Trebuchet, which I just think is a great word.

But the Question Really is...

What is with all these recent posts having titles that start with B?!

Blogging Drama!

I've notice several people writing about blogblock (as Lisa so aptly termed it), and I was recently suffering from that malady myself. I'm happy to report, however, that my blogblock has passed, and I am just overflowing with earth shaking ideas.

I could write, for instance, about how I just FINISHED reading The Odyssey this evening! Woo hoo!

Or I could write about how all of a sudden I couldn't remember whether the thought I'd just been thinking was about The Lord of the Rings or President Bush. That was one of my stranger moments, but sadly not nearly the strangest...

And there are lots of other things, too, but those are all safely stashed away as drafts for days when I'm not so full of ideas (good idea, Craig!).

But what I want to write about this evening is the amazing drama that has entered my life now that I have become a blogger. This afternoon, while taking a break from (only slightly) more pressing duties, I decided to enter the realm of blogs (from now on I will term it r.o.b.). I sallied forth to the ever-helpful court of Sir Elfenknight2.blogspot.com to begin my quest.

Once there, my duties were clear. I must progress down the list from RyuSoma to those that linger even beyond the bottom of the list. As I passed the invigorating household of Pass, I noticed that someone of a sort of Japanese bent had been there before me. Thanks to my excellent tracking skills I determined that he had left only moments before. I did not pause long to consider this strange happenstance, but instead doggedly pursued the adventure I'd been given. My next stop was at the fair Lady Kimberly's domain, and I tarried there to partake in the fruits of her lovely word crafting. I was moved to respond, and as I offered my gift of verbiage, I was horrified to note that this same Japanese fellow had beaten me to the punch! Even as I knelt to place my gift on the table I saw his slipped in before mine.

Outraged I realized this action for the personal affront that it was. No gauntlet had ever been thrown more viciously. I left my gift and leapt back upon my horse (who only remained unmentioned before this point because I didn't think of him until right now. We'll call him Pal). Calling Pal to outrace the very winds of Heaven, I sped down the hill until I arrived at the Halls of Elizabeth. I clattered into the courtyard, and raced for the gift hall. Still gasping for breath, I wrote out a scathing challenge and placed it there on the gift table. There was still no sign of the Japanese guy with spiky hair. Aha! There! His gift appeared almost simultaneously! But MINE was offered to the fair Elizabeth before his. I had prevailed! The r.o.b. remained free of Japanese-guy-always-posting-before-me-itis. All was well once again.

Brushes with Fame

I was typing out a list of music to put on a new mix I'm hoping to make, when I realized that Fernando's name starts with "Fern." Hm! I thought. No wonder I like him! And this reminded me of a few gripping stories that have taken place within the span of last girls week to this girls week.

Last girls week we went to the Boston airport to welcome home the triumphant Katie and Lisa. It was a wonderful event on its own, but there was a little bonus involved as well. As we stood there, eyes glued to the entrance gate, a familiar figure stepped through the doors surrounded by several un-familiar figures in black suits. That looks like Rudi Giuliani, I thought to myself. Wait a sec, that IS Rudi Giuliani! That was pretty exciting - my first informal glimpse of someone famous.

Then, this summer, I was preparing for the GW (as I like to fondly call it), and wrote to the address given on Fernando's website to ask for permission to photo-copy one of his songs so we could sing it for the Fam Con (as I like to fondly call it). LO and BEHOLD, in my inbox a few days later was an e-mail labeled "Fernando." Eh? I opened it up, and SURE ENOUGH, he had personally answered my question! With a yes, I might add. I was so impressed. So now I have his personal e-mail address, if anyone would like it. Haha, just kidding all you privacy advocates!

Okay, so then the GW was actually about to begin. I was at the airport with Steph (having just picked her up) and we were waiting for Meredith. Then, before our eyes the tallest guy ever walked by, and he looked SO familiar. He had to be an NBA player. So off we scampered, to ask the security guard who had just checked his papers. The first person I talked to was a girl, and all she could tell me was that he played for the NBA. Hm, no kidding! So we waited around a little longer until we could get a man's attention. "That was Robert Parish, center for the Celtics." WOAH! [And hey, buddy, you don't have to tell me who he played for - not all girls are as ignorant as your co-worker there... Okay, okay, I guess I was lucky that time.] THE Robert Parish, of the glory days?! No wonder he looked so familiar. I definitely remember him playing, and I also remember watching the ceremony in which his number got retired (00, for those of you who are less up on their 80s Celtics). I was so excited I almost cried. I had just seen a legend!

Incidentally, I made Danny try to guess who I'd seen at the airport. First I gave him the clue that it was someone wicked tall. "Steve Demme" he guessed. So I threw in the clue that he was black. "Robert Parish." Wow! That was pretty fame-worthy right there!

Anyway, there are the brushes with fame from my Girls Weeks. I wonder who I'll see/hear from next year!

Blurbs

• I'm down with food poisoning for the second time this summer. Burger King salad was the culprit the first time, and I'm pretty sure Subway is responsible this time. I have decided to forswear eating from now on.
• Imagine all the time we would save if we didn't have to eat! I know I'm going to have terrible eating habits when I'm on my own, because it just isn't worth it to do much work to eat. In fact, it has actually happened that I have grabbed a piece of store bought bread with nothing on it in order to quell that hungry feeling. Yum.
• I went down to the school to get some materials this morning. I found out I'm going to be teaching two more classes than I thought. I'm now not only teaching 2 Lit classes and US Government, but also Typing and... Survey of the New Testament! Step over Dad and Uncle Neil! I realized as I was driving home, that my life for the next year is going to be somewhat like having a long-term paper/project due every single day. There is going to be so much to really prepare for! While you can get by with the minimum for quite awhile in the short-term at college, being ready to teach the "eager young minds of tomorrow" every day is another story, methinks.
• Also on the way home I was driving over the Newport bridge (one of my all time favorite spots on earth) and I saw both a Z-3 and a Jaguar. Not bad.
• I'm adjusting to reading the Odyssey. The first chapter took me an hour (I was reading very carefully and taking notes), but today I got through 4, I believe (still reading pretty carefully and taking notes). I might actually finish it after all!
• While driving to the school, I went through the little toll booth, and the man thought I was so funny. All I did was ask for tokens! But he beamed away, and kind of chuckled while he gave them to me, and I drove away grinning and feeling like I was part of some incredibly funny inside joke. I'm pretty sure he was still smiling b/c of the guy in front of me, but it was still an interesting experience. I should try just randomly laughing at people so they have that same happy "I'm part of a great joke" feeling.
• I sent an e-mail to my PC English profs to let them know of my new teaching career. Today I got this reply back from Dr. Delasanta, one of my absolute favorites: "It occurs to me that the PC English Department has doomed all three of its Murray graduates to a life of academic poverty. But then isn't poverty one of the three (poverty, chastity, obedience) monastic vows? You didn't expect to take a monastic vow when you came to PC, did you?"
• While I was totally charmed by Dr. Delasanta's words, I don't think I'll share them at the school. They are already a little jumpy about my having been educated at a Catholic school.
• Nonetheless, I feel like I got the best possible English education. No other school could have done better. Gretchen and I were recently talking about this, and thanking God for the way He worked it out. He does have a good plan!

Head for the Hills!

I have just returned from several days at the Hills, and I feel somewhat akin to Hercules after he accomplished his nine great tasks. (Was that Hercules? Hmmm. Well, I’ll know after I brush up on my mythology in preparation for my Classical Lit class.) I went out to help Linda, and all that stuff they say about your spirits being lifted when you help other people is sure true. I feel totally refreshed, even though I haven’t worked so hard in quite awhile. And manual labor (if you can call dish washing manual labor) is exhilarating after four years of mental labors.

So guess who is now a fan of farm life? Actually, I’ve always kind of been attracted to the idea of living on a farm. (When Amy and I told Lindsay’s grandfather that we thought it would be cool to live on a farm he couldn’t repress laughter - he who knew what farm life was really like.) But after this week the attraction has stepped up a notch. It seems kind of idyllic in a way. There is serenity and stability and something that connects with so many past generations who have earned their livelihood with good, honest toil. Of course, it means a lot of flies. But one morning Caleb, Ruthie and I had a fly-killing party (not to be confused with the raspberry-picking party or the floor-washing party) and managed to fell nearly 20 of the foe. So even the flies have their charms.

I especially loved my job of being responsible for the younger kids. I could say so many wonderful things about the children in that family! But here are a few tid-bits of my experiences with the younger ones. Caleb does not appreciate being called such things as “matey, laddie, or lad.” “Sir” is acceptable, but “Caleb” is safest. He expresses affection by telling you what kinds of disasters he would be willing to save you from. Especially if he was Spiderman. Ruthie has an amazing sense of humor. She saw a picture of a baby that I drew, complete with the little hair squiggling up from the top of the head, and burst into sincere, uninhibited, from-the-heart laughter. I laughed till I cried more than once, thanks to her. She has a very happy worldview. Rebecca and I were together a lot. Our old bond from the days when I was last there as "mother's helper" (over 7 years ago) is still strong, even though her main memories of me included sitting outside of my room because I wouldn't let her in (I did relent, however, when I saw her adorable 3-year-old little fingers wiggling in under my door). And all of them are excellent companions for anything from cooking to Candyland. (Liane! Caleb’s Candyland game had the same recipe as Ethan’s! Fortunately, I was forwarned, and therefore forarmed.)

And of course, the beauty of the location was stunning. I drove there with Kimberly (the ideal traveling companion - we had such a great time! And she also saved me from heading off toward who-knows-where by shrieking “WEST!” at the opportune moment) and we couldn’t stop talking about how amazing it was.

So there you are, friends, another cast iron excuse for why I haven’t posted in so long!

E-mail Closings

Does anyone else ever have problems with how to end e-mails? Letter-writers: same question only with letters. I just had to reply to an e-mail from my organ teacher. That was awkward. Similarly when I had to write to a group of English professors, and a classmate whom I didn't know very well, and the principal of my new school.

It's all very well when writing to family or girl friends. You simply end "Love, Andrea." (Or whatever your name happens to be.) Or, if you're feeling more effusive, you could say something like "I LOVE YOU! Andrea." Or even, "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! Andrea." And then you can throw in as many exclamation points as are appropriate to the situation. And of course, you can preface it with many other words of aff.

It gets a little more sticky with guy friends. "See ya" usually works pretty well, or better yet "see you tomorrow" (or Tuesday or next week or whenever you will actually see him). But then you run into problems with such guy friends as may be in the Navy and whom you probably won't see for a good long while. Somehow "See you in a couple of years" doesn't really work so well as a frequent closing. But then, if it's long term you can be a little more pious and close with a "God bless" or "I'm praying for you" or something. And of course, you can always do something a little more informal, like "your pal, Andrea" or "your land lubbing friend, Andrea." Hee hee hee. I just thought of that last one. I'll have to remember that. And as a last resort you can just abruptly stop, and hope he doesn't notice. "And then we all laughed really hard. It was wicked funny. Andrea".

When it comes to professors and non-peers it gets a little more stressful. I've used things like "warmly" (which seems a little more their generation than mine) and "I hope you're having a wonderful, relaxing summer" (which sounds suspiciously like I wasn't sure how to close the e-mail, or worse, like I'm signing their high school yearbook). The best is when you're writing a thank you e-mail. Then you can get away with "Thanks Again, Andrea" or better yet, "Thanks Again (SO much), Andrea." But in all of this I still haven't hit upon the perfect e-mail closing.

Recently (as in, within the past few months) Melissa and I were discussing this, and our conversation began the downward spiral into frivolity, as it is wont to do. We began coming up with all sorts of fantastic adverbs with which to close e-mails. "Concomitantly, Andrea." "Stylistically, Andrea." "Fanatically, Andrea." The next e-mail I sent to Melissa ended "Salubriously, Andrea."

So really the dilemma need not be a stressful puzzle so much as an opportunity for creative greatness. Go to it friends! Write those e-mails! And embrace the awkward closings!

Lamentations

I lament the passage of great words from the English language. There are some words, prevalent in societies past, that enhanced vocabulary to a remarkable degree, and which we, in our society, are poorer without. Words like shan't and wither and wherefore (which means why, just so we're perfectly clear) made conversation so rich. For that matter, it seems that the desire for artistic sentence structure has totally passed from the every day American scene.

I, however, would like to propose the first step towards bringing back the ancient eloquence. We, my fellow Americans, should re-adopt the word FORSOOTH. What flair the word has! What clarity of meaning! What weight it lends to the ordinary sentence! Just think about the possibilities in today's world for all manner of people.

The Red Sox fan: Keep Schilling in middle relief forever, forsooth!

The English teacher: Split infinitives, forsooth!

The Liberal: Allow people to have more control over their own lives, forsooth!

The Vegan: Leather glasses case, forsooth!

You get the picture.

And so I leave you all to contemplate the merits of thus enhancing your vocabulary. Stuck forever in the mindless drivel of unitelligible slang, FORSOOTH!

The Joy of Cooking

Today was my day to make dinner. I haven't cooked a dinner in months, I believe. I pulled out the trusty "Joy of Cooking" cookbook, and sallied forth. It had been my personal opinion that the cookbook's title was a misnomer of giant proportions. Cooking is not fun. It is hard work, and not at all rewarding. I have no flair, and no matter how closely I follow the recipe, something always seems to be a little off. Sigh. But my turn was my turn, so (as I said) I sallied forth.

Much to my delight, I discovered a lot of joy along the way! I cannot quite describe the grin of mad glee that broke over my face when I peeked under the towel and saw that my bread was (gasp) rising. And it was so beautiful and puffy and Adams-ish! My goodness.

And then, while I packed the brown sugar into the cup measure, I had a quick flashback to childhood. I was completely entranced when Mama showed me how you pack brown sugar and it comes out in the shape of the cup measure! It was as good as a sand castle. So I continued happily packing, and turned the measure over, and there, sure enough, was that nicely shaped clump of brown sugar! Just like when I was little. The trick had lost none of its charm in 20 years.

This wasn't so much joyful as interesting, but I decided that cabbage is not a sort of food for the wimpy. It is tough, and strong, and crisp, and that probably explains why it's pretty much only eaten by Germans and New Englanders. You have to be pretty tough yourself to enjoy it.

My favorite part of bread making is when you get to butter the top after it comes out of the oven. Mmmmmm. It's so warm and shiny and edible! And did you know that if you have already used both brushes and put them in dirty water in the sink that it's possible to butter the top of your bread with a paper towel? It is.

And so I discovered today that there really is a great deal of joy in cooking. Take heart all you non-flairish chefs. There is fun even for the most basic cookers among us!

And what, you may ask, was I possibly making with bread, cabbage, and brown sugar? It sounds like a most atrocious combination. Well, actually, the bread was for meatball subs, the cabbage for coleslaw (coleslaw or cole slaw?), and the brown sugar for apple crisp. So far the meal has been met with approval, although some of us have not yet returned home from our baseball games to sample it. The suspense continues...

On Hot Drinks

Hot drinks are my ultimate comfort food. It all began with hot chocolate in high school. I was rather stressed out at the time (although it's strange how time changes you perspective - it all looks like a breeze from this vantage point. Knowing how time changes your perspective I actually started off a high school journal telling my future self not to scorn the writings of my present self, but to read with understanding. If my future self belittles my past self, I hope my past self comes and kicks my future self. Dear readers, be sure to judge your past selves with mercy! But I digress...) and at one point was having a mug of hot cocoa every morning and night! It was very comforting, but also very bad for the caloric intake count. So I tried to cut back to not-even-once-a-day.

Once I hit my second year of college, the coffee monster started nipping at my heels. I did quite well at staving it off, but by junior year wasn't doing so well. When I began giving up breakfasts of dry cereal as a senior, and found it much easier to grab coffee and a muffin on my way to school (this also cut down on the absolute essential time needed to get ready, thus allowing me to push the snooze button one or two more times than usual), things started to get serious. I cut back when I realized I was starting to get addicted. Besides, I was minoring in voice, and caffeine is very bad for your singing voice. Dries out your vocal chords. Of course, there is decaf coffee which works great when you aren't a huge coffee connoisseur anyway (no one who asks for extra cream and sugar can be called a coffee connoisseur - and it is only black coffee drinkers who demand the respect due to coffee snobs, as I like to call them).

But thanks to voice lessons, and to a terrible bout with laryngitis, I discovered the joys of tea with honey! Herbal tea has no caffeine, and honey is great for getting your voice back in shape. Tea used to be just too water-y for me. But with a healthy dose of honey the flavor fills right out, making it a rich drink instead of a thin one.

And Aunt Laura quickly taught me to appreciate chai tea. Some of this is caffeinated, but you can also get decaf chai, which also tastes excellent.

All of these options are perfect for those I-feel-overwhelmed-with-life moments, when you just need to take a little break from the grind. You can encircle that mug with your hands (this is greatly enhanced if a dear friend like Lindsay has given you a hand painted mug of perfect size, weight, and aesthetic charm), drinking in warmth through your finger tips as well as in the usual manner. The steam warms your face as you slowly take a sip (for some, like my grandfather, this cannot take place without the raising of eyebrows - I find this trait particularly endearing), and the rich taste makes you realize that life can't be all bad. Not while hot chocolate/coffee/tea/chai exist in the world.

So friends, if any of you are feeling overwhelmed, may I advise a spot of Chopin, a comfortable chair, and a mug of something warm. (Um, also, this works best when it is not over 75 degrees outside - and for optimum enjoyment try more like 50 or below. Good thing I thought of this in high summer. But I never said I was the most rational creature alive.)

"The groves were God's first temples" - Bryant

We have some lovely guests right now, but the conversation has turned to such things as children's naptimes, feeding schedules, and sicknesses, so I decided it was time to bow out. On to new subjects...

I have recently decided that I love woods. There's a lovely path behind the house that leads off into the trees, and eventually arrives at an old foundation. A few of us went off to connect with our inner Deerslayers during the Girls Week, and it was such a charming walk. I loved seeing the sun slant into the green of the woods, making pools of light that give promise of things like fairies and talking animals. The ground is covered in ferns, and the trees overarch the way. It is quiet and peaceful (except for the times where I am screaming down to Jayne, our forward scout, to see whether she's found anything exciting).

The place is also swarming with deer ticks. (Those squeamish among you may want to skim.) I discovered three after my little sojourn in the woodlands, and was 0-3 trying to pull them out intact. That meant fun with needles, razors, and tweezers, because it is no good to leave their little mouths in you, even if the rest of the body is removed. Ah the joys of the woods.

I had almost given up on the foundation, since we'd been walking for a long long time (like maybe 20 minutes or so) without seeing it. But then, all at once, we came out into a clearer spot with a stream and a foundation! It was fascinating. I felt this strange connection to the past (reincarnationists would have loved it) as I walked where a family had lived and worked and grown. We discovered the place where the door must have been, the well, the fireplace area. We saw the stone walls they must have worked hard to create. And here we were, all those years later, admiring their handiwork, and being inspired by what they had accomplished. A rewarding end to our wilderness-woman journey.

We're Baaaaaack! And other observations...

In bracing you all for the fact that I wouldn't be posting during the Girls Week, I should have mentioned I would also be out of commission for the Family Convention. But that would still not have accounted for the past week, since Melissa and I were SPONTANEOUS (gasp) and blazed off in a trail of glory for Georgia! But now we are back, and thus I must resume the great responsibility of blogging.

The rest of the summer will be full of curriculum planning. I am supposed to be developing a Classical Literature course for 10th and 11th graders and a more generic Literature course of 7th and 8th graders. I was on-line today looking at Great Books lists, and dreaming big dreams. I was also on the phone with Danny, and looking at a Lit book Dad loaned me. I am rich in resources. And good thing, too, since this is all so very new!

But I am reminded of how much I love Literature. I love the incredible way that it shows you insights into your own world, and allows you to see beyond your own world into things you would never otherwise experience. Literature can reflect the self and simultaneously transcend it. It can express in concrete ways the things that are often only vaguely troubling the edges of one's consciousness. It can present huge truths in beautiful and lasting ways. It can capture the human condition. It can demonstrate the way of escape. It comes the closest of any medium to expressing what is inexpressible about "this mortal coil." Unfortunately, since I can only appreciate Literature, and not produce it, this little tribute doesn't even do it justice.

So, needless to say, I think I have found my niche as an English teacher. What better career than one dealing with the lasting, the illuminating, the beautiful? And yes, I will be willing to discuss this further at the drop of a hat.

Call Me "Knit-Master"

Step aside, Liane. I am knitting up a storm. Actually, just a boot. It's supposed to be a slipper, I suppose... but that's a bit of a stretch, since it's oddly sort of square.

I was supposed to learn how to do something new for my training-me-how-to-be-an-effective-tutor-in-the-writing-center class (oh man... totally unrelated, but I had to read a book for that class and the author did that whole hyphenate the world thing that I just did and it got SOOOOOO annoying). I guess the idea is to see what it's like being on the other end of the whole teacher/student relationship (although we're not suppose to teach people who come in; we're supposed to collaborate with them on an equal playing field [and, while I'm on a roll, I apologize for using parentheses to house large chunks of randomness in every other sentence I write]). So anyway, I chose knitting as my "learning project." I went over to visit an elderly woman in our church (we'll just call her Mrs. L to protect the innocent and be mightily mysterious), because she is an expert. I was terrified at first as I watched her fingers flying in all different directions to her running commentary of helpful things like "you just do this, and this, and loop this around here...". But she kindly slowed down and I caught on to the basics before too long.

So, after attempting a few rows of lumpy and holey knits and perls, we decided I was ready for a project. But what do you knit in the middle of the blazing summer? I feel no need for sweaters or hats or gloves or parkas or earmuffs (hmm... knitted parkas and earmuffs... I'll make millions), and as Mrs. L said strongly, "scarves are boring as all get out." So, of course, the obvious conclusion was slippers!! After being fairly warned that knitted slippers are slippery unless you spray some kind of traction-spray on them, I frisked some thick brown yarn from Amy (brown is a cozy sort of color, don't you think?) and began. Man alive, this hobby is addicting! I finished around 1 am last night. I was all alone in my room and kept laughing out loud by myself because it looked so ridiculous. I chuckle even now. I improvised a bit, and tucked some corners in here and there, so now it's kinda cute and vaguely slipper-like. I'm pretty proud of it, and figure I've basically arrived as far as knitting goes. Does anybody know someone with only one foot?

The Woods Are Greener On the Other Side

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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...]

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!

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.

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.

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!

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...

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!

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.

Tolkien Humor

I admit I was just wasting time taking some online quizzes. I found one about knowing you're addicted to LOTR when... Some of them made me laugh right out loud. Here's a small sampling:

-Whenever you close a door, you say "They have a cave troll!"

-You've become strangely obsessed with mushrooms.

-You sometimes let your hair go curly after a wash, and then run around the house in bare feet yelling "I'm a hobbit!"

-When you come to a dead end you're still convinced that the road goes ever on and on.

-Every time you see birds in the sky you have the urge to say "Fly you fools!"

-You just can't keep yourself from saying "nobody tosses a Dwarf" at inappropriate moments.

-A shadow and a threat is growing in your mind.

-You stand in the doorway and tell your cat that he 'Can not pass'.

A Red Letter Day

Not only is my friend incredibly famous, but today is her graduation day! Congratulations, Amy! I'm so thankful for your friendship. I love you!

An Evening of Festivity

When Penny came up yesterday to give me a graduation card and gift from her and Nate, I remembered that graduation is supposed to be fun and exciting - a celebration! Before she came up I was completely stressed out about everything I had to remember to attend - and which part of the graduation attire to wear at which event, and whether I would trip going up on stage, and when to be where, and where "where" even was. But Penny, and later a chat with an excited Gretchen on the phone, started to get me in the proper frame of mind.

At last it was time to get the events moving, and I jumped in my car and sped off to PC. That is what really pushed me over the edge into enjoyment. PC was at its peak of beauty. The campus was immaculate, and things were budding left and right.

The first event was the English majors' reception. Seldom (perhaps only at Fairwood during a Feast, or at a Red Sox game) have there been so many stellar people all assembled in one room as when the PC English faculty gather. I met Dad, Mom and Gretchen for the occasion, and thoroughly enjoyed chatting up a storm with professors old and new.

But I had to tear myself away from there for the evening's awards ceremony. Unfortunately, I didn't know where the event was to take place. I mean, I knew the name of the gym, but not the location. So I thought I'd just go with the flow. Sadly the flow was also ignorant. Two other students and myself wandered around in the depths of Alumni Hall, trying in vain to locate our peers. At last we did indeed discover them, and began the lengthy process of organization.

When we finally began the procession, and entered the gym, I found myself in the front row, on the aisle (i.e. in the exact center of the room - for all to see should I faint). If you're in the front row on the aisle, you can hardly go with the flow, because you can really only see the person directly beside you. And she doesn't look like someone who can be trusted to know what she's doing.

Happily I was able to avoid any major faux pas, and the evening progressed cheerily. I couldn't stop smiling in fact - I was just so happy for all those nice kids getting awards. Even though I'd never seen some of them before. I must have been tired. But it really was quite an enjoyable occasion, and I got to shake hands with the president of the college, so who can ask for more? And as the faculty was processing out, Dr. Johnson slipped me a Hershey (insert copyright symbol here) Kiss as a little supplementary award.

And now I must away to get ready for the Honors Ceremony. The excitement just never ends...

Melissa Saves the Day!

I sat down at the computer this morning to take on the day's portion of the application process, and was completely daunted just looking at the words I'd typed up the day before. I was so sick of reading what I'd written, and I did NOT want to proof-read it!

So I decided to go get an iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts. Obvious solution. And fortunately, RI has more Dunkin Donuts per square foot than any other state. I love Rhode Island. However, I got out to my car and found the battery (surprisingly enough) was dead.

So Melissa drove me to Dunkin Donuts! Save #1.

I got back to the house completely rejuvenated, and ready for action. I read my work from yesterday and decreed it perfect. And then I tied up all the loose ends. And then I was ready to put it into the envelope and mail it off! It was a thrilling moment. Until I read the little blurb at the top of the application: "Please send this application with an updated resume to..."

RESUME?!

This was indeed a blow. I didn't have a resume. I had just filled out 10 pages of information, and enclosed 7 essays, and they still wanted a resume? What more was there to be said?!

Fortunately Mr. Pass had been down visiting Nate and Penny a few weeks before, and I had gone down to get a refresher course on resume-making. He had taught us how in Transition Class (as they called it way back in my day), but I had doodled throughout the class, doubtless thinking of all the things I had to do and how I would never need to have a resume anyway. Hmmmmm.

So I took some of the sample resumes I'd gleaned from his collection, and went to work. After hearing me groan and moan for awhile, Melissa came in to offer assistance. She suggested some excellent wording, as well as some key points for the "work experience" section. Suddenly it was much better. Save #2.

And then she gave me some wicked professional looking paper to print it on. It came out looking excellent. Save #3.

By this time, however, I had missed the mail pick-up, which is around 2. And of course, my battery was still dead. So Melissa drove me to the Post Office and I got the resume/application safely into the mail, on its way to Middletown! Save #4.

I told Melissa that if I get this job, it will be because of her.

The Application Instant

I am in the midst of applying to teach at in Middletown, RI, so I thought I'd post a blog about the application process. But then I was thinking about that word "process" and how it means a long, arduous, grueling length of time. So I wishfully titled the post to reflect the way I think the application business should occur.

But in reality it has been a process. This is an intense application, boy oh boy. It includes SEVEN short essays, with such questions as "What is your philosophy of discipline?" and "Why do you wish to teach in a Christian school?"

It would have been so much fun to answer them flippantly. My philosophy of discipline? Ha! I barely know how to say no to anyone! But other than that, I'd say when a kid does something bad you whack 'em! And I wish to teach in a Christian school because that's the only kind that will take someone without teacher's certification. Oh ya, and also I'm hoping kids at a Christian school won't be as scary as kids at a public school.

Hmm. Somehow I didn't think that would go over so well. So instead I answered very profoundly and eloquently about forming young minds and helping them to make good choices...

Anyway, I took my prospective short answers over to Danny's last night, and he helped me improve them, and come up with something to say about my "personal Christian philosophy of Education." Hurrah for smart brothers! (Right, Linds?)

So today I thought I could finish that up, fill in all the annoying little things, and have it off in the evening mail.

Five hours later I have not even finished the annoying little things, let alone finishing up the short answers. Sigh. But it's in good shape, and I should be able to get it out in tomorrow's mail for sure!

The Weird Day of Terror

I cannot even tell you how many times Melissa and I said the word "weird" yesterday. But the climax of weirdness was saved for last. Penny and I were watching "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" and were being very moved by the story, when suddenly Amy burst in, followed by Melissa, exclaiming that TJ and Uncle Paul were about to be murdered. We looked up in mild alarm (one has to know how to take such declarations) and Amy explained that a car had driven into the driveway and was over by the church with its lights off and had been for 20 minutes or so. Uncle Paul and TJ were going to investigate. TJ was armed with a menacing specimen from his knife and sword collection

Penny and I joined Melissa and Amy in the entryway, fruitlessly peering out into the darkness. Suddenly the tension in the house heightened as an unknown car drove into our driveway. We were relieved when Aunt Laurie walked in, but then were nervous again when she suggested we call the police. She had driven by to see if Uncle Paul needed any help, and he hadn't responded to her query, instead coughing in a furtive manner. It looked very suspicious. And as she came to our house, she saw a man walking toward the house. Pulses went up a bit. I backed up Aunt Laurie's plan to call the police, and Penny went to get Nate. If there were strange men coming toward the house, we wanted an un-strange man (well...) to be inside the house to confront him.

As Aunt Laurie was on the phone describing the situation to the police, Nate came up from the basement apartment brandishing a loaded gun. This was serious. However, by that time we realized that the man Aunt Laurie had seen was probably TJ, since Laurie hadn't seen him by the car. So we assured Nate that things weren't desperate enough for a gun yet.

Nate went out to do some quiet investigating (without the gun), and upon his return (for which I was standing by the door with a paint can raised high to bop him on the head should he be a stranger) he said the strange car was still there, but Paul was unseen. I helpfully surmised that the person in the car was eating people. Both TJ and Uncle Paul were unaccounted for.

We hovered nervously, collecting an arsenal including further specimens from TJ's collection, the marble rolling pin, and a candle snuffer.

Our fears were allayed when Aunt Laurie called to tell us TJ was at her house and had said everything was fine. Now we weren't scared, but we were in danger of death by curiosity.

Finally Uncle Paul arrived back at the house to give his side of the story. He'd gone out to find a woman who was very depressed because of recent tragedy, and who had driven in thinking this was a different church. Unfortunately, Uncle Paul could barely do his pastoral counseling with the flurry of activity surrounding him.

First Aunt Laurie drove by and called to him - he tried to assure her everything was fine. Then she drove by again, the other way. Meanwhile there were various shadows appearing and disappearing. And then, the crowning moment came when he was praying with this poor soul, and Grandpa came out onto his porch and boomed out "Don't worry, Paul, Laurie called the police!" And again, "Paul, the police are on their way, everything's okay!" The woman drove off shortly after, in no mood to be questioned by the police, and Uncle Paul returned to the house to hear our wild surmises, and to wonder where in the pastoral charge the line about confronting dangerous criminals in the driveway comes in. He's pretty sure that next time it happens it will be under the deacon's jurisdiction.

In Honor of the Yankees being Swept by the Devil Rays

Baseball is a wonderful sport. In so many ways. But one of the reasons I love it so much is its incredible heritage. The first time I became aware of this was when Ted Williams died, and there was a huge ceremony for him at Fenway. After I listened to it, I went up to Gretchen's and raved for about three hours (okay, maybe not quite...) about what a rich history baseball has, and what an extraordinary priviledge it is to be a part of it all (yes, fans are a part of baseball's heritage).

But our good friend James Earl Jones can put it better than I - and did so in this fantastic quote from Field of Dreams: "The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."

The Rights of Man

You know how sometimes, when something bad happens, you say "well, at least it wasn't..." and fill in the blank with some horrific occurrence? Well today that horrific occurrence happened. In the past when my car battery was dead I could have said, "well, at least it wasn't the day of a final exam or anything." Today was the day of a final exam, and my car battery was very very dead. And I was already leaving the house at pretty much the last moment. For some reason I was really mad. And then I was even angrier when the police were parked by the side of the highway pulling random people over and causing the worst traffic tie-up I've been in in months. How dare they? I was fifteen minutes late for my exam. As I was mounting to the fourth floor, thinking how unfair it was, I suddenly remembered what it was I was going to post about yesterday (if I hadn't been studying for two exams...).

Yesterday I was going to post about how ludicrous it is for advertisements to talk about people deserving things. I turned on the radio to hear this whiney woman on a commercial for some dentist say "I deserve to be respected" and this whiney man say "I deserve a great smile." WHAT?!?! Where in the constitution of human beings does it say you deserve either of those things? I remembered a commercial I'd heard earlier: "I deserve time for myself," "I deserve to be pampered." What is that? I deserve to be pampered?!?! Ay ay ay. What a philosophy. What on earth gives people the idea that they have the right to all the things they claim rights to? (We won't even get into the argument that American's have the right to government provided health care - my blood pressure has spiked enough for one day.)

And then there I was climbing the stairs, fifteen minutes late for an exam, and thinking "This is so not right." What?! I deserve to have nothing bad ever happen to my car? Where in the constitution of human beings does it say I deserve anything?

So now I understand a little better what it is that those commercials are trying to tap in to. There seems to be some part of human nature that feels it is entitled to happiness, perfection, and 100% good times. This, of course, is not the case. In humanity's fallen condition we are deserving of nothing. And that is a condition that is far from being remedied by a good dentist!

But on the other hand, perhaps this aspect of human nature comes from that thing in us that is remembering the Garden of Eden, and that knows there is better than this to be had. And the eternally good news is that the human condition is one that HAS been remedied by God. And one day, though we do not deserve it on our own merit, we WILL have happiness, perfection, and 100% good times.

We won't even have final exams to be late to in the first place, let alone dead car batteries!

A Character Sketch

My last day of college, which I was afraid would be weepy all the way through, was a wonderful day, full of unexpected and pleasant surprises. The foremost of these was Julia's appearance. Julia is one of the most interesting and amazing people I have ever met. She graduated from PC last year, and chose my last day of classes to return for a visit.

Julia is one of those rare people who is at ease with everyone, and completely free from collegiate stereotypes. She dresses classily, speaks eloquently, and laughs easily. She was an English major, completely entranced with great literature, but also loved music and theatre and anything Medieval. Her favorite saint is St. Catherine of Sienna, whose feast day is Julia's birthday.

She just spent a year volunteering with the Dominicans in Chicago, living with other volunteers and nuns, and teaching Humanities to homeless women in the city. She is presently teaching science fiction, at the request of those women. She is about to move back in with her parents, to help them with projects on the house, and to be there for the spiritual awakening that is happening in her father's life. Talking to her made me remember that there is endless potential in life-after-college, contrary to my thinking earlier in the day, which ran along the lines of 100% stress.

It seems like the college world is full of so many people who are so very much like all the other people. But Julia stood out to me as someone who is genuine and different, confident and apathy-free.

Having her show up on a day that could potentially have been depressing was a little gift from God, and evidence of His care for me - a care that will certainly continue in the future, whatever that future may hold!