Back in the Saddle

Monday, August 9, 2010 / Tuesday, August 10, 2010

We made it safely to Colorado yesterday. Christy lives just outside of Denver, and we reached her house in the mid-afternoon. We took a walk around her neighborhood, saw the lake, and walked to the library. Lindsey and I were ready to walk almost anywhere at that point. Then Christy took us to see the Columbine Memorial. That was sobering. It is a beautiful monument, and well constructed. When the rain came we left.

For dinner we had pizza and salad, along with the wine we brought as a hostess gift. After dinner we watched “Miss Congeniality”. I hadn’t seen that for a long time.

Colorado is gorgeous. The Eastern part is the same as the Western part of Kansas, which is more flat and dead than the other, though nowhere near as flat and brown as I was expecting. The Rockies took longer to appear than we thought they would. Little hills popped up here and there, and we, thinking they were the foothills, kept looking for the actual mountains. Seeing none, we wondered if they weren’t as big as we’d always been told, like Kansas isn’t as flat, dead, and boring as we were always told. Eventually, though, we were met with walls of stone. Denver is one mile in altitude, and behind it the Rockies looked very imposing. We stopped doubting and started wondering how we’d make it over.

We left this morning at 7:30, and three hours later we’re a little ways into Wyoming, which already looks vastly different from Colorado. It has its plains and hills, but the colors are different. The grass is still green, but more on the yellow side. The trees are becoming less and less deciduous and more coniferous. We’ve gone through one or two of what looked like mountain passes, but they probably weren’t. At all. The Rockies are still in the distance, but we’re feeling the effects of the real foothills. It is incredible country, though. We see lots of cows (no cowboys yet), deer lazily munching their way through a pasture, rocky outcrops, cliffs, rolling hills, horses, and these strange wooden walls that we can’t quite figure out what they’re for. They’re either wind breakers or snow drift preventers. They’re regular 2x4s nailed horizontally to vertical posts, with a few inches of space between each horizontal. The fences are between six and eight feet tall, but are definitely not fences in the enclosing sense. They seem more or less randomly placed, sometimes in rows. Very interesting. Since Colorado we’ve also seen groups of the giant energy windmills. Right now there’s a long row of them across the horizon. It is very windy up here. Last I saw we were almost 7000 feet in elevation. When we stopped for gas in Cheyenne, we were blown perpetually. Temperatures are still pleasant; we have the AC running.

While gassing up in Cheyenne, Lindsey called home to check in and mom told her about the convicts that escaped from Arizona about a week ago. Apparently in the last day or two, one was caught in Wyoming. The search has been extended to Montana. We’re guessing they convicts are on their way to Canada. But, since we’re in Wyoming, we’re being very watchful. We’re not taking hitchhikers anymore, so that should help. Just kidding, we never had any. But we’re keeping a weather eye out for them. Well, it’s time to stick the bike in the car; it’s way too windy for it to stay on top.

Back in the saddle again and running better with the bike in the back seat. I’ve been watching the clouds and seeing some lenticular clouds. They only happen in areas with mountains or high elevations. The warm air rises, collides with the colder mountain air, the moisture from the warm air forms a cloud, but the cloud is punched in from the bottom like a lens. They’re fascinating; being at sea level, we never see them back home.

We've stopped for the night in Tremonton, Utah, which is on the corner of No and Where. Hopefully we'll get into Moscow tomorrow around noon.

On the Road Again

Sunday, August 8, 2010 / Monday, August 9, 2010

Life got a teeny bit interesting after I took the wheel. We started having car troubles, so we pulled over and talked to dad. He advised us to push through to Paden and Jasmine’s, and to keep him posted. The problems seemed to resolve themselves once we eased back a little. I think the car was just tired.

We arrived a little after 7:00 P.M., just in time for dinner. Jasmine made taco salads, and used a neat pan to make the tortilla shell bowls. It looked a little like a Bundt pan, only without the spike in the middle. She oiled the tortillas, stuck them in the pan, and put it on the stove. We had such a good time seeing them again. Paden pulled out all the stops as far as drinks went. He made Margaritas with dinner, and served a nice rum with dessert, which was excellent. Jas had sliced peaches and fried them in sugar and cinnamon. Absolutely delicious. We hit the sack around 10:30, since Jasmine gets up a little after 5:00 for work. Paden made us breakfast the next morning, and we got on the road at 8:00.

What has surprised me most about Kansas so far is that it is not what I thought it would be; I was expecting to cross the border and immediately find flat, dead, brown grass. There are hills. There are trees. Green trees. Green grass. And, most surprising of all, water! At dinner I expressed this surprise, and Paden laughed and told me to just wait; it gets like that later. It is really beautiful in this North Eastern part, though. Very different from Maryland, but stunning. I still can’t believe it.

Now we’re on the way to Colorado. We’re getting on I-70W, and should be here for another 450 miles.

Maybe if I ever find Internet I can actually post this.

Free and Easy down the Road We Go

*I'll post pictures when I get a chance*

Saturday, August 7, 2010 / Sunday, August 8, 2010

When driving across the country, time passes abnormally. So long as you’ve got good company, good music, and a good attitude, you’re OK.

Lindsey and I left Maryland at 5:00 A.M. Saturday morning, travelled through Maryland to West Virginia, where we crossed the Appalachians and made it down to Kentucky by 4:00 that afternoon. The scenery was very beautiful. Before exiting Maryland, we visited an old abandoned settlement called Twiggtown. I know a man in Idaho with that last name, and he told me about that settlement, started by his ancestors. Apparently, the Twiggs were so numerous at one point that they feuded over a certain house. The Twiggs on one side of the pond warred with those on the other side. It was easy to tell who was on which side; the blue-eyed Twiggs fought the brown-eyed ones. No, I did not make that up. When we reached Twiggtown, though, there was nothing. We were back in the sticks, and saw trashy trailers scattered here and there. We had hoped to find the house that was fought over, or some tumbled-down cabins. Finally we asked a man about it, and he said there wasn’t anything, but there was a Twigg that lived down the road. We didn’t have the time or guts to go knocking on some stranger’s door at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, so we simply left.

Before leaving Maryland, we went through Cumberland (very close to Twiggtown; we saw a Twigg’s Auto Shop). The historic section was very nice. There were about six large, beautifully constructed churches that appeared to be in use. One had a banner trumpeting its 200th anniversary this year.

We hit Kentucky around 4:00 where we stayed with friends, enjoyed their company, and especially enjoyed getting to know Lindsey W.’s new boyfriend. We, being such good friends, did our best to break Aaron in. He took it well. We had a blast with all of Lindsey’s family; she is the second of ten children, and most of them were there the whole time. We brought them two dozen ears of Maryland sweet corn in exchange for a night, and that was a good deal. Mrs. W. and Lindsey fixed dinner, breakfast, and packed us an excellent lunch to take the next day. Because their church service didn’t start until 11:00, Lindsey W. found another church with an earlier service. We three girls went to the 8:30 service at Walnut Memorial Baptist Church, where Aaron joined us.

We left directly from the church for Kansas. We travelled through Kentucky to the toe of Indiana, into Illinois, passed through St. Louis, and crossed the Mississippi River without even knowing it. In St. Louis, we saw the famous arch, some lovely stone churches, and the Cardinals’ Stadium. There’s something different about the land further South and West. When we reached Kentucky, we commented on how similar it looked to Western Maryland, and yet how different. We couldn’t figure out what exactly is different. We think it’s that the land begins to open up and flatten slightly. It seems wider, but not overtly. We’re passing through Missouri right now, and here the difference is very noticeable. There are still lots of trees, but they’re not so dense; the fields are larger. This is due in part to the increasing flatness. I think the lack of rivers also has a lot to do with it. Our area of Maryland is chopped up by rivers, creeks, and ponds. There are ponds and creeks out here, even rivers, but being so far from a major source of water like the Chesapeake, they’re much smaller.

My turn to drive.

The Last of the Work

Well, life has been busy, and now summer is basically over. But, here’s the last of the work stories.

I did the BARS Program a few more times. I revisited the store where that one kid had gotten so upset and torn his red card. He was working again. I suspected it was he, and that suspicion was confirmed when he looked at me hard, crossed his arms, and said mockingly, “Can I see some ID?” I chuckled and said, “I thought that was you.” He took his green card, then began questioning me about the whole process, and why it was he would get in trouble for not carding someone obviously of age. He pointed out that he could just say he thought I was over 30, and how would I be able to get him in trouble? I shrugged and told him he’d found the loophole, and I had no idea. Best to just card everyone.

I had another assignment that was interesting, a one day job. Coca-Cola has a call center near my house that needs two people to come in once a month and sort Coke products. They give their employees a discounted group order, and when it ships, we come in and sort it for them. So I spent the morning making Bob’s pile, Sally’s pile, and so forth. The only reason I was excited was that I’ve wanted to see the inside of that place for a long time. I wanted to know what happened there, whether it was a bottling location, or what. It’s actually rather boring, but I enjoyed getting paid to discover that.

The job I most enjoyed was a 3.5 day project. A company wanted to test their EZ-Pass technology, and hired some experts from New York, Canada, Ohio, and the Carolinas to come and run the show. They came and used the Crofton Raceway, and hired us to drive the cars they rented. I drove a 2010 Toyota Corolla, which was nice, but had a lame engine. A few times I worried I would burn it out just trying to keep up. Each car had a number, and we were assigned walkie-talkies. They had a variety of vehicles, and arranged us in ‘platoons’ to simulate as many real life situations possible. There were ten of us in sedans, SUVs, a minivan, a cube truck (the smaller kind of moving van), and an 18-wheeler. We had a varying number of lanes, and would go through as a group, one row at a time, one column / lane at a time, sometimes at 5mph, 25mph, and 65mph. It was very fun. During breaks, you could read, walk around, do whatever. The minivan had a TV and DVD player, so that was the movie van. I had better books, though, and I had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near the driver of that van. The reason for that goes back to the very first day of that job.

The morning of day one was spent familiarizing ourselves with our cars, walkies, each other, the process, etc. My car happened to be parked next to the minivan, which was driven by Yuri, a guy from Ukraine who immigrated with his family when he was a kid. He was in his upper twenties, arrogant, sort of belligerent, and had a case of localized fat such that he looked 9 months pregnant. And that is not an exaggeration. Anyway, he was blaring his techno music, of which I was not fond, and trying to talk to me through the windows as I adjusted my settings. We wound up shouting to each other because of the volume. I sat in the passenger seat of his van, which meant we could talk at a polite yell. I decided I didn’t like him, and he made an impolite comment, and thankfully just then we had to get to work, so I left. We drove 5 laps in each platoon, and after a few platoons, they told us to park in the new order, but wait for about 30 minutes before getting on the racetrack while they fixed something. Out of nowhere, Yuri (or Urine, as my sister dubbed him) popped into my car and started talking again. He looked at the car in front of us and noticed it was filled with males. “They seem to prefer male company,” he said. “I don’t understand that at all.” Oh geez, I thought. He told me all about his girlfriend in Ukraine that he had just met online a few weeks before, and that they talk for hours every day over Skype, and how he can’t wait to get a real job so he can take time off right away and visit her, blah.

Somehow we began talking about drinking, and I mentioned that I only drink what I like and when it pairs well with the food, not just drinking to drink. Well this seemed to impress him, because he said, “Wow, we should hang out.” Now the correct response to this would have been, “Um, no.” but I am plagued with the desire to be polite as often as possible, which can get me in trouble. I told him my parents wouldn’t be comfortable with that, which he tried to work around, but I blocked him at every pass. A simple “No” would have been better. “Anyway,” I continued, “I don’t think your girlfriend would like that.” He got offended and said, “I didn’t imply anything more than hanging out!” “I didn’t say you did,” I replied. And then he began his soliloquy about her again. He complained about the inadequacies of Skype, and I told him to be grateful for it. “Not too long ago, you would have had to write a letter that may or may not make it to her, and wait for weeks for a reply.” “Well I’m something of a romantic,” he responded; “I like writing letters.” “So do I,” I said. “I bet your boyfriend gets a kick out of that,” he replied sarcastically. I told him I don’t have a boyfriend. “What? You don’t? Wow! If I weren’t already sort of in a relationship, I’d say, ‘In that case, what are you doing tomorrow night?’” I was secretly appalled. I wondered if I had a neon sign that said, “Desperate! Date me or I die!” One again I was saved by the walkie, and from that moment on I studiously avoided him. This happened about a week and a half after my first experience along these lines, so I hadn’t fully recovered yet. Honestly, though, what conceit to just assume I’d actually want to go out with him! Ugh. Looking 9 months pregnant seriously didn’t help.

For lunch, everyone generally drove off to get fast-food. I always brought my lunch, and sat with Rusty, the guy who took notes. He was a brick mason from Ohio out of a job. His cousin got him the job, and he told me he was shocked people got paid to write things in a notebook, but was glad for the work since he’d been laid off. He told me about his family, let me try some of the venison he grilled for his lunch (one of his sons had shot it and he brought it with him, and it tasted great), and told me about brick laying. I always felt at ease around him, Bob (the big boss), Glen (second-in-command, who made faces at me when I drove by and laughed when I cracked Star Wars jokes over the walkie), and Adam (he sometimes drove, directed traffic, and sat at the entrance to the racetrack). There was also an old man from Canada who was always puffing on his pipe. I knew I recognized the tobacco, and he told me it was Black Cavendish. Glen laughed and said, “Yeah, you should see him when he goes back home; he stops off at the last CVS on this side of the border and gets a few pounds and smuggles it in, since they don’t sell it in Canada!”We never interacted with the people who had hired them to do the testing. Some of my fellow drivers were OK. I knew two from Nordstrom, one of whom was Enon. I asked him how he was enjoying Alice in Wonderland, and he said he liked it. I’m not sure if he had even cracked the cover, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

We had an interesting incident on the third morning. When arranging ourselves in a new platoon, one of the SUVs clipped a sedan. I looked in time to think, “Huh, she’s cutting it close.” Yeah, that was too close. So that put a stop to work until after lunch, because there was paperwork and stuff for them to fill out. While we waited, I hunted bugs in the area. I earned the nickname “The Bug Lady” since I was always finding them, holding them, etc. There were lots of cool varieties I’d never seen before, even though it was about 30 minutes from my house. There were also a lot of trucks processing gravel, dirt, and stuff like that since there was a quarry of sorts right there. A few hours later, the walkie crackled and Bob said, “Kathleen, where are you? We need to give you your reward.” I waved, and he and Adam came over. I had no idea what to expect. Bob said, “Since the sedan is out of commission, we need to shuffle the vehicles a little. Your reward for being the best driver here is that you now get to drive the cube truck.” I was scared. “Are you serious? I’ve never driving anything that big before!” I protested. “You can do it,” Adam said. “You’re the best driver we have; you’ll be fine.” I was having flashbacks to my car flip in Idaho, so I wasn’t so sure. But I said I’d do it, and thanked them. It was so fun! It was much easier than I’d expected, and it was neat being up so high. And the fact that I had my hair in pigtails that day just made the whole picture funnier. Glen laughed and said, “It’s always fun seeing women drive huge trucks!” Adam sat at the entrance to the track and thumbs upped me as I went by. He took a turn driving one of the SUVs and gave me tips here and there. When I gave the keys back at the end of the day, I thanked Bob again and told him how much I enjoyed driving that truck. He said, “Now you can tell your friends when they move that if they load, you’ll drive, and charge them for it!”

I really enjoyed working for Bob & Co., and since they were all polite, fun, hardworking blue collar men I felt right at home. I learned a lot from that job, and more than just driving a cube truck. I learned about brick laying, bugs, making dirt and gravel, and that I need to sacrifice manners to give the right answer to fat, pushy Ukrainians.

Dancing with the Drunks

Just to set the record straight, I did no drinking or dancing myself. I was working. The drunks, however, covered both bases fairly well. I decided to make this post about the two banquets I've served at.

Banquet serving is very fun! The first one I did was a wedding reception. There were two of us girls and one guy. He tended the bar, while Tara and I covered the tables. It was buffet style, so we didn't have to take orders or anything, but it was still busy! We had to set the tables for about 150 guests, run food back and forth from the buffet table, and clear the dishes and trash. It seemed reasonable enough to me, but Tara was rather upset that there were so few of us in ratio to the number of guests. She's been doing every part of the restaurant business for half her life, from waitressing to owning, so I figured she knew what she was talking about. It didn't bother me, though, since I had never worked in another setting. Sometimes, having no point of comparison is great. The only annoying part to me was that I had to wear a tux and felt like a cross-dresser. Oh well. The things we do for money. It was a good evening, all in all. I dropped an empty beer bottle once, which shattered in a million pieces, but that was outside, and the worst thing I did all night. At the end of the night, we helped the caterer and his nephew load their truck with everything, and a whole cart of dishes fell over and exploded in the parking lot. That was really bad. Thankfully, not as much was damaged as it first appeared, so that was good. At midnight, though, that was really not what people wanted to have happen. Then I got lost going home. I finally made it around 1:30. This one can't really be blamed on me, though; Route 32 in Maryland runs North-South AND East-West. How's that for confusing? Well it confused me. But mom got me home.

Banquet #2 was more interesting. It was an outdoor party on the river. Some rich people had a work party the night before, and decided to keep the pavilion another day and throw a party for friends. So they hired us to serve, a band, and got $500 of food from Adam's Ribs. I got to go pick it up, and I don't think I've ever seen so much food packed into a normal little car. Tara and I got to work together again, and this time she tended the bar. Megan and I covered the buffet. Mrs. T. promised us it would be a 'wild party', with guests ranging from twenty-one to her age. She had no idea how many people would show. The band came and set up, we had the food out, tiki torches lit (which was a nightmare; a hard breeze was blowing off the river, which made lighting them very hard. The tip of my thumb is still tender from being burnt.), and the bar stocked. Megan and I were supposed to leave at 10:00, and Tara at 12:00. We were all asked to stay 'til 12:00, which was no problem. At first. Music blared all night, people were talking, laughing, eating, dancing, and drinking like fish. 10:30 was the magic hour; at that point, almost everyone was drunk. I saw a bunch of kids playing some drinking game, two girls and a guy sharing a huge bottle of wine, and people were just getting strange. I'd never been around drunks before, so it was quite the experience. My job at that point was to carry plates of cookies and brownies around and make people eat them. I was asked if they were pot brownies, which they weren't. I saw a girl at a table holding her head with one hand and drunkenly draping her arm around his neck. Later she was passed out on the ground. I saw one guy stand too close to a tiki torch and set his shirt on fire, while a girl slapped it out and almost set her hair on fire. That was actually kind of funny. I saw one guy stagger up to the guest house, aided by his girl friend. The funny cartoons and movies where they weave and zig-zag unbelievably are actually accurate; he couldn't travel in a straight line to save his soul. He stumbled all over the place, while she expertly guided him by tugging his sleeve. He got up on the stone porch and fell. I laughed. He was back in about twenty minutes, able to walk again. I assume he puked his guts out and felt better. He was kind of menacing at that point, so I avoided him. Some guy wandered into the woods and never came out. A happy drunk gave us high-fives for doing a good job, put his arm around Megan and talked to the other people at the bar. He asked if anyone had given us a problem, and to tell him if they did. "You're giving me a problem," I thought to myself. Probably the funniest drunken moment was when Mrs. T. was signing our paper. We were standing at the bar, and Tara was getting this guy a drink. He saw Mrs. T. signing, and said to me, "Is she famous?" "Yep!" I replied. "Wow," he said, "you got her autograph?" I nodded. "Wow. Should I get one?" "Why not?" I asked. "We did." He turned to Megan. "You got her autograph?" He was excited now. "Uhhh...yeah." Megan responded. "She's really famous, isn't she?" he asked again. "No," Megan replied, "she's not famous." He was crestfallen. "Oh, I knew that!" he said. I'm sure. Those last few hours were a mystery to me. I saw no appeal in what they were doing. What's so great about getting so smashed that you set yourself on fire by accident, can't walk straight and fall onto stone porches, or think your friend's mom is famous? What's fun about kneeling before the porcelain god and summoning Rolf? I don't get it. One thing is for sure, though. Rich, high-class folks do NOT make high-class drunks.

The Chronicles of Workia

If I tried to communicate all of my adventures in one post, I think the Internet would crash. So to remedy that, I am splitting this up into three posts, one for each type of job. This will mess up the chronology slightly, but that doesn't actually matter. So here goes! This post will be about my adventures with the BARS Program, gotten through the temp agency.

The BARS Program is a company that hires people between twenty-one and twenty-five. They are given a list of convenience stores, gas stations, restaurants, liquor stores, and the like. They go to each on one day, ask for cigarettes or liquor, as per the list, and give the clerk a card depending on their performance. If they ask for ID, a green card and a smile. This they deliver to their manager. The secret shopper leaves, writes down such information as date, time, color card, and employee's name. If they ask for money before ID, they get a red card, which they also have to give to the manager. At the end of the route, the secret shopper calls in and reports the results of each stop, and the BARS Program later checks in with those stores to see if the S.S. was indeed there at that time on that date and if Joe really did receive a green card. That's the way it works.

My first route was a disaster. That evening I discovered that I inherited what we call my mom's "directionally challenged" gene. I got it bad. I started at 4:00 P.M. My first stop should have been around 4:30, since it was a little bit out there. It was 6:00 by the time I got there. Not a good way to start. I was so lost I didn't even know where I was. I pulled into a shopping center and walked through the Home Depot quickly, looking for someone who looked like they could help me. Simply by looking at the clientele, I realized I'd gotten myself into Prince George's County. "Oh crud, not here!" was about the extend of my thought process. I promptly left the store, began walking back to my car, and saw a man and woman wearing T-shirts advertising their Baptist church. I decided to ask them for help before I left, and they informed me that I was in Bowie. I wanted to be in Columbia. Darn. But, at least I knew where in the world I was. I was SO glad I had a map in the car. I think I would have given up without it. I got myself back on track and did about half the route before more trouble happened.

I had wandered through Bowie, Columbia, Glen Burnie, Severna Park, and Pasadena. I was almost done, just a few more stops, when suddenly I realized I'd skipped one. I had no idea which 7-11 I'd missed, but I had. I started to panic, but decided to finish the route and then go back and find that last store. I knew it had to be somewhere in Pasadena, which helped. I did everything else, and it was 10:30 by this point (because I'd gotten turned around a few times in there), and I was so ready to go home. I called the BARS people, hoping they could help me figure out how to find this stop. The guy said, "Uhhh, I only take completed route calls. I have no idea how this works. Uhhh, I hope you find it?" That was reassuring.

I looked at the address of the one I thought I missed, and looked at my map. For whatever reason, I was convinced I had to go around all four sides of the square rather than just travel that one leg of it, and didn't realize how dumb that was until I was half way around the square. I was hungry, tired, overwhelmed, and barely holding myself together. I just wanted to cry. I've never felt like such a royal failure. I got onto the B&A Boulevard again, and suddenly realized that wasn't where I wanted to be, and had no idea where I was (again). I pulled into a 7-11 to check my map (AGAIN), and thought, "Wouldn't it be crazy if this were the one I need?" But I knew that wasn't possible. I hadn't been to this 7-11 yet, and happened to glance at the store address. Then, looking down to my sheet to find the address of the one I was looking for, I saw the same address! I was right where I needed to be! I was so excited I almost started crying. I pulled myself together, finished the job, and adjusted my list. As I drove home, I had a panic attack because I thought I was going the wrong way. Then I thought, "NO! You're heading South! Riva is South of Severna Park! KEEP GOING!" So I did. Then I passed where I worked last Summer and sobbed a little, because I now knew absolutely where I was. I got home around 11:30, and called in my list. My mom poured me a very large glass of wine, and we stayed up talking until 1:00, which was much nicer than bawling.

It was really interesting noticing the reactions people had to their cards. The first was a red card, and he tried to get out of it by protesting that he could tell I was over eighteen. Tough luck. Whenever a girl got a red card, she accepted her fate, so to speak. One man really got angry with me. He was around forty, and had had a difficult time with the customer in front of me, so I kept thinking, "Please card me. Please card me. You don't want a red card right now. Please card me." He didn't. He used the same excuse about being able to tell I was over age, and I said, "I'm sorry, but you have to card." I walked away, and he yelled after me, "Well thank you! Thank you very much! I LOVE getting red cards!" As I drove off, I thought, "Well, keep it up. I'm sure you'll love getting a pink slip." I always think of good come-backs when it's too late.

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My second round with the BARS Program went MUCH more smoothly. I used my dad's GPS, which I didn't even know we had, so I didn't get lost. Everyone was a winner that day. It was a little more exciting, since I got to go to restaurants too and wait for a drink at the bar. My first stop was fun. I popped into a gas station, and asked for whatever my favorite cigarette brand was that time. The lady behind the counter was probably in her sixties, and looked like she should work at a pancake house. I asked for the cigs, and she looked at me with a calculating expression. She asked for my ID, and I gave her the green card. She chuckled and said, "I thought so. I didn't recognize you." That was unbelievable to me. I hadn't realized Stevensville was that small an area that she could recognize her customers. My stop at the Dave & Buster's in the Marley Station Mall was probably the most fun. I saw a mall cop on a segue. I didn't know they actually rode those. I thought that was a joke. It is a joke, made all the more hilarious because it actually happens. I walked in, ordered a Miller Lite, because it's a girlie beer, and was carded. In the restaurant situations, you have to take the card directly to the manager, so the guy behind the bar went to get him. I followed him, which he didn't realize. He disappeared into an Employee's Only door. A few minutes later, I heard, "...another one! I'm on a roll! Woohoo!" At this point, he came out and saw me. He stopped dead. "Umm yes, this is the young lady right here. Yes." I shook hands with his boss, who exclaimed over the hardness of my grip and told the bartender to watch out for my handshake, and then left. I was actually home at a decent hour that time.

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My third and, so far, final experience with this job was also fine. I didn't take the GPS because I was very familiar with the area, having gotten lost in it so many times the first night. It was an eight stop route, and I was allowed to do it in the morning, which was quite nice. Everything went without hiccup until the second-to-last stop. Up to this point, nobody had received a red card. I walked in to the Sunoco and asked for some cigarettes (again, whatever my favorite brand was that day). The teller was short, pasty white with glasses, pale hair, and bad teeth. Your typical basement dwelling fungi. He looked like he spent all day playing Dungeons and Dragons. I bet he was a level seventeen warlock. I placed my order, he sized me up, and asked for the money. I pulled out a red card. "How old are you?" he blurted. "Twenty-one," I replied. "I knew it! I knew you were old enough! Didn't you see the way I looked at you?" "Yes," I said, "but that doesn't matter. You must card anyone who appears to be under thirty." "But I knew you were old enough! I didn't want to insult you!" "Sorry," I responded. "The law's the law." He took the card. "Yeah?" he asked. "And anger is anger and temper is temper." He ripped the card into tiny pieces. I shrugged. "And a pink slip is a pink slip," I said and walked away. Later, when I called in my list, I told the lady that he had ripped it up, so that his manager would have no record of the incident. "But why would he do that?" she asked. "Because he was mad that he got a red card," I said. She couldn't believe it. I was surprised no one had done that before. I'm not sure how he'll fare, but I can't imagine his boss being too pleased with that. The stores pay to have the BARS Program check them, so it really won't go over well. It was fun, though, and so satisfying to say that. I was a little afraid, though, and I don't know why. He couldn't have beat me up. Maybe I was afraid he'd fly over the counter at me and try one of his D&D spells or something.

Well, that's enough for now. Maybe I'll get another route sometime.

No More Nordstrom

Last night was my last night at Nordstrom. The job is finished, so we move on. But before I talk about yesterday, I need to jump back to the day before, since I didn't post yesterday. I know. I'm a sinner.

Not a whole lot worth mentioning happened Tuesday night. I sat with Mr. Perry at dinner, which was a blast. We talked about movies, and he started telling me about serving in Korea. All I can say is wow! He got into the Army at fifteen, because he lied about his age. He was captured pretty soon and was in a POW camp for two and a half years, while he was sixteen and seventeen. He said they were served a single bowl of rice every day; he showed me with his hands the size of the bowl, and it was between a tea cup and a coffee mug. That's it. He said he can't eat much now because he's positive his stomach shrunk after two and a half years of that. When he was first captured, they stuck him in a mud room with a single light bulb that they left on constantly for two weeks. Then they turned it off for two weeks. Then on for two weeks. And so on and so on, until he didn't care anymore and they found something new to do. Every morning, though, for the first month they would come in to wake him and the others up by putting a rifle barrel to the head and pulling the trigger. You never knew if it would go off or not. He said by the end of the month you didn't care if it did go off, and rather hoped it would. Once they reached that point, the enemy stopped that tactic and found some other way to mess with their minds. They were beaten every day with bamboo poles. He didn't say much more, except that to this day he'll wake up in a cold sweat because of nightmares. He hates how people say we should just forget about the war. He can't. He has shrapnel in his hip and hearing aids to remind him every second of every day, and dreams at night. His two older brothers, who were much older than him, both served at Normandy in WWII. One was a paratrooper and the other came in on a pontoon boat. Both made it. He's a pretty tough man. I can't imagine somebody joining the military at fifteen. That would be my little brother next year. He probably joined right as the war started, which means he was in training and served for six months, then spent the rest of the war in the POW camp. I guess the only reason he got out was because the war ended. That was pretty much all that happened Tuesday night; I went home at 2:30 A.M. which was exciting. Not.

The reason going to bed at 3:00 in the morning was so difficult was because I had to be up again at 6:30 to get cleaned up and go to Baltimore for training for my banquet serving job. The location was Sylvester's Saloon in Essex, close to Rosedale. I read the map, and, being thoroughly unfamiliar with Baltimore, I thought that Sylvester's Saloon must be slightly upscale. After all, it's a saloon and not a bar. No. I was so in the ghetto! Sylvester's Saloon is this white trash honky tonk right next to Sylvester's Garage, a white trash mechanic shop. All right in the middle of the ghetto, at 8:30 A.M. I thought, "What in the WORLD am I doing here? What have I gotten myself into?" I went into the upstairs room that we had for our uses, filled out my paper work, and felt more comfortable when I found out that my bosses know the guy who owns the place. He let them borrow the room when they couldn't borrow a hotel dining room. So in the upper room of a trashy ghetto bar, I learned French service, timed sweep, and other various techniques. We had a table set formally, and were practicing French serving the soup. We had no tureen, just a stainless steel mixing bowl filled with water and a cheap ladle. That was classy. My boss said, "Yes, and if you're ever at a banquet and that's what you're using to French serve the soup, fire me." It was so much fun! Right about that time the hilarity of the situation hit me. The complete and utter divide between where I was and what I was doing was incredible. I think God is just having fun messing with me this Summer. So after that, I was planning on meeting one of my pastors for lunch and catching up, but he was sick, but I went to the church office anyway and hung out with all of my old coworkers. They got me up to speed with all of the latest news in the office. One lady is now a grandma, and her family came in and paraded the baby around. It was so good to be with them again! Then I went home, took care of a few things, and napped for about an hour. Then it was dinner time and off to work for one last night.

The first exciting part of last night was that the trucks were actually on time! That meant we were an hour ahead of where we'd been the previous nights. During break I gave Enon Alice in Wonderland, since I hadn't been able to the night before. He must have thought I was kidding before, because he seemed really touched. He wanted my number so we could read it together and talk about it. I slipped out of that one, but I think we'll be working on the same assignment in a week or so, so we'll be able to discuss it then. I'll have to read it in the meantime. Mr. Perry came in his uniform last night and had his Purple Heart pinned on. Apparently management gave him a hard time about not wearing his uniform and only wearing a security T-shirt. I got off work at 10:30, which was great. There just wasn't that much to do. About 10:15, I was asking various managers what I could do, when Shawn came up. He made one more valiant (HA!) effort. "What's up? I heard you was looking for me," he said. "No. I'm looking for Elizabeth." "Oh OK, I must have been misinformed." He sauntered off and went outside. He walked right past Mr. Perry, who was sitting behind a stack of dollies. He must have noticed that Shawn was wearing his dorky blue hat again, because he poked his head around the dollies, pointed to the door, and mouthed, "That him?" I made a face and nodded. He started chuckling to himself, and I heard him say, "Pah, Burger King!" I never gave Shawn I Kissed Dating Goodbye because my dad really did not like the idea. He said that's not the kind of crowd to joke around with like that. He didn't want me getting shot on the way out. I agree, it would have been a pretty dumb idea, but the death-and-mayhem part of me really wonders what would have happened if I had given it to him. Oh well!

So that was pretty much the extent of my night shift adventures. In a few hours I'm going into the office to get briefed on my next assignment. I'll be driving to various 7-11s tonight to see if they card me when I try to buy cigarettes. I guess I should figure out what brand I like. =P This job will only be a two day assignment, tonight and Monday night. It should be really fun! I'm also working my first banquet Saturday night. I'll be wearing a tux, except for the jacket. It should be interesting!

Midnight Madness Part 2

Well last night was just as interesting as the one before. When I first got there, Shawn came up to me and said, "I missed you last night." I didn't hear him properly at first, so I didn't say anything. He said again, "I really missed you." Barf. I was mad. I decided not to say anything at all, and instead make good use of the eye-contact lecture from Rhetoric. I looked hard into his pleading, puppy dog eyes, then deliberately looked away, slightly turning my back on him. He left. I ignored him for the rest of the night.

Around 11:00 P.M. I had to chase a box out to the dumpster. It had been tossed before we could read what department its contents needed to go to, so I ran out there. Shawn was there, along with Enon and Kwaku. Enon and I had talked about the Alice in Wonderland movie, and I told him he should read the book. So when I came out to the dumpster, Enon said, "Hey Kathleen! Where's my book?" "What?" I asked. "Where's my Alice in Wonderland? You were gonna give it to me!" I hadn't said anything about that, but I knew he was messing with me. Before I could answer, Shawn cut in in a whiny tone, "Man, she ain't givin' you NUTHIN'!" It was then that I determined to give Enon a copy of Alice. It just so happens that we have an extra copy sitting in the give-away box. So I will give it away.

On my way back into the building, Mr. Perry, the security guard, stopped me. "You didn't say hi to me when you came out," he exclaimed. "Sorry, I was on a mission," I responded, "but I was going to say hi to you on the way back in." "No, you didn't say hi to me when you came out," he huffed. "So I'm not taking you to Burger King now." I almost died laughing. "So is your 'boyfriend' here tonight?" he asked. "Yeah, he's right down there." "What? I missed him?" "Yeah, he's wearing the dorky blue hat. Can't miss him." "Oh, OK. Well, you want me to..?" He smiled and gave me a questioning look, and smashed his fist into his palm. I laughed again and told him to feel free. He grinned again, and said, "Well if he asks you again, you tell him you don't need his Burger King, because you got someone who'll take you to Red Lobster!" He winked at me, and I laughed and said I'd keep it in mind. Apparently Red Lobster is Mr. Perry's idea of fine dining.

Today as I told this story at breakfast, Lindsey said I should give Enon the book and Shawn a scrap of paper with the Rejection Hotline number. Then my mother, my dear sweet mother, had a different idea. I really can't believe she said this, either. "No, what you need to give Shawn is I Kissed Dating Goodbye." We all choked on our cereal and bagels and dubbed it a cunning plan. Lindsey said, "For that plan, I will give you my copy!" So tonight, Enon is getting Alice, but I think I'll wait until Wednesday night to give Shawn his present. Wednesday is the last night of this job, and I don't need to get myself killed before then. Oh yes, life is so much fun!

A Night at the Nordstrom

Well I haven't posted in about a million years, but life has been crazy. This Summer, I'm employed both by a temp agency that will send me wherever the money is, and by a company that provides banquets with servers. Last night was my first job with the temp agency. I was bummed that it was on Sunday, but they swore up and down that won't ever happen again, so I got over it. My shift was from 4:30 P.M. to 1:00 A.M. Nordstrom is renovating all of their fixtures (read: the things they hang the clothes on), and needed folks to offload the boxes, assemble the fixtures, deal with the garbage, etc. We ladies were told we'd be dressing mannequins, but that turned out to be a serious mis-communication, so we were doing the grunt work, too. That didn't bother me, since I'd done so much of that with Pottery Barn. Last night was just a reminder of how much I really love this kind of work. I had never worked a night shift like before, so it was quite the experience. I was the only white girl on the temp team of twenty five (there were other white girls working there, but not much with us), there were two middle aged white men, and one white guy from London in his twenties. Everybody else was black, but that didn't bother me. I hung mostly with the black girls, until they got too whiny about how we weren't dressing mannequins, and how "mean" the Nordstrom people were, blah blah blah, so I started working more with the guys. At 11:00 P.M. Nordstrom fed us dinner. We had salad, lasagna, and canoli, which I hadn't had in forever. Dinner was when the night got interesting.

I sat at a table with one of the white men on my right, and the London guy on my left, who had some black guys around him. There was an unopened soda sitting in front of me that no one came back to claim. Then a black dude named Shawn sauntered up and sat at that spot, saying, "Am I taking someone's seat?" I told him no, I hadn't seen anyone there. "That's 'cause I put it there," he said. "I don't believe you," I laughed in reply. "You don't? What you say if I told you I put it there just so I could sit across from you?" he asked. "Well, thanks for the compliment," I said, "but I still don't think you did." At that point, one of his buddies came up and asked Shawn to go back to the other table with him. "Would you miss me if I sat over there?" he asked. With dripping sarcasm, I said, "You'll break my heart if you go." "Well damn! I can't go now!" I laughed again, sure that he was just kidding around like I was. "You'll break his heart if you stay," I told him. "Either way, someone's heart is getting broken. Will it be mine or his?" Shawn thought for a minute, then got up and left. Ten minutes later, he came back, and this was our dialogue.

Shawn: So when we goin' on our first date?
Me: Excuse me? I'm not going out with you!
Shawn: You not?
Me: No!
Shawn: I've got a really big truck.
Me: I like really big trucks, but no. I'm not going out with you.
Shawn: I'll take you to Burger King.
Me: ...No.
Shawn: What, you don't like Burger King?
Me: I like their fries. No.

At this point, he finally got the idea and gave up his little game. Naive me thought he was still kidding, but I thought about it for a few minutes, then turned to the other guys and asked, "Wait, was he serious about all that?" "Yeah, yeah he was serious." I couldn't believe it. "But why?" I asked. "We don't even know each other!" "Well how's he supposed to get to know you unless you date him?" one of the black guys asked. "What's wrong, don't you date?" "I don't date unless I'm thinking I might marry the guy," I responded. And from there we launched into a huge debate about love, dating, marriage, etc. that I found highly amusing. They found me highly ridiculous, but that's fine. I got the typical don't-buy-the-car-until-you've-tested-it shpeel, the marriage-is-just-a-piece-of-paper lecture, the how-can-you-put-boundaries-on-love argument, the dang-you're-21-and-still-a-virgin deal, and so on. The British guy stayed 99% out of the argument (he chuckled occasionally), one black guy named Sheldon was my debator, and the other two were the peanut gallery, only good for laughing. So we went round and round, and at one point, Sheldon randomly said between arguments, "You know, the world needs more women like you." What? That totally blew me away! Here he was, totally bashing my standards and the Reason I hold them, and then basically congratulates me for it. It was so weird! Then we all headed back to work, and one of the two guys that laughed the whole time came up to me and said told me good job, keep it up. "You have no idea what a blessing you'll be to that man one day," he said. He's a Christian. When he laughed, I think he was laughing at the other guy. So he encouraged me, and we talked for a few minutes, and he was encouraged, too. I was completely shocked. It was interesting to think that if I had kept my big mouth shut, we wouldn't have found that common ground. A while later I was dumping garbage, watched by the security guard who had been in Vietnam, when Shawn came back. He said something to me again about going with him, then walked to the dumpster. The security agent said to me, "I think that guy does crack." I laughed and told him, "Yeah, he asked me on a date." "What? That dirtball?" "Yep. He wanted to take me to Burger King." "Burger King," he scoffed. "Well, for him, that would be pretty expensive. He'd probably make YOU pay when you got there!" He was pretty funny. But anyway, yes, I love my job, for all it's craziness. Off now for another round! I'll be home around 3:00 A.M.

A Fable

This week, we had to write a Fable, in preparation for writing one in Latin at the end of the term. I had lots of fun with this assignment.

Philosophy According to Weasel

Once upon a time, there lived a very chipper Weasel. Nobody knew why he was always happy; life rarely went well for him. Just today he had escaped being Dragon’s lunch, literally by the skin of his tail (Dragon was still coughing up flaming hairballs). That night, Cat, being curious, visited Weasel to discover his secret. “It’s something my Mama taught me,” Weasel said. “She said, ‘Son, take your time, don’t live too fast; troubles will come and they will pass. Be a simple kind of man.’” Weasel uncorked a bottle and poured the ruby contents into two mismatched goblets. “It’s all about perspective,” said Weasel, raising his glass. “When life gives you sour grapes, make wine.”

I have to give my friend Bekah credit for giving me the alternate take on "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade" because of how difficult that would be to translate, and also for throwing a dragon in there.

Conclusion to the Novel I Probably Won't Ever Write

This week for Declamation, we had to present the ending of the novel we started last week.

Ever since That Day, Janet’s life had never been the same. That Day, she had cursed the stars, so obviously aligned against her. Now she laughed, thinking over all that had happened since then. Her life had not been unusual or beyond her wildest dreams; it had been better. True, life hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, but rather hard and stormy. But thanks to That Day, she couldn’t see the clouds for the silver lining. Years ago, she was too old for fairytales. Now she was old enough for them again, and was living as they all promised: Happily Ever After.

The Intro to the Novel I Probably Won't Ever Write

I'm back at school now, and classes are in full swing. This week's declamation assignment is to write the intro to the novel I've always wanted to write. So here it is. I can't say I've always wanted to write it, since it all came together within the last hour. I don't even feel like I can take credit for it; my Muse kicked in, and this is what came out.

“This has got to be one of Those Days,” Janet muttered darkly. She had never had one of Those Days, being a normal person, and she didn’t know how to cope. It was 3:00 in the afternoon, and she had had a string of embarrassing firsts. She had burnt her toast, dashed in late for an interview, and given a great impression of a bull in the china closet on the way out to her car, where she’d found her first parking ticket. That was bad. But bad had become worse when she’d realized her purse was locked inside, along with her keys and phone, leaving her way up an unfamiliar creek without the necessary equipment. That was when she’d banged her head against the window, much to the amusement of a few pigeons. But that was hours ago. A stranger had lent her a phone, the locksmith hadn’t broken anything, her ticket was paid, and she had coffee. Janet savored the last sip of her mocha. This headache Day would be over in less than nine hours, if she could last that long. Janet took a deep breath, then marched outside. Half a block later, her purse strap snapped. The bag hit the concrete with a thud, erupting its contents everywhere. She rolled her eyes and chased her belongings. “Honestly, doesn’t Prada know how to make a purse anymore?” she snapped, fishing for her lipstick underneath a Chevy. She grabbed it and pulled back, then stopped as she caught sight of something in the mud next to her hand. “Wow,” she whispered. She looked around quickly, then picked it up, wiping away the grime. This Day was definitely refusing to be normal.

A Dog, a Rope, Some Kids, and What They Did

This week for Declamation, I had to write a cautionary tale with a moral. Here it is.

A Dog, a Rope, Some Kids, and What They Did

Once upon a time, a grandmother and her spastic mutt lived across the street from five of her grandchildren, named Lindsey, Kendrick, Kathleen, Maggie, and Seamus. The oldest was about fifteen, and the youngest was two. This parallels my life in a very suspicious way, but I’m sure there’s no connection. Anyway, the older three were sometimes asked to walk said mutt, but these ‘walks’ were more like all-out running, because the dog would tear down the street at top speed once the leash was clipped. These children were inventive, however, and realized that there had to be a better way to walk the dog that didn’t involve getting their arms pulled out of their sockets. So, they discovered that, by using a long rope for a leash and putting on their rollerblades, they could get a pretty fun ride around the block and wear the dog out at the same time. They had this down to an art.

One day, their mother left to do errands, and Grandma called and asked if they could take Lil’ Hon for a run (nobody bothered calling it a walk anymore; everyone knew there was no such thing with that dog). Lindsey said they could, but only if Grandma didn’t mind watching Maggie. She didn’t have rollerblades, and couldn’t be left alone. But what to do about Seamus? Lindsey knew he’d be way too much for Grandma to handle, but they couldn’t just lock him in the house, either. They decided to bring Seamus along in his stroller, and Kathleen was told to push him around the block and keep up with the other two. Seriously, whom else would they give that job to? She was the youngest of the older kids, and therefore not as entitled to fun things like getting pulled around by the dog. But I digress. It soon became apparent that Kathleen could not keep up with them, so Lindsey had a brilliant idea, as usual. She and Kendrick stopped the dog, and he held her down, while Lindsey attached the lead to the foot rest of the stroller. That way, the dog could pull the stroller and the other three could skate and keep up. And Seamus was buckled in anyway, so what could possibly happen? Well, Lil’ Hon bolted, and the stroller shot down the road, bumping and careening, which actually made them more amused than alarmed. The dog got a head start because they were laughing too hard to skate, but once the front wheels of the stroller bounced up and the entire thing tipped back and flew down the street on the back wheels, they realized this wasn’t such a good idea after all. They caught up just in time; Lil’ Hon ran into a neighbor’s yard and up a small hill, which made the rope go slack. The stroller slowly tipped backwards, and Lindsey dove and caught it just before it hit the ground. Kendrick tackled Lil’ Hon and untied her from the stroller. Everyone started laughing again, except for Seamus. Their pale-faced brother was wide-eyed and gawking the entire time, too scared to cry. Kendrick took charge of the dog for the home stretch, and Lindsey pushed the stroller, which was very bent and wobbly, hardly functional at this point. Their mother was home by now, and rapidly put the pieces together. She was accustomed to deducing the most ludicrous answer possible and being right. Sherlock Holmes had nothing compared to her. Needless to say, she was most displeased with this event, and alternately lectured the culprits and comforted Seamus, who had found his voice by this time.

So the moral of the story is: Never attach hyper dogs to baby strollers, especially when there’s actually a passenger.

"I Love this Crazy, Tragic, sometimes almost Magic, Awful, Beautiful Life

That song line sums up the past few weeks pretty well. It has been crazy, slightly tragic as far as grades are concerned, almost magical, awful sometimes, and always beautiful.

It's never enjoyable to come face to face with failure. Again. I don't know why, but Natural History (Biology) just will not stay in my head. It all makes sense on paper, in lecture, while talking and studying, but take it all away and give me a test and I fail. Royally. This is the second term, and the second time I've failed a midterm for this class. But, as frustrating as it is, it's not the end of the world. I remember when I had a terrible time with Algebra II in highschool, and, after a similar experience, the lady that taught me said, "Well, thankfully your salvation does NOT depend on your Algebra grade!" Amen. It doesn't even depend on my Natural History grade. This term is better than last. Last term, I also failed the Logic midterm. This time, I aced it. There's always a silver lining, and His mercies are new every morning.

On Friday, we had our first snow. Not a whole lot, but enough to make it beautiful. That night, NSA had a volleyball game, and the Sophomores were the worst class. We really were not with the program. We had fun, though, and we had something none of the other classes had: Our personal bugler to (loudly!) proclaim a goal on our part. I don't know who brought the bugle, but a spectator absconded with it and put it to good use. The funniest part to me was that he even knew how to play it. Who learns to play the bugle anymore? Apparently Jonathan. About thirty of us went to Arby's afterward to re-fuel and enjoy each others' company. (What a great segue into my next ramble!)

Today was the Sabbath, and that makes up for anything that happens during the week. Sunday is my favorite day of the week. I love getting up, going to church, worshiping, confessing my sin and being reminded that Christ paid for it all, eating the bread, drinking the wine, feasting and fellowshipping. Since my Moscow Family is scattering to the four winds for Thanksgiving, we had a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving today. It was fantastic. I'm still stuffed, and probably won't even have a snack before bed. A few family friends came too, to fill out the table. As always, the fine china and silverware came out, cloth napkins, the works. It's the Sabbath; it's a feast. "This is the day that the LORD has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!"

It's amazing how food smooths the way for fellowship. We're relational creatures, and food is one of the best catalysts for fostering the atmosphere of fellowship. Shared food always tastes better. I think about Mr. Scrooge and his "melancholy meal," or his lonely, tasteless dish of gruel in his apartment. Even Scrooge might have loosened up a bit around good food, if he'd taken a chance and gone to Fred's Christmas dinner years earlier. Is it any wonder that we are told to fellowship as we celebrate the Lord's Supper? We're commanded to "recognize the body of the Lord." What does that mean? His broken body symbolized by the broken bread? Absolutely. And yet, the "body of the Lord" is also His Church, the people around us in the pews. If we zoom in on the bread and forget His body, we sin. Likewise, if we focus on His body and forget the meaning of the bread, we sin. I love the concerted effort of the community here to recognize the broken body of Christ, and His body at large. At Trinity, before Communion we pass the peace, which is about five or ten minutes of hugging, kissing, hand shaking, body squashing greetings in the name of the Lord. We recognize the body, then sit down and recognize the body before eating it. Then, after the service, many, many folks have Sabbath Feasts, inviting family and friends to celebrate the day of rest. It's hard to keep up with people; our lives are so busy. But Sunday is for resting, for praising God for His faithfulness, and, second to going to church, what better way to do that than by eating together, recognizing the body of the Lord? I have come to love feasting on the Sabbath, and it is definitely a celebration I want to carry into my own home. Food is one of the best body builders.

To Whom Much is Given

Wednesday mornings are Bible Study mornings at NSA. It's right between Latin and Natural History (Biology), so I never have an excuse for not attending. This morning, Dr. Wilson spoke on wisdom vs. knowledge, humility, and edifying others, beginning with James 3:13,
"Who is a wise man and endued with knowledge among you? let him shew out of a good conversation his works with meekness of wisdom."

He tied this in to 1st Corinthians 8:1,
"Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth."

Also Ephesians 4:29,
"Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers."

Dr. Wilson pointed out that people can be uneducated and wise, or extremely intelligent and foolish. He warned us against becoming arrogant because of our education. An education brings knowledge (a wonderful thing), but, if we aren't careful, knowledge can puff us up. I'd known all of this before, but today it felt like a punch in the gut. I could think back to specific instances just this week where I'd been arrogant in my mind (at the least), where I hadn't been loving and edifying when I should have been, and was anything but humble. I chewed on it for a few minutes, then put it away and got out the notebook for class.

Later though, it all came back, and I became annoyed with God. I said,
"Lord, you've been pointing out all of these sins, and I'm trying to deal with them here. You've got me working on patience, contentment, loving others, and all this other stuff, and now You're adding more! Can't You let me deal with them one at a time?" I heard a displeased voice say, "You know the answer to that." At this point, I was frustrated and angry. "Lord, I can't!" That stopped me up short. I can't. That's exactly what He has said from the beginning. I can't do it. I sat stupefied for a few seconds, digesting the news. I'd been striving in my own feeble strength, and was surprised at my constant failure. I knew all of the right things, and instead of gratefully accepting more knowledge with the realization of how little I know, I let it puff me up. I'd been thanking God that I wasn't as ignorant as some (a good thing to be thankful for), and He finally dropped a mirror in front of me to reveal the Pharisee. To whom much is given, much shall be required. And yet, "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." God is ever mindful of my frame, and will never demand of me that which I cannot give. Christ has broken the power of reigning sin. "For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace." I have the choice not to sin, because of the blood of Christ. I just need to be reminded constantly that I'm covered in Jesus' blood and righteousness, and my bloody rags have been cast away. To whom much is given, much shall be required.

"From whence come wars and fightings among you? come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members? Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts. Ye adulterers and adulteresses, know ye not that the friendship of the world is enmity with God? whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God. Do ye think that the scripture saith in vain, The spirit that dwelleth in us lusteth to envy?
But he giveth more grace. Wherefore he saith, God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble. Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands, ye sinners; and purify your hearts, ye double minded. Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep: let your laughter be turned to mourning, and your joy to heaviness. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up." ~James 4:1-10

Thrifty Purchases

As promised, here are my purchases from last weekend's shopping 'spree.' I think I spent about $25.00 total.


Calvin Kline slacks: $2.00, Christopher & Banks blouse: $1.79



Out of the Blue denim skirt: $5.00



George dress: $8.00 (knee-length; I couldn't get a good angle.)



Jonathan Martin dress: $5.00 (such a steal!)


And the pictures Sara has been waiting for:

BP. 4" heels: $1.50



They're actually very fun to wear, so long as it's not all day every day. Several girls commented on my shoes and nails matching. Claire, who is 1/2" taller than me, was teasingly irritated that I was several inches taller than her that day. I never realized before just how tall some of the boys in my class are; in those shoes I am 6'3", and still some of the boys were taller. I wasn't trying to be taller than everyone, but it made me realize just how tall 6'4", 6'5", etc. really are.

Oktoberfest!

This afternoon, Mrs. Frazier, Ashley, and I were invited to the Courtneys' to celebrate Reformation Sunday. What better way than feasting on German food? I didn't think to bring my camera, unfortunately, so I can't make you hungry that way. Everyone brought something to share, and we had Brats and sauerkraut, lots of potato dishes, salads heavily dressed in vinegar, ladkes, zwiebelkuchen (my contribution), Black Forest Cake (I missed that one), plum tarts, spiced cake, you name it; the bar was also well stocked in the beer/ale department.

Making the zwiebelkuchen (onion pie) was an experience. Two 9" pies call for six pounds of onions! I spent about forty-five minutes to an hour slicing them, then had three pans on the stove to stir at once. It was quite the adventure. Ashley made the pie crusts for me, since dopey me didn't think to make them before the filling. It's probably better that way, though, since I've actually never made a pie crust all by myself. That's on the to-do list for Christmas Break.

The order of events was mingle, stuff yourself and mingle, mingle, go back for seconds and mingle, mingle, eat dessert and mingle, sing, mingle, mingle and nibble on left overs, mingle, mingle, and eventually leave (while mingling). While we sang, I was asked to play the piano, which I happily did, and was annoyed with myself because I was having an off day. My fingers weren't cooperating as readily as they usually do, so I felt badly. But those days happen, and I did my best. I guess it was OK, though, since I wasn't booed off the piano amid handfuls of sauerkraut. But everyone had a wonderful afternoon, and I have an entire zwiebelkuchen sitting in the freezer, and Mrs. Frazier has some of her spice cake and salad left. Right now, the order of business is lying low and relaxing!

A Descriptive Sketch

This week for Declamation (AKA Speech), we had impromptu speaking and impromptu selection. I didn't know if Dr. Stokes would assign a topic on the spot, or say 'Talk about whatever you want,' so, in preparation, I wrote a description of my grandmother's old house. This is the finished product.

“Grandma’s House.” Those words usually bring to mind all sorts of images and smells, like cookies in the oven, bright, cheery rooms, a warm cat in front of a crackling fire. Not for me. Honestly, my grandmother’s house always gave me the creeps. I was never comfortable alone, except for in her bedroom. The old beach cottage was falling apart, and had all the associated signs. Because the roof leaked and the basement always flooded because of a two foot hole in a bearing wall, “Musty” was the house’s perfume of choice. Lighting was poor at night, and dirt perpetually appeared, keeping me employed. Dozens of carved statues from Indonesia studded the huge shelves, nooks and crannies, and added to the eerie atmosphere; men farming, women posing, animals and plants, gods and demons, all somehow reminiscent of the White Witch’s castle.
Yet for all of the gloom, everywhere were talismans to ward it off. Sun catchers bathed Grandma’s bedroom in rainbows during the day, and some nights I played with the Tiny People, little figures of wood barely an inch tall with painted faces and clothes of colored floss. Grandma didn’t bake cookies anymore, but she always had a jar of them. The mantel was filled with family pictures, and many nights I sat under their protection on the footstool my grandfather had loved, watching “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy!” with Grandma. She sometimes knit, but my job was always to keep the incense burning. No amount of leaking could stink the place up once the sandalwood sticks were lit. And there were treasures, too. Few people have seen the ivory chess set from China, the silk shawl from Italy, or the jewels in the cases. But I have. The toys were kept in Dad’s old bedroom, but so were the boxes of extra carvings that didn’t have a place on the shelves, and a wooden pillar of fire kept watch over all. But if these leering faces were braved, the pilgrim was rewarded with a viewing of the brilliantly colored tapestry that was straight from a story in Arabian Nights. A beautiful princess in white rode with a powerful sheik who obviously just rescued her from the imposing palace, and his friends watched warily for followers as they raced through a night lit by millions of stars. After I was a little older, I found another treasure in that room. In a dark corner behind the portable suit closet hung a small picture of my mother, before she was able to be my mother. Untouched by the sun, she stayed there, a beautiful girl of eighteen, laughing at the darkness around her. Somehow my father had forgotten this picture, but recently he rescued her from the dungeon and carried her away to his palace.
But all of the dark and gloom is past now. A new day has dawned, and that house of decay no longer exists. After forty years in the desert, we packed Grandma up, and my uncle and aunt had the house demolished. Grandma used the steam shovel to take the first swing at the crooked kitchen window she’d hated for decades. Now a new house stands, and all three live there together, where no roof leaks, no basement is filled with mud, and darkness does not hold sway. Slowly, everything is reappearing, even the Indonesian demons; but I laugh at them now, since their hour, when darkness reigns, is past. All things have been made new.

From this, you may infer that I did not like my Grandma's house. In retrospect, I guess that's kind of true. I didn't really like the HOUSE. But because of who lived in that house, and all the hundreds of happy memories I have there, all these things sanctified it, so to speak. I think the only times I hated it was when I was there alone, because it was so still, and I guess I expected something to come to life and get me. I never knew these things about me until I started writing, though, and these are the impressions that flowed out.

A Lesson Learned the Hard Way

The grocery store was more empty than usual this evening, which always makes maneuvering easier. As I was nearly out of fruit, I browsed the produce section, and decided on a Honeydew, priced at $0.78/lb. Rather steep, but a Honeydew would be wonderful with yogurt in the morning, so I
"squeezed the universe into a ball/ To roll it toward some overwhelming question," that question being "Is it ripe?" I am not well versed in melon-selecting methods, but I do know that the stem area should depress under your thumb. I found one that did squish well, not too much, not too little, and put it in the cart.

I confidently placed it on the cutting board, sure it was ready for dissection. Another day or two might put it past its prime. The blade sliced through quietly and precisely, and behold! A 1/4" halo of pale green fading into depths of Winter white. My Honeydew was gasping its last, pleading groan, "Honey don't!" However, it was too late. I had "forced the moment to its crisis," and there was no turning back.

I sliced the melon, skinned it, and cut it into bite-sized chunks, enough to fill a one gallon bag. I tasted a few pieces along the way, wanting to be absolutely sure it was somewhat edible. It had a hint of sweetness, a foreshadowing of the honey-like sweetness and dew-kissed coolness it would have had. It is hard, a crunchy melon. I learned the hard way that there's more to ripeness than a stem that compresses. However, I learned another thing I could not have possibly learned had I been an expert melon picker: Unripe Honeydews are paradoxes. Pieces taken from the greenest sections were the hardest and most tasteless. Only the death-white heart was soft and delicious. The inside of the cup was clean, but the outside was deceptive. Beauty is only skin-deep. Life flows outward from the heart, and death gives birth to a life abundant.

Alien Sightings and Shed Diving

I'm experimenting in bite-sized posts, instead of mammoth ones. As Dr. Stokes said today in reference to a huge assignment, "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time!" So here's the next bite.

Aliens have invaded Moscow. One day, Ashley and I saw one on the way home from school. Some man was walking through the residential area in a neon green spandex suit, and it was tight. VERY tight, and well on the thin side. We only saw the back, so I can only assume he was an alien, with big, black, glittering eyes on the face. I must say, however, I'm rather glad the back was all I saw. Earlier in the week, Mr. Frazier made some joke about sending a message to the aliens, telling them it was a prime time for invasion. I guess they came.

Yesterday, Mr. Frazier stayed home from work because he and Mrs. Frazier were cleaning out the shed. During the afternoon, I heard Mrs. Frazier come upstairs and knock on Ashley's door, and heard something about the 'stuff in the shed.' I figured they needed moving help, but was surprised when I wasn't called also. I couldn't imagine why they'd ask her to work but leave me to twiddle my thumbs. I heard the back door open, then Ashley's voice rang out with a teasing tone, "So you locked yourself out of the shed?" I knew it would be too good to miss. I went to the window, and watched as they tried to figure out how to help Ashley climb into a window two feet wide and one foot high, six feet off the ground with thick bushes up to the sill. I realized that that was why they didn't bother getting me; it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. After a few minutes of debating, Ashley dove through head first, got past her waist while Mr. Frazier held her ankles, then she turned over, grabbed the top of the window, and stepped in. It was very well done, and after she was through I realized I should have had my camera. Oh well! It might become as timeless as dumpster diving.