Spring in Missouri =)

"in Just" by e e cummings seems to have a lot in common with sprintime in Missouri! This year seems especially "mudluscious" and "puddle-wonderful"!

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little lame baloonman


whistles far and wee


and eddyandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring


when the world is puddle-wonderful


the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing


from hop-scotch and jump-rope and


it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed


baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

What I hate about night time

I 've become semi-nocturnal, I think. By the time night has fallen, my brain has woken up completely; and in the stillness night brings I can think and ponder. I love the quietness that comes with night--no place to go, nothing that I have to do anymore . . . except get ready for the next day. But even the getting ready seems a little easier now that night has come and everyone is asleep and I have fewer things to distract me.

Unfortunately, my mind and body have become too used to doing things at night. Going to bed at 9 or even 10 seems too early, so I stay up doing just a little more. 11 is the neutral time of night when my mind and body have agreed that it would be fine to go to sleep . . . if I wasn't already wrapped up in what I am currently doing (since I went ahead and started something at 9 or 10). By the time I have finally wrapped up everything and gotten ready for bed, it's approaching 12.

To throw a moneky wrench into the way things work, I am starting to get sleepy around 8 or 9 (which, of course, my mind and body have agreed is too early for bed). However, by 10 or 11, I am awake again and ready to think about things or get things done, and by the time I wind down or get sleepy again, it's . . . you guessed it: 12 (or 1 or 2!).

Counting sheep doesn't work.

Reading wakes me up (unless it's in the day time).

Writing wakes me up, too.

In fact, I can't think of anything that makes me sleepy at the "awake" time of night. Unless I have somewhere that I have to go to get home at that time of night. Then I fall into an awake kind of sleep--awake but unaware and semi-incoherent. I'm a mess right now =)

So, though I do love night time (it's a great time for a lot of things!), right now it's a battle for me. A strange sort of negotiation with myself.

;}

Nocturne

It's late . . . but that's nothing new. I get home from work late: late at night, later than I planned, etc. I come in the door knowing that Grandma is already sleeping and chuckling to myself over her last suggestion before I left for work (an "unexpected shift"; yes, the quotation marks belong around both words)--she told me that I should just change into my pj's so that I could just fall into bed when I got back home. Was she ever right! About how late I'd get home, that is. I'm still glad that I chose not to wear the pj's to work tonight.

She says she doesn't hear anything much after her door is shut. And I do know how this house muffles things, but I wonder how much she really can hear. Am I waking her up by opening the pantry door (the closest door to her bedroom)? It clicks so loudly in the stillness of the house as it opens and shuts. I'm craving something starchy. Chips and salsa fit the bill. I stealthily open the pantry door. Click of the handle. I grab the bag of chips. Crinkle. Crinkle. I shut the door. CLICK. At least the refrigerator door is quieter as I get out the salsa, but there's still the small thud+suction sound the door makes (would that sound be called "thuction"?). A cuboard opening for the bowl to put my snack in. thung! Clickch! Another cupboard opening for a pitcher to put some milk into. thung! Clickch! Refrigerator door again. thuction? Jar lids being opened, sounds of pouring--ahhh! much quieter. Now to open the bag of chips. There is nothing stealthy about a bag of chips. There is not chip bag material known to man that allows for stealth. I'm convinced there was one once: I think that it was banished after complaints from parents who couldn't tell that their kids were sneaking unlawful snacks before dinner. They lobbied for chip bags to be made out of crinchy material rather than quiet and supple material. Now as for the reason that said chip bags cannot keep chips from getting stale as well as Ziploc bags can? That's another story. But these chips are stale. I knew they would be. But they're starchy. And Great-Uncle Carl's salsa can cover staleness quite handily! Besides . . . stale chips are quieter =) But the chips bag was not: crinch. crinch-crinch. crinkle-crinkle-crinkle. Cronch. strunch. Scronch-Scronch-Scronch. crinch-crinch-crinch. crinch. I poured out the rest into Ziploc for the sake of getting rid of the bag. So now I'm keeping stale chips fresh? Yeah, something like that.

What is it about night that makes all sounds clearer? As though the sounds are distilled and separated and displayed one-by-one in a shop window? I've always found that aspect of night fascinating. And amusing tonight. Especially when I re-open the door to put away the rest of the chips.

Did I say rest? I think it's time to get some rest myself =)

Funny

1. When I searched for a poem today that I had published in an earlier blog but couldn't go to at the moment on my own blog, one of the first sites that came up with the poem was my own blog!!! So wierd =) and cool.

2. I had my taxes done professionally this year. I had a coupon but thought that it was only for easy tax situations (mine is not "easy"--two states to file in, plus filing for my own business does not qualify as "easy"). So I hoped that it would at least get me a percentage off of my charges. It did--the whole coupon applied for me! I paid just what the coupon said!!! and only that =)

3. The weather decided it wanted to be nice today. I drove part of the way home with my window down listening to the frogs croaking along the River.

4. Grandma locked me out of the house. She thought I was home when she got home from church because my car was in the drive, so she locked the deadbolt when she got in. Then she saw my note telling her that I was at a house down the street. But she forgot to unlock the deadbolt. I couldn't figure out what was wrong when my key in the door failed to turn the handle. She had to come rescue me. =)

Tired

It hits you in between the eyes in the middle of the day. Or it suddenly throws your mouth wide open before you can stop the urge to show the people around you a glimpse of the Grand Canyon for free. It makes you do dumb things like leaving the ends off of your words or forgetting what you came into the room to do in the first place.

It's called "being tired."

And it usually hits you when you can't stop. If your bed were handy, you could fall right into it and go to sleep, but it's not and you can't.

Silly thing is that it makes going to bed at night harder. Here I sit, knowing I ought to be in bed. But my body is moving slowly, and my brain keeps losing its train of thought. Bother! And then I start checking e-mails and catching up with friends and forget that I was supposed to be checking my bank account online! Bother!

I couldn't help but laugh when, as I re-read a C. S. Lewis book recently (The Silver Chair), I saw myself in one of the main characters:

"It is a very funny thing that the sleepier you are, the longer you take about getting to bed; especially if you are lucky enough to have a fire in your room. Jill felt she couldn't even start undressing unless she sat down in front of the fire for a bit first. And once she had sat down, she didn't want to get up again. She had already said to herself about five times, 'I must go to bed,' when she was startled by a tap on the window."

So, here I sit in a cold basement, finding things to do before going to bed. I'd REALLY be in trouble if I were "lucky enough to have a fire" in my room! Actually, with all the papers lying around waiting to be dealt with, I wouldn't dare light it!

I think it's time to go to bed =)

I found this poem the other day when I was going through literature class with one of my students. I makes me smile . . . a lot. Especially since we used to have a cat =) By the way, what's the dictionary abbreviation for the title of this poem? ;-)

"Catalogue"

by Rosalie Moore

Cats sleep fat and walk thin.
Cats, when they sleep, slump;
When they wake, pull in-
And where the plump's been
There's skin.

Cats walk thin.
Cats wait in a lump,
Jump in a streak.
Cats, when they jump, are sleek
As a grape slipping its skin-
They have technique.
Oh, cats don't creak.
They sneak.

Cats sleep fat.
They spread comfort beneath them
Like a good mat,
As if they picked the place
And then sat.
You walk around one
As if he were City Hall
After that.

If male,
A cat is apt to sing upon a major scale:
This concert is for everybody, this
Is wholesale.
For a baton, he wields a tail.
(He is also found,
When happy, to resound
With an enclosed and private sound.)

A cat condenses.
He pulls in his tail to go under bridges,
And himself to go under fences.
Cats fit
In any box or kit;
And if a large pumpkin grew under one,
He could arch over it.

When everyone else is just ready to go out,
The cat is just ready to come in,
He's not where he's been.
Cats sleep fat and walk thin.

copied from http://www.bookcrossing.com/forum/6/2102786

Goose Wing River (or being geographically challenged)

One of my students is doing a project on the Cornelia Meigs book SWIFT RIVERS (I highly recommend it to those who have not read it. Yes, it is a children's book. No, it's not for children only--though having a healthy inner child might help you enjoy it more).

The author gives pretty specific information about the setting--including the President at the time and locations on the river that can still be found on maps of the Mississippi today. All but the Goose Wing River. We have been unable to find it on maps anywhere. I've even looked it up on several websites that have maps of the area. Nothing matches the other geographical clues.

Now, I realize (both of us know, actually) that we can still complete the project very beautifully without knowing the location of the river. But I am curious--intrigued. Meigs's books are so detailed and realistic that I can't help feeling that there MUST be a place out there called the Goose Wing River. It's almost a disappointment to think that perhaps she just made the place up as she did the characters. Perhaps it no longer exists. Perhaps it was swallowed up by metropolitan Minneapolis. Perhaps is it too small to be recognized as a nameable river anymore. Perhaps it dried up long ago. Perhaps I'll be keeping my ears open for any news of such a place for the rest of my life. =)

Here's to the little intriguing details that inexplicably pique our interests! May yours bring you as much fun as ours has!

craziness

so.
One of my bosses resigned.
I'm sad she's gone, but I totally understand why she left.
I understand even better than I did before she left: I'm "filling in" for her.
Until they get someone else.
Soon?
There's so much to do!
And I'm enjoying all I'm learning, but I'm not enjoying all the time I don't have to do other things . . . like living and working and getting things done . . . and sleeping.
Ok, scratch that last one: I don't really sleep anyway. =) (just kidding)
so.
that's my life at the moment.
pretty simple.

Cramped

At least I'm not typing blind this time around =)

My cousin worked on my grandma's computer at Thanksgiving, and from Thanksgiving to Christmas, I enjoyed the freedom of actually being able to use the internet and being able to access my sites that I typically access. It felt a little like being able to stretch after being cramped for a while. Well, a couple days ago, the computer, in the middle of something I was doing, decided it wanted to hibernate or revert to its original state of things. So it did. It's back to its former cramped position. A few things are different from last time. I'll have to learn the new rules.

At least I'm not typing blind this time around.

12 Christmas "Cookies"--a half-baked idea

Every year at Christmas when I was a kid, Mom and Dad or Grandpa and Grandma would get my family an advent calendar. Starting on the first of December, we would open one box or door each day, revealing either a piece of the Christmas story or a piece of candy. Since moving out of the house, I no longer take part with them in this Christmas tradition, but the wonder of it still fascinates me.

This year, I wanted to send everyone an advent calendar of sorts. Of course, December 1st is long gone. And I don't have any candy to send--at least, not very easily and not to everyone. So I came up with this half-baked idea: twelve sets of thoughts about Christmas that have occur to me this year. I will post them on Facebook and also on my blog Joyous Thirst. I would love to read your comments on them in either spot (or via e-mail!).

These notes truly will be "half-baked," merely the beginnings of thoughts about Christmas, but things that have blessed me and will hopefully bless you. Mix them with your own thoughts about Christmas, and giving them a decent baking. And may they be as refreshing and fun as Christmas candy or Christmas cookies . . . minus the fat content.

Merry Christmas everyone. May you be more aware of God's love for you this Christmas than you were last Christmas. I love you all!

Live long and prosper!
~Joy =)

Don't Forget the . . . ice scraper?

What a night! Last night was a late night at work for me--partly my fault, though. I needed to finish preparing the lessons for Sylvan's Friday students, so that meant staying late after all the other students and teachers went home. Only this time, my boss Michelle stayed, too, because she had some work to do . . . and for one other reason: she wanted to see her nephew on TV. He was on the new show Don't Forget the Lyrics, and she knew that if she left for home, she'd not get there in time to see him. So she turned on the TV in the conference room and did her work on the computer in there, promising to call me when he came on. He was the last contestant of the night. And by the time he was on, my work was nearly done. He did pretty well, too--working the crowd even if he didn't quite know all the lyrics. Michelle and I were working and laughing and cheering him on and exclaiming on the amazingness of the fact that he was on the show. We were so loud! There was still 15 minutes left of the show by the time my work was done, so I clocked out and stayed for the finale, finding some little things to do around the office. On commercials, Michelle was calling her family to share the moment with them. I enjoy my work at Sylvan, but things are rarely this exciting. He walked away with $50,000! Someone that someone I know knows walked away with $50,000! Wow!

But that was only the beginning of the night. After the show, I grabbed my stuff to go, and I saw that a lady whose son I tutor (not associated with Sylvan) had called me during work to leave me a message about getting me a check for the week's tutoring work. Expecting to meet her somewhere near her house, I called her back . . . to find out that she had been waiting in a nearby parking lot for me to get off of work. She had been waiting there for about 40 minutes! I hadn't seen the car because she hadn't attempted to drive up the icy parking lot (it had been sleeting since the late afternoon and our lot wasn't cleared at all). She and I agreed to meet at the gas station down the hill.

I went out to see about starting my car and getting it warmed up so I could go. I also wanted to check on Michelle, who had started her car to get it warming up, to find out how much longer she was going to be staying there. I found her rummaging around for her ice scraper which had mysteriously disappeared (probably borrowed and not returned earlier in the year). Fortunately, I had mine in my car. I sent her back inside to finish up and close up while I attacked her car with the scraper. "Attacked" is the only word that fits that moment's activity: the ice was pretty thick and hard. And I began to fear I would put a hole through her back window (her car is a convertible)! But at last her car was mostly done. And by then the ice on mine was a bit softer.

All the while I was scraping the ice off of my car--it was going far too slowly!--I kept thinking of the parent waiting for me and wondering where I was down at the gas station. I decided not to try to tackle the seemingly impenatrable ice sheet covering the passenger-side windows. I figured I'd be able to see through them well enough to last me the drive down the hill, and I climbed in my car to leave. Sure enough, backing up was ok. But pulling out was a different matter: I couldn't see out the window! Not even lights! How would I know if someone were coming? "I wonder what would happen if I rolled the window down," I thought with a mixture of curiosity, desperation, and laughter at my predicament. I figured I'd give it a try. The window rolled slowly down. The ice sheet stayed in place. I began to laugh out loud. There was a small hole in the ice--small enough to let me see that the coast was clear, so I pulled out. All the way down the hill, with a windshield still gritty from snow (the wipers were still too frozen to use)and a pane of ice for one window, I prayed aloud, laughing and praying and hoping there was nothing valuable in my path because I probably wouldn't see it till afterwards!

I have never been so grateful for a stoplight in my life. By rolling down my driver-side window, I was able to see the line for the turn lane, and I slowly pulled into it as my light turned from yellow to red. I was glad to just sit there and enjoy the red light and the fact that I didn't have to go yet. It gave me time to ponder the turn I needed to make to get to the gas station--strategy was going to have to make up for my inability to see very well. It also gave me time to ponder the pane of ice in my window and to wonder if i could push it out onto the street. I grabbed the long handle of my ice scraper and used it to push against the ice sheet. The good news was that I could move the ice and could push it out of the window. The bad news was that half of it fell into my car rather than out of it. But my window was freed, the light turned green, and I made it to the gas station. Still laughing at my predicament.

After meeting with the lady who had so patiently waited for me for an hour, I attacked the rest of the ice on my car, determined to drive no further until I knew that I'd be able to see out of my windows--all of them, not just the driver's side window. And then I drove home "laughing all the way"--to borrow the lyrics to a familiar song!

Nights like that don't happen very often, that's for sure! They're definitely worth enjoying =)

a gift . . . or three . . . or more =)

I've received a gift tonight. It wasn't there when I last checked my online life to see if it was still alive and to see how alive it actually was. But it's there now. And it's one of those gifts with several little pieces that are to be opened one at a time. Things are working as they should be working tonight online: I can actually see what I am typing when I post a comment to someone's blogger account; I can enter a post directly into my own blogger account (this one has not been sent from my e-mail!); and I can even see who's on and open for chatting tonight--not that anyone is, but . . . it's still a novelty to be able to sign in to chat on this computer. And Blogger "autosaves" for me.

When Grandma said she'd have my cousin work on the computer when he came, I hoped that perhaps his tinkering would result in one change in particular in my online capabilities. And when I got back home to MO, I checked to see what difference his work had made. Nothing. But tonight! Wow! More than I really dared to imagine! I had gotten used to the little quirks, such as typing blind.

I don't know how long these gifts will last. Maybe they will be like someone's excellent fudge or pan of brownies and be gone in a day or two. But oh! how grateful I am for them tonight!

Prose and poetry

Funny. I've never thought myself a poet, but poetry-ish stuff seems easier to write these days than prose! It's as though life is coming to me in bite-sized pieces rather than whole. Or like it's so deep that only poetry will do to capture the many layers in its mountain. Strange. And it's even funnier that none of it's truly poetic. Still, it's kinda fun to write poetry of sorts. I'll just pretend I'm e. e. cummings and call it poetry anyway. And then no one will read it because it's too hard to decipher. And then I will REALLY feel like a poet should =)

Brain Dead

Last day at home. I hate last days at home. Coming home is so much fun, but then I have to leave again. After such a short amount of time. It seems to get harder and harder.
And then there's so much to do before leaving again! And I was going to accomplish so much. But before that I was going to blog--finally, after having waited so long to post, I was going to post again. And then I got to chatting, and then I got to working, and now I'm brain dead. And there's still shopping to do and packing and picking people up at the airport and . . . and . . . yeah. So here's the feeble attempt at posting. The "I'm still here but not all here" post. The one that promises more . . . someday.
Someday =)

"Post," she said.

So, I'm posting. But this isn't one of those uplifting posts, so don't
get your hopes up. This is one of those "annoyed with . . . " posts.

I'm annoyed with my body: it's getting sick . . . or worse!
I'm annoyed with all that I have to do and can't get done.
I'm annoyed with everything that keeps standing in the way of getting
it done (like getting sick).
I'm annoyed with feeling like I'd like to dissolve into tears.
I'm annoyed with not being able to dissolve into tears.
I'm annoyed with Facebook for no longer letting me do the few things I
could do on it while using my computer.
I'm annoyed with the fact that I'm annoyed.
I'm annoyed with my getting to bed much later than I planned on.
I'm annoyed with myself for writing dumb e-messages and actually sending them.
I'm annoyed with . . . . . . .

Life!

But as I'm writing about being annoyed, a little piece of me begins to
laugh at me for taking myself too seriously, and I begin to grin about
life and the predicaments I find myself in. And another part of me is
curious to see what in the world God is going to do through them. And
life somehow doesn't seem quite so dismal. And the grouchy part of me
is annoyed by this, too. =)

Celebrating

I celebrated a little today. I felt like going out for ice cream or
throwing a party (well, a small one, a very small one but a party
nonetheless). A student of mine finished a major project today! A
research paper, in fact, and one that has caused endless amounts of
frustration, plentiful moments of consternation, and a plethora of new
learning opportunities (for both of us!). Talk about exciting! I was
thrilled.

But now it's mine for the moment. And I'm the teacher. So this means I
have to grade it.

And now that it's finished, the work load fills in its vacant slot as
efficiently as a new Coke slides into place for the bottle I've
removed from the refrigerated compartment at a gas station--it's
automatic! Such a big project, yet seemingly no dent!

But I'm still thrilled. I'm still excited. I'm still proud of him for
digging in and getting it done. And there's still something to show
for all those hours of work--sweat and tears if not blood =)

Yay!

*the air fills with confetti and streamers* (who cares about the mess
that has to be cleaned up!)

random happy moment of the day

Yay! the telephone headset Grandma found for the land line works!!!
Mom could hear me just fine tonight when I called her =) I love being
able to talk on the phone without having to hold a telephone in my
hand. I think I'm getting spoiled.

potpourri of shtuff

"potpourri" is sometimes used of a mixture of little pieces of
unrelated information. I have usually been annoyed by this usage of
the word, yet here I am using it myself. I couldn't think of a better
word for this odd assorment of unrelated thoughts. [Now, if I can just
keep from connecting them all together . . .]

Today was a slow-starting day. And now it's a slow-ending day. There's
something about nighttime that makes me want to stay up and enjoy the
solitude of it. And there's something about morning that makes me feel
rushed and unready to face the world--sometimes, not always. And good
or bad, Mondays tend to feel that way a little more than other days of
the week.

I finished a book last night: Banner in the Sky by James Ramsey
Ullman. I haven't read it since I was a kid, and reading it thing time
through made me wonder (till closer to the end of the story) whether
my judgment had been misguided in liking the book when I was younger.
But my reading was rewarded at the end as the author brought it all
full circle--oh! so good! And I cried at one part, the part I cried at
when I was younger. About 3 chapters from the end I had a brain-wave:
I always think of responses to the story and thoughts that the story
brings up, but I never write them down--I forget them; so why not get
a notebook for jotting down thoughts as I read? I had tried that when
I was in high school and was overwhelmed by it, but now I can do it.
So I started it last night, and I ended up with 3 pages of thoughts (8
1/2 x 11-size pages, to be exact). It was fun!

I'm cell-less tonight. I was 10 minutes down the road from the house
where I spend the first half of my work-day and was stuck in traffic
when I realized my phone was still plugged into the wall at the place
I had just left. So much for calling my other job to let them know I'd
be a little late!

Living with Grandma is sometimes like having a slumber party: we get
to talking late sometimes. It's fun to have these times to spend with
her. We are alike in some ways and so very very different in others.
It's nice to know I take after her in some ways and fun to find the
ways I am more like other members of my family.

Oswald Chambers makes me laugh: he is so straightforward about
relationships with God! His philosophy is that if you can't trust God,
at least be honest about it! At least that was the idea that jumped
out at me from today's reading. Good advice, too, I think. I think
I'll try it. But even that thought makes me grin because I know what
will happen if I do.

Facebook has taken over my inbox. Most of the e-mails I receive are
now from Facebook alerting me of new things that have happened in that
magical realm while I was away doing other stuff in the real world.
Funny how stuff that happens on Facebook is real, too, though.
*scratches head*

I've fallen far behind again. A friend of mine is writing a book and
posting it online on a blog. For a week or so I was caught up. Then I
was ahead for another week or so because he hadn't written anymore.
Suddenly, he's writing again, and I haven't had time to read it! Now,
in just a few short days, I am once again behind. *sighs*

Ok. Hopefully that was disconnected enough to be potpourri without
being annoying =) I am falling asleep. I need to go to bed . . .
soon.

Bartering

Looking through the treasures of the day:
What to offer?
What will be of value?
The weather report's a staple--bread and butter, at least;
Complaints about health--
my health
her health
his health
their health
our health--
Rarely preferred
Always allowed
Sometimes latched onto: a bargain.
We'll take these to-go;
Too little to talk for hours.
An anecdote's ok
Sometimes worth a smile,
Less frequently a belly-laugh.
Dare I bring out a real
treasure lest my gold
prove me a fool
in our eyes?
Silent we stand evaluating
Exhausted in our bartering.

the joys of Facebook (or not of Facebook as the case may be)

I love the status bar on Facebook. It's my favorite feature. I enjoy
trying to think up ways to fit what's going on in my life into the
prompt "Joy is . . . " It's a challenge sometimes. More than that, I
love seeing what my friends are up to. How else would I know that
former teachers of mine are biking, attending concerts, and going to
the dentist? How else would I know that former classmates of mine are
driving across North America or visiting the Rockies?

But there's so much going on. Sometimes my status could change every
minute and still not be up to date! Here are the things that don't
show up on Facebook:

Joy is drenched from watching a high school football game in the rain.

Joy is laughing her head off at having to try drying off with napkins
instead of towels.

Joy is wishing her sister were here to share the adventure.

Joy is having no luck actually catching her friend at a time when her
friend can talk.

Joy is thanking God for Dr. Raske and his gentle, true words.

Joy is wondering whether God's listening at the moment.

Joy is getting a speeding ticket.

Joy is wondering how ends are going to meet.

Joy is amazed that the ends are defying reason and meeting anyway.

Joy is a basket case.

Joy is thanking God for Mari's way of putting things into words. and
thanking God for using those words show that He truly is
listening--and answering.

Joy is laughing at the grocery story ads: on one side of the page is
all the junk food; on the other side is the weight-loss section.

Joy is wondering why most of the text on the Blogger website is
showing up in Japanese (and yes, I recognize the difference between
Chinese and Japanese--usually).

Joy is listening to music from The Wilds.

Joy is writing in her journal.

Joy is restarting her computer for the nth time.

Joy is hearing some of her friends commenting already, "you should get
a Twitter account!" Right =) With all of this going on, do I really
have time for one? =)

In which I learn to read Chinese . . . or not

In posting from the computer I normally use, Blogger does not actually allow me to see what I am typing: I spend my time typing blind. While that occupation has its usefulness (such as stimulating my under-used brain cells to perform new feats of computation), actually SEEING what I am typing is definitely preferable. So here I sit at a computer that will allow me to see what I am typing.

This computer has other issues with Blogger: all of the Blogger text (such as the labels for the buttons to post, edit, manage settings, comment, publish . . . ) shows up in Chinese.

It's a good thing I know the general positions of the buttons I need to use.
It's a good thing Blogger also communicated through colors as well as through words.
It's a good thing I can type blind on most days.

No, I haven't really learned how to read Chinese.

End-of-the-day thoughts

I'm irked. Why? Well, that's a good question. Maybe because my
computer froze up on me. Maybe because I have to get up and go to work
tomorrow. Maybe because there are people I'd like to talk to but can't
get in touch with them. But basically it's because living up to my
name is very hard. My parents named me "Joy" and my Heavenly Father
named me after His Son. But I look inside and don't see the joyfulness
that ought to be there in my responses to things. Instead I see a
worrier and someone who focuses on the hard things until they become
blown out of proportion. I look inside and I don't see the
faithfulness of Christ: I see someone who wants to give up, someone
who is ready to say "I can't do it! Don't talk to me, don't touch me,
just leave me alone! I'm done trying" and stomp off to her room. And
I'm disappointed in myself. I'm disappointed because I am not living
up to the hopes I have for the person I want to be. I'm disappointed
because I'm not drawing my strength from the Source of all joy and
faithfulness. But sometimes it's easier to run away than to run to
that Source because what if I've let Him down and what if my soul is
too cracked to hold the water He gives me to quench my thirst? What if
I can't find Him? What if He doesn't have anything for me tonight?
What if He asks me to do something I don't want to or can't do?

As I write this, a little hopeful voice (absurdly hopeful at times)
begins to whisper to me that I know these "what-ifs" aren't really
true. And I dare to lift my thoughts to glance at Him to see if He
will accept me as I am tonight. I begin to look at Him to see if He
will let me rest against His shoulder and pour out my troubles to Him
(troubles that overwhelm me because they disappoint and sicken me).
And I begin to calm down inside and remember that He is everything I'm
not, and that He somehow isn't irked with me for not being all that He
is yet.

Actually, I remember with a lop-sided grin, today was a pretty good
day once I got it going. I didn't get everything done that probably
should have gotten done, but it was still a good day. A couple
students accomplished a whole lot of stuff--stuff I really didn't have
anything much to do with, but they got it done and did it well! They
accomplished more than they thought they could, and I was so very
excited about it! And I was able to pick up donuts today for our
school "store" which is working out pretty well so far. That was fun.
And they had football-shaped ones. That was fun, too.

So was the late afternoon/early evening when I went to a high school
football game that one of the students I tutor at Sylvan was supposed
to play in. I hadn't gotten very much info from him--nor very clear,
for that matter, I began to realize. I had thought I knew what school
it was that he played for and where it was, but a conversation with a
co-worker made me doubt even that! A friend helped me locate the
school on a map, and I headed there hoping I was going to the right
place. Finding it was fun--not even any u-turns this time (thought
those can be fun, too). And there was a football game going on. I
parked and grabbed my purse, suddenly realizing that I was doing
something I would normally consider slightly crazy--going to watch a
game I know little about at a place where I know none of the people.
Did I really have the nerve to walk up to the stands and find a place
to sit amongst all those strangers? And then I was doing it, revelling
in the novelty of it and suddenly bold (not brassy, just bold).
And--even better--in spite of my late arrival, I hadn't missed as much
as I had thought I would: the game was still in the 3rd quarter, and
my side was winning. They didn't win in the end, though they almost
did. But watching was fun anyway. I think I like football after
all--as long as I know someone who is playing or has an interest in
it.

The end of the game was marked by rainfall--starting with sparse drops
that began to accelerate. My umbrella had been left in the car, and I
wasn't about to go get it. "Besides," I thought, "how many chances
will I have to watch a football game in the rain on a warm day? This
is great!!!" I held my hand over my eyes to shield my glasses, but by
the end of the game (overtime, in fact) I was starting to be drenched.
As I headed back towards my car (parked in the farthest lot away!),
the rainfall became a deluge, soaking the top of my hair and dripping
into my eyes. I could feel my eyes stinging from the running mascara,
but I couldn't help laughing at the lovely craziness of the whole
experience. I tumbled into my car laughing my head off, thoroughly
exhilarated, and dripping wet. No towel? Dry off with napkins courtesy
of Wendy's. Laughing, laughing, laughing, and loving the fact that all
of this was happening.

Yeah, today was a good day.

It's nearly 12. That's early for me to go to bed, but I need to start
getting to bed earlier. Tonight is a good night to start. But I have a
few things to do first . . .

In which we learn why peapods are used in Asian dishes

I enjoy eating with chopsticks. Yes, it's partly because I can do it,
but it's mostly because eating with chopsticks has a different feel
than eating with cutlery does. Chopsticks cause me to think about my
food in a different way--you have to grab some pieces of food at just
the right angle to maintain your hold on them! I have learned to eat
many different things with chopsticks, but I usually wait to pull out
my chopsticks till I am having something that at least remotely
resembles Asian food.

A few days ago, I found a food which frustrates my chopstick skills:
peas. A few days ago, I was hankering to use chopsticks and to have an
Asian-style meal, but no Asian food was on the menu for the night. So
I did the next best thing: I put my meal in a bowl and got out a pair
of chopsticks to use. The meal itself was an odd concoction (I take
full responsibility for it): bite-sized pieces of chicken breast
cooked with peas and topped with a garden salad. Not typical chopstick
fare. But as I sized up the meal, I figured that I could manage with
chopsticks quite nicely.

The peas, however, had other ideas. While the lettuce and tomatoes and
chicken, yes, even the tiny pieces of shredded carrot, were easily
lifted by the chopsticks, the peas constantly eluded capture. Finally,
I had nothing but peas left in the bowl and was almost ready to admit
defeat. My determination, however, rose to the challenge--I was NOT
going to get a spoon just to eat a few peas! But unlike rice which, no
matter how much sauce is on it, has the common decency to clump
together just a little or ride lazily and gently on the level surface
of two slightly-parted chopsticks, the peas were a bunch of
independent and free-thinking rebels who refused to go with any crowd.
Sometimes they would consent to ride the chopsticks with one other
pea, but only one other, and provided that other pea had political
views that he could agree with! It was ridiculous! Finally, I admitted
defeat, and rather than sticking to the rigid manners of the Japanese
(who hold similar views as western culture on scraping food from the
plate or bowl directly into one's mouth!), I went the Chinese route
and lifted the bowl to my lips to finish the peas off once and for
all.

That experience taught me a lot about peas. I think their independence
and political prejudice must be the reason that I see whole pea-pods
cooked in Asian dishes rather than the individual peas being given
free-reign to roam among the ingredients. Peas cooperate much better
if they're not removed from the comfort zone of their little cliches
or committees! I will definitely think 3 times about trying to eat
peas with chopsticks again!

CA girl

It's official: I no longer carry a California driver's license. Soon
my car will no longer sport California plates. *sigh* But in my heart
I'm still a California girl. Mom seemed surprised at that, but CA is
part of my heart--the San Francisco Bay Area is still my hometown. And
I miss it sometimes. Like right now.

The Mac and I

Late-night thoughts from August 16

Sorry, Josh and Shannon. Sorry everyone else that loves Macintosh
computers. I respect your love of macs, but I hate Macintosh
computers! After spending the evening getting kicked off of the
internet every time I accessed Facebook; after typing away blithely at
one message or another only to find that the computer has short-term
memory loss and can't find where he put my work; after attempting to
comment on someone else's post only to notice that my cursor
is moving but no words are appearing on the page--yeah, verily, after
all of these things, I do
not think that my loathing of Macintosh computers is irrational nor do
I feel that it is hasty. Maybe it
can read my thoughts and is sensing my animosity towards it, but it
certainly can't read my commands!

Late-night thoughts from August 22

I do admit that "Mac" has been trying to behave better for me lately.
But I still find myself typing blind, especially on Blogger. And I
have learned how to navigate the PC world and like the PC world, so
even if it is just that my grandma's Mac needs counseling or some
other professional help, I have to admit that I'd rather not change
this particular paradigm of mine =)

I also have to say to those of you who love your macs and have them
house-trained and even get them to do tricks, I have to say that I
look up to you with awe and happiness that somewhere in this world
there are people who can get macs to do what they want them to do more
efficiently than I will ever get a computer to do what I want it to
do. I salute you--honestly and truly and with all my heart. And I am
VERY glad that you are my friends. Your friendship makes me feel a
little smarter. =)

This is why I hate Macs!

Losing to an Angel

August 20, 2007

First things first: I am moving. Not on the web, but I am physically
taking my things two doors down the street to move in with my
Grandmother. Why? for lots of reasons--for as many reasons as I had
for staying in my aunt and uncle's house. Yes, I prayed over the
decisions (agonized over the decision, in fact), asked advice on the
decision. And in the end, I decided to take this opportunity--no
turning back. But my cousins haven't actually gotten rid of me! No
way! I still have a key to the house =)

My grandmother loves to have company. Currently we have two set of
company for the night: we have a couple girls from a travelling
ministry team that gets neighborhood kids to play basketball and
listen to a gospel message, and we have the Espadas. The Espadas have
actually been here all weekend since they presented their ministry in
church on Sunday. They are a missionary couple from Puerto Rico.
Margaret actually harks from Kansas, and she has the fair complexion
to go with it. Angel, on the other hand, is Puerto Rican through and
through. They are a quiet couple, but we have had lots of fun.
Tonight, we decided to play a game. Grandma's favorite is Scrabble,
but because Angel is not as fluent in English as the rest of us, that
would have been an unfair game to play. So we borrowed Rummikub from
Debbie, our across-the-street neighbor and taught it to Grandma.
Apparently, the Espadas play it frequently at home.

We played 4 games. Angel won three of them--in spite of having trouble
at times telling what color the pieces were (the blue and the black
and the red all looked very alike!). Who would have thought that
losing to an angel could be so much fun?

=)

Sushi

I have finally decided something about sushi: I love it!

Mybirthday and my friend David's birthday were this week, so we gottogether with some friends (Chaiwat and Jenn, Stephen and Mamie, andStan) to go for a walk/hike at Lake Chabot and then go out for dinner.Jenn asked me what I was hungry for, and I gave my usual honest answer,"Anything is fine."

"That's what I figured you would say," she replied, knowing me pretty well.

Thenit hit me: I did have a preference. I wanted something I won't get inSt. Louis. I told her as much. Then it was up to David to decide whatthat something would be. I had ruled out Mexican, Italian, andAmerican. That left Asian food of some sort. Mamie was up for somethingexotic, but David was hungry for something solidly Asian. And that'show we ended up at Ray's Sushi.

(My first introduction to sushicame during my student teaching. On my last day, my 10th graders andtheir teacher--one of my supervising teachers--threw me a good-byeparty. The main food item was, of course, sushi. A California roll, tobe exact. The teacher made the rolls right there: laid out the sheet ofdried, paper-thin seaweed; spread the sticky rice over it; laid thestrips of cucumber, avocado, and smoked salmon on top of the rice;rolled up the whole thing like a rice-and-seaweed ice cream cone; andhanded it to me to try. Somehow I knew at my first mouthful that ataste for sushi would be an acquired one. It took me a long time towork my way through that sushi "cone," but I found by the end that itwasn't that bad. Subsequent opportunities to try sushi have left memore and more in favor of that food.)

I've acquired a taste forsushi--officially. That meal was AWESOME! Everybody ordered whatsounded good to him or her, and we shared. The sushi came in long rollscut into thin, big-bite-sized pieces. Stephen was kind to me and atethe strips of raw fish that were lying across the top of the kinds heand Mamie had ordered. I tried hamachi filling for the first time, atefried eel, and tempura-battered-fried yam, and tasted many other kinds.So good!

I haven't just acquired a taste for sushi. I love it! that is, as long as someone is there to help me order =D
7/26/07

*Drum Roll* Ta Da! Introducing: My Alter Ego!

OK, so actually it's not my alter-ego (I really haven't had one since I was like 3 years old and thought I was Superman--literally, Mom says. Wait, no, I take that back: I had an alter-ego when I was in upper elementary and middle school, but this one sorta faded away and is a memory, a good memory but a memory nonetheless. Anyway . . . *feels old middle-school alter-ego looking at her to remind her of the task at hand*). But it's my other blog.

See, I haven't really figured out how to post permanent links on blogger. Nor have I asked anyone when anyone had the time to show me. Also, I wanted to try both Blogger and Wordpress to see which I liked better. So . . . I post more thought-provoking things on my Wordpress blog (at least, they're intended to provoke thought--they certainly provoked mine before I wrote them!) and post more of my every-day--and especially light-hearted--experiences on this blog.

Probably someday I will combine them before I get a complex. Until then, you can check out the other blog, too, at http://joyousthirst.wordpress.com
Thanks for reading and commenting on my posts--my favorite part of blogging is seeing who has read what I've written and their knee-jerk (or perhaps not so knee-jerk) reactions to what I've posted. Thanks again!

[that's for you, Cindy =D thanks for reminding me to post again! and thanks even more for reading and telling me about it!]

Who talks more?

This article on chattering reveals scientific research on the talkativeness of men and women. It makes me smile--I guess talking is basically a human thing to do! I must confess, though, that I don't like to hear the innocent progression of stereotyping and teasing ("women are chatterboxes") treated as borderline harassment of women in a sexist society--feminism really gets my dander up! I do not believe that societies which take advantage of women or ignore them and treat them as worthless are in any way justified in treating women that way. However, feminism's insistence on female dominance rather than feminine value has left America in the power of many social diseases.

But, really, this article made me smile. And it was nice to hear that we women aren't the only ones who like to talk!

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost

It's 12:00pm. The morning services have just sung their last songs and people begin mingling from all of the services: the 2nd hour English service, the 2nd hour Cantonese service, probably the Mandarin service, and the Sunday school classes. I locate my parents and move towards them, stopping to chat with a former student from my first year of teaching who has spent the last couple years navigating the treacherous waters of college classes and lived to tell about it--she still has her quick laugh and wry sense of humor at herself. When she leaves I look around the auditorium, loving the feel of this particular celebration.

The number of Cantonese in this service is greater than normal. I don't know very many of them. The number of people I know, however, is pretty large. The son of someone I know is part of the celebration, too. The excitement is high. People are milling about and chatting as Jay sits at the piano, playing background music of hymns and choruses. Some people have cameras out, some carry bouquets of flowers for those who are part of today's baptismal service. On the stage in front of the closed curtain, three people stand with various types of cameras at the ready. They're the official photographers, I think. The pictures will make it onto a power point presentation at some point, I'm sure. Maybe they'll be posted on the web.

The curtain opens and Pastor Johnny Yue, the Cantonese senior pastor stands in the water ready and waiting. He reminds us of why we are here: we are here to watch as 6 seniors--one a recent high school graduate (laughter ripples through the crowd) and 5 senior citizens ages 76-83--obey Christ by being baptized.

It's not easy for the Chinese believers to do this, I realize. When most of your family members are Buddhist or worship their ancestors (or both), you think far longer and harder about baptism before you "take the plunge". While their families may allow their Christian testimony to go unchallenged at home as long as they still participate in family activities, while their parents may allow them to go to church, the public act of baptism can cause a great stir in the unbelieving family circles. Anything public is seen as a reflection of the family, and public baptism could be construed as public humiliation by many family members. Therefore, the Chinese believers will often wait for years before making such a public profession of their choice to follow Christ.

On the other hand, the senior citizens being baptized have probably been prayed for by their believing relatives for many many years. Their families are present, full of joy and wonder at the transforming power of Christ that extends even to those who are too old to be taught new tricks.

Each time the curtain opens, all talk stops as we watch, almost breathless with the wonder of the scene, another believer being baptized "in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." The elderly have a harder time figuring out what to do--Pastor Johnny has to tell them step by step what he is going to do and what he needs them to do. They're so cute! Their baptisms are not exactly smooth: they end up nearly sitting down first and then being lowered back into the water, they come up clinging to Pastor Johnny, and each waves at the crowd with a big cheery smile as the curtain closes. Everyone claps! Applause fills the room, sometimes cheers and cat-calls. And flash-bulbs go off all over the room.

I don't understand half of what is being said because Pastor Johnny is speaking primarily Cantonese. But I do understand that they are following Christ in something very serious and very exciting, something I did many years ago myself. And I cheer and clap and feel a sensation akin to what the angels in heaven must have felt when those souls first accepted the salvation which is in Christ Jesus. There's something comforting about those words: "in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, I baptize you now." We all belong to the same family, even though we have come from different parts of the world and speak different languages. We belong and we are loved. There's always room for more.

Whew!

The first week of summer school is over. It FLEW past! But each day was so full that it hardly seems possible we have only been in school for 3 days! To make things a little more mushed in my brain, my other years of summer school keep running into one another and I keep forgetting which year things happened.

It's good to see kids I have gotten to know over the years, especially these last 3 years--kids I have had come to the early morning care each year and smile and remember at least my face if not my name. They crave so much attention and are ready to have lots of fun! On day one we made and flew paper airplanes (well, some of the kids learned how to make a plane that does tricks from one of the TA's) and paper airplanes have made their appearance each morning since. On the second morning, I missed my alarm and barely made it to school on time to open the gate for the first parents, but make it I did. My morning assistant Peter was waiting for me. "I slept through my alarm!" I told him. His reply surprised me: "I did, too."

I am feeling more excited about summer school this year than I remember being last year. Mom says that it is because I am back in the classroom after a year of not being in front of a class. I wonder if it's the product of not being worn out from being in front of a classroom this year--not that this year has not been hard work, but that it has been a different kind of hard work. Maybe it's a better understanding of the curriculum and expectations. Maybe it's a feeling of being more organized. I don't know, but I'm enjoying it =)

No kids were singing in the bathroom on the first day this year. But my two classes of 2nd graders are polar opposites of each other: my first class is quiet, my second is quite chatty; my first class is content to sit and read or write or do other "school" things; my second class is more active (the art teacher commented on that class characteristic the first day, and I found her comment quite insightful and helpful); the first class listens to instructions (usually) and then tries to do them; the second class tries to listen and follow instructions at the exact same time . . . while talking to their neighbors about the instructions . . . while sharpening pencils that should already have been sharpened. But they're quite insightful and eager to learn and love stories--what more could a teacher ask for? A quiet class. Well, if I can figure out the best way to harness their energy, we'll be in business!

I have the best TA's (well, I have had others just as good, some more experienced, even, but these girls are great!)! Pray for them--they are with the kids all day while I only have the kids till lunch. I'm sure they sleep very well at night =)

So, as I get ready to sleep in tomorrow without worrying about the alarm, I feel quite pleased with the week overall and grateful for the chance to do this for another summer. I love it! And it's nice to see ways in which I am becoming a better teacher. What are they? that's my secret! (just kidding)

I should be a grandma

The other day I was testing a new 4th grader for enrollment at Sylvan:

In the middle of the process, he pipes in with "How many kids do you have?"
"None," I answer, ready to proceed with the test.
"Well, do you have any grandkids?"

I'm attempting to take it as a compliment. =)

Where popcorn comes from

Another kid story:

A couple nights ago at my teaching table, I had a 6th grader working on learning to write essays and a kindergartener(?) learning how to read. While Clarence, the 6th grader, was coming up with ideas for his paper about good friends, Darien, the little guy, was about to read a book about popcorn.

It's good to get kids thinking about what they are going to read before they read it so that they can connect their prior knowledge with the stuff they're about to learn, so I asked Darien what he knew about popcorn. Having already read the book in a previous lesson with a different teacher, Darien practically had the story memorized, so I turned his attention to popcorn itself by asking, "where does popcorn come from?"

Darien thought a minute then replied in all earnestness, "popcorn comes from cows, doesn't it?"

What a delight to be able to enlighten someone about something simple for a change! We used the word itself (a compound word, in case you didn't know it, dear reader . . . whoever you may or may not be) to deduce that popcorn came from corn. Clarence threw in his pre-school theory that it came from some fanciful place filled with all good things to eat (a theory he, of course, has not held for a very long time). And the mystery was solved.

A few minutes later, Clarence was still wondering how to put into words what a good friend is like, and Darien was helping him out with such insightful comments as "a friend is someone who doesn't say you're stupid" and Clarence was writing those comments down, too, along with his own.

All-in-all, we learned a lot that night. The next time I saw him, Darien still remembered where corn comes from, and Clarence remembered Darien as the kid who thought popcorn came from cows.

So, what have you learned today? =)

Meet Mr. Backpack

Oops!

I regretted saying it about 5 minutes after it was out of my mouth. By that time, Tammy had had plenty of time to do her best to make the backpack feel like a vital member of our working community.

At Sylvan, the kids are grouped at tables of three students to one teacher. Each student is working on his individual assignments, and the teacher monitors the progress of all three, making sure that the lessons are completed with the maximum success. Today, I had John working on 4th grade math, Abigail working on 1st grade math, and Tammy working on beginning reading. Tammy's a pretty friendly person, and it wasn't long before she was striking up a conversation with Abigail while I was trying to get John started on his work. I could tell that Abigail was going to have a very hard time concentrating on her work, so I instructed her to move one chair closer to John and to put her backpack in the seat she had been occupying so that her backpack wouldn't cause the chair to tip over (it had previously been on the back of the chair) and so that her backpack could "do his work while you do yours." Just a simple, silly sentence--we all knew it was silly!--but Mr. Backpack breathed his first breath in that moment and began disrupting my table as only a child with nothing better to do can disrupt things.

Tammy tried to get him to do some work. She handed him my stack of papers and a pencil (when my back was turned) a couple of times. I managed to put a stop to that by convincing her that Backpack couldn't earn tokens for her, so she should do her own work. I suspect her of trying to have conversations with him, too, when my attention was not with her at the moment. Finally, I threatened to move Backpack to a different table altogether and met with much more success (in fact, Abigail at one point nearly left her eraser in front of him, thought better of it, and moved it to her space on the table--I watched that whole exchange out of the corner of my eye).

One little comment--so simple, so silly, so fateful--changed the course of a table today. Ironically enough, today Tammy was learning about characters in stories: perhaps she already knows more than enough about them. =)

Life is just fun and games!

I love my job! I teach at a Sylvan Learning Center in the evenings this year, and I love it! Tonight, little Tammy came in all excited when she saw that she was going to be at my table. She's gotta be around 6 years old, and for her life is a party. We don't really do "Math"; we play lots of games instead (Math games, of course!):
"Ok, honey, are you ready to play a game with me?"
"Yeah!" wide-eyed and eager, she looks at me. "Can we play Tic-tac-toe-three-in-a-row?" (that's always the name of the game to her; no short cuts, if you please)
"Not right now, but after we play this game we can." I motion to the flashcards or to the counters we are going to use to learn how to add or subract.
And so it goes.

Tonight the game was "How do you say . . .?" She wanted to say everything in Spanish but did not really know any Spanish words (except "gracias" which she thought meant "hi"). So when we were doing flash cards of addition facts, she tried to make up words that she thought sounded Spanish enough for the number she was supposed to be saying. After she had finally said the answer in English, I would give her the correct Spanish word. The conversation went something like this:
me: "OK, Tammy, what's this?"
her: "8 plus 7 is blooshabawshme"
me: "No, sweetie, blooshabawshme isn't a word. If you'll say it in English, I'll tell it to you in Spanish.
her: "Ok. 15.
me: "Yes! That's right! Quince."
her: "Keen-say??" giggle giggle
me: "Here's your next one."
her: after looking at the card, "How do you say nine in English?"
me: "Do you mean in Spanish? Nueve."
her: "New-ev-ay?" giggle giggle
Meanwhile, Peter was working away at his assignment and wishing aloud that he was learning Spanish.

I love my job!

I wonder . . .

A friend e-mailed me an obituary notice for an old mutual acquaintance. He was buried today—12 hours ago. He was someone that many people trusted, someone who used them and abused them, someone who never admitted the terrible wrongs he did but rather moved away to a new place after he could no longer pull the wool over the eyes of those he was harming. Hearing that he was dead was a shock (not nearly as much of a shock as finding out all those years ago what kind of person he was, but a shock nonetheless).

I guess I had thought that he would go on living forever somewhere far away from me, continuing his lifestyle of hurting people while getting everything that he wanted from them. I bore him no hatred because of the grace God gave me to forgive him. Instead I pitied him for the life he chose willingly, a life devoid of truth and freedom. How could he truly have known the Son of God, I wondered, since the Son of God came to earth to free us from our sins and he was embracing and wallowing in his. God’s Word clearly says that those who are not living a life of repentance from sin do not know Jesus Christ. I wondered, too, what would happen to his soul when he died—was he truly one of God’s children or was he merely pretending?

The news media has had far too many tales to tell in this past decade of spiritual leaders who have been unmasked as evil men. But the true picture of Christianity cannot be manifested by hypocrites and frauds any more than the fresh and vital goodness of perfectly ripened fruit can be communicated by its rotten counterpart. Their brand of Christianity is not worth having, and I pity them.

Now he is dead, and there is no more wondering where he is or what he is doing or who else he is hurting. Now I just wonder about his wife: what kind of hurt is she feeling? Does she feel free of him? And I wonder about his children: are they denying the truth still? Or are they becoming truth-seekers?

night

I should be in bed, but I'm not. I'm blogging. Actually, I am getting caught up on some blogs that I haven't visited in a while. I guess it's about time I did. I missed a lot. But then again, it gives me something else to do rather than trying to decide the things that must be decided for tomorrow: what do I eat for lunch? what should I wear? And it gives me something else to do to stay up till late tonight. . . . as usual =) Strange: I wanted to go to bed when I got home.

Sunset and Sunrise

The contents of my e-mail in-box were so completely opposite today that they gave me pause to ponder: one e-mail was a newsletter from the college I graduated from announcing two deaths of people I had some contact with, the other an e-mail from my friend Amy announcing the birth of her son. So different! Amy sent pictures to look at: like most new parents with cameras, they have MANY of him, but having so many was nice since who knows when I will get to see him! So cute! Northland sent no pictures, but I have a few (a very few) in my head from my college days and from being in class with the man whose wife just died and from working for the lady whose father-in-law just died. I think I need to send some cards: both congratulations and condolences. Isn't life strange?

In which Cupid has his day . . . or "Ladies first"

This is just to thank a few people--not that they'll read this, but I am grateful to them anyway!

1. My pastor: he played "Cupid" so to speak this Valentine's Day Sunday at church. The girls had gifts for the guys to show our appreciation to our guys, and the guys had flowers for the girls, and Pastor knew about both of them. He told us to be ready at announcements time and allowed Es to announce from the platform that we were grateful to the guys for who they are and what they do for us and their attitude of service to God. Then, he let the guys have their time to give us the flowers they had ready for us. I think he must have had a great time being the one who knew what girls and guys had planned for each other =)

2. The girls: they worked together preparing the candy leis and the shirts for the guys this year. Es headed up the project and ended up shouldering even more of it than she had originally planned on because I was out in CA to be with my family after Dad's hospital stay with a blood clot in his lung.

3. The guys at church: they thought of the girls of the church and honored us with flowers this Valentine's Day. They even strung ribbon through the itty-bitty holes in the tags they printed for the flowers! That took time and effort! I can't speak for anyone but myself, but I hope that they realize how special they made me feel by remembering us on Valentine's Day Sunday and by the ways that they take notice of us and go out of their way to make our lives a little easier and safer on a weekly and daily basis.

Brake Job

I did it! I changed the front brake pads on our minivan on Monday! I have to admit I was wondering if I really could do it: Dad's done it before, and he was going to walk me through it, but I wondered anyways. Dad asked Uncle Gene on Saturday if he thought I could do it. Uncle Gene's thought: "Does she like getting her hands dirty?" Um . . . not usually. But if I have to, I'll get them good and dirty and take pride in it.

I got them good and dirty--brake dust gets everywhere!--and was quite proud of it! I also wrenched my back a little. But I did most of the work myself and the van no longer squeaks as we drive it. And I have a basic understanding of how the brakes work now with new words added to my working vocabulary--words like "brake pads" and "brake shoes" and "calipers" (though I still don't totally know what those are) and "lug wrench" (I think I knew that one before but forgot it). And I found that spinning a lug wrench is great fun and ever so much easier than taking off or putting on all the bolts by hand.

Funny how doing something so unusual and monumental makes life seem do-able. I had been wondering how I was going to accomplish anything of value this week and feeling very sleepy. After changing the brakes, anything seemed possible and I was ready to tackle the rest of the week. I'd do it again today if Dad was ready to be my partner in crime again =) But hopefully we won't need to change them again for 1-2 years.

Snow days

When I lived in South Dakota as a kid growing up, snow days were eagerly hoped for and welcomed with open arms. I'll never forget the day my prediction of a snow day came true in spite of Dad's belief that we would have school the next day. Living in California close to the coast eliminated the possibility of snow days from my high school years, and living on the Northland Baptist Bible College campus meant that we could make it to class in almost any weather.

In moving to Missouri, I hoped for snow days again. Yes, even though it meant being a little behind in my class schedule for the year, I was willing to pay the price. Isn't it ironic that the first REAL snow days I have seen since my move 2 and a half years ago have come in the year I am not teaching in a regular school classroom?

---

Squirrel-Happy

Squirrels make me happy. I find it fun to stop every now and then to watch them for a moment. For a creature that eats inanimate objects, they sure capture those morsels in the most animated ways. A squirrel seems to sneak up on his food as though he’s afraid the nut is going to run away if it sees him coming.

To a squirrel, if a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing dramatically. Squirrels don’t go from place to place, they don’t run from place to place, they don’t even dart from place to place. Even darting implies taking the shortest distance between two points and doing so with purpose and efficiency and, perhaps, secrecy. Those things aren’t for the squirrel, no siree! The squirrel leaps and bounces from place to place as flamboyantly as possible. He often spirals his way up a tree instead of taking the direct route and skitters across the road only centimeters from deadly tire tread. He’s just asking to be noticed!

Why all the needless energy and effort? Maybe to make us smile and remember that we don’t have to take life totally seriously: it’s ok to enjoy what we do and how we do it. Maybe to make God smile at His creation even when we are all too busy to notice it!

I smell like a guy!

Paul (my 17-yr-old cousin) and I decided that we need to get up early and go jogging in the mornings; so this morning was our first! Wow! it was hard to get my eyes to open so early (pretty sad considering that I used to arrive at school last year at the time I got up this morning!). But it felt good to be up and awake once I finally was!
We wear our Coast Guard PT shirts when we go running sometimes, and the other night Paul accidentally put on my medium shirt after his shower rather than his large one. He made the trade when he realized the mistake, but the damage had already been done: my shirt was clean but it smelled like Paul's Axe brand deodorant. So this morning I smell like a guy. I think I'll go take a shower =)

I support Coast Guard Search and Rescue

OK, OK, I know that I haven't updated in a LOOOOOOONG while, during which time lots of things happened. But rather than catching up all at once and perhaps never catching up, I'd better post something small and at least post something!

My brother is officially a Coastie now. He graduated from Coast Guard boot camp on Friday, August 11, 2006, and this very proud sister was there to watch. . . . but only barely! The trip was supposed to take us 3 hours, so we left 3 and one-half hours early. For some reason, every time we drove in PA or NJ, it seemed to take us longer than supposed to (no, we weren't driving too slowly, either!). That particular morning, we had directions from AAA in our hands that first of all told us the wrong name for a street we were supposed to turn on, leading us back and forth past the street we were supposed to be turning on. Then, we hit the change from one highway to another and were in the left lane to merge onto the eastbound hwy when the very next sign we drove under (right before the merge!) told us we were in the westboundlane! Too late to switch! We began heading west, looking for a place to pull off and turn around and noticing that the other side of the hwy was HIGHLY congested. Then were saw a sign at the side of the road telling us were actually eastbound. huh? we pulled off at the first exit to check it out and gas up the car--sure enough we HAD been going the correct way--praise the Lord!!! The final glitch occurred when Garden State Parkway dead-ended into 109S and our directions told us to take 109N which meant turning right. But Mom and Dad had said that we were supposed to stay straight. So we made a u-turn to go back to 109S. Looking at the directions, we found that they included a u-turn, too. Bother! Still we made it to the graduation ceremony in time and cheered as loudly as we could for Thomas. Then I bought a bumper sticker that said "US Coast Guard: Support Search and Rescue--Get lost!" I figured it applied. =)

There's a Hole in My Brain

to be sung to the tune of "There's a Hole in My Bucket"

There's a hole in my brain, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
There's a hole in my brain, Dear Joysy,
A hole.

Then fix it, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
Then fix it, Dear Ruthie,
Fix it.

There's no brain in my head, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
There's no brain in my head, Dear Joysy,
No brain.

Then buy one, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
Then buy one, Dear Ruthie,
Buy one.

I don't know where to buy one, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
I don't know where to buy one, Dear Joysy,
Don't know.

There's a sale on at Costco, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
There's a sale on at Costco, Dear Ruthie,
A sale.

But I don't have any money, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
But I don't have any money, Dear Joysy,
I'm broke.

But you're working three jobs, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
But you're working three jobs, Dear Ruthie,
Three jobs.

But I'm only working one job, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
But I'm only working one job, Dear Joysy,
One job.

Then use your money to buy one, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
Then use your money to buy one, Dear Ruthie,
Buy one.

But I don't know what one looks like, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
But I don't know what one looks like, Dear Joysy,
Don't know.

Use your Biology book, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
Use your Biology book, Dear Ruthie,
Your book.

But it doesn't have a picture, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
But it doesn't have a picture, Dear Joysy,
No pics.

Then Google it, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
Then Google it, Dear Ruthie,
Google it.

But I'm scared of Google images, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
But I'm scared of Google images, Dear Joysy,
I'm scared.

Here's a picture, then, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
Here's a picture, then, Dear Ruthie,
Picture.

But you need it more, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
'Cause there's a hole in your brain, Dear Joysy,
A hole.

At least I have one, Dear Ruthie, Dear Ruthie.
At least I have one, Dear Ruthie,
Have one.

But I can buy one at Cosco, Dear Joysy, Dear Joysy.
But I can buy one at Costco, Dear Joysy,
Buy one.

Noticeboard

If You Notice

If you noticed this notice,
You will notice
That this notice
Is not worth noticing.



Fountas, Irene C. and Gay Su Pinnell. Sing a Song of Poetry. Portsmouth, NH: FirstHand, 2004.

New Twists in the fabric of things

Life is officially mixed up--my sister is now old enough to wear (and look good in, I might add) my clothes. At first I thought it was cool. Then I pondered getting annoyed. Then I realized that it was a MAJOR compliment that my clothes are cool enough for her to wear.

My aunt is back in the States from Nigeria and realized that, staying Stateside, she's going to need a new wardrobe. She and my mom have been shopping for three days. They found many good deals. We looked at many new outfits and nodded or shook our heads or oohed and aahed as appropriate. We had a fashion show tonight while my sister was away at the LC GB (LC=Living Candles, the name of her youth group; GB=graduation banquet for those who just graduated from high school--everyone comes to see the seniors off to college, or, as my sis says, to celebrate their leaving).

Listening to my sister tell about GB, I am reminded of reasons I am glad I'm no longer a high-schooler. Reasons that make me smile. Reasons I'll keep to myself.

First Day of School--Summer School, that is

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Well, Summer School started today with a splash--no, with a series of disturbing beeps.
Actually, my day began with the buzzing of my cell phone's alarm clock at an hour that was WAY too early. But I got up. You know, it really is pleasant to be awake early in the morning (around sunrise) . . . once one gets over the initial "un-awake" feeling. But at this time of year, morning is beautiful--fresh, clean, unpopulated.

I'm responsible for my campus's before-school-care program. So I'm supposed to open up at 7am to take in the kids that arrive early. Well, I was running a little late (amazing how no matter how early I start, I still end up running a little late!), and showed up to open the gates at exactly 7am. Already there was one kid waiting at the door for me, another approaching with grandparents in tow. No, scratch that last one. Amendment: his grandparents were approaching with him in tow. They are very nice people, peppy and excited about their grandkids and everything associated with them, especially since the oldest is just out of kindergarten and ready to start first grade in summer school this year. I suspect that they are still new grandparents.

So now I have an audience for the opening of the doors. Bother! Oh, well. I get out my nifty set of keys (I LOVE having keys to the buildings I work in!) and wave my card in front of the alarm box. If I remember right, it's supposed to beep and then click the door open for 5 seconds so I can get inside without opening the main doors (someone opens them an hour later when more people are coming). So the box beeps but there's no click and the door remains locked. Bother! I try again. And again. Still nothing, so I turn to my audience and announce that my keys do not work (to which the grandpa replies that he has surmised as much). I attempt to call one of my bosses. I get his voice mail and decide not to leave a message. Then I bethink me of my other keys--perhaps one of them will open the door and I can at least get into the building. [I have visions of myself standing outside the building all morning until someone else arrives with a key; I can see myself telling the parents "oh, we will be having before-school care outside today!"; I can see the parents not being very thrilled and not seeing the humor of the situation; and I laugh inside at the humor of it anyway.]

The key works to get us into the building where the alarm is beeping, calmly letting us know that the building knows we are there without any right to be there and that the situation is being dealt with. I seat the kids on the steps, rummage in my bag for the paper that tells me how to call the alarm company, and run into the office to call the company. The lady at the company walks me through turning off the alarm, and the day proceeds as normal--as "normally" as the first day of summer school ever proceeds!

Actually, my two 2nd grade classes really went well. There came a couple moments when the kids were sitting spellbound at my description of what would happen to them if they misbehaved when I realized that if I thought about the total theatricality of the moment I would laugh. So I stopped thinking about their faces looking at me in awe and fear and proceeded to remind them that they did want to follow the rules because life would be so much more wonderful if they did. Teaching really is a performance much of the time!

And then there are the moments when you know you can't laugh until later when you can talk about the incidents in the teachers' lounge--today I had a kid singing in the bathroom. I'd never had that situation to deal with before! He is the kind of kid that thinks class clown is a job description he can apply for. So when his chance came to use his nifty new restroom pass, he decided to make it a memorable trip. He started to hum as he approached the bathroom door (our classroom has a bathroom at the back of it) and then he began to sing when the door was closed. Of course the other kids thought he was funny, and all 24 of them began to giggle. I waited to see if he'd stop, wondering "ok, how do I handle THIS one?" He didn't stop. Finally I banged on the door. When he called oh! so sweetly "Who is it?" I firmly told him, in my deepest, sternest voice (as reminiscent of my father's as I could make it), to stop. "Ok," he meekly replied and stopped. I explained to the class that he would not be laughing about it later when he got in trouble for it; I also talked to him after class about his misbehaviors (of which the bathroom incident was only one). Yes, I did my own laughing about the incident when I recounted it to the teachers I ate lunch with.

It truly has been a memorable first day. Funny how the things that make it memorable are not the fact that I have a huge class and the fact that my first-day-of-school class time went better than ever; the things that make a day memorable are the out-of-the-ordinary things. Theatrical moments.

Tomorrow my key should work. We tested it before I left school today. Maybe tomorrow won't be very memorable.

A drink a Starburst would be proud of

Tonight Mom, Ruth, and I went to our chiropractor and, as usual, made a "ladies night out" of it. I know, "chiropractor" doesn’t sound all that exciting, but we really enjoy it because we all go into the same room and we laugh a lot when we update him on our lives and hear how his is going. Then we all three usually get a massage before we leave--oh, so nice! Anyway, on our way home we stopped at Jamba Juice where I got the best smoothie ever! It really tastes like a Starburst. Or maybe a cross between a Starburst and a sour Skittles mouthful. So sweet and sour at the same time! I think it's my new favorite Jamba Juice drink.

Spider Killer

There's a fairy tale about the tailor who killed 7 flies with one blow and was so proud of himself that he stitched "7 with one blow" on his belt and went out into the world to try his fortune; as fairy tales usually go, everyone read his belt, mistook the 7 for seven men, and were duly afraid of him. Well, folks, be afraid, be very afraid. My count today has mounted into the double digits, I am sure. (kindly ignore the fact that I do not have a very good head for remembering numbers). No, I was not killing flies, nor was I out felling people, but today I became the spider's nemesis. Tomorrow is Tommy's grad and going-away party, so Mom set me to cleaning the house. Proverbs says that spiders are in kings' houses and that we are to learn something from this (probably a lesson of diligence or perseverance or espionage); I don't know about kings' houses, but I do know that they are in our house! We have these tiny spiders that don't build big webs and instead lurk in corners of shelves and windows and eat bugs tinier than themselves. I declared war on them. And I won the skirmish today. Everything I picked up to dust seemed to have one on it; every time I . . . Why in the world am I describing this???

When we first moved to California, my very first task was to clean out the spider-infested shed at the back of our rental house. "Welcome to California, the land where spiders never die by natural means!" My response? Die, spiders! Die!

I used to watch Spiderman as a kid: I loved that show. But perhaps he shouldn't come to live and work in my town: I'm really not too keen on webs anymore.

On a totally different tack--tonight my big little brother graduated from high school! The ceremony was lots of fun (long, yes, but fun). Hearing the aspirations of the seniors was exciting and interesting. A girls' quintet sang one of my favorite songs: "Shine on Me"--their harmony gave me chills. It was so beautiful! Oh, and I noticed two pink ties in the bunch: Thomas wore one, a nice respectable shade of light pink; and one other guy wore a pink tie--a hot pink one over a black shirt. So much for fashion reporting.

Alternate fuels

This week I had grades due again (sorta--I just had to know who would get honor roll or not). This meant, of course, that I would have to stay up late to get some grading done. The problem--we had Crispix but were out of Dr. Pepper. Jonathan proffered Wild Cherry Pepsi as the best alternative, and it worked; but it just wasn't as good as DP. The consolation was that we had a bag of crunchy Cheetos in the house. So the grading fuel for Tuesday night was Wild Cheery Pepsi and Cheetos, Wednesday night the same, and Thursday night back to DP and Crispix. To speak the truth, though, God was the one who helped me (as He always does) survive on less sleep and get my grades figured out to the point I needed them to be. Whereas sometimes grading takes forever, I could tell He was helping me speed up the process, especially in my worn-out, brain-dead state of exhaustion. Without His help, all the Cheetos, Pepsi, DP and Crispix in the world couldn't have kept me awake! Aint' He great! Last night, I crashed. Naomi couldn't help but laugh at me when I was too tired to crawl out of bed to get ready for bed. I think I could sleep for a week!

Goin’ to the ZOO, Zoo, zoo

. . . how about YOU, You, you? You can come TOO, Too, too . . . except that you can’t because the trip is over now. J My 5^th/6^th graders and I went to the St. Louis zoo today for a field trip. I love the fact that admission to the zoo is free! There’s so much to see and do for free! My grandma, Mrs. Brush, went with me to help chaperone, so I divided the kids into two groups of three, gave each group a camera and a list of categories of animals to find and photograph and let them loose. My group ambled a bit, but hers charged off as though on a mission to cover the entire zoo in the remaining half hour. By the time we met 45 minutes later, she was ready for a rest. Maybe I should have traded groups with her . . . ? I’m glad that she came with us—she made the whole trip so much easier on me and more enjoyable. I can’t wait to get the photos back and see the posters the kids put together. Seeing them learning and having fun at the same time was quite gratifying.

On the way home, I went the wrong way on I 170—south instead of north. Immediately, one of my students announced “we’re lost.” What would I do without my running commentary makers? Fortunately, I recognized the area and knew that I’d be able to get off and turn around at the next exit. It’s nice to know that I’m starting to learn St. Louis a little. All in all it was a great field trip!

Shoes and Sauciness

I received some information today on my qualifications for Miss Universe and other celebrations of womanhood. Apparently, I do not make a very good specimen of femininity because of two major flaws: I hate shoes, and I detest purses. Yes, they are a necessity, but I hate shopping for them because I can never find the perfect shoe—both comfortable and cute (in the minds of the various people whose fashion senses may be pleased or offended by my footwear); nor can I ever find the perfect purse—one that is lightweight yet holds everything I need on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis. Maybe I should opt for the original Mary Poppins bag in a trendier style.

So much for shoes. now for the sauciness: I was going to write about Esther’s latest story on me (my latest blonde-moment), but Es pointed out that I really started out on the wrong foot to include that one!

Oh, well—here it is: in the middle of shoe shopping, we stopped in the Sketchers store where I attempted to find a cute, inexpensive pair of tennis shoes in my size (unsuccessfully, I might add) but was interrupted and distracted by a cell-phone caller. So, Es and I made our way out of the store, me still talking on my cell phone. Halfway down the mall, I realized I had left my smoothie sitting on the shelf in the Sketchers store! Bother!

Give me a Dr. Pepper any day!

I've heard that when DP first came on the market, it was billed as something to be imbibed for medicinal purposes as well as for novelty. I can't see what is so medicinal about it, but I do know that I enjoy the flavor--I can't believe I'm blogging about the virtues of a brand of soda pop! Shouldn't I get some sort of comission for this? Then again, what is there to be said for it but that it tastes good with its tangy-rich flavor and that it (like all other sodas) leaves a nasty aftertaste? This is going nowhere.

My college roomie Shannon really got me started on drinking Dr. Pepper in earnest when she had to have one each night and added a small shot of vanilla to it. Yes, the new flavor of cherry-vanilla DP is pretty good, but I much prefer the richness of just plain vanilla.

When we went to Branson this past month, we had the opportunity to try the new berries and cream flavor. Again, the makers of Dr. Pepper are messing with a good thing. But I guess that they think they can make more money if they change things. Give me a regular Dr. Pepper anyday, and I'll be happy!

Crispix and Dr. Pepper

Did you know that Crispix cereal and Dr. Pepper are great tools for staying awake till grades are done and in? You should try it some time, but don't ask how late I stayed up! Now I can breathe something akin to a sigh of relief . . . until the next grading period when report cards have to go home =)

Just for the Record

OK, just for the record, I really hate grading! I know that some days I like it, in some situations I even love it! but tonight . . . yuk! Yes, it's progress report time. That's when it stresses me out. Maybe next week I'll like it again--naw! it's May, school's almost out, and there's TONS to do. Maybe next month I'll like it again =)

Losing someone

Speaking of the quartet—David is leaving us. It’s for a good cause: he’s going into the Air Force. But I am really going to miss him! And the quartet isn’t going to be the same, of course, (duh, Joy!) and I will miss relying on his strong bass voice to help me get my parts sometimes =)

Yikes! This makes it sound like he’s dying! He’s not, at least he better not! David, don’t you even consider such a thing! But I will miss singing with you!

Nailing it Down

OK, so the Easter cantata is over and we are all breathing a sigh of relief, but something is missing from our lives . . . oh, yes! Practicing music or drama at every free moment!

I must say that one of the highlights from this year’s round of practice times was practicing “The Empty Tomb” with the other members of the quartet (no, practicing it by myself would not have been a highlight). First of all, the song begins with this echo routine of the word “empty,” so Es and I began calling it the “my head is empty, empty, empty” song. Just more of our typical goofiness. We can’t seem to help it—many things (especially the little things in life) strike us as funny. We drove our pianist nearly crazy with our fits of laughter during practice (though methinks he protests too much). Second, one of the phrases in the song goes like this: “my Lord was crucified, my God was slain; they laid Him in the grave, and all seemed vain”; however as we practiced, I kept thinking that one of the members of our group was singing “they nailed Him in the grave”! I couldn’t tell for sure until one time we were singing by the piano and I heard it loud and clear. I stopped the practice and managed, between laughs, to gasp out “who keeps singing ‘nailed’?” When Jason confessed to it, we laughed even more. So he corrected it, and then Es found herself saying it without thinking!—more laughter. Finally, I think Harrison (our pianist) had had enough of our laughter and decided he needed to get the last laugh. So on our next song, as we were singing our a capella part, he slipped from the piano bench and hid in pastor’s office. We finished our part, expecting the piano to come in and carry us off into the next stanza, only to be greeted by silence. Stunned, we all, as a unit, turned to the piano to find it empty, empty, empty. Harrison was rewarded for his joke by a shocked look on Esther’s face when she came around of the office and a bop on the head and, yes, more laughter. That ended the practice. How do you keep practicing after that? =)

The consolation and justification for all the fun we have during practice is that when we sang the songs in the cantata we nailed them—just not literally =)

Guest Writer: ME!

Wow Joy... You have so little posts. So I'll add one more ^_^ aren't I such a good goober. Now you will hear about the other goober... the one who sneaks into her own home on weekends ^_^
Only Tom and I knew that Joy was coming home Friday night. So of course we had to get dad and mom to stay up long enough to welcome home their sneaky daughter. Dad picked me up from youth group and said, "Tommy said someone was coming to visit tonite, do you know who it it?"
Me: "Yeah, it's the Homs isn't it?"
Dad: "Why would they come visit so late?"
Me: "uuh... maybe they were busy and couldn't come earlier... OR maybe they knew I had a game today and that I wouldn't get home until really late and wanted to see ME!!"

*laughs* at least we got him to stay up... but then, around 11:30 pm, Joy called. She was lost and needed directions. A dead giveaway. ^_^

The blog that I would, that I do not

I’m sorry for not having written in so long. I’ve thought of lots of things to write, but never when I can write them. So I compose them in my head and then my short-term memory vacuum consumes them and I am left with nothing to write as I stare at the blank computer screen.

Then again, I’ve hardly been on the computer in the past three weeks. So, my apologies to those who have come to my site expecting something—anything—and found . . . nothing.

Unclear on the Concept

Having kindergarteners in my life is lots of fun. They are eager about life in general, but have a few misconceptions about it, too. Everything is new to them, but they have so much to learn!

Like . . . how to play tag. Freeze Tag, of course, means that when you are tagged, you are frozen until someone who is not “it” touches you to “unfreeze” you. So during before-school recess last week, the older kids were playing Freeze Tag, and Micah (one of the kindergarteners) was standing around needing something to do. I pointed out a 6^th grader who was frozen and waiting to be freed and told Micah to go unfreeze him. Before Micah could unfreeze the 6^th grader, however, he was tagged by the student who was it. He froze like he was supposed to. So far, so good. Then, I sent Kayley (another kindergartener) to unfreeze Micah, and that’s where things went wrong> Micah saw Kayley coming at him, figured that she was “it,” and began to run with Kayley chasing him. One of my 5^th grade girls was standing beside me and had seen the whole thing. She looked at me, and we both dissolved into laughter.

Or . . . the purpose of college: did you know that we go to college so that we can get refrigerators? A representative from Pensacola Christian College came to elementary chapel the other day to present the college to the kids. He started by asking why we go to college, and when he called on Taylor (another one of the kindergarteners), she eagerly informed him that we go to college so that later on in life we can have enough money to get refrigerators for our houses. Success has a new (or not so new) definition, folks!

And then there’s symbolism . . . Lost on the little ones, of course. Another chapel speaker at Christmas time was trying to give the students visual reminders of the true meaning of Christmas using various types of candy. He began by holding up a Baby Ruth candy bar and asking the students to fill in the blanks: “Jesus came to earth as a ___________.” He repeated his statement a couple of times, waiting for some bright student to read the wrapper and fill in the blank. While the older students were giving him blank looks and puzzling over the point he was trying to make, Taylor filled it in for him:

Speaker: “Jesus came to earth as ____________”

Taylor: “A piece of chocolate?!!!?”

Students and teachers: general and uproarious laughter from all who understood what had happened and from those just laughing because everyone else was laughing (they too were a little unclear on the concept).

Paper Stars

I don’t remember exactly how it started, but I’ve been seeing stars ever since. It probably was a product of my tendency to find something to occupy the idle hands and minds of those kids that I’m watching—whether babysitting or supervising in school or . . . well, you get the idea. Anyway, I began making paper/origami stars like my sister taught me this Christmas. Pretty soon I was addicted—and so were my students. They would sit at recess making origami stars instead of running around and playing house or standing around and talking about movies and boys and whatever else they felt like talking about. The addiction has worn off a little in all of us; but if one must have a fetish for something, I suppose that making paper stars isn’t a bad fetish to have. J