A Comedy of Errors

Me working behind the bar is what you call a comedy of errors. I can dry wine glasses and slice limes with the best of them. Ask me for a CC and Coke? Oh dear. A customer asked me for a CC and Coke last night, and I had to ask him about four times what he was talking about. He finally just pointed to the shelf. *Sigh* But he was very nice about it, so it wasn't a bad thing. Needless to say, on busy bar nights, I avoid the bar at all costs. I'll scrape melted cheese off of a table and bring out steaming enchiladas, but don't ask me to make a fishbowl Red Russian. I don't know what that is.  

Maybe I should get on Wikipedia and just read about drinks for a while.  

Sometimes it's not just that I don't know how to make a vodka lime and soda, it's that I don't know what they're saying. Like the time a customer asked for a moiluh. I wrote it down phonetically on my notepad and asked the boss for a moiluh. He didn't know what that was, so I had to go back and ask him to spell it! Oh, agony of language! What he was trying to order was a MERLOT.

Even if it's not alcohol, sometimes it gets confusing. When someone asks for a pot of Coke, what do you give them? I gave them a litre, but they actually wanted a glass. If it weren't for the emotional relief of laughter, I'd be one defeated waitress. 

Being a waitress is an adventure in daring for me. Sometimes people get cranky or you make mistakes with their orders or they're just weird. But, by golly, they're the customer and you've got to do something about it. They may give you tips, they may swear at you, but either way, you've got to sail on a wind of optimism and perseverance. Courtesy and calm at every turn. It's like what they say about ducks… calm on the top of the water, paddling like mad underneath.

Last night was fun, as it is horse racing season and these people love their horse races. There were HATS! And heels and dresses, which are not uncommon, but HATS! Fabulous hats draped in tulle and feathers and rhinestones! And men in suit jackets and ties! Sometimes I despise young men in suits and ties.. They're so darn distracting. Haha. There was a young curly headed bloke last night who came to the bar while I had the misfortune of being stranded there. I don't remember what he ordered, but he was convinced we'd met before. He asked where he would have seen me… I suggested the names of two churches and reduced him to bewilderment. Linguistically disarmed. Ha. Poor kid. I don't think that's what he was expecting.

Ever adventuring,

Little Miss Sunshine

I Just Love Going to Church

This morning, SG and I were in charge. Our wonderful overseers, the Matthews, are on holiday for the weekend. They need it, as it seems they are in charge of so many details. Sadly, only two families came to our all age service (basically Sunday School). What's a girl to do when people don't get it? When church isn't a priority and being a part of worship and good teaching doesn't seem to matter? Be so utterly aflame that they can't help but catch fire with the Love that drives us?

I had just met with a disappointment and then a reprimand, and my morning was not looking up. Then Pastor John said to pass the peace. (For my friends in the South, read: hand shakin time). That's when the light turned on. I talked to the lovely and vivacious at 93 Ilma, and her friend Rami, lovely Allistair the Scot, George the smiler and Ian the precious. This wasn't about me. What were my worries compared to God's love for these people and their love for Him expressed in a love for us?

Sometimes I look at them and think, where is there passion for church? They just sit in their pews and sing like they've been doing for 60 years! But then Alex, who has years unnumbered, stands and talks about what they're doing for the civil rights movement with the Aboriginal people and how they're going to the capital. And Ian, who was born in Kenya, and went to boarding school in Scotland and flew fighter planes in WWII is so full of the praise of God and what He's doing and His faithfulness. Then I see that dispassion was mistaken for a steady and courageous faith, tried by so many years of life.

Oh, they're so wonderful. Doing ministry is not easy, but people like George and Ian can make it doable.

Little Miss Sunshine

Dinner, Party of Five

The phrase "dinner party" for me evokes images of the 1950s, roasts and martinis, which is funny because that is certainly not the kind of dinner parties I throw. The first one I ever hosted was in 2005. I was a junior in high school and my friend Jen and I wanted to throw a dinner party for our volleyball team. So we did. Plenty of mistakes and successes later, I still love them. There's a little more room for the fancy and formal but without the need to be stuffy and dreadful. When I'm hosting a dinner party, I always feel so posh and polished, unless I'm burning French bread or we run out of ice… It's probably just a silly piece of pride, playing hostess, but maybe at least the guests feel at ease and eat well.

Last night, Sarah and I hosted our first Australian dinner party. Place cards were simple, done with Sarah's handwriting font. The menu needed to be both gluten free and vegetarian and was a smashing success, with room for improvement (always).

Pumpkin Soup

3/4 of a Kent pumpkin

2 small potatoes

1 onion

3/4 litre chicken broth

Roast the veggies, puree them in a food processor, stream in the broth, season to taste and poof, you have soup.

Warm Salad

Red onion

Zucchini

Red bell pepper

Spinach

Feta

Saute the first three ingredients, add the spinach until it wilts, finish with some feta on top.

Strawberry Parfaits

Diced strawberries that have sat in a sprinkle of sugar

Macaroons

Whipped cream

Layer strawberries, cream and crushed macaroons. Serve in teacups.

Three of our Aussie friends came and brightened the house with their laughter. We yarned for several hours about movies, food, and friends. It's no good being a place without friends. We are so thankful for them!

Little Miss Sunshine

Confession 27

Confession #27.

I am rendered nearly as helpless as a newborn kitten when it comes to dares.

I am independent, confident, blah blah blah whatever, but my dare immunity is almost nil. Maybe this stems from my desire to please people, or maybe it's just a part of being competitive. Either way, I love surprising people. Turning their faces from a placid smile to a gaping hole and two saucers is great fun. My parents deserve your sympathy, as they are often (still) peppered with what-if questions….

What if I got a tattoo?

What if I shaved my head?

What if I got dreads?

What if I became a pirate? Or a plumber?

It's not that I'm trying to be annoying, I just have a fondness for hypotheticals. And don't think I don't take them seriously. The latest was regarding dread locks… After sorting out the pros and cons, it's a no go for right now. The primary trouble is the length of my hair. I've been growing it out for quite some time, and if I did dreads now, I'd have to cut it short and lose all that hard earned progress. But this post is not about my hair.

There's something about dares. I think it's the same sort of thing that's in fire. It holds your gaze and takes hold of your inner reckless self. [So is a reckful person someone who's cautious??] Maybe it's just a desire to be daring. If you want to be daring, you should take dares? Liz always says to do a daring thing every day. That's a lot of daring things if you ask me.

Like when I was at that bonfire and the boys found a grub under a log. A royally grubby grub, huge, white, fat, nasty thing. Of course, the logical thing to do would be to dare someone to eat it. So they did. And I answered the call and won $5. Then there was always the trivial Truth or Dare stuff, kissing dumpsters and things. Then there was the time we used hand sanitizer to light our hands on fire… *Disclaimer: Little Miss Sunshine is not endorsing this.* And the time I ate cow tongue, and termites and fish milkshake.

The friends at school figured out my Achilles heel and sometimes used it to their advantage. Mark and Hannah in particular were adept at getting me on the bandwagon for a late night Tbell run using dares. Chris and Jake just started saying we'd never see each other after college, so we should hang out. That worked too. Unfortunately, the Aussie crew already knows I am without immunity when it comes to dares and competition. I don't know how I slipped that to Chezie, but I did, and the boys are convinced they'll have me jumping off the highest cliffs because I can't say no to a dare.

Fortunately, for my own well-being, there's a caveat to this weakness. If you think you're going to have me robbing banks or cutting my arm off, think again. The dare appeal stops at being illegal or stupid. I have few inhibitions, but thankfully, those are two of them. I would cut my arm off for a good cause though…

I'll leave Confession 28 for another day.

Little Miss Sunshine

Some Assembly Required

I think I've come down with craft fever. Looking around sites like Pinterest or How About Orange or etsy, people are doing so many fun crafty things! I makes me want to sketch portraits and bake spinach parmesan scones and design aprons! The ideas are everywhere. It's like a craft revolution or something. People are saying, what if and being creative and doing things. They're making jewelry and note cards and dresses, and often they're doing it out of old stuff.

There's a part of me that says, what's the point, who needs to salvage an old window frame and turn it into wall art? You could be learning another language or making money or reading. But another part wonders if part of being human is working with your hands. If part of being made in God's image means we can see the future of what could be and we have the creative power to make it happen.

Some might argue that they aren't creative. I would argue back. You were made by the God who invented seahorses and diamonds. Just because you can't quilt doesn't mean you aren't creative. That's like saying just because you can't play hockey, you aren't an athlete at all. Absurdity.

We aren't cold, calculating robots who just need food and water to survive. Texture and color and form are part of who we are, whether that's expressed in building tables out of doors or training a rosebush up a trellis. Things like that take time and thought. I can't just sit down and make a skirt. Fabric, length, pattern, and threading a needle all come first. From a practical aspect, crafting is troublesome, but again, I think it's a vital part of our humanity. There's a connection made with all the crafters who have ever been, and a reflection of the original Crafter who formed us with his own hands.

How will this itch to craft express itself? Let me tell you, we've had the recent good fortune of being involved with the beginning of a Christian girls group at the high school, and they want to study God's Word and craft! Today we threw around the idea of making aprons, which are so in vogue right now. I love them because they're easy to make and I'm a messy cook. I will keep you updated with what I do with this crafty fever. I might sketch a few portraits (faces are not my strength) and write character sketches about people in my life for this blog.

Go make disciples and crafty things!

Little Miss Sunshine

A Little Regress Is Good for the Soul

Let's enter into a conversation about the effects of multiculturalism on our collective social experience. We'll celebrate diversity in its many forms and dialogue about ways of seeing and ways of knowing that might be new to some of us. Reaffirming our dedication to tolerance and inclusivity, we welcome many ways of seeing the world.

Please excuse me while I vomit.

Some people may find this barrage of inaccessible ambiguity comforting and meaningful. I'm not saying you lack intelligence for doing so. It kind of has an intoxicating lullaby feel to it. Language is something that is trendy. We use words like "conversation" and "dialogue" and "collaborative", not necessarily because that's what we mean, but because that's the babble of the moment.

I stand in favor of a little regress.

For one, all this flowery verbiage. Is it saying anything, or is it simply drawing a gauzy curtain around a charlatan wizard? I thought words were for unveiling ideas, clarifying, and slicing off bits of philosophical gristle. That string of unintelligible babble seems to either be an eloquent attempt at saying nothing or a cunning way of wrapping crap up in a box and bow. When I hear things like "spiritual community" and "dialogue", I want to break something, preferably glass so that it's loud and emphatic. I realize that's an immature response to frustration, so I turn instead to blogging. But I digress from articulating my desire to regress… [lame language pun]

By desiring a bit of regress, what I mean to say is I'm after a true kind of progress. Just trying to come up with the latest and greatest after the last has past is not progress. In my understanding, true progress takes into account the whole of history in its evaluation of the world. What did Bacon and Plato and Hippocrites have to say? What about Sartre, Kirkegaard and Hume? Were they right? Were they wrong? What did Churchill do right and Prince Vlad do wrong?

No longer do we await word from messengers atop light footed horses. Thanks to the industrial and technological revolutions, the world is at our fingertips. Globalization has become a reality, and the price of peanut butter in Alabama may indeed affect the price of tea in China. We can buy, eat, travel more than ever before. Thanks to the industrial and technological revolutions, we may more easily than ever before become stimuli gluttons. We have the choice of twenty kinds of mascara and a hundred cereals. We like the word option.

How do we best make use of living in a time in history where information and resources are more accessible than ever before? How do we own our iLives instead of letting our iLives own us? I think the answer lies between your ears and at the ends of your wrists and next to your sternum. I think there is value in using your head and hands and heart to live. I don't mean everyone needs to quit corporate life and build a log cabin and plant a garden. There's not enough space. What I do mean is don't let the euphoria of technology and linguistic poppycock dull your senses. Letting the number of apps on your phone deceive you into believing you are well educated. Reading blogs about people who help people instead of actually helping people yourself. Scrolling through Pinterest instead of making your own darn hairpins. Don't settle for an technologically advanced and audiovisually enhanced façade. It's still a façade.

Love from Australia,

Little Miss Sunshine, who just finished A Grief Observed and is convinced Lewis is the most brilliant non-Biblical author she's ever read.

A Some Day Jar

I used to think the only people who would move overseas for a year were people who were really adventurous or really committed to their faith. While I would say I meet both of those criteria, it always seemed like the people going for a year were at a level above and beyond me. Maybe I could do that. Some day. Some day was August 12, 2011.

Sometimes I think, when I grow up I want to be a great teacher, have a disarming smile, be athletic, be outdoorsy and adventurous, be a great hostess, be tall and slender, be a great writer…. the list goes on and on. All of these things I hold captive in a some day jar. I'm not talking about a bucket list of expensive and exotic places to see or experiences to have. I'm talking about a some day jar.

Some day I want to get serious about my faith…

Some day I want to get around to talking with my parents about growing up when they did…

Some day I want to be compassionate…

When is your some day? When are you finally going to carpe that diem? Being a great teacher takes today and tomorrow and moment after moment of faithfulness to the task. Being a great writer takes thousands and thousands of words and hours spent carefully choosing, rearranging, deleting. Maybe you'll realize, as I did, that moving to Australia for a year was just the next step in life. It was no longer an out of reach, out of the realm of possibility, crazy idea. I was ready. It's just going from training wheels to keeping your balance. It's not easy, but it is simple.

I think I'm going to unscrew the lid of my some day jar. Living life to the fullest means living today to the fullest. It means turning a some day jar into a today jar.  It's a transition in thinking from "I want to care about people more" to writing that note of encouragement today.  We have been given today. Tomorrow exists only as a hypothetical.

Little Miss Sunshine      

Puzzle Pieces

OH! That green speckled piece isn't the leaves of the tree, it's a part of the reflection of the pond! Suddenly the piece slips into place with that satisfying cardboard on cardboard thump. I love puzzles. Sometimes at my house we do puzzles at Christmas. This probably started as a holiday tradition in more northern climes where it would be silly to play outside in a blizzard. People sat around and tried to stay warm together doing puzzles. Where I'm from, you're more likely to see a camel giving birth in a sandstorm than see a blizzard. Weather aside, it's a fun way to pass the time and go crosseyed frustrated searching for that ONE piece.

It takes a while to befriend a puzzle. I'm far from the puzzle whisperer, but I have learned some tricks of the trade. At the beginning, the relationship is mostly chaos. You don't understand each other, things are scattered, there are no parameters. Slowly, you start to get to know the color spectrum in the puzzle and the lines the artist used. You figure out what is "tree green" and what is "pond reflection green". Things snap into place as you connect the edges and piece together objects within the picture.

The longer I'm in Australia, the more I discover about God's huge puzzle and the part we are playing in it. What started out as a random suggestion from a campus ministries director turned into a serious consideration, an application, a plane ticket and a visa.  My own holes and knobs are fitting into the knobs and holes of this adventure and its people.

Things we didn't know coming into this internship are turning out to be so perfectly ordained. Our great caretakers, the Matthews, are going to be taking some time off because Mr. will be starting radiation therapy in a few weeks. [Something worth spending time on your knees for.] We've had enough time to learn the ropes and take on some of their responsibilities as they step back. The friends we've made are an adventurous lot, much to my delight [cliffjumping, anyone?] and also passionate about Jesus-centered priorities, which is both convicting and encouraging.

Small things like loving Mexican food, being in good enough health to walk everywhere, and not being a picky eater are fitting right into the situation. Experiences like helping with kids summer programs at church and staffing at Summit and Compass have given me experience with successful programs that put Christ first. Even things like lesson planning as an education student and being culturally sensitive in North Africa this summer as we're planning activities in a nation that is not our own.

It's like Dad's dinner prayer - Thank You for providing all of our needs and many of our wants.

Thankful for her Jehovah Jireh Provider,

Little Miss Sunshine

The story of a right wing, meat eating, gun swinging conservative...

If you asked me to give you a personal social/political profile, I'd tell you I'm a right wing, grassroots, get your hands off my business and stop freaking out about global warming conservative. I think eating meat is OK, and I come from a family who has served in the armed forces.

Then I came to Australia, where most people think in America, people get murdered all the time and people solve their problems by shooting things. In Australia, people have "half-flush" options on their toilets and recycle bins that are bigger than trash bins. Their country is still under the authority of the British Commonwealth, though the Queen of England doesn't do much but visit occasionally and smile from her place on Australian currency.

Thursday night, we gathered with friends to play games, eat dinner and yak about everything from YouTube to international travel to Jesus and war. The pacifism conversation came up, and I told them I wasn't in the pacifist camp. They were kindly appalled. We fleshed it out a little, pulling references from the Old Testament and creating hypothetical scenarios under which violent action would be OK. What about Nazi Germany? What if someone was beating up a child? What if an intruder broke into your house? I told them if I had to pick a side, I would be pro-action, but I have reservations about both sides. Do something violent or do nothing at all. Winning options all around.

Last night, SG and I went to a barbie as a post-camp celebration. I borrowed SG's reusable grocery bag, put on my Chacos and skipped (literally) down the hill to the store where I bought vegetables. Someone call the doctors, Sunshine's starting to sound like a hippie. I was feeling pretty green, let me tell you. I wasn't sure if that was a good feeling or not. I think conservatives, unfortunately, often avoid being environmentally conscious because it means agreeing with liberals. I'll let you in on a little secret: just because you agree with liberals on taking care of the earth God put us on doesn't mean you have to agree with them on everything.

As I thought about it, it made sense in my economically wired brain.

I was walking - not spending money on gas for the car or putting mileage on the car, also investing in my health and lowering potential doctor's bills.

I took my own bag - no one likes dumps/tips/landfills, and I sure don't want my kids to grow up in a place where they take up most of the landscape.

I bought vegetables - SG and I like good food, and good veggies are just cheaper than good meat, another investment in health and lowering the potential doctor's bills.

So sure, I still eat meat sometimes, and I still feel proud of the way my family and others have served to protect our country, I would even probably buy a gun. What I am learning is, the unexamined life is not worth living (you'll have to thank a Greek for that pithy proverb). Just because I'd say I'm a Republican doesn't mean everything Republicans believe is aligned with the Gospel and everything Democrats believe is a lie.  I'm even friends with some of those left-leaning people!  They're fun!  If what you believe is right, it should hold up to testing. If it doesn't, don't waste your time with ideas that don't hold water.  Don't be afraid to examine and reconsider, refer to the previous sentence.  

Love and politics,

Little Miss Sunshine

Tightrope Walking over New York City

I'm realizing some things.  There is plenty that I know, but much less that I can apply.  I could rattle on for ages about God's will, God's character, God's faithfulness as demonstrated in the Old Testament.  That's Sunday school kid stuff.  It's good to know, but unless you can use it, what's the point of having it? 

It's like tightrope walking over New York City.  I can tell you all about tightrope walking.  I could read books, watch documentaries, read through Wikipedia.  I could research techniques, historical landmarks and records in the field, different tightrope materials.  But ask me to set up a rope and walk across two skyscrapers in New York City and I'd run. 

I've been asked to tightrope walk twice this week.  Both times I have been rendered nearly useless.  The first time was Monday.  Work party.  Sure, bowling and Italian food sounded fun.  I work with fun people; they're nice to me, sounded like a good idea.  My first twinge of concern was when the girl I was riding with said she forged a note to her brother's principal to get him out of school early so he could come.  The second came when we parked at the bowling place and they talked about leaving the car there overnight.  Was everyone really planning on being that smashed?  Third twinge?  Oh yeah, that was when my boss asked one of our cooks, who's 17, if she wanted to ask her mom permission to have a few drinks.  The drinking age here is 18, but he'd buy her some if her mom said it was ok.  Drunk by the end of the night?  Yep. 

As a principle, I don't have a problem with drinking.  I'm not in favor of doing it in front of recovering alcoholics, and I'm not in favor of getting drunk, but I don't care about you having a merlot with your T-bone or a margarita with your chimichanga.  Most of them were sloshing drunk by 4:30 in the afternoon.  I wasn't worried about catching a ride home or about my personal well-being.  What I was concerned with was what they thought of me.  Because I'm here working as someone who follows Jesus, and they know I don't drink, I imagine they look at me with different standards.  So what do I do?  Do I laugh along with them, saying with my actions that what they're doing is just fine but knowing it's not?  Do I scowl and try to make them feel guilty for trashing their livers and in some cases, their reputations?  I didn't know what to do.  I tried to be as chummy as I could while maintaining a sort of modest disapproval.  The winner of the evening was Lana.  She did what I wish I had done under the circumstances.  She laughed a little, kept track of people's bags and jackets, and mothered the puking ones along, while calling them out for their four-letter frenzy at the restaurant.  She didn't let her ideas distance her from people, but she wasn't shy about what she thought either.  Sometimes I think people who don't follow Jesus act more like Him than His followers.

Second tightrope.  A husband loses a wife, not even 15 years into their marriage.  They have a child.  Children shouldn't lose their mothers.  I could tell you all about how God loves us and is faithful to us, but explaining that to people who are grieving?  It makes me want to give up explaining forever.  Then when the father visits a psychic who says he talked to his dead wife?  What do you think about things like that?  What do you say?  Is there a need to say something?  In an unattached way, I'd say it's hokey and ridiculous, but as an act of desperation in an attempt to deal with the greatest grief a man can face?  The truth doesn't change, but sometimes it seems a little heavy to carry.

In this tightrope walk, we attempt to bridge the gap between the things we believe with all our hearts and the ways we live our days.  It is my hope, as I walk with Jesus, to understand how to erase the distance. 

Little Miss Sunshine

When Purple Amoebas Attack

(I wrote this Monday, and am feeling muchly much much bettah.)

Joan, our house mom, is funny.  She talks to herself and she's involved in golf, tennis, book club, professional women's club, and community theater.  We sit in the dining room for dinner, and there's always bread and butter on the table.  She's well read, well spoken, and well traveled.  Her husband, Ian, is gone right now to Borneo and other places.  He's gone for a month, just roaming around Southeast Asia.  They're 70.  Go ahead and marvel, it's ok. 

Somewhere between playing with dozens of children, serving breakfast at a high school and being around sick people at work, I picked up a purple amoeba.  Actually, I must have picked up a tribe.  If there had just been one, I wouldn't feel like this.  You know I hate being sick.  People will tell you, ah, it's good for you to slow down and take a rest.  That's why I hate being sick.  It slows me down.  I'm human?  I'm not invincible?  Right.  Slowing down propped up on pillows at night trying to breathe is not my idea of slowing down.  Hopefully the worst of it is over and I can have my life back.  It's a pity because when being sick slows you down, the rest of the world turns fast as ever.  It's not like they wait for you to catch up.  I still have devos to write that I would have liked to be done with for tomorrow morning.  I still have a quiz to read for and take.  Silly world.  Stop spinning so fast and giving me a headache.

Today, I went hung out with the beach boys.  Not the music group, just the friends I've made who like to hang out at the beach.  I got a cricket lesson, updated my list of places to visit in Australia, and learned about sand bars and rip tides.  I learned that Nathan has a soft spot for luxury, Sam has a soft spot for documentaries, and Buzz has a soft spot for Tasmania. 

I also got my usual 60 on a quiz today.  Can you HEAR the frustration!?  Groan.  Sunshine doesn't get 60s on quizzes.  She confidently fills out the quiz, hands it in, and is satisfied with her grade because she put in the work and what she doesn't know, she makes up.  No such luck with this class.  Five questions, twenty points each.  I generally miss the statistic questions.  I could tell you generalities and applications, but I don’t remember what percentage of the church-going American population prays daily with their teenage children, as opposed to those who only pray weekly with them.  I think this poor quizzing is a trend among my classmates because the professor said there will be some extra credit opportunities. 

On a brighter note, the weather in Australia was gorgeous today.  Warm, sunny, the whole of the spring experience.  We also had salmon for dinner.  I didn't fail miserably at swinging the cricket bat.  AND I GOT A BOX!!!  Those were the highlights.

Love,

Little Miss Sunshine

  

Curious George and the Neighbors

Something happened yesterday afternoon when I came home from work at the museum.  The house to the right of me is a tiny little red brick number with a well kept lawn but quite dilapidated flower beds.  The man who lives there is older and hasn't smiled in a while.  I know this because all of his wrinkles stretch down instead of up.  When I pulled up yesterday, he was wrestling with some large black garbage bags full of grass clippings and twigs, all the while swearing like a sailor at the guys who had cut his grass but not put the bags on the curb.  I almost walked inside, but instead I marched myself over to his yard and put on my "let's be friends" smile and said, hi, my name is Georgie, can I help you with these?  Lo and behold, he said his name was George and that'd be helpful if I could just heave them to the curb. 

When we'd lugged the last one, he mumbled a thanks and I said no problem, and I returned to my little house.  I made a pot of coffee for myself and mused.  First I mused about art, which is sort of a default setting with me.  Then, I mused about community planners.  My psychology professor at school was fascinated by social psychology, particularly in the area of how communities form.  In neighborhoods with window boxes, are there a higher percentage of book club members?  Before long, I was waxing idealistic and started daydreaming about my neighborhood.  We could have block parties and dinner parties we could look after each other and people wouldn't feel alone and, and, and. 

I don't really know anything about community planning, but I bake a mean cinnamon pecan cookie.  So. Here's the plan.  I have three immediate neighbors.  George to the right, young couple with toddler and baby to the left, and the Williams across the street.  I only know they're the Williams because their mailbox says so.  Phase 1 of Operation Make Friends in the Neighborhood to Decrease Crime and Isolation, or Operation Neighborhood is delivering cookies to each of these houses, and hoping no one has nut allergies.  Probably, I think maybe I'll wear my orange paisley apron for this project.  It's a good fall baking apron.

Updates to follow,

Georgia

Curious George and the Status Quo

I never learned what exactly a person is supposed to do with their anger.  I wasn't angry too much as a child, and if I was, it was usually because Kathryn was getting under my skin so I'd just be condescending and horrible.  Since learning that is not a socially acceptable response and makes me the brat, I've given that route up.  Maybe part of anger management is anger venting.  That's about to happen, so if you don't want to read on, that's fine.  It will be just as effective without you reading it.

I started work at Sylvia's, like I told you.  It's been going well.  I love the food we serve, the clientele are generally laid back, and the pay's not bad.  Slowly, I've gotten to know the different wait staff that works there during different shifts.  For the most part, they've been great.  They're all eager to help me learn the ropes and show me where things are.  For this, I am grateful.  I know it's too much to ask to get along with everyone a person works with, so I guess this rant is unreasonable of me.  I would throw the whole thing out, but there's a moral to the story, so I guess it's worth writing. 

I was working with a girl named Lisa for the first time.  She was friendly, pleasant, talkative, all that.  That's part of the problem.  During our shift together, she was friendly, pleasant and talkative… to the kitchen staff, to the other wait staff, even to the customers, but there's a time for being chatty with the guy making the French onion soup, and there's a time to be wiping down tables and checking on customers.  I understand that not everyone has a Depression Era work ethic passed down to them from their forefathers.  It just frustrates me when I'm picking gum off the floor with my fingernails and she's sampling the latest batch of rye bread. 

These small shops are an interesting situation because there isn't much room for vertical movement.  It's not as though really great waitresses are promoted to a corner office with dental benefits.  You just go from being an OK waitress to a great waitress, and you get paid the same.  It brings the idea of the status quo to mind.  If people aren't motivated to be excellent at all they do by the allure of promotion and pay raises, there are two options.  They're motivated by something internal, or they're content to just get by.  Getting by is certainly attractive because it means less work for the same amount of reward.  As a society, there will always be a status quo - a middle ground, an average.  It doesn't mathematically make sense for everyone to be outstanding, but nothing outstanding ever got done by being average or just OK. 

Rant concluded, much obliged,

George

Curious George Nearly Becomes a Nun

I'm despairing.  Every time I get on Facebook, I'm reminded.  It's as though it's out to get me.  So and so is now engaged to Mr. Cute Artsy Intellectual.  So and so is now Mrs. Athletic Businessman.  It's a royal conflict because I love love.  I do.  I really do.  Not only do I love love, but I love weddings.  They're the ultimate creative opportunity.  There's stationery to be designed, budgets to be trimmed, and 60 day cleansing diets to get on before the big day, not to mention clever ceremony and reception sites to pick out, and future in-laws to placate.  It's a fabulous business.  If I didn't like art history so much, I'd be in the wedding business. 

But back to my despairing… Facebook.  It's malicious.  I might as well set a daily reminder on my phone "Don’t forget, Georgie, all your friends are getting married and you’re not… and you have no prospects, and you haven’t been on a date in ages".  Departing from my generally confident, down to earth disposition, a girl has to ask, What's wrong with me?  Do I have secret flaws that no one can bear to tell me about?  Do I have a multiple personalities disorder I don't know about?  Is it bad breath? 

It's not as though I'm miserably existing alone and forlornly pining away over my cross stitching.  Most days, I'm content to be Miss Georgia Delaney Hawthorne.  That's been good enough for me for 23 years, so it's good enough for today.  Then there are days like today.  I've been known to be sensible, but sometimes I just want what I want right NOW or not ever.  I either want Mr. Wonderful to walk through the figurative door, sweep me off my figurative feet and carry me off on his figurative white steed, or I want to join a convent and spend the rest of my days kneeling in prayer on stone floors and growing vegetables. 

My Aunt Lisa, ever the practical one, suggested I scroll through my options and see if I can come up with anything.  The idea enticed me for a little bit, but how unromantic is that?  I'm a strategy-oriented kind of girl, but do I really want to have to explain, "Well, kids, I met your father thanks to my carefully planned strategy to find the right guy."  No thanks.  I would stoop to eating grilled grubs, but not strategizing… right?  Maybe I'll meet him at dance class.  Ha.  I did go back, by the way.  I've been three times now.  If nothing else, my wardrobe selection has improved.  It's dreadful really.  I'm doing it more as a character exercise than anything else now.  It's like leaping and falling, knowing when you leapt that you'd likely fall, then gathering your dignity, smiling and doing the same thing ten more times.  Maybe practicing public failure and humiliation will come in handy for my convent application, I just won’t mention it was dance class. 

Much love, she said drily, rolling her eyes,

Miss Georgia Delaney Hawthorne

Just a Little Aussie Update

Hello, dear friends and relatives,
I'm still in Australia.

I'm still working at a Mexican restaurant where people say, "Can I get a kwesuh..., kwesuh..., kwesadilla?"  I still like it.  I've started a jar where my tips go.  I still haven't decided what I should spend them on... Great Barrier Reef?  Afternoon coffee?  Horse rentals at the beach?  Christmas presents?  Stocks and bonds?  Give me your best ideas.  SG got a job at a French restaurant, the kind where you have more forks than food, and a particular angle of nose is required.  I'm hoping she'll make something fancy and French for dinner soon, but not foie gras.  Giving liver a fancy name does not turn it into something else.

This afternoon I started work on a project.  For my grad school class, we have to write a devotional for a family to do together.  I think I'm going to have them work through Philippians.  Our class has to follow a strict format based on devos the professor has written.  I'm sure it works, but it's kind of cramping my style. 

Tomorrow is Sunday.  Sunday means dressing up and hanging out with our old friends and Bible stories at Sunday school.  Tomorrow I'm telling the story.  I'm a little concerned about the ten minute time "guideline".  It's the story of the wedding feast from Matthew 22.  Party it up!



Need to catch some dinner before work!

Little Miss Sunshine

Afraid of the Dark

I grew up in Colorado in a small blue farmhouse next to a dairy, across from a cornfield. During the day, this was a beautiful place to be. The Colorado Rockies were on the horizon and fresh (sort of cow-tainted) air abounded. At night, however, it was dark. Those of you raised in cities would have no concept of dark, having been raised on lit streets in regular neighborhoods. The only lights that existed that far out of town were the eerie glow of the tall farm lights. Conceptually, these were comforting, as they represented a family living peacefully on their farm, apple pies, fresh butter, all that. In reality, the lights glowed blue-green and looked more like alien spaceship lights than the glow of hearth and home. We had one of these lights between the barn and our detached garage. It was alright if you weren't by yourself, but pity your shaken frame of five-year-old mind if you were.

Texas was a similar story. We lived in the inner sticks (that region of country about 5 minutes outside of town) and had a light on the back porch. I'd take my flashlight to check on the chickens (Aussie: chooks), walking with measured tread out to the far reaches of our acreage. I'd slowly sweep the light over the corners of the barn, checking for monsters or skunks. I'd gather what eggs were there to be gathered and turn my back on the barn. That was a horrid feeling, turning your back on the barn, leaving the eyes of all the creepy crawlies to watch you walk back to the house, where the beacon of civilization stood. But you couldn't run. Running from the darkness was an admission that you were scared. That wasn't an option. I'd usually sing loudly instead.

As I grew, my fears grew with me. The dark was now below not being cool, not being a flexible ballerina, failing, getting fat, singing off key, and not being an A-team volleyball player on my list of fears. That was high school stuff. The list changed again when I got to college. I wanted to do well in my classes, be well liked and not fail at things. Not failing at things sometimes meant not trying them. Basketball? Forget it - white girl who can't jump. Soccer? I run distance, not speed. This can be quite hindering for a girl who likes to try new things and be involved in everything. Then I made a friend. He wasn't afraid to try new things, even if it meant failing at them. Failing was just a part of the learning process. The not participating was worse than failing for him. Slowly, I caught on. Sure, there were still things I was reluctant to do, but the way I viewed my fear of failure began to change from a dignified safety net to a set of shackles. I played basketball and soccer. Basketball was still a small disaster, but soccer wasn't too bad. But that's ok. I learned small disasters are not the end of the world.

Looking over your shoulder in moments like these, you see you've come a fair hike from the place that you started. Upon turning back to the summit, you realize there are still miles, switchbacks and rattlesnakes between you and the goal. The fear list still exists. I'm afraid of not being a good teacher, not being liked, people knowing me truly, and there's still failing and getting fat.

These things are all motivators. The fear of not being liked sometimes makes me careful to present myself in the most fun and friendly way possible. Fear of not being a good teacher motivates me to read good books and learn new things about the world to share with my future students. Here's the trick. Being fun and friendly and reading books are not bad things, it's what motivates them that's crooked. Fear is a dreadful master. It's never satisfied. It works you and works you and works you until you collapse in a blubbering defeated heap somewhere. The alternative?

Love.

Love is a motivator too. Instead of treading heavily behind you, nipping at your heels and cracking its whip, Love comes running by you, grabs you by the hand and races ahead. Love is a child who has a secret to share and drags his companion along by the hand because they can't hurry fast enough. He knows if his companion only knew the nature of the secret, they'd be running pell mell too. Love is a mighty river, a torrent that snaps the house of twigs that Fear has built. Love is freedom for the captive, home for the wanderer, and an invitation for the lonely.

With love, I read teaching books because those kids deserve my very best. With love, I go running because I only have one body and it's the living space of God's Spirit. With love, I am friendly because community is God ordained and God sustained. With love, I read the fear list and realize the only way I can get rid of it is by making one choice at a time. It will only be gone when I choose daily to walk in love.

After all,

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." 1 John 4:18

Little Miss Sunshine

When the Sun Rises

Tyler Johnson, a pastor In Arizona, said something once that I hope I never forget. He said that we are far more wicked than we could ever believe, but we are far more loved than we could ever dare hope.

When I think about what he said, I think of a sunrise on a barren, war-torn landscape. It's as if you saw something on the news, a tragedy that made you want to cry and yell and ask God why someone would do this. Then your face flashes on the screen. This is not a hardened criminal whose face looks like all the others. It is yours. You have wrought this with your own hands. At that moment, there is horror and disbelief. You're such a great guy. People tell you so! How could this have happened? Surely there's some mistake. Great guys don't do things like this. Not this. Not you.

I remember my moment of horror and disbelief.

It had happened at a birthday party. My birthday party. I was opening presents and reading cards. There was a present from my brother and I opened it. I don't even remember what it was now, maybe a movie. I thanked my mom, who protested that it was my brother's gift. I remember looking at him and saying, Well, it's not really from you because Mom paid for it. It was derisive, condescending, flippant. Looking at my brother now, he's a great gift giver. He's generous and he has good taste. I look back on that moment with horror. He couldn't have been more than 8 years old at the time. I took what he'd given me and deemed it illegitimate. I, in my insensitive, black and white view of the world, told him that he hadn't paid for it, so it was really Mom's gift to me. I did this to the person I would instantly give up my right hand for. I did this to the person that made my last two years of university better just because he was there too. My brothers are two of the people I miss most in Australia. How can we hurt so deeply the people we love best?

The second sort of sunrise is also filled with disbelief, but instead of horror, this disbelief is mingled with awe. Instead of a war-torn landscape, the sun rises on the place that can make you cry with relief and joy and every good feeling you've ever felt. Coming home from the worst day at the office, you're at the last fringe of your rope. You failed to see the email from Bill, which made you late to the impromptu meeting. Dean was upset because your presentation to corporate wasn't up to par, and Mary is still waiting on the monthly report. Did you actually get anything done today? Then you get home. All you want to do is curl up in the fetal position and sleep for a week. When you walk in, the house is silent for a brief moment before it erupts into cheering and laughter. There's your sister and your parents and your best friend. Suddenly you're being serenaded with Happy Birthday and being charged to blow out every last candle. You realize, in the weary haze your life had become, you'd forgotten your own birthday. Then your grandparents are walking in with your aunt and uncle and Dad is telling you how much he loves you. You're at a loss, still a little disoriented. In answer to your puzzled look, your best friend tells you that your parents decided you needed a little extra love this birthday and decided to throw you a party. The transition from being broken, weary and alone to loved, wanted, and celebrated takes a few minutes.

I have had many moments of disbelieving awe. I come to the One who has it all, my arms full of community service certificates, report cards, letters of recommendation, things I think will bring me into His good graces. As I'm alphabetizing my supporting documents, going over my speech, scrambling to fix a stray strand of hair that has become unruly, I see Him. The sun rises. I see that where I am, report cards and letters of recommendation have no place. I see that, defying all logic, His Son has paid for me to come home. There is no need for resumes, He's just glad I'm here. The One who created the lion's roar and the cello's song is glad that I am with Him. Suddenly a great love, the greatest love, washes over my flaws and mistakes. All that I thought He wanted from me has been replaced by one word: LOVE.

There is no room for report cards and letters of recommendation where the Father is. All that matters is, did you come by the name of His Son. Only when you come that way do all of your moments of horror disappear into forgetfulness and the dark places are filled with light. There is no restoration unless the Prodigal comes home. You are far more loved than you could ever dare hope. Just come home.

Hoping you come to the second sunrise,

Little Miss Sunshine

Birthday Party Gone Awesome

As I have mentioned before, we are making friends. One of these friends is Will, also known by the names Willis, Will I Am, William, Willow, etc. He would have to spend a while filling out tax forms because he has so many alternate names. Will is also the current holder of the prestigious "Funniest Aussie We've Met So Far" Award. Birthdays are wont to happen to everyone, even in Australia, and Will is no exception. Being the kind of guy Will is, he decided instead of taking himself out for steak, he would buy pastries and lollies and fruit and invite his friends over. WE GOT INVITED!

This was no ordinary party. First, it was a birthday party. Second, it was an Australian birthday party, which we're still figuring out. Third, it was a COSTUME party - Lizabeth, wish you were here! So of course, the moment Will told me the rules: wear a costume that starts with the first letter of either of your names, I was brainstorming. We're talking thunder, lightning, torrential downpour brainstorm. My favorite idea was tearing out Friday from my planner and carrying it around with a clock. Carpe that diem! I recognize that I have a tendency to be a little abstract and odd sometimes, so I ditched that idea when Cat and Cherie offered me the third slot in their coveted trio of Charlie's Angels.

I donned my bubble gum pink pants, which Sam later asked if I had brought to Australia on purpose, my white button up with collar popped, my beige peeptoe heels, and as much gold jewelry as I could find. I tried to make my hair voluminous, but it refused. Cherie was my arms dealer and had bought me a gun to complete the ensemble. Cat picked SG and I up, and we were off! SG was snugly surrounded by her soft sleeping bag, dressed as a slumber partier. We arrived at Willis's house, not before we had picked up a stray dog after almost hitting it in the street… it seems Cat, true to her name, is a fairy godmother to furry creatures.

We knew a few people there so we talked to them around the fire, making introductions where necessary. You kind of have to be a secret agent when you're in situations like this… Tess is dating that guy who's cousins with that girl over there, this girl's name is Hannah and she goes to church with these people. This is Nate, who you recognize because he's in TJ's wedding picture, and he lives with Sam and he's dating Lucy. Tricky business. There were some fun costumes present. Will, the birthday man, was dressed as a gangsta, there was a tree, school girls, Juliet, and even Wonder Woman, also known as Deb, made an appearance.

I am competitive. It's funny because the Australians are beginning to pick up on this. Last night, Will, in his benevolent wisdom, brought out the ping pong table, which commenced a long battle of around the world. I held my own at the table, except for the part where I was running to the other side and my heel plunged between the boards of the deck and I got stuck. Bother. I lost plenty of matches, but it was heaps of fun. Later we played some kind of primitive battle game, which I was trounced at, and Mario Kart, which I represented the family name pretty well.

Also, they don't know what root beer is here. Weird. But they do have ginger beer, which has a similar taste, with a twang of ginger.

Final report of the party- fabulous. Thank you, Will I Am, for being born and giving us a reason to celebrate.

Little Miss Sunshine

The Questions You Will Ask

Hi friends,

It has been my experience that when people go away for a time and come back to where they were before, people are wont to ask questions. Whether "away" means to the kitchen or to Borneo, there will be questions - is there any dessert left? or what's the strangest thing you saw in Borneo? Having gone away and come back several times, I have an idea about what kinds of questions you're asking right now, or will ask at Christmas. Let me put your wondering minds at ease with a few answers. If I've overlooked any questions in my mindreading, feel free to comment or ask me on Facebook.

How was Australia?

While this is a valid question, it's a little bit silly. I'm not equipped to comment on the state of the nation of Australia.

Where are you in Australia?

South of Melbourne.

What's the weather like?

Melbourne is famous for its fickle weather. We hear things like "four seasons in a day" or "if you don't like the weather now, just wait thirty minutes" all the time. Right now we're making the transition from winter to spring (the Southern Hemisphere's seasons are opposite the Northern's) which is marked by the blooming of iris, wisteria, and roses.

How's SG?

She's doing well. She loves that they drink tea probably four times a day, and there are so many great places to run. She's a pro with the kids and moms in playgroup. She's got a gentleness that really connects with pre-k kids. Today, she has her first day of training at a local restaurant! There are occasions when we don't get along as well as we'd like, but that's a learning process too, and we're trusting God to help us work together and become better communicators this year.

Have you seen kangaroos?

Yes! We saw some this week! In the wild! AHHHHHHHHH! They're similar to North American deer, in that they gather in herds and stick to forested and meadow areas.

How's the church?

Welcoming. Gracious. Different from any I've ever been to. It's a classic dark wood, stained glass, pews church. The denomination is Uniting, which is a combo deal of Presbyterian/Methodist/Congregational. It's more liturgical and formal than I'm used to, but it's growing on me. The people here are incredibly generous and kind to us. We always have invitations for tea or trips to gardens, etc. We now have heaps of extra grandparents, as the church is mostly older people. The most active and ambitious older people I've ever met, I might add.

What's a normal day look like?

Wake up around 7:30, run, breakfast, walk to church, playgroups/breakfast club/office time, walk home for lunch, meetings with Mr. M or free time to read, dinner, homework for my grad school class, hang out with our host couple/ work, to bed around 11.

What kinds of things do you eat?

You can see a lot of British influences in the food over here, although there is also a lot of Asian influence because of geography and US influence because we're big and have big marketing schemes. A classic Australian dish is the meat pie. They also eat a lot of roasts, chops, chutneys, and on occasion, fruit cakes and puddings. If you're willing to pay the exorbitant restaurant prices, you can get whatever kind of food you want - Italian, Thai, Mexican, whatever.

What was your purpose for being in Australia?

My official title is youth intern. As we only have two teenagers that attend the church at present, my goal has been to get to know them and their family and eventually start discipling them and equipping their parents to do the same. I'm also helping out with the prolific pre-k play groups the church runs, going to various church events, and working at a local Mexican restaurant. Overall, the purpose is to know Jesus my King better and serve this church in whatever way I'm able, while enjoying the cultural and geographical differences of living in another country.

Who are you hanging out with if most of the congregation is older?

Older people, of course! Our grandma and grandpa friends are hilarious and buckets of fun. They love taking us places and showing us around. We've also made some wonderful friends through working at the high school with breakfast club. Most of them go to the local Baptist church and have invited us to join their fortnightly (every two weeks) small group. They're a little crazy - they go cliff jumping into the ocean, surf, and watch Flight of the Concords (that's for you, TJ) - but we like them a lot. They are a combination of youth pastors (TJ ), school chaplains (Cat, Sam, Joel), university and Bible college students(Jake, Cherie, Will) and pastry chefs (Reese). They took us on as friends, knowing that they'd have to give us rides to places and not knowing what sort of people we were. I have never felt more welcome in a new place than I have in Australia. I feel like we have a huge team of people who love and support us, even though we've only been here 8 weeks!

If I have been completely inaccurate in my mindreading, post your questions and I will search high and low for answers.

Much love from Oz (which is what they call Australia here)

Little Miss Sunshine

Curious George and the Dancing Debacle

I did it. I stepped outside the situation and had a very stern conversation with myself. I said, look here, Georgie, if you shy away from everything you're afraid of, what kind of life is that? So I went to dance lessons. I did. I really did. I nervously called the studio and talked to Jade, who was very nice and told her I wanted to conquer my fear and learn to dance. She chuckled over the phone and said that was great and gave me the schedule.

The night of terror arrived and I painstakingly picked out my outfit, my own interpretation of Jade's advice : something comfortable that you can move in. What kind of clothes are those!? I wore a charcoal v-neck tee and some black stretchy/yoga-y pants. I marched myself out to my car and went. I was hating myself all the way there, thinking of all the things I could be doing instead of facing this tiny little fear.

I pulled up to the studio and made it up the front steps and through the front door before my palms started to sweat and my heart started to race. This was no unreasonable reaction. It is socially customary to scope out the situation one has recently arrived in. Upon my doing so, I found myself in a room full of skirts, slacks, and people who seemed completely at ease and capable of turning pirouettes and jigging to the Emerald Isle herself. This was not good.

Jade must have noticed my look of sheer terror and grabbed my hand before I could bolt. She was short and brunette, and you could tell she was a dancer by the way she dressed. It has been my experience that a dancer's method of getting dressed in the morning involves putting on an abundance of clothing on involving lots of layers and textures. Jade was no exception. She introduced herself as Jade and said the class was about to get under way. I felt a little better after her welcome, but that didn't fix the sweaty palms.

Following Jade's directions, we - the well dressed patrons of the art of dance and me, strung ourselves into several lines to do some warming up and stretching. Jade introduced herself and her partner John. We did some moves I can't remember because the next part was too painful. We made two concentric circles, boys on the outside, girls on the inside. My first partner's name was Jake. His girlfriend had dragged him to dance class with her, so his efforts were a bit begrudging. I won't blame my early failure on Jake, as the clumsiness is my own fault. Between his reluctance and my uncoordination, we were a pitiful couple. My second partner was George, who was 55 and creepy. My third partner was Jerry, who was very nice and tried to be helpful, but I was having footwork troubles that were beyond his scope of experience. I don't remember partners 4-6. Toes were stepped on, small talk was made, and darting glances were shot across the room to couples who were actually doing the steps Jade was describing. Partner seven's name escapes me. All I remember is his cologne was heavenly. The rest of the night was a blur until I was making my way out the door after class, amazed at my own survival skills.

Trying new things is exhausting. You have to throw yourself out there, vulnerable to the world, and act like it's no big deal, like your heart isn't pumping twice its normal rate, and you're enjoying making a fool of yourself in the process.

Love you but not dancing,

George

Nooks and crannies

Writing is enormously annoying. It demands time and effort to produce a product that, if successful, conveys only a limited viewpoint, and part of that rests on the reader. How can I tell you about running for the bus, only to discover it was late; traipsing about in my rain jacket, though the sun was shining; thoughts on Aboriginal art and nude portraits; and that's not even being half of it? I'd be writing for ages, and you'd give up long before I was finished! Bother.

Suffice it to say, we went to the city. We strode about the Ian Potter Centre and thought artsy thoughts about Aboriginal dot paintings (love those colors!) and strange installations of a banner march. In making our departure, I decided it was best to leave a museum before you become angry that you're still there. SG said walking around museums is tiresome, and I agree. You're navigating, observing, arguing, enjoying, and feeling things, and you can only do it for so long before all you want to do is sit down somewhere and have a nap.

After our striding about the Ian Potter, we happened upon the glass tower of wisdom, the city guide to Melbourne or something. The ground floor is a nearly empty room of glass panels, the basement, a veritable storehouse of brochures. We left before we had weighed ourselves down too much. Just people watching in Federation Square would be enough to keep one occupied for hours, but we decided to see more of the city. We didn't see much of it, but we made it to an antique bookstore, some little shops, and some beautiful churches before calling it quits within the confines of a coffee shop.

Having recently been voted the world's most livable city, Melbourne lived up to her name. Just walking around the downtown area was fun. There were shops and cafés everywhere - even two Starbucks sightings, a Hungry Jack's (Burger King) and a McDonalds. The thing I enjoyed most was the buildings themselves. The shops I could do without, but to see the shimmering skyscrapers nestled next to hundred year old churches and state buildings, that's what I love about cities. We walked around the sprawling St. Paul's Cathedral before we caught our train home. The Catholics and I don't agree on all points of theology, but I'll give them this - they know how to build churches. The sanctuary was lined with stained glass windows telling stories from the Bible and on the back wall (pardon my cathedral architectural ignorance) was a large shimmering image of Christ on the cross. Ornate tile patterns crossed the floors, and dark wood paneling on the walls created a space that you didn't really want to talk in, just sit or walk or pray in.

Walking around the city, I could see what people are talking about when they describe living in cities. They talk about the energy and the constant movement of people. Today that throb of humanity took me by the hand and pulled me along streets and around corners as if to say, "Can you feel the excitement? Have you seen this street of mine yet?" It was boggling to think about all the nooks and crannies of the city. We only walked down a few avenues, and at every cross walk we were only a fraction of the throng that was off on some errand or other. Each of those people have stories and hopes and dreams. This is true of everyone, but the high concentration of everyones in cities makes the fact that much more apparent. For all its grandeur though, I don't know that I could live in a city. They're fun and have ballets and symphonies and the occasional street dance off (we saw one today!) But they don't have stars to wish on or fields to picnic in, or space for pecan trees.

We made it back already talking of our next trip to the city. On the way, I finished my book What You Need to Know about Project Management by Fergus O'Connell. SG is probably fed up with hearing about it, but it is a fantastic book. I would recommend it to anyone. It sounds dry and technical, but it is a light read and helpful for anyone, whether you're managing projects for a large firm, or just planning a dinner party. Heck, it'd be helpful for writing your to-do list for the day! Read it. Read it. Read it. The time you spend reading it will be returned to you ten fold in time saved in projects.

Tonight I started The Promise by Chaim Potok. I'm a sucker for great names, and it was recommended by a dear old man, Mr. M, who is proving his wonderfulness more and more every day as he teaches us how to serve families and live meaningful lives this year and always.

Little Miss Sunshine