Hello, Tuesday

We love Tuesdays.  It's our day off.  Don't get me wrong, we love going to "work" (play with kids, teach Bible stories, talk with 93 year olds), but days off are welcome.  Yesterday, our socks were on by 7:20, shoes by 7:30 and we were running for our lives.  One of the many things I appreciate about SG is that she's a runner.  I run, but most days I wouldn't consider myself a runner.  SG, on the other hand, is a fabulous runner, and is patient enough to drag me along whenever I like.  So we ran. 

This was followed up by a stint in the library nestled in the kids' section (the grownup section doesn't have bean bags).  Right now, I'm reading A Swiftly Tilting Planet  by Madeleine L'Engle.  It's not bad, but I look at it as sort of an ugly stepsister to anything C.S. Lewis wrote.  She has some good ideas, but her wordcraft isn't as effortless.  I know, I'm biased. 

Speaking of books, can we take a break in our regularly scheduled blogging to talk about The Hunger Games?  I know, you've all read them and seen the movie, the hype's ebbing and you're tired of hearing about it.  But really, over here in small town Australia, I'm languishing away because book 3 is still checked out at the library!  AHHHHHHHHHH.  Do you hear me?  Lang-uish-ing!  Collins is a wonderful plot crafter, to be sure.  While I question her liberal use of violence and nakedness to get her point across, there is no question that at least the first two books are cliffhangers of a narcotic sort. 

How do we approach well crafted novels that have objectionable content in them?  The violence is not seen in a positive light, but more of a necessary evil, and one that becomes quite common as the Games progress.  Teenagers killing each other with their bare hands in order to survive.  How much does that become modeling for teenagers and young adults reading the books?  What process do we undertake to encourage free speech and great authorship while still being aware of the impressionability of kids' minds?  Let me know if you have any great ideas.

Back to Tuesday. 

When library time was over, it was coffee time.  Coffee time is usually a daily ritual, but only on Tuesdays does coffee time take place in a café.  SG and I are tightwads, to put it succinctly, so we generally only indulge in buying coffee on Tuesdays.  We've tried almost all of the cafés on the main street, which is quite an achievement.  This week, we chose poorly.  In this café's defense, it's brand new, and there's still a bit of unfinished construction in the back corner.  As noted in the previous post, the lattes were unremarkable.  Coffee aside, we made use of the internet and booked our trip to Queensland.  Frequent flyer miles, here we come. 

We couldn't stay at the café too long because we had an afternoon engagement.  Pastor John had commissioned George and old Ian (not to be confused with big Ian and Ian P) to show these uneducated girls Chariots of Fire (yay, running).  George picked us up and Ian met us at George's.  They've been friends for 20 years.  They're both remarkable, kind, wonderful old men who deserve to have books written about them.  We all sat in George's living room and watched the movie, turned up to full volume because Ian's going deaf.  Afterwards, of course, was afternoon tea.  George made the tea and then brought around rocky road fudge, short bread, and caramel slice (favorite!).  Such a great way to spend an afternoon!

On the way back from George's, SG fished the grocery list out of her bag and we split to do some grocery battle.  Back at the house, we unloaded the tahini, honey, eggs, and heaps of produce we plan on using in our week's menu plan.  Yes, we meal plan, you can be impressed. 

Zucchini safely in the fridge, we set off to Joan and Ian's (Ian P) for dinner with the Africans.  I use the term African, not in an ignorant way, just as a short cut for saying they were from Zimbabwe, Angola, Malawi, etc.  Joan and Ian are excellent hosts and had invited a dozen engineers studying for a month at a local university for dinner.  I ducked out early to play on Chez's basketball team in place of Eliza, who's currently on her honeymoon in Vietnam. 

Basketball.  I quit basketball after basketball camp when I was 8 and discovered I couldn't dribble.  I took it up again informally in high school and for one season for intramurals under my brother's coaching.  That said, I don't have much going for me.  I don't know very many of the rules, hardly any strategy, and I can't shoot.  Oh, and I'm short.  The one thing on my side is I'm aggressive and fouls don't worry me too much.  The team we played was short and quick.  They were aggressive and worked together pretty well.  I got the ball a couple times and passed it off straight away.  I think I still have a slight fear of dribbling.  That aside, I did get my first chance at making a free throw.  Although I had to ask which line I stood behind, I missed the first shot and nailed the second.  We lost by one point.

Back to dinner with the Africans, where SG was playing co-hostess along with Ian and Joan's son in law and grandson.  I got there just in time for dessert.  Perfect.  At the end of dinner, everyone said goodnight and thank you with various renditions of blessings in their heart language.  We shook their hands and they piled back into the bus with the Chinese bus driver who always brings Ian and Joan's international visitors from the university. 

We caught a ride home with Ian's son in law and promptly went to bed. 

Goodnight, Tuesday, it's been fun.

Little Miss Sunshine 

Northern Down Undah

It was back.  It was forth.  It was on again, off again.  Well, it's on, folks, and it's staying that way.  SG and I are hitting the road, or rather the air, for Queensland.  For those of you unfamiliar with Australian geography, Queensland is the state that covers a large portion of the northeast.  It is famous for its bananas, rugby league, beaches, and most notably, the Great Barrier Reef. 

As busy of a week as it was last week, we didn't have much time to think over our options, bargain hunt and graze through travel blogs.  We booked less than a week before our departure.  Being rendered internetless by our latest house sitting gig, SG and I did our research while drinking unremarkable lattes at a café with free wifi.  This hotel, or that hotel, this much more to be this much closer to the airport?  Should we go to a travel agent?  Can we be to the airport by this time if we take public transport?  Are we old enough to do this?  Too many details to be recounted. 

Finally, we clicked the necessary clicks, put in the necessary names and numbers, and by gum, we're going to Queensland.  In true American travel style, we'll only be there for a couple days.  I say American style because when Aussies travel, they consider a week a trifle, and a weekend a joke for traveling time.  They are accustomed to more time off and are in the habit of taking off to Italy for four weeks on holiday. 

In booking this mini vacay, some travel firsts have been accomplished.  Let's start with, I'VE NEVER STAYED IN A HOTEL WITHOUT GROWNUPS!  I know, I count as a grownup.  Second, I've never gone to a city without knowing someone there.  We'll get taxis and schedule day trips to the Reef, and hopefully caramelize this tan of mine so I won't be white as ostrich hide coming off an Aussie winter to an American summer.  (Queensland is not unlike Florida in its climate and stays pleasant in the winters. )

While we are jazzed about this trip to northern Down Under, we've been hearing plenty of cautionary advice.  This includes - don't swim in the rivers.  Why, dear, naïve, little you may ask?  Because they're riddled with bloodthirsty crocodiles.  Also - watch out for the stingahs (stingers).  To translate - don't be too quick to swim in the ocean either because the meters-long tentacles of the box jellyfish might get you and kill you before you can say "G'day".  SG also suggested I check out swimming in a shark cage while I'm there.  I'm not sure if she's being sympathetic to my adrenaline junky nature, or if she's trying to make an end of me.  :) 

Regardless of crocs, stingahs, and any cyclones that may hit the mainland (as we hear they do occasionally this time of year), I'm sure we'll have a grand ole time and come back brimming with stories of the northern coast, its people and further adventures of Sunshine and SG. 

Love,

LMS

In Transition

Can I just tell you my life is kind of a mess right now?

Sure, it's nothing compared to the intricate difficulties of being a siamese twin or the dangers of being an Alaskan king crab fisherman.  Let's just say, for my already slightly out of the ordinary life, things are nuts.  If I were a nice person who used delicate language, I would say my life is "in transition" right now.  I'm transitioning from suitcase to drawer, backpack to hanger, sock to sock drawer, student to teacher, back to student, and organizational hurricane to ship shape. 

My room is an indicator of this chaos.  We moved on Friday.  I had two bags full of laundry, and the supply of clean undies was getting dangerously low.  Today the laundry made it out of the bags and into sorted piles on the floor.  You know, they transitioned. 

Saturday morning, I said goodbye to my best friend.  Not permanently, mind you, she just popped over the Pacific for a week.  We were chatting on Skype and she mentioned she had Spring Break free… next thing you know we're colliding in the airport, I'm introducing her to Aussie old people, and she's learning about fish n chips and Aussie pies!  It was a fabulous week of catching up and encouragement.  No wonder Paul and Timothy and Titus traveled around visiting people! 

After a "don't you dare hit the snooze" at 5:30, a wistful goodbye to Zanna at 6:30, and getting ready for the day, SG and I set off for a training day in the city.  The training was simple: become camp ninjas.  {Perhaps I should back track for a moment.  SG and I are working a camp going to Uluru, aka Ayer's Rock in central Australia.  We're going with high school kids and will serve as camp staff leading small groups, fighting off dingoes, and maintaining a reasonable amount of order.}

We trained.  We all stood on a sheet and flipped it over without anyone stepping off.  We built balloon towers.  We acted out scenarios.  We ate lasagna.  We reflected on what we learned about teamwork and expectations from standing on a sheet.  We watched a promo video.  We watched people draw diagrams on a white board.  We did the things you expect from a camp staff training session.  Just so you don't think it was boring, there was also piano playing, dish washing and a slightly heated debate about evolution between two people who thought Darwin lived in the 1600s. 

The van dropped us off and I did a bit of unpacking before putting on my work shoes and transitioning mentally to serve tacos with style.  Being a busy night, I was kept on my toes remembering that table 12 needed salt, table 6 didn't want cheese on their tacos, and I still needed to make that Midori margarita for table 32.  Those nights are fun because they're like a test.  It's as though the managers fill the restaurant with people, sprinkle a few special dietary needs and a few impatient people and dare you to do well.  Aside from the lost La Combinacion and the man who didn't want sour cream on his fajita salad, it was a good night. 

I came home at 10:00, talked with SG for a while, then crashed into bed, trying not to trip over the luggage still strewn about from the unpacking mess.  This morning we churched, I went to a meeting for a youth camp in September, and finished the day with Messy Church, our now monthly family/community service.  We have a whole room of crafts and activities, a short service and then a meal.  This month's theme was "The Colors of Easter".  If nothing else, this internship has taught me the importance of volunteers.  There is no way we could do this without the "church ladies" kitchen crew, or the men who set up tables and chairs and the people who step forward to lead craft stations.  It's amazing what a team of volunteers can do! 

Now, here I sit, wondering what I'm going to teach my 1st/2nd grade Bible class tomorrow and what we're supposed to be studying for high school Bible study…  transition from ambiguity to clarity?  Please?  Soon?

Love,

LMS

Some day, I will be a teacher...

Dear Explorer,

Welcome to the Laboratory of Life, Expedition Jumping Off Point, Team Training Grounds. Some people would call this a classroom. If they are talking about a room where people learn what it means to be classy, then it could be called a classroom. If they are talking about some place where school happens, then it could not be considered a classroom. This is a place where learning happens, not school.

I'm not sure yet who you are, whether you like socks with purple stripes, or socks that are brown, or socks that have athletic company logos on them. I don't know if you have ever heard of Mr. William Shakespeare or Socrates or Florence Nightingale. I don't know if you are good at painting or building things or communicating ideas in ways that help people understand. I don't know if you've lived here all your life or if you've just arrived from halfway around the world. Maybe you have ten sisters, or maybe you have no family at all and live with your pet zebra.

What I do know is you have a brain that is capable of extraordinary things. I also know that this year will not be easy, but it will be fun. I will ask you to try things you might never have thought about trying, or to think about things you've never thought about. I know that I'm glad you're a part of this expedition discovery exploration adventure.

This year, we will be doing things like throwing dinner parties, building rockets, and memorizing poetry. It's ok if you've never done any of these things before. There's a first time for everything. Also, this year, we will be learning a lot about our team. If you don't like someone on the team, that's ok. I'll probably have you work together on a project so that you can find some reasons to like them. I love projects, but only fun ones, so we'll be doing some of those this year.

If your mom or dad or Aunt Lucy wants a supply list of things you'll need, you can give them this list. If they can't find these at WalMart, that's ok.

1. Good attitude

2. Willingness to participate

3. Sense of adventure

I will see you bright and early on adventure trek day 1. Don't be late, or I might feed you to the crocodiles I brought back from Australia.

Your Adventure Trek Expedition Leader, which some people might call a "3rd grade teacher"

Little Miss Sunshine

Saturdays

If, perhaps, you'd been watching from above a little coastal town in Victoria, you would have seen a girl leave a house this morning with a wave to the owners, who were standing in the driveway.  She's walking carefully, which you notice is due to a white mug of something warm.  She's trying her best not to spill, taking sips approximately every 17 paces.  Once, she stops to drink and blows on the mug, fogging up her sun glasses.  This she does several times, wondering what it would be like to see the world in a fog.  As she begins her descent down the hill into the small coastal town in Victoria, you notice her pause and look down, puzzled.  A moment, and then she finds the spot she's sloshed coffee onto without realizing.  It won't damage the dark blue skinny jeans, and they were cheap anyway.

The wind tosses her hair around her face, with a charcoal colored headband as her only defense.  She checks her watch repeatedly.  A few more minutes and she's walking in the door of the local Mexican restaurant.  It's the staff meeting she almost forgot to go to.  After almost an hour of listening to her boss rail at her and her fellow waitresses, wondering if the criticism is directed at her or others, she interjects.

Look, boss, if you really want to help us, do this.  We love working for you, and we love working here.  Sometimes we get lazy because it's easy to work here.  We hate that you're mad.  Why don't we just take a few weeks and you can check in on us.  If we improve on the things you say, praise us.  If we don't, can us.

The boss stops her and asks her to repeat the last sentence, just to hear her say "can" in an American accent.

She continues.  I know you're nice, but really, us getting away with being lazy isn't helping you, or the business, or us, really.

He nods his head in agreement.

A few minutes later, she walks out the door and takes a left.  Past the people walking their dogs, past the people sitting on the bench eating ice cream.  Another left, and she's at the library.  She stops at the returns counter to turn in the second book in the Hunger Games.  At this rate, it'll be April before the third one is available.  She slumps comfortably into a stack of bean bags and endeavors to finish A Communist Manifesto, grimacing when Marx suggests that having women in common is a step toward progress.

A wander through the shelves and she's collected Cannery Row, A Novel in a Year, The Last Battle, and Penguin's Poems by Heart.  Not that she's going to write a novel, you understand.  She couldn't write a novel.  Besides, not writing a novel would be better than writing one to sit on a shelf growing dusty and neglected.  Well, perhaps she is throwing the idea around, except that she has no idea what she would even put in a novel.  She debates all these things as she makes her exit.

Wending her way down serpentine sidewalks, she raps on the door of a friend's house.  Finding them not at home, she leaves a note on the clothes drying rack, secured with a clothespin.  Readjusting the coffee mug she drained during the remainder of the work meeting and attached to her backpack with a carabiner, she wends her way back through the neighborhood.

Back up the hill, devising schemes for a free Saturday afternoon, she leans into the hill, willing herself not to stop.  She unlocks the back door and sets about finding lunch.  Carrot cake in the fridge that needs to be eaten.  That's a start.  Dessert first, that's OK because she's 22 and can make mature decisions.  Then comes a salad of avocado, tomato and sauteed onions.  She's smitten with avocado because she's convinced it will make her hair softer.  Pouring a wine glass off iced coffee, she sits at the piano and pulls out the hymnal, wanting to make it through a few old lovelies without too many missteps.

Downing the last drop from the glass, she sets it next to the sink and sits down to browse through Pinterest.  While she's here, she decides she ought to do some blogging.  So she does.

Love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Coffee Date

I love coffee dates with you. We go to that place with the couches. The coffee's strong and the light filters in through those green narrow-striped curtains like you're sitting in a forest.

We talk about the book you're reading right now by that obscure Scottish author. You tell me his brogue slips through when his passion rises. Your eyebrows hike when I tell you I'm reading The Communist Manifesto but they relax when I tell you it's so I'll know why Communism is not an economic model that works and always has a death toll of millions.

You ask how Australia is. And I tell you. I'd say we have full schedules and full hearts. Ours is a multigenerational work. There are many grandmas and grandpas on Sunday morning. A handful of families in the first service give us hope that the church will survive. We work with 0-5 year olds and their parents three days a week, mostly playing and talking to moms about what we're doing here. We wonder if they'll ever understand that Jesus is someone everyone needs.

At the high school, we have our girls' Bible study. There are newcomers all the time, but no one comes very faithfully. It's a new experience, inviting Jesus into the public schools. One afternoon a week, we teach Bible to first and second graders. They are all ears, but aren't afraid to ask tough questions about the reliability of what we're saying about God and the Bible.

I counter by asking you about that small group you're leading. You say it's going well, but sometimes it's hard to get anything meaningful out of high school kids. You're working on creating an environment where they feel safe to share what's really on their minds. You're reading Radical and it seems like some of them are getting it.

You get that curious look on your face and ask if there were any men in my life. I return with a haughty, coy look and tell you I've got heaps of men in my life, giving away the fact that I've been living in Australia for a while because I wouldn't have said "heaps" before. Again, the eyebrows arch. Really? Yeah. They're all wonderful. Some of them are dating my best friends, some are married to them. Some have given me a further passion for travel, others make me want to climb mountains and surf the seven seas, while others remind me that following Jesus is the only thing to live for. You roll your eyes. Oh, you meant, is there anyone made delirious by my wit and beauty? No. I keep yelling "I'm IMPATIENT" at the skies and God keeps whispering in my heart "do you trust Me?".

You nod knowingly and change the subject to future plans. Do I have any? Ha. Always. Move to Spain and teach English. Move to Kenya to teach 3rd graders. Look for jobs that involve baking bread, growing basil and country western two step. But really, I've interviewed with a few schools. I'll probably live at home for a bit until I figure out what's next. Yep. I'm going to be one of the rebound kids, move out, travel the world and come back home to eat my mom's cooking. I've reconciled myself to the idea by asserting that I could live on my own if I had to.

I ask how the dog is. You assure me she's mischievous as ever, stealing food from the kitchen counter and barking at possums in the wee hours of the morning. I chuckle and offer my condolences. I'm considering wanting a puppy. I haven't committed to wanting one yet. I know they take a lot of babysitting, and you aren't free from your contract for about 15 years, and that's more than 75% of my life so far, which sounds like a long time.

You drain the last puff of foam from the bottom of your mug. I check my watch and realize I should get home. You give me one of those hugs that says "I'm really glad we're friends". I give you a sunny afternoon smile and tell you we ought to do this more often. You nod. As we walk out of the coffee shop, the bell announces our departure. We go our separate ways, both glad our separate lives could intersect for an afternoon.

Don't do it. Just don't.

There are some things you just don't do. Every now and then, some crazy person can get away with them somehow, but for the average you and me, it doesn't work. Take wearing plaid and stripes in the same outfit, for example. It just won't work for you. Don't do it. Just stay away. Unless, of course, you're this guy…

Another thing you just don't do is talk honestly about controversial topics like politics, religion or people's problems. It's better to skirt around them and talk instead about something you don't really care about. If you only argue about things that don't matter, no one gets hurt. It's safer that way. Offending people is so, well, offensive.

The same goes for reading books like Radical by David Platt or Zealous Love by the Yankoskis. Stay away. Just think about it. If you read that book and it says something crazy like "care for the widow and the orphan" then you might do something crazy like adopt a child or invite lonely people to dinner. That would be an inconvenience, outlandish, weird.


                

The biggest don't do it is this: don't write God blank checks. Don't tell Him you'll do whatever He wants, whatever He says, go wherever He wants. It's just too dangerous. Stick with statements like, "I will do these things for You" or "You can have all of my Sundays, Tuesday nights, and a week of vacation in the summer to use as You'd like". It's just creating boundaries. Therapists talk about them all the time as a way to keep stuff from taking over your life. You could even give God a list, so He has some ideas of things You'd like to do for Him.  That's reasonable, right?

I mean, what happens if you write God a blank check and He fills in the blank: stop talking about people and start talking to people. That wipes out 75% of your conversation! Conversation infringement, don't do it. Or what if He writes in: store up your treasures in heaven? Heard that one before. Dangerous. You start thinking that way and before you know it, adios to The Gap shopping sprees, no more $50 haircuts, and that new doodlidah you ordered online? Forget it.

Who wants to make such extreme changes to their lives, anyway? That's only for people who are super spiritual like Billy Graham or Mother Teresa. They have the extreme lives covered. The rest of us are free to just show up on Sundays if we want and maybe give our pocket change to a kid who's going on a mission trip. No need to interrupt our lives and go overboard with the whole Jesus thing. It's kinda whatever.

If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?  - Jesus

Little Miss Sunshine

A Girl Walks into a Bar...

A girl walks into a bar.

That's where the joke ends and you start laughing because I'm the girl and the bar is a bar where people who are not old yet but are getting there go to get drinks. If you don't know me, you may laugh with incredulity. If you do know me, you may laugh with a knowing twinkle, if you're a type that twinkles when you laugh.

I love to dance. Dance may, in fact, be my most favorite verb, though it may be tied with worship (that's for another blog post). This fact added to the fact that I've watched two dancing movies in the last week resulted in a severe case of dancing fever. [love for dance + dancing movies = Sunshine's dancing fever] A few weeks ago I had gone to a swing dance class and they mentioned that they go over to a particular bar and dance some nights. I kept this in mind.

I googled it, just to check, and sure enough, there it was on the world wide web - as reliable a source of information as your grandma's gossiping neighbor.

The idea was slowly transformed from "this happens on this night" to "I'm doing this, so help me". First, there was the question of a wingman. There was none readily at hand, though I advertised on Facebook, so that matter was quickly settled. SG would be good company, but she feels as giddy about dancing as cats do about baths. I would fly this mission solo.

Then of course, was, what to wear. In solo operations like this that involve dancing with unknown persons, one must walk carefully the line between "why would I dance with a nun" and "why dance with her when I can hit on her". I settled on the one shoulder leopard dress, but put my black teacher cardigan over the top as a precaution until I checked out the situation. A pair of black shoes from SG, and my fishing lure-ish gold earrings and I was set. Upon asking SG if I had enough makeup on, I was asked if I was serious and that I had three times as much as usual.

I tucked my pocket knife into the cuff of my black leggings, along with a $5 bill. In my bag I put another $5, phone and library card - just in case I got knocked out and they needed ID. Host dad Ian gave me a ride and told me to call him when I was done.

I marched myself in those doors, determined to do some dancing. Inside I found a few tables, a jazz band, and a bar with about ten people standing around, mostly over 30. No one was dancing. I got myself a lemon lime and bitters, an Aussie classic that's close to ginger ale and tried to lean against the bar with as much nonchalance as I could muster. The guy standing next to me at the bar looked at me, so I moved to the other side, which was closer to the band. I tried to sip slowly, knowing once that drink was gone, I would have nothing to stand around looking nonchalant with.

For a few minutes, I just watched the band. Sometimes I closed my eyes - partly to enjoy the music, partly so I didn't have to think about being in a bar by myself with no dancing in sight.  I even considered dancing by myself, but I had expended enough bravery for one night.  It was just me and the jazz band until Scott stepped into the multi-colored light. He had a few features that could be classified under the "classic creeper" file like the mustache and the slicked hair, but he was a ginger in jeans and skater shoes who could dance, so that made him a little less creepy.

Not one to let other people have all the fun, I walked over to the lady he'd just finished dancing with and did one of my best dumb gush acts ever.

Me: Oh wow, where'd you learn to dance like that?! You guys are really good!

Lady: Oh, you know, just here and there. Do you dance?

Me: I've done a little swing dancing here and there.

Lady: Well, just ask Scott to dance.

Me: Uhhh…

Lady: Scott, come here, what's your name, doll?

Me: Casie

Lady: Scott, this is Casie, and she's done some swing dancing.

Bam. I was dancing. After a couple dances with Scott, who was pretty good, I took a break and talked with one of the band's singers, who invited SG and I up to her house with a promise that she and her husband would show us the Great Ocean Road. Aussies are so friendly.

Next, I danced with Shane, who was probably fifty. He was the dance teacher, and had danced ballet professionally for a few years. Needless to say, he was good.  He kind of looked like this, but with glasses...

Third guy, oh, the third. Well, he tried to be the charm, it just wasn't his gift. He looked a little like the villain from Spy Kids. 

 But hey, I'll dance with anyone. His footwork was less than desirable, but he bypassed my toes, so that's ok. After the two dances I said yes to, he wanted to chat and buy me a drink. I said no. I don't know if that's rude, but I didn't want an actual drink, and I didn't want to be indebted to talk to him for much longer, especially after he asked if I was seeing anyone. (OH DEAR HEAVENS, WHERE'S MY WINGMAN!?)

Last, but certainly not least after Mr. Third, was Alan. Least creepy and youngest, he had some things going for him, including some dancing skills, which included the freeze. Now and then the band would pause, as they do in swing jazz occasionally. Usually you just keep dancing and pick up the beat when the band comes back in. Not Alan, he would actually freeze. Everybody has their quirks.

Sometimes people try to talk to you while live bands are playing. This is not advisable unless you need to say "THERE'S A FIRE" or "I THINK I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK" or something really important. In order to be heard, you have to lean in so that you can funnel the soundwaves into the other person's ear, which puts you in closer than usual proximity for stranger conversations. Even then, the conversations usually go something like this, especially if there are accents involved…

Aussie: So, where are you from?

Sunshine: No, this is my first time here.

Aussie: Oh. OK. What state is that in?

Sunshine: Oh… yeah. *nod confusedly*

Aussie: *let's try this again* Have you danced much?

Sunshine: Ya, some swing dancing.

Aussie: Cool, cool. Yeah. So you're from Canada?

At this point, you hope they just ask you to dance or walk away.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine