Möbius

Her name is now Möbius. Mobi. Mo. I think it works for her.

Möbius met the dog and cat at my parents' house today. I don't think any of them are quite sure how they feel about one another, but at least they all survived the encounter. It seemed a better plan than leaving my new kitty alone in my cold apartment for a week.

A new as-yet-unamed friend

I have a new friend:
Acquiring said friend was quite a snowy adventure. And she still needs a name. But she's little and cuddly and makes me happy. Hopefully my warm(ish) home and attention make her happy, too. More details on the acquiring-kitten adventure are to come...

Snow Day

It's a snow day.
I made cinnamon rolls, and have been sitting in my comfy chair and reading At the Back of the North Wind under one of our drafty windows, comfortably wrapped in a blanket with a heated, rice-filled neck-warmer covering my feet, as the cinnamony smell fills the room.
And my Christmas lights are on.
And the world is white and full of flurries.
And later I'm planning to go outside and walk around in the snow, getting nice and cold so I can come in and appreciate the feeling of warming up again.
And tonight I'm having homemade chowder in a bread bowl for dinner.
I even have a fireplace, courtesy of YouTube (it doesn't have that irreproducible smell of a wood fire, but at least it crackles).
Snow days are good days.

Lunch Cart

I finally ate at one of those lunch carts on 9th street, and had a giant plate (well, take-out box) of amazingly delicious pad thai. Completely satisfied all my hopes and expectations for lunch-cart eating. I'll have to go back and try the fried rice. Mmm.

The Bagpiping Unicyclist Strikes Again

There's a bagpiping unicyclist in my neighborhood. At first I thought he was a farmer's market anomaly, but today I ran into him again (almost literally, but we missed) while I was out for a walk. He's a big hit with tourists, if the crowds with cameras were any indication.

Wacky. I love it.

A new hat...sort of

I knit myself a hat today. The pattern is spiffy--and the result looks spiffy--except for the minor detail that it's too small for my head. It fits more like a yarmulke. And keeps falling off.

Maybe I'll just pin it to my head with bobby-pins.

And/or knit myself another hat.

Yet Another Delay

So, just kidding. I'm not meeting my new Karen family today. I was supposed to, although they never did tell me where or when I'd be meeting them. And then this morning--after my sending multiple emails and calling--I received a "How about next week instead?" in my inbox.

Bah.

I had emotionally geared myself up for this being today.

Well, anyway. Hopefully I'll be meeting them next week. I'll let you know.

More time to review my Karen language notes this way, right?

Sigh.

Life's Small Tragedies

I broke my favorite mug this morning.

I tell myself, it's just a mug. Just a "thing."

And yet, it makes me sad. It was the perfect size and shape to hold between my hands, big enough to be a sturdy mug but not so big that it felt clumsy or excessive. The perfect interior-color to tell by tint when my tea was steeped just the right amount. The perfect pattern: just enough of tackiness to leave it quirky, not ugly.

And it was familiar. I used it every morning and evening--and sometimes afternoon--for years now.

Farewell, my mug. You will be missed.

He's here!

The new mpwa has arrived! Little John David was born this afternoon, and I now have two nephews running around. Well, John isn't running yet, I guess. But he's around. And the poor kid's going to be attacked with affection at Christmastime, when they come out west.

Ah, aunthood. So fun.

Originality

The world has felt absurdly poetic to me the last few days. As if every commonplace event is imbued with intense significance.

The observation: "Huh, a solitary falling leaf."
My mind's interpretation: "Every man's lonely and unstoppable journey towards death."

You get the idea.

But really, I feel like there's something in me trying to get out. I just don't know what or how. A story? A painting? A four-volume epic novel? Bah. Whatever it is, it's apparently not something I can squeeze out of myself by sitting down and forcing myself to write or paint it. I think it will have to be something which takes me by surprise. (If there's anything actually there at all, I guess.)

-musing-

In one of his essays, C.S. Lewis talks about "originality" as being among the least important aims when creating literature (or art, or music, or whatever). Particularly when it's originality for originality's sake. To be daring, or different, or more interesting so that everyone can gasp and say talk excitedly about how daring or different or interesting you are. Lewis' idea is to aim for truth instead of originality. He believes--and I think he's probably right--that by writing truth, you'll likely find that you end up being "original" without trying.

I think I'm still stuck wanting to be original, though. Bah to pride.

Church

I went to a new church this morning, and tentatively believe that there I've found a home. I always get really conflicted when it comes to "looking for a church," as if it's shopping for a car or a house or something. What am I actually looking for? If I believe that many of the churches around me are part of the global Church, and therefore are my brothers and sisters in Christ, should my personal preferences for structure/service-style prevent my joining them? I still don't know.

But this church is close (three blocks), active (with small groups and urban/community service throughout the week), friendly, and doctrinally sound (as far as I can tell from one service, their website, and the endorsement of another pastor whom I trust). And I like the structure. So, I think it's a place I can meet and fellowship and grow and be with my local Church. And that makes me really happy. It's wearying to be church-homeless. Thank you for all your prayers!

Weirdness

People do really weird things on Halloween. Like wearing Pokemon costumes on public buses. So, what the heck; here's some surrealism for the evening (in Beligan surrealist Rene Magritte's painting, "La Reproduction Interdit"):

There's my full contribution to the weirdness surrounding today (that, I suppose, and fervent prayers against the twistedly-weird things that are dabbled in tonight). Cheers.
__________________________________
Painting reproduction from http://psyc.queensu.ca/~psyc382/magritte-notrepro.jpg

Modern dentistry, and other musings

After an embarrassingly long lapse, I went to the dentist today for a cleaning. I'm glad to report that my teeth are healthy. Just a couple of preventative measures to take. (And the suggestion that I visit the dentist more often, but then, dentists are always saying things like that.)

While I was in the chair, I had this fleeting--yet vivid--vision of visiting the dentist in the distant past, and how nasty and painful and bloody it must have been. I was very glad to be in this twenty-first century office with its sanitary rubber gloves and whirring little tools and polishers, as opposed to in a field or vermin-infested room with the sharp, rude instruments I've seen in historical medical displays. It's a good time to be alive. At least for dentistry.

But all of this led me down a path of musing about whether society as a whole was progressing or degenerating. Or both. Or neither. And--at the risk of sounding irresolute and/or vacillating--today my opinion was leaning towards neither. Or maybe both.

I mean, really, the world is and always has been made up of people, yes? People who are--as a result of Original Sin and all that jazz--desperately wicked by nature. But (fortunately) the world also is and always has been full of people who have been redeemed by God: people in and through whom He is at work. Not to mention Common Grace. His grace is evident throughout the world, fallen though it is, and His goodness is displayed through His people.

His goodness isn't getting any less or more (given that it's already infinite and perfect). And somehow I have a hard time believing that He is any less (or more) at work now than he was ten or fifty or five hundred years ago; that is, that people were any less wicked naturally or that He was any less able to work through them to His glory. I think maybe it's more like the pattern we can see in the microcosm of The Church: each generation seems to swing back and forth, bettering some areas which need improvement while themselves leaving plenty of areas for their children to criticize and change. Perhaps in society it is merely that wickedness and goodness manifest themselves in ever-changing ways, so to look at one issue--sexual impurity or stewardship, violence or compassion for the oppressed--gives the illusion of universal "degredation" or "progress." Maybe it depends on where you're looking.

Perhaps this is obvious, and I'd simply never aritculated it to myself before. Perhaps this is totally wrong. Perhaps it didn't come out in words quite the way it came together in my head, which was really more of an impression than anything else.

I do know, though, that you can get a lot of good thinking time in at the dentist.

Shrivels

My pumpkin is shriveling. Gotham's towers look like a demented parody of Dr. Suess buildings, all twisted in on themselves. Apparently Batman hasn't rescued them fast enough from some nefarious plot (by one of Gotham's many bad guys) to destroy the city by desiccation. (Holy shark-bait! Maybe they got hold of the superdehydrator again!) The poor people of Gotham are still waiting for their hero to reply to the signal. How irresponsible of him.

Pumpkins

It came out that my flatmate had never carved a pumpkin, and we decided this needed to be remedied. So yesterday we carefully selected our gourds at the farmers' market* (not quite as exciting as the patch, but better than the grocery store, at least), and today we worked our creative magic:Okay, actually that's a picture of just my pumpkin. I took a picture of both of ours, but it was blurry, and then my camera battery died. But hers is cool, too (even if it doesn't boast a superhero theme).

Oh, and we made cobbler, too. And walked through a few leaf-flurries. A glorious autumnal day.

*I never know where to put the apostrophe in this phrase, if anywhere. Do the farmers possess the market? Is it one conceptual representative every-farmer who possesses it? Is it simply a market at which you find farmers, but which they don't possess? Bah. Let the apostrophe fall where it will.

Colours (yep, I'm feeling Canadian today)

This is the view as you step outside the front door of my apartment building:

Or at least, it was yesterday. I suppose the view is never exactly the same twice.

I love fall.

-sigh-

What do I need to know about the world?

At this moment, my life is so-arranged that I frequently have copious amounts of free time. Given that, and given that the university students I see scurrying to and from class all day make me somewhat nostalgic for being in school, I would like to take advantage of this free time (while I still have it) and learn things about my world and how it works. However, there are so many things to read and see and internalize, I hardly know where to begin.

Thus, I am extending an invitation to all of you as my readers (hee hee...that makes it sound like there are so many of you) to recommend books you think would be profitable for me in this knowledge-quest (to help me to narrow down the options a bit). Lately I've found myself particularly drawn to the sciences--probably because I feel like I've had such a predominantly humanities-based education so far--but I'll take recommendations in anything. Especially things that you--as a fellow human being whose world I share yet whose experiences and interests differ from mine--find uniquely interesting, or that you know a lot about and think would be cool for other people (like me) to know, too. Especially non-pretentious, layman-friendly-yet-accurate-and-informative works.

(This is an ongoing invitation, by the way. But you might want to hurry, before I get sucked into the unfortunate and dreaded hectic-ness of "real life" which I'm told conquers everyone in the end, no matter how hard they resist. Bah to that.)

Rejection

Well, I didn't get that refugee program assistant job I applied for a while back. Oh well. I'm guessing they found someone who was actually fluent in Spanish or Burmese (you know, like the position required). At least they let me know, though, unlike Mercy Corps, who just left me wondering whether anyone even received my application.

Happy Birthday to Me

It's my birthday. I just thought I'd say. And yes, I did recently tell Facebook to display the my birth date on my profile in a shameless attempt to get extra birthday wishes. I admit it. And it's working (bwa ha ha).

I'm still trying to decide what to have for my birthday dinners (both today's and with the family next weekend). I'm open to suggestions.

Good news

Apparently the library waives replacement costs for lost books if you find and return the book within six months of their notification. Lovely.

Guilty as Charged

I feel like a criminal.

I just received a very official-looking notice in the mail, that I have in fact stolen--gasp--a library book.

It's from the library system at my old house. I thought I had returned it before I moved. Now I owe the library an embarrassingly large fine/replacement fee. Twenty years, and I've never owed the library any amount into double-digits, as far as I remember. Until now. I almost don't want to go pay it, because I'm ashamed to admit that I have joined the ranks of those people. People who lose library books. Of course, I will pay it, because it's the right thing to do (and I'll do it promptly, because they'll send a bill-collection agency after me if I don't).

Sigh.

Kudos

I just thought I'd throw out a congratulations to my brother, who became a doctor today. One of those research doctors who discovers things and solves the world's problems and wins Nobel prizes. Yeah, that's right. He's really smart.

Congratulations, Mike! I love you!

Happy Thanksgiving, eh?

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! Ah, the advantages to having stake in two countries: twice as many excuses to make large amounts of tasty food.

A few of my friends from university who now live in Portland are coming over this afternoon for a Thanksgiving feast. We've all celebrated Thanksgiving in mid-October (and real Thanksgiving, of course) for the last four years, and now it feels like an essential part of fall. And this early Thanksgiving seems less prone, somehow, to being swallowed by Christmas (although, to my horror, some places in Canada did follow the Christmas-begins-once-Thanksgiving-is-over rule, and put up Christmas decorations the next day...in October).

Canadian Thanksgiving is--as with most things--smaller in scale than the American version: just one day off, and the next day is a work-day. I think our two-days-off-plus-the-weekend approach is much pleasanter. But, hey, I'll take any excuse to make/eat stuffing and green beans and sweet potatoes and pumpkiny desserts. (Okay, so I make those throughout fall anyway...but today gives me the excuse to eat them all on the same day. Mmm.)

And, since Canadian Thanksgiving happens to coincide with Columbus Day this year, I have a paid day off. So it's actually like a holiday. (Why I have Columbus Day as a paid day off, I don't know. But I'm not going to complain.)

And then there is of course the whole point to Thanksgiving (besides the food); the thankfulness part. Yet it seems a shame to devote only one (or two) days a year to being thankful. God has filled the world with a gazillion things and experiences and sensations and relationships and connections and lessons and whatnot, all of which can inspire bursts of thankfulness throughout every day, can/should/hopefully do lead to living life in a constant posture of thankfulness and praise to Him.

So, since thankfulness is a thing for everyday, on Thanksgiving I think on what sets it apart from all those other days: the amazingly delicious food. :)

Swan Lake

Last night my roommate and I had the chance to attend opening night of the ballet Swan Lake. It was lovely. And much more convenient to attend than past ventures from the suburbs: just a ten minute walk, and no traffic-hassles.
I must say, though, that some children should not be allowed to go to the ballet. Particularly paper-crumpling, walking, loudly-talking, restless, seat-kicking children. Actually, I don't think their parents should be allowed, either.
Fortunately, they left before the fourth act. And--even while they were there--the ballet itself was still beautiful. Some of the lifts were astounding. I don't know anything about the technique and nuance of ballet dancing, but from an uninitiated perspective, it was thoroughly impressive and entertaining.
I do always feel particularly klutzy for a few days after watching the gracefulness of the dancers, though. Oh well.

Catholic Charities

I met with Catholic Charities today, and it looks like I'll be able to start volunteering with them some time in the next couple weeks. If all goes as planned, I'll be "adopting" a newly-arrived refugee family, helping them with their English homework and general acclimation to North American life (e.g. going with them to the doctor or bank or grocery store to help them figure out how things work). I'm super excited. They're going to try to put me with a Karen family (that's a Burmese people group), since I've already had some exposure to their language and culture. I'll be sure to keep you updated as this next adventure unfolds...

Adventures of a plans-free Saturday

Yesterday was my first Saturday since moving to the city where I had no fixed plans.
I slept in (well, for me), puttered around my apartment, puttered around the farmers market (where I bought a very tasty-looking leek), came back and puttered around home some more.
I decided I wanted to make something delicious (perhaps with my freshly-purchased leek), then realized that we had no food, so I walked the ten-blocks-up-ten-blocks-over out to Freddie's (much cheaper than the nearby Safeway).
There I was asked out by the lonely middle-aged man behind me in line, who was buying dog food, English muffins and spaghetti sauce. ("You and me, the dog park, such-and-such afternoon." I had mentioned I had a dog. I had meant it as small-talk.)
It poured (intermittently) on the walk back, filling the air with the glorious smell of new rain, but also leaving me with uncomfortably damp jeans and the shivers. I must admit, though, that sometimes I like to get cold and damp on such a day, for the sheer contrastive pleasure of pulling on warm, dry clothes once I get inside.
I made some toffee-chocolate-chip cookies (always an adventure with our oven, which burns cookies black in five minutes if you set the dial to the "correct" temperature), and did the dishes.
Then I made a tasty chow mein for lunch, quick-soaked some dried beans, and did the dishes again.
More puttering.
Then I made some refried beans to add to our stock of tasty, ready-made things to eat. More dishes.
Then--I had been wondering how far the walk was to Washington Park from my apartment--so I walked it. It's about twenty-five minutes at a fairly good clip. Almost entirely uphill (my legs can feel that this morning). I puttered at the park. Smiled at the cute toddler in the cow-pattern hoody who was giggling on the swings with his mum. Swung for a while myself. Explored a few trails. Walked home.
On the way home I stopped at the library to peruse the movie section. They had the special-edition version of The Abyss. I decided to re-live my childhood a bit and picked it up.
When I got back to my apartment, I made curry pasties for dinner. I said, "To heck with the dishes." They're still in the sink.
I'd call yesterday a pretty darn good day.
I never did do anything with my leek, though. Maybe today.

Unwelcome awakening

I was awakened this morning by a dog barking. If you could call it a dog. It sounded more like someone was torturing a squeaky toy outside my window. They should have laws about the pitch-levels of animals determining whether you're allowed to take them into public.

Another job application

Once again today I applied for a job for which I am unqualified. This time it was to be a Refugee and Immigrant Services Program Assistant. I'm not bilingual. And technically I'm not familiar with the computer programs they asked for (e.g. Adobe PageMaker). But I explained all of that away in the cover letter, and told them they should hire me anyway.
Mercy Corps never got back to me; we'll see if these people do.
Job-applying is different now, even from when I first started looking for jobs out of high school. The postings don't include phone numbers, and then on top of that specifically state not to call them (in case you get all stealthy and look up the phone number by other means).
There's no one to harass.
Oh well.
God's taking care of all that part. At least I have a job to pay the bills in the meantime.
And I have an appointment to meet with Catholic Charities next week, so at least I'll be able to spend some time volunteering within my passion/skill-set, even if no one will pay me to do it.

I'm still alive

So, I haven't updated my blog in a while. And I have been told that this is because--now that I have a job and all that jazz--I have nothing interesting to say.
This is in fact not true.
In fact, I'm just lazy. I've composed several fascinating, thought-provoking and/or cheerily anecdotal blog posts in my head, but somehow the thought of pulling out the computer and writing them down has seemed like such a hassle that they've remained there in my head rather than here for all of you to enjoy.
It's a pity, really. You've missed out.

Another whim

I randomly applied for a receptionist job with Mercy Corps today. I don't think I'm actually qualified for it, but we'll see what happens. As much as I love the people I work with at my current job, it would be nice to know I'll get a full week's worth of work each week. And to get out of the house and interact with people in person a bit more. If--miraculously--the job pans out, I'm hoping to do some sort of combo deal, where I don't entirely quit what I'm doing now.
I'm also in touch with people from IRCO (the Immigrant and Refugee Community Organization) and Catholic Charities, both of which have volunteer opportunities in Portland's refugee populations. So hopefully I'll be out among people more, anyway.
Still looking for a church, though...

Work!

I finally have work again! I'll be able to eat this month. And pay the rent and phone and internet and all that jazz that let's me work in the first place. I'm very happy. (As much as I enjoyed goofing off last week.)

Internet

I finally have internet in my apartment. And phone service. Hooray!

Social-ness

Living downtown is fun. (Did I mention that?)
Yesterday I hung out with three friends: a vegan sign-language-interpreter I know from high school, then a girl I'd never met who's from Vermont but just finished traveling the world and is thinking about becoming a Rabbi and then opening her own restaurant (she's a friend of a friend), and then a native Portlander-friend whom I met in Canada who brought over wine and fresh vegetables so we could make stir-fry together. Any free time in there was spent wandering around looking for inexpensive (aka free) haunts and admiring the green-ness of my neighborhood.
Life is good.
I am hoping that my employers have more work for me soon (you know, little things like paychecks end up being important when you're trying to buy food and shelter). But in the meantime, at least life is entertaining.

Pictures

I've finally uploaded a few pictures of my new home. You can see them here. It's definitely feeling like home now. I even can wander all around and not get lost. (Seriously; today I went up to north Portland, and then out to the train station, through a farmer's market, up to Powell's, and back without any problems at all. It's like I belong here.)
Anywho.

All moved in...but internet-less

Well, the move this past weekend was successful. There are still boxes littering the floor (and books scattered across all horizontal surfaces as we try to fit eight roomfuls of books into three medium-sized bookcases), but we're definitely settling.
However, we won't have any internet or phone until Friday at the earliest. Currently I'm at the library using their free wireless (fortunately a short walk away), and I'll probably end up coming here daily until I have internet at home, but the best way to get a hold of me at the moment is on my cell.
Living downtown is fun. Just thought I'd throw that out there.
Anyway.
(By the way, pictures will be coming soon. I forgot to bring my card reader with me this trip so I could upload them...but soon.)

It finally came!

My new computer is here! I'm blogging from my much faster, not-randomly-shutting-down, with-working-USB-ports, not-critically-out-of-disk-space machine. I'm excited.
And now a moment of silence for Caravaggio.
-moment-
Farewell, old machine. You served me well. Sometimes. But then you fell apart, and I replaced you. (At least you're recyclable.)

Free stuff!

It turns out that we will have (some) furniture for our apartment after all. The church's music department is getting rid of some old couches and whatnot, and thus one purple sofa and one chair/ottoman pair (with, as my mum describes it: "small checks that're blue and gold and cream and pinkish"...aka "ugly") have been bestowed upon us. Aesthetically unappealing, but very affordable! That's how first furniture is supposed to be, anyway, hey? I think I would feel like I was missing out on part of the apartment-getting experience if the furniture was actually attractive.
But anyway, now, if you ever come visit, we'll actually have a place for you to sit down. Yay.
Now the hunt is on for a coffee table...

Flashback #2: Check your tickets

So, Julie and I finally found each other in Frankfurt (see Flashback #1).
We were in the Frankfurt Airport, which is attached to the Frankfurt train station, which is convenient when you're landing only to catch an overnight train to Prague. While the whole not-finding-each-other thing did eat up some of our time buffer, we still had plenty of time to sit, devour some trail-mix, attempt to communicate with the train people regarding how to get my rail pass validated, and stare glazedly in post-adrenal stupor at the train arrival/departure board (one of those exciting ones that still uses the flippy letters which spin through with a satisfying whoosh every time they're updated).
Our train was to leave at 10:20pm.
At 8:45pm we continued to be mesmerized by the train board.
At 9:00pm I joked that after the ordeal of finding each other, it would sure be horrible-yet-funny if somehow we were at the wrong train station or something. Ha ha ha.
At 10:00pm we finally noticed that our train number was still not showing up on the pending departure board. Nor was any other international train. And that this might be a bad thing.
At 10:01pm we looked at our tickets. Again. More carefully this time.
At 10:02pm we were frantically dashing to the taxi cabs parked outside the airport, hoping that one would magically be able to get us to the international train station in downtown Frankfurt in enough time for us to get to our boarding platform before the train left. In fifteen minutes.
At 10:07pm we were being laughed at by the cab drivers for even imagining such a thing was worth asking.
At 10:24pm I was remembering my 9:00 quip as we settled into our luxury sleeping quarters, stretched out on the airport floor, awaiting morning and the cab that would take us to the international station and the 6:00am train to Prague. Ha ha.

A new home!

It's official...we signed the lease papers today, and are moving into our new apartment one week hence. (Pictures will follow once we've taken some. It's a great little place.)
Extra bonus: it got me out of jury duty, because I'll no longer be a resident of Washington County on the day I'm called to report. Booyah.

Slideshow Woes

So, I'm making a video/slideshow/photo album of my European travels, and I'm having problems with the music. I just can't seem to find the right sort of playful-yet-not-obnoxious music that isn't a love song (creepy) and captures the combination of goofing off and beautiful sights shown in my pictures. People don't write good songs about friends. Just really, really sentimental ones. At least usually.
I have "We're Going to Be Friends" (either the White Stripes or the Jack Johnson version), "Via Con Me" by Paolo Conte, and "A Paris" by some old French guy, but there are still a few holes (currently in Vienna and the Cinque Terre). Maybe some more Jack Johnson? They Might Be Giants (selectively)? Iron & Wine? Alli Rogers?
Bah.

More Pictures

My mum has now posted her pictures from our Europe trip, if you're interested:
http://flickr.com/photos/harmsfam/sets/72157606799089013/

A place to call my own...

I was officially approved for my apartment today, and the move-in date is set for the end of the month! Yay!

Flashback #1: Should Have Had a Back-Up Plan

So, after about twenty-two hours of traveling and thirty minutes of sleep (not counting that twenty-minute zoning-out nap-type thing in Heathrow which almost made me miss my connecting flight...brilliant), I arrived in Frankfurt to meet Julie. At least we had the foresight to arrange our rendezvous ahead of time; we devoted a whole thirty-second phone-meeting to it as Julie packed for her tour and we scanned the Frankfurt Airport online map for a meeting place, landing on the most recognizable symbol for native Northwesterners: Starbucks. (I'm almost ashamed to admit that. But it was sort of fun to throw casually into conversations: "No, sorry, I can't work that Friday. I'm meeting Julie at Starbucks...in Frankfurt." (Bwa ha ha ha.)).
Anyway, the Starbucks was conveniently located between the plane terminals (me) and the train platforms (Julie), so it seemed like a good choice. And we had a good four hours to kill before our overnight train to Prague, so we could do with some coffee anyway.
So I found it and sat down on my backpack and waited. And waited and waited and waited. I'm not generally one to worry, but as it approached an hour past our scheduled time, then passed the hour mark, I was admittedly concerned (the whole sleep-deprivation thing wasn't exactly helping with the nerves, either). Did she miss her train? Did she get on the wrong train? Did her train derail? Had she been kidnapped? Arrested? Blighted with some horrible disease? Was she--as is the risk of all people in our over-caffeinated world--waiting for me at a different Starbucks?
Here's where the back-up plan would have come in handy. Should I stay there? Should I wander around and look for her? Send airport security after her? Hug a tree?
I called my dad.
Okay, actually I did a loop of the whole area between the train platforms and the Starbucks, talked to the information-booth people about whether there were any other Starbucks in the airport (no), sat some more, asked them to page Julie (which they claimed to do, although I didn't hear it), paced a bit, and then called my dad.
Or tried to call him. I then experienced the humiliation of realizing that I was incapable (apparently) of figuring out German pay-phones. (Again, we'll blame it on the sleep-deprivation.) So I found an email kiosk, and tried to write a very fast (aka expensive) email on a German keyboard that would sufficiently convey my desire for help without causing my parents undue alarm. How they could help, I'm still not entirely sure. But it seemed like the thing to do at the time. Then I paced some more.
Finally I went over to the information-booth lady (in sight of the Starbucks), asked her to tell any distraught-looking American backpackers named Julie who enquired that I would be back soon, and headed back towards the trains one more time. I was on the hunt. On the hunt for an average-height blonde backpacker in an airport full of German travelers. Hm.
I was just despairing of the hunt when I happened to see a familiar-looking back-of-head standing at a pay-phone (dang, she was smart enough to use them). Eureka! Success! Julie! I thought she was going to faint with happiness when she saw me standing there. (I thought that I might faint, too, but that was more because of the lack of sleep, ravenous hunger, and limb-exhaustion from all that pacing and looping with my thirty-pound pack...)
Apparently some airport guy had misdirected her, so she ended up in a hallway that required a boarding pass for entry (which she didn't have, obviously). So she thought she was stuck at the trains. And didn't have a way to tell me. And no back-up plan. And thus spent a very similar two hours pacing and wondering if I was stranded, kidnapped, arrested, blighted, etc...
Seriously. It's all about the back-up plan.
But we found each other. And it was much more entertaining this way (even at the time, but particularly in hindsight).
Of course, even with more than an hour to spare after our reunion, we still managed to miss our train. But more on that later...

Flashbacks: The Introduction

So, you may have noticed that I have a list in the sidebar of my blog entitled "Things I Learned Experientially in Europe." Some of you have even commented that you enjoyed them. But I'm also guessing that--unless you are Julie or my mum, and learned experientially alongside me--you have no idea what most of them mean. Nor really about anything else that happened on the trip.
And so, since it made me a bit sad that so much uniquely entertaining blog fodder presented itself to me at a time when I was blogging very inconsistently (namely when I was wandering around Europe nursing my inner-Luddite and generally trying to pretend that electronic devices didn't exist) (except digital cameras), I have decided to subject you all to a series of flashbacks. Therein I will share some of those amusing, crushing, bizarre and/or otherwise noteworthy things which I didn't share at the time. Aren't you excited?
Of course, since my current life is also continuing (and is naturally full of amusing, crushing and bizarre elements of its own), these flashbacks will be sprinkled throughout those entries which I would write now anyway.
However, I've taken up so much room with this introduction it seems that it would be overkill to actually share a flashback now. So you'll have to wait.
(Just trying to give you something to look forward to...)
(Yes, that was a blatant defiance of the "don't end sentences with prepositions" rule. Bwa ha ha.)

How Much Dare I Keep?

I've been thinking about money again lately, and the concepts of "necessity" and sacrifice. It's probably a combination of the fact that I'm currently creating my first fully-independent-of-parents budget while trying to swing downtown rent/move-in fees and replace my computer which is now (somewhat suddenly) in its last throes of death.
Last night I was describing to my dad how amazing it was to watch Les Miserables--on of my favorite stories--in London. And it was amazing. But I also remember that on the way home from the play, while walking to the tube, we passed a homeless man asking us for money. As I wrote in my journal that evening, trying to process that:
"On my way home from one of the most poignant stories of human dignity and mercy and compassion--a story which cost me a notable amount of money to see--I had 'nothing to give' the homeless man I met. ... I've been taught to love sacrificially, and I've been taught that to give money on the street is to enable drug habits and line the pockets of swindlers. It is so easy to justify inaction. I acknowledge the problems of the poor and yet always wait for a 'better opportunity' to help them than the opportunity before my eyes..."
I still don't know whether I should have given that man money that evening. Perhaps he would have used it for drugs or some other self-destructive habit. Perhaps he would have used it for food. I don't know. I do know that some people are dishonest, and prey upon people's compassion to get handouts. I also know that many, many people are hungry and suffering, and I am not.
There are other ways to help hungry people: to give them food, or food coupons, or walk with them somewhere to buy them the food or other things they need. Every time I pass an open hand or hat or battered paper cup and put nothing into it, I tell myself that: "There are other, better ways to help them." And inevitably that thought is chased by the next, that "Unfortunately, right at this moment I don't have food or coupons or time to give to them...next time." And I go on with my day, and they remain hungry.
My budget doesn't have a lot of breathing room right now, it's true. But if I know myself at all, it probably never will; because--should my income ever increase--things which now seem like unnecessary luxuries will suddenly turn into fun "splurges" and then into expected comforts, and the definition of "necessity" will subtly and nefariously raise higher and higher.
I am genuinely happy right now with what I have. I have no cause for complaint. Theoretically, if I made twice as much income as I do currently, I could continue to live as I do now and simply have that much more to give away. If only I would.
Ach, there is so much suffering and oppression and injustice in this fallen world. I pray that by the grace of God I will never be able to see it and remain content with doing nothing. (Given the mad justification-of-inaction skills I possess and less-than-ideal past experiences of wanting to save the world on my own terms, I am increasingly aware of the absolute need for it to be God at work, not myself...but those are other stories...)
-pause-
Anyway. My mind and heart are so full of these issues right now that I could go on and on, but I'll try to process in installments for the sake of anyone reading.

Trampoline

I just found out that trampoline is an Olympic sport. That's pretty sweet.

Ravioli and Future Reminiscence

Today my grandma and I had a lovely time making spinach ricotta raviloi with butter-walnut-sage sauce, accompanied by homemade olive-thyme artisan bread and green salad. I like cooking with my grandma. We just sort of make things up as we go (including messes, which are an essential part of cooking, in my opinion). And--of course--the outcome was quite tasty. Come fall we're going to make some butternut squash tortellini (you know, once squash is actually in season); always something to look forward to.
Then when I got home I got to watch history in the making as I watched Michael Phelps dramatically win his seventh gold in Beijing. While I'm not so much into this "he's the greatest Olympian ever" thing (since he happens to be in a sport which allows so many medals--unlike, say, beach volleyball or gymnastics or decathalons--I don't think being the "most decorated" necessarily makes him the "greatest"), it is fun to be a part of the world watching him win this many medals and know that in twelve or sixteen or twenty years at the future Olympics when they're still talking about this epic Olympic performance, I'll be able to tell little Daniel and John and other as-yet-unknown little people in my life that I remember watching it happen. Not that they'll necessarily care. But I'll still add it to my "I remember when" repetoire (which currently includes cassette tapes, dot matrix printers, the advent of PCs, gas under $1/gallon and life before the internet or cell phones, among other things). (For those of you who have vinyl records and gigantic black-and-white televisions in your growing-up memories, said repetoire may seem laughable, but hey, yours is laughable to the generations before you, too...I mean, what's the introduction of color television compared to the new-fangledess of horseless carriages or printing presses, really?).
Anyway. That was a super random, sleep-deprivation-induced tangent. These Olympics really need to end so I can get some sleep.
At least it's the weekend now. No alarm clock for me tomorrow.

Back by popular demand

So, I've received complaints that I haven't updated recently. That's probably because there isn't much to say. Really.
Um...
I made phone calls for eight and a half hours today. And I didn't talk to a single grumpy person, which made me quite happy. (Of course, most of them were answering machines, but hey.)
-long pause-
Yep.
Right now I'm watching the Olympics, and the crazy-identical Chinese synchronized divers. They look like the same person twice. And I have to say, I'm a little disappointed that the American Mary Beth who's competing against them isn't really pulling through as my namesake. It must be because she's a capital-B Mary Beth. The niggling knowledge that her first name isn't quite right is obviously throwing off her groove.
Oh, one actual piece of news: I think I found an apartment, so I'll probably be moving soon! Yay. Finally.

Off to BC...again

Well, another wedding calls me northwards. I'm heading to BC again this weekend to attend a wedding and hang out with my friends from my BC church. Of course, we don't know where we're staying yet once we get there. But I'm sure it will all work out. Surely someone will take us in.
Then I think I'm actually here to stay for a while. Amanda and I are looking at a couple apartments in the city limits on our way up, so hopefully I'll be moving soon, but I think my international travels are done for the year. It's sort of sad. My passport might start feeling neglected.

Nephew-time

Well, while I still think I would be happy gallivanting about Europe a bit longer, it is my consolation--and a very good consolation--that my nephew is here! He and his mum (along with his on-the-way little brother John) arrived today, and are staying here until Friday morning. It's crazy how much he's changed since Christmas (sadly, the last time I saw him): then he was a baby, now he's definitely a little boy. All boy. Despite jetlag, we had a lovely afternoon of running around chasing tennis balls, giggling on the hammock, and staring fixedly at water features.
Yeah, he really is the cutest kid ever. Definitely a keeper.
(Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, my mum's luggage did in fact make it back from Ghana unharmed.)

A bit more of a final update...

So it appears that the last time I updated this blog I was in Edinburgh. I did manage to get my vegetarian haggis--perhaps a contradiction in terms to those purists of the world, but quite tasty nonetheless--although the literary tour was cancelled when we got there. So sad.
From Edinburgh we headed northwest to the Highlands, in the Oban area. Our hotel was described variously as being in Kilchrenan and Taynuilt, both of which are in Argyll, and so we logically got off our train at the Taynuilt stop expecting to hire a cab to the actual hotel (which was advertised as being in the middle of nowhere, along a loch...i.e. not walkable with luggage). Of course, that action assumed that Taynuilt was in fact a town with cabs for hire, as opposed to what it actually was: a mere pause on the route, with perhaps ten buildings--main street--in view. We enquired at the post office, and they don't have taxis in Taynuilt. We ended up having to hire one from Oban to drive out to Taynuilt and then to Taychreggan, our hotel, and then back to Oban. All for a mere $80. But what can you do?
It was totally worth it, too. Okay, the hotel actually wasn't all that great. But the scenery, ach! I could feel the Scottish blood running in my veins. The pictures I have do it no justice: to stand on a hillside and look out over the green, mist-hung hills dotted with sheep and ancient cairns, to breathe the air, to see the gloaming light intensify the reddish tints run through the grasses and the glassy surface of the loch...
I want to go back.
Sigh.
But onward.
After Kilchrenan we intended to finish out our trip in Bath. We hired another cab to take us to Oban, so we could catch a bus to Glasgow, so we could catch a train to London, so we could catch a train to Bath. The bus was running late, so we had to take a later Glasgow-London train than planned, but it all still seemed to be working out alright...until, that is, they informed us that our train was no longer going to London, but rather to York. Seems there were electrical problems with the train lines between where we were and London, so they were rerouting all the trains. The difficulty, there, of course, was that suddenly several trainloads of people are trying to fit themselves onto the one train that would still be running between York and London. We had no chance. There was a second option, to take a train to Leeds, thence to London, thence to Bath, but that wouldn't get us to Bath until roughly 1am, assuming all went well (which, at that point, we were reluctant to assume).
So we stayed in York. Fun city, actually. It's walled, and you can walk along portions of the wall and look out over the city, and it has historic sections with crooked streets and buildings all tumbling together. All told, a fine alternative to Bath.
After York, the trip to London to catch our plane home was uneventful, as was the plane ride itself. I suppose they did accidentally route Mum's bags to Ghana instead of Portland (easy mistake, you see), but at least they know where it is...
And now I'm home. I like home, but I would have been content to keep wandering around a bit longer. I certainly hadn't tired of it yet.
Hm, I feel like these last couple days of the trip got much more attention than the rest, since the internet here at my house is free and the cafes I visited were not. Well, I'm sure random stories will keep popping up on here as I think of them. But this entry is getting long, so--for your sakes--I'll postpone them for now.
Later.

Pictures!

Okay everyone, some pictures are finally available for your viewing pleasure. I've posted them on my flickr site: www.flickr.com/photos/marbyeth. Bear in mind that I took 3500 pictures while I was gone, so what I have posted is a very small sampling of them. I thought you'd appreciate it if I was a bit selective. But always know that if you feel that any part of the trip is underrepresented and you want to see more, I'm sure I have plenty to satisfy you.
Also, if you want to see more pictures of me in Europe (besides my self-portraits), you can check out Julie's pictures http://picasaweb.google.com/cherrypits/July_JulieEurope. Our trip together starts about halfway through her album, as she started out in Europe with other people. And I'm sure that my mum will eventually be posting some of hers, as well.
Cheers!

Home again...

Well, I'm back on American soil, safely at home. However, since my waking "day" has been more than twenty-four hours long at this point, I'm going to sleep for a while. A more extensive update--and pictures--will come soon. But I thought I'd let you all know that I (and my Mum) survived the trip back.

Brussels, Bruges, London and Edinburgh

Well, after various adventures (including yet another unexpected train rerouting...completely not my fault this time), we are here enjoying the ruggedness, accents and ale in Edinburgh (well, that last one really just applies to me, actually, I suppose). But, of course, Belgium and London were in there, as well, since I last updated this thing.
Yeah, pretty much it just seems like there's too much in there to write about any of it well, so it's sort of demotivating to try. Condensing takes such effort...
Okay, the really really condensed version:
Brussels: Mneh.
Bruges: Much better. (Mum wants me to mention that, while it's not The Netherlands, being Flemish it does in fact have windmills. No clogs, though.)
London: Two shows. And one of them was Les Mis. Really, need I say more? Oh, and I ordered my first pint. A landmark life experience. (Of course, it was with my mother. But hey. She also came when I got my first nose-piercing. Apparently it's a thing we have.)
Glasgow: Unexpected stop on the way to Edinburgh. A train derailed between London and Edinburgh (not the one we were on, thankfully, and no, I don't know what kind of train it was or if everyone was okay, but I certainly hope everyone is), closing the tracks, so we had to go the roundabout way. But we got here just fine.
Edinburgh: Castle-y. And full of plaid. Quite lovely, in fact. And tonight we're off on a literary tour celebrating the Scottish triumvirate: Sir Walter Scott, Robert Louis Stevenson, and good ol' Robbie Burns. Hopefully there will be some haggis in there, too. Vegetarian haggis.
Of course, there's much more to share: pictures to show and humorous anecdotes to relate. But I don't have time for that now. So I guess we'll just have to hang out when I get back.
Okay, I'm off. Later.

Phase 2 begins...

Well, I survived my solitary rambling around Frankfurt, Mum has arrived safely, and now we're off to Brussels. Oh, and I have a new favorite thing: apfelwein. Apple wine. Very tasty. Here's to the Frankfurt people who came up with that.

Not much else to report. I'll check in and update here when I can. Otherwise, I'm saving up great stories to tell when I get back. You know, to accompany the two thousand or so pictures I've taken. So far. Yay for sales on memory cards.

Frankfurt

Ay, Prague feels like it was a really long time ago. So does Vienna. Probably because I've been to Venice, Padova, Foggia, Rome, Vernazza and Paris since then. And I'm only halfway done! (Bwa ha ha.)

Well, I'm off to bum around in Frankfurt while I wait for my mum to arrive tonight. I'm growing rather fond of it here. Perhaps because it reminds me a bit of Portland: lots of trees and green spaces, random events along the waterfront, people on bicycles everywhere... The public transit is way better here, though. I'm going to miss that when I come home. Oh, and Paris just installed bike rental racks all around the city: you buy a card that lets you unlock them and ride them wherever, and I think you drop them at any of the racks (similar to the ZipCar system, for those familiar with that). I think Portland should look into that.

Okay, I'm off. Later.

Vienna waits for me...

We're off to Vienna today. I'm excited to go someplace new, but I must say I've grown to like Prague. It has a simple sense to it; much of our time has been spent just relaxing along the river or strolling through the different sections of town, and yet even at that slower pace I don't feel that I've "missed" much (or, at least, if I have missed things, they would be no better than what I experienced, just different).
Since we're moving on, I obviously don't know what internet-access will be like on the other end, but I'll try to keep in touch. We'll be there for two nights.

Futbol

Last night Julie and I watched the European futbol final--Germany vs. Spain--on jumbo-trons in the public square with hundreds of other people. We were both sort of out of it (given the whole not-really-sleeping-or-eating trend we'd been following), and the game didn't start until 8:30pm, but really, how can you be in Europe for the futbol final and not watch it with people? It was totally worth it. Even though Spain won.
Today we have no plans...we're going to wander around the city a bit and see what adventures we encounter (after we get some much-needed food, that is).

Praha

Hello from the beautiful city of Prague. We've made it here at last. (For more details, see our travel blog: julieandmary.blogspot.com...I would hate to be redundant here.)
Ay. We're here. We haven't really done anything yet (other than me taking a much needed shower to become a human again), but that's okay. I'm loving the fact that I'm actually in Europe with a do-whatever-whenever-I-want itinerary. Yay for adventures.
There's free internet here, so I'll probably be uploading some pictures before too long. I just don't have the energy to go get them right now, so you'll have to wait. Consider this the teaser.
Okay, I'm off to get ready for some futbol...bwa ha ha.
Later all.

I'm off!!

Well, I'm all packed and ready to go, leaving within the hour. I decided to go with Montaigne as the alternate reading material. Sixteenth century French essays about random topics seem a good balance to quirky British detective stories. I know you were all dying to know the final decision.
I don't know if I'll be updating this much while I'm gone. It depends on internet access (and how actively I flee technology while on vacation). Also, Julie and I have a travel blog (julieandmary.blogspot.com) which, if anything, will be updated. So you can always check there.
Okay, back in a month. :)

Packing, packing, packing

The days are dwindling down to my departure date (wow, all of that alliteration was unintentional, I swear).
So far, my pack is at a tolerable 35lbs once my carry-on (with its full litre of water and two additional books) is stuffed inside.
I'm still a bit torn on the reading material. While browsing at Powell's the other day I stumbled upon the complete Las Crónicas de Narnia, on sale no less, which is definitely coming. It has the charming combination of including some of my favorite stories of all time and still requiring a long time for me to read it (the whole other-language thing does slow me down a bit). I think I'll probably bring the Complete Father Brown by Chesterton, too; it has come on every international trip I've yet made. There's something very handy about having short stories around while traveling. And the print is really small.
But I think I'd like to take at least one full-length book (in English). I thought about Les Mis, given it's long-with-small-print factor and the fact that I'll be visiting Paris (and that it's one of my favorites), but ultimately it's a bit bulky to add. Right now I'm hovering on Chesterton's The Everlasting Man, which requires some thought (and again, has small print, but with a much smaller bulk than Les Mis). But that leaves me with two Chestertons, which in turn leaves me feeling somewhat confined. What if I have a distinct not-in-the-mood-for-Chesterton day? What then? Maybe I should throw something in that's not British. Some Dumas, perhaps (I'll be in Italy, after all). The Count of Monte Cristo is rather swashbuckling. Some Tolstoy? Moliere, or Montaigne? Maybe Hugo after all?
Sigh.
I just don't know.

O Canada

I was in Canada once again this weekend, attending the wedding of Nico, one of my linguistics friends (in the middle...you know, in the wedding dress):It was a lot of fun to be back up there, hang out with my friends (like Kristina and Amy, on either end of the picture), see some of my profs, go to my church, and just breathe air of my former home. I don't particularly miss school, per se, but I miss my people up there, and I miss hanging out with Canadians. They're pretty quirky people. (Not to generalize or anything.)

Arizonians

I have decided that Arizonians are some of my new favorite people. I've talked to dozens of them this week, and I have yet to encounter a rude, unfriendly, or difficult client. It's still a desert, so I don't know that I would actually move there on purpose.
But I still say yay for Arizona.

He's back!

Well, almost four hours and an expensive fan-purchase later, my computer is finally back and working (better than it has in years, actually). It was horrifying to see how much dust had accumulated inside the air vents; there was a solid block of compressed dust next to the fan which was completely blocking the air passage. No wonder he kept overheating. (Seeing it made me feel rather embarrassingly untidy, but my dad claims that it's just a bad design to collect dust in such a way; in either case, ew.) But now he's all cleaned out and set with a new fan. I've decided that taking computers apart and putting them back together is fun (especially when they actually work better when you put them back together than when you take them apart...Dad might have had something to do with that part).
Anyway, I'll probably actually blog more often again, now that I have a computer. Of course, I'm leaving for Europe in less than ten days, so the revival may be short-lived. Oh well.

Fathers

Happy Father's Day!
For Mother's Day, I shared a poem. I don't know of any father-poems off the top of my head. I'm sure there must be a sentimental one or two somewhere...
Dad's are definitely great enough to deserve some poetry in their honor, and much better poetry than the Hallmark people give to us.
Oh, here, I just thought of one, not from Hallmark at all:
Dad is great!
He gives us chocolate cake!
Short and sweet.
:)
We did Father's Day yesterday, really, with a nice taco lunch and some barbecue (there's nothing quite like freshly grilled corn on the cob...mmm). But I think we're having waffles today, and there are rumours that we're going to go on a photographically-inviting outing this afternoon so he can play with his camera. Which is great, because then I can play with mine, too.
I took some pictures the other day in Champoeg State Park (while I was trying out my backpack by hiking with it all packed, and deciding that it works wonderfully but that I'm really out of shape), but I haven't had the chance to post them yet, what with my computer being broken and such.

Computer Woes

My computer finally died. Well, the fan died at least (a horrible, slow, noisy death). It looks like it can be replaced, but it has made staying consistent with this whole blog thing a little more difficult. I know you've all been waiting with bated breath to hear more from the life of me, so I'm sorry to have disappointed lately.

Phone Adventures

As a pseudo-telemarketer, I have a new pet peeve: answering machine and voicemail-box messages which don't tell you who you're calling.
I left a few dozen phone messages today. Only two--yes, two--said who they were. The rest were friendly generic electronic people telling me "Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voicemail system. Please leave your message after the tone and your call will be returned."
Or there are the cute but equally useless ones: [cute little kid voice] "You've weached my Nonny and Poppop. The'll call you back. Okay, bye."
Or the people themselves who still don't bother to say who they are: "Hi, we can't come to the phone, but if you leave a message, we'll get back to you. God bless." (I get blessed a lot in my job. It's an extra perk.)
Sigh.
For all I know I spent all day leaving perky phone messages for random households all over Nevada who have never even heard of my employer, much less created a trust with them. Hmm. Maybe I should look at it as spontaneous advertising.
Oh, I think my favorite phone call this week was this one, though (names have been changed so I don't get fired):
me: Hi, may I please speak to Rachel?
female: Sorry, I think you have the wrong number.
me: Okay, thanks.
female: You mean Rachel Perkins?
me [confused voice]: Yes...
female: Yeah, she's not here right now. I'm her roommate.
me [more confused voice]: I'm sorry, did you say that I have the -wrong- number?
roommate [you're-obviously-stupid voice]: Yeah, you've reached her -roommate's- number. Can I give her a message?
me: Sorry, do you have her number, so I can just leave her a voicemail message, or reach her at a better time?
roommate: I don't know it by heart.
me [still more confused voice]: Oh...
roommate: So, do you have a message?
me: Well, this is Marybeth with Financial Planning Ministry, and I just have a quick question about her trust. Can I leave a number for her to call me?
roommate [happy-excited voice]: Oh, you're the people from that church? Aw, that's great. Yeah, I'll totally have her call you. I'm so glad you've called!
me [extremely confused voice]: Great...
--
People are weird. And I really wish they'd just take the two seconds to say who the heck they are on their answering machines.

Corvallis

Yesterday I headed down to Corvallis again to hang out with my friend Julie and do some final Europe-planning. It happened to be the same day as her OSU Chamber Choir concert, so I went to that (which was beautiful), but generally I just hung around and distracted Julie from her upcoming finals. Bwa ha ha.
This afternoon before I drove back up to Portland, we watched Disney's The Rescuers (you know, cute little mice--one with a charming Hungarian accent--rescue a poor little orphan girl from the psychotic pawn-shop-running, crocodile-raising, diamond-obsessed villain Medusa?). Ah, memories. Some traumatic memories, it's true (she's one scary lady), but nostalgia-inducing nonetheless.
Sunday school at her church was also really fun this morning. It's taught by a prof at OSU, and they're going through the ten commandments. Today was on the "Do not kill" commandment, and we had a lively (and pleasant) discussion ranging from imago dei to vegetarianism to capital punishment to retribution. Very interesting. It almost (but not quite) made me wish I was still in school right now.

Ballet

Tonight I went on a date with my dad to see Oregon Ballet Theatre's Russian program. It was lovely.
I love going to the ballet. It always makes me wish I could dance. (Not dance in front of thousands of people, though. Just dance, in general.)
Some of the duets were particularly beautiful, and--as always when I watch dancing--I was in awe of the strength and precision it takes to do something so incredibly graceful.
Also, one of the dances was set to a piece composed by Leo Tolstoy. Perhaps I reveal my ignorance when I say I didn't know that Tolstoy wrote music. Maybe it's a different Leo. Or maybe he just has talents hitherto unknown to me (like C.S. Lewis' hidden poetry-writing).

Clouds

Tonight the International Space Station flew over our house. Too bad I live in Oregon, and it's cloudy.
-looking into sky expectantly-
It did manage to peek between two clouds at one point. So I did see it. That's something.

Happy Birthday!

It was Amanda's birthday today. We went out to breakfast, did some used book shopping at Booktique, and made a fabulous tossed lasagna for dinner. (And icecream cone cupcakes, a strange phenomenon which apparently constitutes a tradition in the birthdays of Amanda.) I like it when other people's birthdays mean I get to eat really good food. Mmm.

Packing

It's funny. Regardless of where I'm going--remote villages or big cities or university, familiar or completely unfamiliar situations--one of the most stressful parts for me is packing. It doesn't phase me much to know I'll be entering a place where I don't speak the language or if I'm not sure what I'm going to eat when I get there...I'm always just paranoid that I'll overpack. And really, it's just because I want to be all hip and minimalist, and distance myself from the image of the notoriously overpacking/high-maintenance female. My pride gets really into this one: I'm not materialistic and vain and needy like all those other North Americans; I can live out of a single handbag for a month, just you watch.
But I am, and I can't.
Sigh.
Clothes are the most annoying part. I really would be happy with one set of clothes to wear and another to wash, but then there's the issue that I'll be hiking and museum-going and attending shows and experiencing the sweltering heat of Rome and the unpredictable downpours of Scotland all in the same trip. I have to bring three pairs of shoes on this trip, just to be culturally- and terrain-appropriate. Three. The very thought fills me with horror.
Of course, I'm finding this particular trip a bit more difficult in that it's the first time I've had to pack for international travel to a developed country. It's different. I'll be able to drink the water. And buy things there (although with the dollar as it is, that's probably not my first choice). And my emergency supply probably doesn't have to be as extensive. So maybe I'll be able to pack lighter after all...
But I still have to bring three pairs of shoes. Bah.

Posthumous Publishing

I started reading Stephen Jay Gould's The Hedgehog, the Fox and the Magister's Pox when I found out it was a posthumously-published book. I never quite know how I feel about that. What if he would have drastically changed parts of it, given the chance? What if he would have fixed things or omitted things or added important points? What if he never intended for this stage of his work to go before the public?
I write things in drafts that I never actually intend for people ("people" in the general audience sense, at least) to read.
Yeah, I just never know.

Soap

So I was out at GI Joe's today (oh, sorry, just "Joe's" now) looking for a flexo-line to hang up drying laundry while I'm in Europe (which I didn't find, unfortunately), when I stumbled across one of those things that falls into the it-might-be-a-gimmick-but-if-it's-not-it's-wicked-cool category. At least I think it's cool: bar soap wafers.
Have you ever tried traveling with bar soap? It's way more convenient than liquid body wash and whatnot (especially with the liquid-paranoia of today's travel), but it gets so nasty and slimy and soapy residue leaks through the soap carrier thing and it generally becomes unpleasant. Or so I find. This is bar soap shaved into thin wafers (picture slightly thicker Listerine-strips made of soap), so you can use it without getting the rest of the bar wet.
Anyway, I think it has potential. But then, perhaps I'm just the marketer's delight.
I didn't buy it. Yet.

Slacking

I feel like a blog slacker. Look at this. Almost a week and I haven't posted anything.
I guess my life's not very exciting right now.
-thinking of something exciting to tell you about-
I pseudo-packed for Europe today to see how things stand. I'm almost good. Just a few odds and ends to pick up (and a few mysterious buckles to investigate on my backpack...).
-thinking some more-
That's all I got.
Sorry.

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

I have to say, I'm currently seeing, hearing, smelling, and generally enjoying the unexpected treat of a thunder and lightning storm right now.
How fitting that I'm just beginning A Wrinkle in Time tonight. (I guess I just feel a childlike sense of delighted surprise when fiction and reality so unaffectedly intertwine...)

Actual Employment

So, I think I may have received my first "real" post-graduation job offer. Not that it's something that I particularly want to do for the rest of my life...
But the non-profit estate-planning organization for which I've been doing temp phone work has offered to give me a raise for my work between now and my trip to Europe, and then to train me a bit more (and give me a further raise) when I get back; they're willing to use my services for as long as they can with the full knowledge that I'll be looking for other work and may give notice at any time.
And there are no transportation costs, because I do it from home. And I don't have to wear office clothes.
Really, it's sort of ideal.
Minus the whole lack of benefits (I'm a private contractor) and sort-of-a-mindless-job part. But I get to talk to quirky people, that's something. (Even if some of them do accuse me of telemarketing and hang up. It won't be my problem (I want to tell them) when they die and their paperwork is no good because they wouldn't take my call with its vital information.)
The sad part is, though, that I do sound like a telemarketer. I might hang up on me, too.
At least I make it a point not to call during the dinner hour, though.

Moleskine

I just learned that the famously hardy and convenient moleskin travel notebooks are not "moleskin" but "moleskine" (mol-a-skeen'-a), which is an entirely different woven material, unrelated to the "moleskin" used in clothes and blister bandages. And I've been saying it wrong all these years. Who knew?
----
Additional note: Apparently both words come from the original English word "moleskin," like the skin of a mole, but moleskine (the notebook) is an Italian creation, hence the different pronunciation.
(Yes, I did take the time to look that up. Yes, I'm a nerd.)

Transitional Youth

Somewhat spontaneously, I ended up serving chili-dogs downtown this evening to homeless people my own age with a group called Transitional Youth. They're doing some pretty cool things there, the best of which is showing such genuine care for the people who come through.
I never know quite how to feel when I'm sitting in my suburban home after an evening like this evening.
I came, I served, I left.
I'm so thankful for the many people who don't leave, and daily pour their lives into these youth, and I believe that God is at work through and among those who minister regularly and relationally there whether it's daily or weekly or monthly. I've personally seen the act of going and serving change people I know here in the suburbs. Perhaps it has changed and does change me as well.
But I still never quite know what to do with myself.

Wandering

"After all, people may really have in them some vocation which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not? They may seem idle and weak because they are growing. We should be very patient with each other, I think."
- Dorothea, in George Eliot's Middlemarch
Amen.

Amazingly Cool Slugs

I flipped open my National Geographic this month, and this was suddenly staring back at me:I thought they were fake--clay or puppets or something--but they're not. They're poisonous sea slugs. Nudibranchs, to be precise. These particular ones live in the deep sea off the coast of Indonesia, but nudibranchs are found everywhere from Antarctica to the tropics. Neat, huh?
There are tons of different styles and shapes and sizes...you should totally check out the NatGeo gallery of nudibranch photos. Totally crazy.
Anyway.
-------------------------
Photo: David Doubilet

Not Jobless

I stuffed envelopes for eight hours today.
I went to university, why?

Picnicking

(Somehow, the word "picnicking" doesn't look like a real word when it's written out. Maybe it's the plethora of repeated letters. Hm.)
Anyway, I went picnicking this evening in Washington Park, and I got to swing on the swingset, and I got to climb a wicked-cool tree in which I would have lived as a child, should I have had the choice.
I like picnics. They're so...comfortable. Grass and fresh air and food and conversation and--ideally--a frisbee to toss around (although no frisbee tonight, since Mum so unreasonably wouldn't let me steal the one I found on the ground).
We should all picnic more often. But not too often, maybe, because then we might not enjoy them as much. As Emerson points out, "If the stars should appear but one night every thousand years how man would marvel and stare," yet as it is we seem hardly to notice them. Of course, this human attribute is not necessarily complimentary. There must be some sort of ideal balance, hey, between our "itch to have things over"--wanting to hang onto and repeat and guarantee the repetition of pleasure and security in our lives rather than taking an enjoying things as God grants them--and our boredom with "sameness." Perhaps G.K. Chesterton is right in Orthodoxy, that "grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony." But I like how he continues:
"Grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony, but perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them."
I hope that--by seeking this God--even when I am old I will cultivate the strength to exult in the glorious, nightly, "monotonous" appearance of stars. Not to mention frequent picnics.

Hindsight

I think yesterday's entry sounds a bit forced. Boring, really. I mean, it was a beautiful day, but still.
I think it's hard to capture beautiful days in words without sounding affected, or cheesy (unless maybe your Wordsworth, but even he went a little syrupy at times, in my opinion).
Perhaps such days are better left un-written-about. Perhaps they are to be experienced and absorbed, not crystalized to slake our prideful human "itch to have things over"* at will.
Or perhaps I'm just boring.
One never knows.
---------
* C.S. Lewis, Perelandra

Where's Spring?

At the beginning of this week, it was drizzly sweater-weather. Now all the flowers are wilting and I have a wicked sunburn from the blazing 90-degree sun outside. What happened to spring, mid-70s with a breeze? It feels like July.
However, that hasn't really dampened my enjoyment of the outside. It's just so beautiful and warm and full of birds, and our hammock is back up in the backyard. And since our backyard is to the east, we have lovely shade in the afternoon.

Semi-Jobless

So, the job at the temp agency didn't work out. Actually, I've been quite unimpressed with this particular temp agency overall. Perhaps my expectations were too high--it is, after all, the first time that I've used one--but everyone who works for the agency seems to hate their job, and they don't listen very well. Supposedly they communicate with the job seekers (e.g. me). You know, trivial things like the nature of the interested company, the expected length of the job, the pay, the job description (I know what they're supposed to tell me; after all, I watched their "what to expect" video at least twelve times)...the person "helping" me somehow forgot to mention, oh, all of those things, until I pressed her for them. All she told me initially was to "Go meet Debby at 1pm."
I asked for more information, and it turned out to be a job I wasn't qualified for, working with money (which I hate), away from people, and it was a permanent position. Hm, maybe not. And then she acted annoyed with me for declining.
So, I'm thinking I'll be contacting some other temp agencies this week...
I'm really not too disappointed about the one she mentioned not working out, although I do hope to land a few receptionist jobs before I head off to Europe. Besides, I'm sort of enjoying this phone-calling job. I get to talk to some very entertaining old people. Plus, I can do it all outside in the backyard.

The Ferret Lizard

Okay, does this not look like a lizardized ferret?
It's not. It's a pangolin, a scaly anteater from Africa.
There's weird stuff in the world, I tell you.
----------------------------------------------
Photo: http://www2.sims.berkeley.edu/courses/is213/s04/projects/Manis/
images/pangolin.jpg

Even Less Jobless

I visited a temp agency today. I wish I had known ahead of time that I'd be sitting in there for two and a half hours (and there subjected to the endlessly-looping cheeriness of their informational/promotional video on the waiting room television), but it may have paid off. They think they already have an admin job for me (although, of course, we don't know, because my brilliant and responsible self forgot my social security card, so we couldn't finish the temp "hiring" process, and until they hire me no one else can...way to go, me...-rolls eyes-).
I also began phone calling today for that other temp job I mentioned. It's actually kind of entertaining. And I was "trained" today, so now I can work at home (hello, back porch in the sunshine). I think my favorite part of calling is that I have access only to the clients' officially-recorded names, so I always end up having to ask for "Robert or Patricia Jones" or "Alfred or Constance Smith" instead of "Bob or Patty" (or whatever). I can hear their initial wariness dripping through the phone:
"Hi, is this Alfred?"
"Yeeess..."
"This is Marybeth, calling from Company X..."
"Okaaaay...?"
"We're the people who prepared your trust for you..."
-brief pause-
"Oh, hi! Yeah, this is Al. What can I do for you?"
-friendly conversation ensues-
...
Today also brought a potential dog-sitting opportunity. Maybe with all this I'll end up being a working, productive member of society yet. (No more random gallivanting. Sigh.)

Not Quite So Jobless

Today I got a temp job making phone calls for a company that sets up trust funds. No cold calling (thank goodness), but your typical, cheery did-you-get-this-document-notarized-yet-because-you-really-need-to-
in-case-you-die-unexpectedly calls. It's super flexible: I'm allowed to work whatever hours I want, however much or little I want, however long or short I want, and starting next week I'll be able to do it from home. Basically it's a perfect in-between stint while I'm looking for a "real" job, and works well around other temp work I'll hopefully get through temp agencies.
Yay for mums with random social networks.

Mothers

Happy Mother's Day!
Mums are pretty great, hey? Mine is, anyway.
In honor of mothers, I here present a poem by Billy Collins ("The Lanyard"):

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Recital

Last night I went to my friend Julie's senior piano recital, which was amazing. Seriously. She astounds me.
I wish you all could have experienced it.

Amazing Food

So, Amanda and I made an amazing dinner tonight, I have to say:
Fresh homemade pasta--half thyme pasta, half spinach pasta--tossed in a garlic-sage-thyme-butter sauce with spinach, mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes, walnuts, and goat cheese, accompanied by a crisp green garden salad and homemade artisan bread, with chilled vanilla custard for dessert. Quite tasty.
One thing I will certainly miss once I'm out on my own again: "free" ingredients to cook whatever I fancy.

Joblessness

Today I took the bus downtown, hung out with some friends from school who have also moved home to Portland, browsed Powell's, watched crazy pigeons at the waterfront, hunted for (and found) a fig-roll-selling bakery in the Pearl, was accosted by Green Peace people, rode the streetcar for the first time, finally purchased my own copy of A Wrinkle in Time (yay for gift cards), and saw a duckling stuck in a manmade fountain-pond. (The last one was a bit sad really. The walls were just too tall for him, as much as he frantically leapt and re-leapt...his eight siblings seemed to do alright, though...)

All in all, a good day. -sigh- It saddens me to know that once I have a "real job" I won't be able to do such things on random Wednesday afternoons.

Wapwa!

Exciting news:
Come winter my mpwa will have an ndugu, and instead of just one mpwa I'll have two wapwa!
Being an aunt is great.

The Search Continues...

Also while downtown, we were looking for places to live. There are some possibilities, but nothing close to a sure-thing yet...
...
Okay, actually, I admit it, I'm writing this post for no other reason than to allow me to come to my blog page without seeing ME! for two posts in a row, plus a profile picture. (Even if my hat is amazingly hip in two of them.)
So, yeah. More filling up space to move things down a bit on the page.
Should I include another poem? That has seemed to work well in the past. Let's see...
Ah, how about some Bonhoeffer? This prison poem has actually been quite meaningful to me as I've been cataloging my "accomplishments" and making shiny resumes and figuring out life and where to live and where to work and what I'm doing now that I've graduated, sometimes feeling like I get by on little more than sheer bravado:

Who am I? They often tell me I would step from my cell's confinement calmly, cheerfully, firmly, like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me I would talk to my warden freely and friendly and clearly, as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me I would bear the days of misfortune equably, smilingly, proudly, like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of, or am I only what I know of myself, restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds, thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation, tossing in expectation of great events, powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, faint and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the other? Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once?
A hypocrite before others, and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling? Or is something within me still like a beaten army, fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

Comfort in smallness, hey? Thanks be to God that in Him we live and move and have our being. There is such rest in that.

Another Whim

Today was gloriously sunny and warm. We had to be outside, so--to try out the noodle-cutting feature on the pasta maker--we whipped out some fresh fettuccine in a butternut squash/parmesan sauce, grabbed some fresh berries, and lunched on the back porch.
Then we broke out our capris and headed into the city for the Saturday Market. I love the quirkiness of where I live, I really do; the market is a people-watcher's paradise.
While there, on another whim, I decided to buy a hat (something I rarely do). I figure I need some way of dealing with potential bad hair days from this new short, can't-pull-the-disaster-back-into-a-ponytail-and-forget-about-it hairstyle. Anyway, here it is: I like it. It makes me laugh.
(Side note: I sort of wish there was something more aesthetically pleasing than those tents in the background of the picture, but at least you can see the water.)
Ay, it was such a lovely day. I hope you were all able to be outside in it at some point. (Assuming, of course, the weather was as inviting wherever you are as it was here...) Days like today simply demand it.

A Whim

So, on a whim this afternoon, I decided to get a haircut. Just, you know, about 14 or 15 inches off:
I already love it. I think it's the lowest maintenance haircut I've ever had. (Not to mention, my head feels about 10 pounds lighter.)
Now we'll just see how it looks after a night's sleep...

May Day

Happy May Day! Ah, this brings back elementary-school memories of making glue-smeared little baskets filled with tissue paper flowers to leave on unsuspecting people's doorsteps. Not that I remember actually leaving one on a doorstep, but as I made them I was always told that was the idea.
I think I just liked it because we got to use Elmer's glue, and I could "accidentally" get it all over my fingers and have the distinctly satisfying pleasure of peeling it off when it dried.
Those were the days.

Being a Grown-Up

Well, I guess now it's time to look for a job. You know, the whole "being a grown-up" in the "real world" thing. (As if the world I've experienced for the last twenty-two years hasn't been "real.")
Too bad I haven't found anyone who's willing to pay me for the things I most want to do: work with refugees, fight social injustice, feed hungry people, travel the world...
In some ways, though, it's nice not to have much of a plan; at least I'm very open to wherever God has for me, rather than Him having to turn or adjust or move away from something which is already quite fixed in my mind.
-shrug-
Fixed plans are overrated anyway, hey?

Finis

I've graduated! Now on to whatever's next...
(Proof that I graduated...as did my dear friend, Erin...)