a good change

Where once there was this:

...Now there is this:

The leathery, dessicated catfish heads - a rather nauseating emblem of death, if you ask me - have been exchanged for a hanging pot of vivacious (albeit wind-tossed) ivy. It's a good change!

Spring(-ish)

Last week I took pictures of the flowers blooming in my yard - Amber planted them at least a year and a half ago, but she's not around to enjoy the product of her labors. So, here you go, Amber. Thanks for the springtime flowers!


The plum tree also began to blossom... a week before it snowed twice. It has bad timing - I feel an odd kinship with that pathetic little tree. I didn't get a good shot of it, so you'll be spared the floral pictures.

Last Thursday it snowed enough between the time I got up and when I was leaving to give my class their midterm that the street in front of my house was covered by an inch of snow. It was perilous! I pulled out of my driveway and cautiously headed down my windy street only to discover that I wasn't being nearly cautious enough! I hit the first curve a little too fast and found my car sliding out of control toward a neighbor's mailbox. I hit the brakes - that did no good. I sucked in my breath, bit my lip, and tried in vain to regain control as I watched the mailbox slip closer and closer toward my window and side mirror. The car stopped sliding inches from the mailbox. On my way home from school that afternoon, I took a look at the tire marks in the snow - it was sooooo close!! (I think I'll continue trying to live in minimally snowy areas, for the safety of everyone!)

New Year's Exclusive

Happy New Year! Well, 2008's certainly holding new things for me. For instance, this will be the first year I've ever lived alone, meaning that I'll spend a lot of my time listening to that phantom ticking noise in the lake cabin (where is it coming from and how do I stop it?!) and plotting the next great way to lure visitors out to my neck-o-the-semi-arid-land ("woods" doesn't quite fit for Abilene terrain).

My now former roommate, Amber Joy, is currently en route to her next great adventure: 13 weeks as a traveling nurse in California. (Sounds like great fun, doesn't it?) Today she's romping around at the Grand Canyon. Here's an exclusive picture of her catching some zzz's on New Year's Eve in preparation for her early morning departure. (The cats felt that they needed to get in on that awesome napping action, too.)


Aww! Isn't that sweet?! I just couldn't resist sharing. Hehehe.

Doesn't Alley look so peaceful in this picture? Well, don't let such appearances fool you! This morning as I sipped my freshly ground, fair-trade Columbian coffee (thanks, Henricksens!) in a lovely 8-cup French Press (gracias, Russ!), I heard her come onto the porch. Desperate for the company of something other than the Phantom (tick... tick... tick), I cracked the door open to greet her. She bolted in with a LIVE BIRD clenched between her teeth, and promptly let it go in my bedroom so she could play with her food inside. I managed to catch it and take it back outside before any serious blood-letting could occur, and returned to my leisured coffee-sipping while the Phantom ticked away. So begin my solo lake cabin adventures...

Look what Alley got today:

Good kitty.

I hit it with a shovel just to make sure - yep, she got it all right!
Glad I got to it before she could try eating it. (Ick!)

Grandpa always said, "The only good snake's a dead snake."
I think this one was harmless (but I'm still glad it's dead).

Show and Tell

There are several things that I've seen this week that I want to share with everyone:

First of all, for a brief three days, the monarch butterflies hovered in our yard during their annual migration. It's nice, just for a few days, to be greeted by clouds of excitable butterflies when you walk through the yard!

On my way to capture the monarchs in action, I ran across my cat. You can see that she likes morning about as much as I do:

Finally, as if I needed more evidence that my roommate is the epitome of forbearance, check out what I left in the fridge for way too long:


(It used to be rice. Ick.)

***

Today in chapel we sang songs from the Taize community. Since the Taize spirit is in the air, I thought I'd share a quote from Brother Roger's book of meditations, Peace of Heart in All Things.

Every human being yearns to be loved as well as to love. It is not for nothing that the Gospel alerts us about not becoming locked up in isolation.

When we are listened to, obstacles created by frustrations of the heart and wounds from a recent or distant past fall away. Being listened to is the beginning of a healing of the soul.

And the breath of a trust arises... and a gateway to freedom begins to open up.

briefs (no, not that kind!)

Normally, I'm supremely annoyed when our next door neighbor loudly revs up his motorcycle for about 10 minutes around 7:30 in the morning. But this morning, his disturbance of my peaceful slumber gave me just enough time to throw on clothes, make a cup of coffee, and head out the door. (My alarm just went off - apparently it was set for 6:16 pm!) Never thought I'd say it but, "Thanks, neighbor!"

***

In other news, I gave my Greek students their first test today. Everyone was polite, but there was a lot of sighing during the hour and a half of class. Paranoia sets in - "Is that his thoughtful expression, or did I just detect a glare?" Hurray for adventures in learning not to become completely unglued when people are less than 100% happy with you! (How do professors do this?!)

***

Kudos to Jared and Donald! After months and months of trying to get Tera to start blogging again, they finally just set up a page for her, complete with their pleas that she take over and fill the site with her thoughts. Over two years ago, Tera began her own blog, posted one incredible reflection (two years down the road I'm still thinking about it!), and then quit because she was afraid she couldn't come up with anything else that good. Tera, in a manner not unlike Gregory of Nazianzus, has resisted all pressure to begin her blog anew. I'm adding my own plea to their eloquent requests! They've articulated the plea very well, so I'll keep it simple: "Please, Tera? Pretty please?????" In hopes you will relent and our dreams might finally be realized, I'll go ahead and add your blog to my links.

Sigh! This is one thing that I'll miss when my time in Abilene is over:

As I was writing about such elevated topics as hope and bold action, I wandered into the kitchen to brew some more coffee and found this on the pantry door:


Now, my roommate thinks it's creepy, and I have to admit that I'm not fond of mayflies much myself. These tenacious little creatures get stuck in my hair while I'm walking across the lawn - they can cling to a windshield for a long time, even at high speeds. (Just trust me on that one.) But something about this struck me as beautiful. Leaving behind its old shell of grey skin, the mayfly emerged bright yellow, spreading its wings to embrace new stages of life. Even the short lifespan of such a simple creature has its remarkably hopeful moments. Isn't the world wonderful?! It's at least as marvelous as it is, well, terrifying. But I have this crazy belief that the terrifying parts of our world will pass away... that maybe all creation is preparing to shed its old, grey skin and emerge fresh and new. That's the kind of vision I want to make real in some small, tangible way in my own life, in our community. Anyone else in?

oops.

Ah - Saturdays. Are there any better days for doing yard work? I think not... or at least that's what I thought yesterday before the fiasco. (I apologize to those who do not read my roommate's blog because this post is largely in response to her recent description of the aforementioned fiasco.) Her version of the tale is fair enough, but I feel like the story could use a little clarification and elaboration. (And I'll leave out the photograph - yikes! Some people have good reasons for being camera shy, and I'm one of them.)

I arrived home yesterday with enough daylight left to take the mower out for a spin. I filled it with gas, aired up the tire that tends to go flat and fired up the engine. Mowing the lawn is a new chore for me: I hadn't ever done it until this summer. Even after three times, it's still pretty novel. I'm not only a novice - I'm also overconfident about my ability to handle the mower. Couple my overconfidence with this enormous and powerful lawn mower, and you've got a recipe for disaster.

The front yard was completely uneventful. I jammed to Coldplay, watching with delight as weeds once three feet tall lay strewn in my wake. The trouble came as I was circling our cabin, trying to cut as close to it as I could so I wouldn't have to weed-eat as much. I was watching out for the garden hose, and I thought to myself, "I know there's a spigot here somewhere... (bump) Oh. Found it." I had knocked the water spigot at a 45 degree angle to its normal position and water was gushing from the base like the crude oil during the opening credits of "The Beverly Hillbillies." Not good. (Note: I did not "run right over" it. Rather, I tapped it forcefully with the front bumper of the lawn mower. No blades scraping steel pipes. Additionally, it was hidden under three foot weeds. Okay, back to the story...)

Panic ensued! I charged into the house to try to find a place inside to cut off the water to the spigot, but to no avail. Running full speed, I plowed into the screened door on the porch; unfortunately, I had forgotten to open the door and it propelled me backwards. (At least it didn't break!) Remembering to use the handle rather than brute force I sprung through the door and continued my sprint toward to mower. I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts... naw, that takes too long! I decided to move the mower out of the now swampy soil, threw it in reverse and backed about 15 feet.

At that point, I looked up to see Amber Joy, who had just arrived home, staring at me in open-mouthed consternation. I hadn't even seen her standing there. "Did she see the door thing?" I wondered to myself. (Why is it that unimportant details often come to mind first?) Blurting out a mostly incoherent explanation of my panicky state, I dialed my dad's cell number; I thought he might know where to turn the water off. He didn't, but Amber, radiating calm and collectedness in that way she has, knew exactly what to do. Fighting the fire ants that had built their home around the valve, she shut off the water. (What a champ!) No more gushing.

And no more water in our house. We called my uncle Jim, who also lives in Abilene, and he hurried out to see what kind of problem we were facing. I dug a little hole to find the problem spot; after digging down about a foot, the spigot and its pipe came off cleanly in my hands. I think it's best to do most things thoroughly - I guess that goes for bowling over water pipes as well. As the sun sank below the western horizon, Jim and I evaluated the damage. Today he arrived bright and early with his grandson in tow, ready to remove old pipes and replace them. He was finished by 2 pm. I think he might just be the best, quickest responding plumber I've ever met! (And he's a car salesman.) I think he deserves a "thank you" card.

Yay, running water! So, should I go finish mowing the yard? It could be an adventure...

"I will put enmity between you and the woman,
between your offspring and hers..."

Amber Joy and I arrive home well after dark, and feel our way toward our little cabin in the dark. Finally we come into range of the motion sensor lights near our front porch, and they flash on, leaving those strange blinking spots in my eyes. As we approach the porch door, I hear Amber say, with mild undertones of alarm, "Look, a snake!" In a rather foolhardy move, I continue walking, and as I open the screen door I ask "Where?" over my shoulder. Turning to look back at her where she has frozen in her tracks, I see the culprit, coiled in the cool dirt next to our door; I have stepped right over it. Oops. (This seems like reasonable grounds for me to wonder about my level of common sense and quickness of reflexes. I guess I can cross "ninja" off my list of alternative career choices! Learn from my folly: if your companion says, "Look, a snake!" this is your cue to STOP MOVING, particularly if it does not become immediately apparent where the danger is.)

I'm generally loving towards creatures of all sorts; I've never been one to viciously destroy some other living thing. (Oh, one recent exception being the millipede that bit me in my sleep a few weeks ago... but that's another story altogether...) And admittedly, this snake is not especially threatening: he's* coiled but not as if he's waiting to strike a foot unawares - he appears to be resting his scaly little head in the center of his neatly spiraled body, the picture of peaceful serpent slumber. Positioned this way, he is only a little larger than my clenched fist. We can't tell what kind of snake he is: the best description is brown splotches on a grayish background with a large head. Innocent appearances aside, all I can hear are the words of my late grandfather ringing mantra-like in my ears: "The only good snake is a dead snake." I can't just dismiss sage wisdom like that, especially since it was delivered to me in this very spot many times in my childhood. Additionally, Amber and I feel that it would be too disconcerting to allow the snake to live.

So we go to the carport and fetch a shovel. My naivete is long gone by this time: I'm seeing threatening shapes everywhere in the darkness. Hustling back over to the house, weapon in hand, I'm ready for action. The snake sits, waiting calmly.

I circle around and position the shovel 12 inches above where his head meets the rest of his slick body. He doesn't move, just keeps his composed position like a martyr facing the lions with serenity. Glancing up for reassurance at Amber (who nods to me grimly), I take several deep breaths and drive the shovel down as hard as I can. Now his body is wriggling a bit, so keeping him pinned I give the shovel a couple of extra stomps. Then I stand on it for good measure.

Amber and I glance at each other uncertainly. I cautiously lift the head of the shovel. The snake squirms a bit and then stops. I prod him, and his head eerily rises from the broken folds of his body, moving slowly, the jaw opening and closing. I hear a tiny shriek, and look up to see that Amber is now about 15 feet farther away (and doing a very funny "I'm so freaked out" dance). How does she move that fast?! We decide he needs a little more "assistance." And he gets it - after several more indiscriminate thrusts and stomps with the shovel, the snake is not moving anymore. We unceremoniously scoop the segments of snake onto the shovel and launch it into the brush. Then we attempt to go to sleep, thoroughly creeped out. But if there are any more snakes out there who slither a little too close for comfort, we know what to do!


*I realize that the snake went from "it" to "he" in the middle of the post. I didn't notice I had changed the pronoun until later - I retained it, not because of any bias against males on my part, but simply because it began to take on personality rather than remaining an object. Or, perhaps it's Paula Abdul's fault: "He's a Cold-Hearted Snake" was popular at an impressionable time in my life.

Finally!

Tomorrow Amber Joy and I head off to Jerusalem for three weeks! In the meantime, we've had lots of very important things on our to-do list... but none of them ranking so high as finally learning to use our sailboat! Our previous (abortive) attempt found us both completely soaked, the boat tipped over and crashing into things, and a drenched Amber Joy soulfully singing "I will go down with this ship!" This time, we actually manage to get the boat in the water, put up the mast, and pull the sail into position in ten minutes time without any major accidents. (Okay, we're both sporting some pretty bruises from the effort, but it was still successful!) So far, so good.

Now comes the part that's been especially tricky - slinging our bodies into the boat without tipping it over. We circle around the boat to look for the best spot, slipping on the mystery sludge on the bottom of the lake and losing our shoes to its slimy, clingy algae. Amber looks uncertainly across the boat at me, hesitates just a moment longer, and then flings herself into the boat. Last time, the boat (with the help of a massive gust of wind) keeled over with her, but this time it did little more than give a tiny splash. Now it's my turn. I toss Amber the rope to the sail and heave myself into the back.

We look at each other in shock - we did it! We're in the boat! ... But we're not moving anywhere. Hmm. After a few minutes of fiddling with the rudder and trying to move the sail to catch the wind, we're finally inching forward into deeper water. YESSSSSSS!!!! We're sailing!

The wind isn't totally cooperative. We get about a quarter of the way out from the shore, and it dies out. We creep along at a snail's pace, feeling the sun heating up the backs of our necks. Occasionally, the wind picks up and we're really zooming along. We manage to turn the boat around and find that it's easy to head home, so we sail back out to the middle of the lake one more time, and then head home. One day, when we don't have anywhere to be for hours, we'll take the boat out for a much longer excursion. For now, we're happy with our first successful sailing trip of the summer!!!

So, anyone want to go sailing?!

We were so close...

Ever since Amber Joy and I moved out to the lake, we've been seriously battling a sudden on-slaught of "water-toy" envy. So, when we discovered that one of the little two-person sailboats sitting right here on Grandma's property is still in working condition, we were elated! Score! Fun on the lake, here we come!

We decided that yesterday would be the day to take the little Starfish out for a cruise. But there were all kinds of obstacles in the way. First of all, neither of us has ever learned how to sail a boat, even a small one like this. But I was confident - I have a general idea about how the physics of it work, and surely putting the sail on would be pretty intuitive! So we were optimistic and ready for a new adventure!

First step: gathering the necessary equipment from various places in the old metal shack that my family affectionately calls the "boat house." (Everything around here is in various stages of deterioration.) I manage to scrounge up a working rudder, and even figure out how to attach it to the back of the boat. (An accomplishment I remember feeling very smug about at the time. "Oh, yeah, this'll be easy. I'm a natural.") After a little more digging, I find a center board that is still intact. "But where is the sail?" This question requires a phone call to my father (the first of many that day!). He directs me right to it: suspended over the lawn mower and a bunch of rickety sawhorses, and harboring a whole colony of wasps. ("Add wasp killer to the list," I note wisely to myself.)

Once Amber arrives home from work, we tackle the major task - figuring out how to assemble all the parts and transport the boat across the yard, down the ramp, and into the water. After a major battle with the wasps (A & K - 157, Wasps - 0), we tug the sail and mast out of its state of sleepy suspension, lay it on the ground near the boat, and unravel it. It looks like it's been stored in that dirt-dobber infested spot for a decade (and it probably has). Now comes the tricky part: figuring out how to attach the sail to the mast and the mast to the boat. Time to call Dad again.

Maybe I'm making this too complicated - it is, after all, a tiny sailboat - but there is something about the ropes that instantly throws my cocky confidence into utter confusion. There are all these pulleys and weird hooks that don't fit. All the knots look so sophisticated. But I only know how to tie goofy-looking knots. They hold about as well as those fancy knots that a sailor would tie (or my Eagle scout brother), but they make me feel a little incompetent. It looks like I don't know what I'm doing. ("Oh, wait, I don't!" My false sense of confidence takes a little stagger.)

I circle around the sail, phone in one hand, as I lift the sail and tug at the ropes with the other, trying to describe what I'm seeing to Dad. He tells me what the sail should look like... but for some reason it's different than what he remembers. "There's not a pulley there, Dad." "These hooks are supposed to go together but they don't." He does his best to describe to me how everything should work, and I promise to call back if I get stuck.

Amber and I decide that it would be best to attach the sail when we're closer to the water, so we start dragging the sailboat dolley toward the ramp. (I say we, but Amber did most of the work - she's an incredible girl on so many levels! ) At this point, Grandma chimes in, yelling from her balcony that we should take life jackets - that would be the cobweb-covered, dirt-dobber nested chunks of decaying plastic and foam hanging limply from nails inside the boat house that once aspired to save lives. I let out a half-hearted, "Yes, ma'am." Life jackets - duly noted. By this point, I'm beginning to feel any remnant of confidence leak out of me... much like the murky water that's draining from the bottom of the boat now that it's sitting on the incline of the ramp. (Apparently, it wasn't drained properly the last time someone took it out.)

As we lug the sail down the ramp, it hits me. There's another sail sitting inside the boat house. Setting down our booty from the wasp war, I slink in the side door of the boat house, and sure enough, there's the other sail. "Wait a second..." (I look closer) "This is the sail Dad was describing - it'll fit our boat perfectly... my, what nice knots those ropes have." I know that I can't tie the knots back that well. Wasps, the wrong sail, pulleys and hooks galore, dolleys, ramps, dingy life belts, and finally the right sail but with such lovely knots that I could never hope to tie them back correctly - the combination is all too much. Any remaining excitement and confidence shattered, I vote that we return everything to its rightful place and give it a shot another day.

I wish I hadn't - looking back, we were so close! Maybe we'll try it again next week. (But in the meantime, I'm learning to tie cool knots!) Any friends out there have some advice for a couple of clueless but otherwise eager would-be sailors?