Sheep and Goats

Hmmm, I see that I have already posted twice as many times this year as the last.

So, the Holschers went away for the weekend. To be nice to me, they decided to send the dog to the kennel. He is a bit high-maintenence when the family is gone. He feels lonely and neglected. The least I could do was deliver the dog myself. I took him in my two-door, and being a hot day I rolled down the windows. And put the passenger seat forward so he could stick his head out. All was bliss and restraint until Delhi was reached. We slowed to 30 mph and he decided that more than his nose needed to be outside the car- first it was his whole head, then his front paws. Then I came to a stop sign and he was gone- all of him. I really wasn't expecting that. In a panic I pulled around the corner and leapt out of my car in my bare feet. Thankfully 30 seconds was all he needed. He came right back to me.

We proceeded a little farther- with the seat back up and the windows rolled up. Things became quiet in the back seat. Too quiet, but I didn't notice. I reached back to grab the paper with directions, which had slipped to the floor behind my seat. My fingers encountered something sticky. What in the world? Maple SYRUP??? Suddenly I remembered- there had been a lonely pint jug of syrup under my seat. And Reagan had found it. And chewed off the cover. And all that lovely pint was on the floor of my car.

It was with a rather vindicative pleasure that I delivered him to his Doom at the kennel (he really hates that place). We are not best pleased with him.

Saturday night I did the chores. Somehow, since I only do this once every couple of months, I always seem to meet with disaster, or at least Great Trials. I managed to let out 10 chickens while feeding them, and spent a frenzied few minutes darting after them and trying to herd them back into their pen.

Worse yet, I couldn't keep 26 goats under control at all. If there are only two goats that actually need to be milked, be assured that 4 others will crowd at the door desperately trying to shoulder their way out as well. They have beady eyes, and all the inborn stubborness of a greedy and self-absorbed soul. They weigh about as much as I do, and have twice the physical stability. I cannot win in a shoving match. Trying it just makes me so furious that my heart-rate jumps and suddenly I am turned into the wicked witch of the west. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING can push me as far over the edge into sheer carnality as a goat. I found myself hauling them around by their collars and shrieking at them. God chose well when he used goats as examples of how not to behave. And at that moment I wasn't acting any better.

Then there is that nerotic goat who can't stand the milking stantion. She thinks its an instrument of the devil. You have to coax her with grain to get her front hooves up, then lift her back end up. She eats grain peacefully enough while you milk her. When she runs out she startles backwards as if she were suddenly confronted with the devil himself. She is only okay if you give her more grain. Somehow I feel manipulated.

And after it all I ended up sitting on a wet deck chair in the dark, staring at the fireflys over the lawn and asking God for forgiveness. My heart is still pounding, and my nerves are rattled. Is it a sin to scream at goats?

Tell Me the Old, Old, Story

I love to learn, but find myself easily overwhelmed when trying to read deep theological works. For exapmle- I have tried and failed several times to get past the second chapter of C.S. Lewis' Miracles. At some point I find myself reading the same sentence over and over again. Each time I'll get to the end and say, "Nope, still don't understand what he's getting at". A little while of that and I put it down for another couple of years.



Which brings me to an interesting point about language learning (really, the two ARE related). Apparently Americans who try to learn a language tend to go at it like math: give them the foreign word + the English translation and it will = understanding. They get bogged down in the details of the language and never see the big picture. I know this, because I've done it myself. A better approach is to dive right into the language- fully expecting to miss half or more or what you are hearing- aim for the main point and forget all the words you can't translate.

After months of stuggling away at Hebrew, I found that I was slowly loosening my strangling grip on the need for translation and was aiming more for understanding. I remember this great conversation in class one day; the teacher was babbling away in Hebrew and I realized I was leaping through the stream of it- from rock to rock as it were,and blissfully unconcerned about all the words I was missing. Granted, if once I lost my footing I would have been lost for good, but meanwhile I was getting places- in Hebrew!

Okay, so, back to this review of a book I haven't even metioned yet. There is this ancient philosopher dude named Pascal. He wrote in French for one thing. For another, he had all these brilliant thoughts which he wrote down cryptically on scraps of paper. He intended at some time or other to bring them into order and write a book from them but he went to heaven instead (lucky man). So ever since, other people have gathered those scraps up and tried to explain them. Or they published them as they were, which was even worse for people like me. I mean, if I can't get through C.S. Lewis, a master at simplifying deep things, how was I going to 'get' Pacal?

Enter Peter Kreeft and the title of the book (finally). Christianity for Modern Pagans, Pascal's Pensees, Edited, Outlined & Explained by Peter Kreeft. Kinda long and wordy, nu? But the operative words are 'edited', 'outlined', and 'explained'. I like those words. Here be stones by which I can actually get through Pascal.

I really don't remember exactly why I bought the book in the first place, way back in 2007, but buy it I did, and started to read it. I found that despite all the helps along the way, it wasn't a book to be taken lightly or consumed like an Agatha Christie. It took me two full years to finish. But oh the richness!

Kreeft is a college professor who teaches Pacal, so he explainations are clear, conscise, and even I can get them! He arranges the Pensees under headings. Under these headings each Pensee is in bold type with Kreeft's notes on it following.

I think I started the book with a desire to learn more about a topic of which I was ignorant, and ended up feeling like somebody had walked right inside my heart and head and started rearranging the furniture. I don't know how to explain how deeply excited I felt about the book. I think it had a lot to do with the way it was arranged. It was like a retelling of an ancient and well-known story. Well-loved and precious, but suddenly made bright again by viewing it from a fresh angle.

Pascal and Kreeft together begin by talking forEVER about the Human conditon- the problem they are trying to solve. They discuss at nauseating length Wretchedness and Death, Sin, and Selfishness, and the Vanity of Human Justice, Dogamatism, and Philospohers.

It took me several months to get through this section, but I did so with a mounting sense of anticipation. I had understood the problem pretty clearly before I read the book, and felt like the two of them had hammered it home pretty thoroughly. Besides, I had read the Table of Contents and I knew that they were going to present a Solution at the end. :-) Like a mystery novel, I refused to read the ending before I got through the middle.

After that they talk about possible solutions to the Problem- Diversion and Indifference. Nice. Or not so nice. That section was shorter, but pithy and very humbling.

Next came the Way to a Real Solution and they talked all about Faith and Reason and Passionate Truth-seeking.

Then came the Solution. I can actually remember where I was when I read the end of this book- out on a rock in the middle of the woods behind Fairwood. Nice spot, except for the mosquitos.

What to know what the solution was? Too bad. Have to read the book yourself. Or you could just read the Gospel, if you are bored by my review. :-)

But who ever tires of hearing the Gospel story, and how lovely it is to meet it again, in other words, in a new setting, ever the same, and yet ever fresh and new?

I'll post a few short sections in another note for anybody who is still interested.

And no, you may not borrow my copy. Buy your own.

Sabbath

When I was a child and all through my growing-up years we kept a Sabbath on Saturday. We observed this day of rest from Friday night at sundown to Saturday night at sundown. But really ovbservence started Friday morning, or even before...

We planned the week so that nothing ended up on Saturday that involved work, or much travel or committment. Friday after school was done we devoted our time to cleaning up the house completely. We had Friday-cleaning lists and the house would buzz with activity all the way until sundown. Often the lawn would be mowed that day as well. If I shut my eyes the memories come back in the form of sensory information- the smell of cleaner from the bathroom, the sound of the washing machine thumping from the laundry room, the sound of somebody snapping the wrinkles out of towels before they fold and put them away, crisp clean sheets on the beds, one of the boys vaccuuming the upstairs hall, Megan outside on the riding lawn mower- her hair in a bandana, singing loudly, the smell of cut grass, the smell of cinnamon rolls in the oven.
Our bodies tired from honest labor we would all rush about as the sun got lower, clean up, put on something nice if we felt inclined, or our night clothes if we felt tired.
We would gather in the living room for a little meeting- the only one where we were allowed to fall asleep if we wanted to. Sometimes we would bring a blanket and pillow and curl up on the floor. Somebody lit candles and left them burning on the coffee table- the overhead lights were off and everything was quiet except the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.

There were cinnamon rolls waiting on the kitchen counter, and a bowl of popcorn as well. Keeping 8 children still for long was a miracle, but somehow the atmosphere of peace would settle over the room. We prayed, and sang, and went around the room saying what we were thankful for from the past week. We laughed and talked in a relaxed way, and when we'd had enough Mum brought in Sabbath treat and we ate it. Someitmes we would leave to do our own things, but sometimes we would sit around the living room drawing or playing with toys while Daddy or I read out loud.

Sound idyllic? It was... sometimes. Of course sometimes we didn't want to be there, were bored, restless, cranky, or the meeting went too long. But that's just life.

I have continued to keep the Sabbath all my life. It is wrapped up in my soul I guess, and I can't get it out. :-)

Its an easy thing to see as just an out-of-date command, but I was just thinking on this Sabbath of all the lessons I have learned about the character of God from keeping this day.....

"For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are but dust." Ps. 103:14
I don't know about you, but I love this verse. I feel dusty sometimes, or dust-like. I can't keep up with the demands of life. Endless needs, endless work, endless cycle. We need something to break the cycle- to make it livable. A good friend of mind was talking about this. She has eight children, a hard-working husband who runs two businesses out of her home, and a small farm to boot. The work is endless. But Friday night she closes the phone message book, pulls the paperwork together, shuts off the office phone, closes the door on all her cleaning impliments and all her obligations, gathers her children about her and stops. It helps her feel that the task is not endless. Each week has an end, and her body can catch up.

" Six days do your work, but on the seventh day do not work, so that
your ox and your donkey may rest and the slave born in your household, and
the alien as well, may be refreshed.


God desires our fellowship. I think of the Sabbath as a day apart, a holy day, but not in a solemn way as much as a joyful celebratory way. God desires our company. In this space of time we can set aside the mundane worries of the week and take time to be still and know that He is God. I'm not very good at doing that on my own. I would naturally rush on through life and arrive at the Gate of heaven breathless and exhausted. But God wants our attention frequently and to make sure of it, commands us to keep a day of rest. Its right up there with not killing people or committing adultery. :-)


I think he thought of me when he commanded rest and stillness. I wouldn't do it otherwise.

The Sabbath also makes me have hope for the future. Just the way it ends each week with celebration and peace, so I expect God to bring an end to this world- and bring with that end celebration and peace. The hope of the coming of the Lord. Each Sabbath bring a taste of that- an anticipation of better things to come.

I could keep on going... when have I ever lacked for things to talk about? But anyway, I am thankful for the Sabbath, for the fellowship of God, for peace, for joy, celebration, and anticipation.

Joel and Ferdinand

Anybody remember that children's book all about a bull in Spain who would rather sit and smell the flowers than become a fighting bull? Well the other day Joel and I were out on the town and noticed it in a bookshop. He had never heard of it so I told him I would bring my copy back with me next time I was in New Hampshire.

A week or so later I was back with the much-anticipated book in hand. I was in the middle of cooking syrup for a batch of cream, so we sat on the floor with our backs to the fridge. Joel was curled up against me and hanging over my shoulder.

The text is simple and the pictures delicious. I love this particular book and was expecting Joel to as well. But I was forgetting my Joel. He is a man of action. A man without fear. A doer in the field of life. Strong and straight and very manly... even at the tender age of five.

At first he was entranced, then when Ferdinand first expressed a desire to smell flowers he made a small sound of disgust. Suddenly I realized how little he would appreciate a sensitive soul like Ferdinand's. After that it was just funny. Nothing Ferdinand did was right. Joel was revolted by his wimpiness and indifferent to his plight. The book was not a success.

I suggested they name their new baby bull Ferdinand. He rejected the idea out of hand.

Frozen Chicken

I haven't been here in forever. Sorry. I guess. Anyway, I'll give it another shot. Maybe I should stop apologizing every time I disappear for a year and then pop back up again.

So lets start with something random to get my brain in a writing mode again.

Reagan the large and happy puppy who lives outside has found a new and interesting hobby. He chases chickens. On a small farm with many chickens who actually earn their keep by producing eggs, chicken-chasing is a deadly sin. Reagan knows this, but some deep and carnal urge within him keeps him at it.

During the winter its not so bad becasue the chickens are confined to the barn and Reagan is never allowed in. But as spring approaches the hens find their way out by hook or by crook and wander about looking for...whatever it is that hens are seeking in life.

Reagan found one the other evening and chased it under a car by the garage. He got yelled at and chained back up. We assumed the chicken found its way back to the barn.

The next morning I was out working in the woods. Mid-morning I came back down and noticed a chicken sitting on the ground in front of the garage. The chicken didn't move as I approached, which was a bit odd. I was practically on top of it before I realized the problem and the signifigance of its location- somebody had moved the car since the night before. This was the chicken Reagan had chased under that car. It had settled down in a puddle of water, too terrified to move. Overnight the water froze- with the chicken in it.

I was horrified at the thought of the wretched night it must have spent- and dubious that it was going to survive. I ran to the house and came back with rags and warm water and started to pry her up. She had been smart enough to pull her legs up into its breast feathers. So all that was actually frozen to the ground were her feathers all the way round.

It took several buckets of warm water and some gentle pulling to remove her. She never made a sound or flopped about. We wrapped her up in rags and brought her into the house to thaw in front of the stove.

Less than an hour later she struggled out of her wrappings and started to protest. Completely normal and healthy.

Crazy bird.

Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea,
And East and West the wanderlust that will not let me be;
It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-by!
For the seas call and the stars call, and oh, the call of the sky!

I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are,
But man can have the sun for friend, and for his guide a star;
And there's no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard,
For the river calls and the road calls, and oh, the call of a bird!

Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day
The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away;
And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why,
You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road
and the sky!
-Gerald Gould

You know how memories from childhood can linger such a very long time and have a huge impact on one's life? Well, I'm going to share one of those with you.

Every time I throw away the cardboard tube at the end of a paper towel roll I get this little twinge of regret. I feel a sudden urge to hoard it...

This is all because when we were children we traveled lots and couldn't have large pets like rottweilers or ponies. So we had rodents small. Mostly gerbils. Gerbils chew things- all night long. They chew them up and make nests out of them. So I would eagerly await the end of each paper towel roll, grab the tube and give it to my darling gerbils. They loved me for it. At least they loved my cardboard paper towel tubes.

But why should I continue to feel a need for paper towel tubes?

I'm just sayin'

More Donne

A Hymne to Christ

In what torne ship soever I embarke,
That ship shall be my embleme of thy Arke;
What sea soever swallow mee, that flood
Shall be to mee an embleme of thy blood;
Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise
Thy face; yet through that maske I know those eyes,
Which, though they turne away sometimes,
They never will despise.

I sacrifice this Iland unto thee,
And all whom I lov'd there, and who lov'd mee;
When I have put our seas twixt them and mee,
Put thou thy sea betwixt my sinnes and thee.
As the trees sap doth seeke the root below
In winter, in my winter now I goe,
Where none but thee, th'Eternall root
Of true Love I may know.

Nor thou nor thy religion doest controule,
The amorousnesse of an harmonious Soule,
But thou would'st have that love thy selfe: As thou
Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now,
Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, thou free
My soule: who ever gives, takes libertie:
O, if thou car'st not whom I love
Alas, thou lov'st not mee.

Seale then this bill of my Divorce to All,
On whom those fainter beames of love did fall;
Marry those loves, which in youth scattered bee
On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses)to thee.
Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light:
To see God only, I goe out of sight:
And to scrape stormy dayes, I chuse
An Everlasting night.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I wander around aimlessly; bereft. I feel as if I belong to no one, that I belong nowhere. Life is just not what my child-self expected all those years ago. Where is the wonder and joy?

Then I remember...

This is not my home,
I do not belong;

and some day soon I will arrive at the door of Heaven, see Him whom my soul loves and I will be at Home forever.



And on a trivial note: the quality of one's life is sometimes temporarily improved by the addition of one pair of astonishing striped knee socks.

Heaven in a birdbath

Today Sarah and I planted a garden. You know that concrete bird bath in the little courtyard outside out door? Well, it has been problematic throughout the years. It grows nothing well- except moss. Last year it was lovely thanks to Aunt Robin. This year it fell to my lot to fill it up. First of all I grubbed it out completely and filled it up with some Miracle Grow stuff that had jolly well better be miraculous. It cost a enough.

Sarah and went to town this afternoon to pick out flowers. We weren't really sure what we wanted. Sarah was tired. I was crabby. We wandered around the outdoor part of Agway in Keene, pushing a poor excuse for a cart through the thick gravel aisles.

Sarah: (going past the herbs) Oh! We could fill it with herbs!
Katie: That's a good idea!

We walk past the herbs, not picking any up.

Katie: We need something tall in the middle, and something to hang over the edges, and then stuff in the middle. What about those pink flowers?
Sarah: Those are too tall.
Katie: no they aren't! (She picks one up)
Sarah: not the red ones.

We walk away. In fact, we abandon the cart and wander around and around in circles, alternately suggesting plants and rejecting the ones the other person had picked out.

Katie: maybe we should have some cool grass in the middle.
Sarah: No.
Katie: Oh, okay.
Sarah: People would wonder why we didn't weed our garden.

We finally had a collection of possibilities on our stupid cart. Sarah was sure they were all way too tall for our waist-height bird bath. I was sure they would be lovely. I won.

We practically carried the cart to the gazebo that served as a checkout. The lady in front of us was buying 13 rose bushes. The cashier was trying to ring them in without moving them off her cart. I was dubious that it was going to work; he didn't seem to be moving in a very orderly fashion. Sure enough- the end count was 15, so he started all over again; only this time she put them on the counter one by one. Sarah went to the car to wait.

I stood around with my feet on the ground. When the 13-rose lady finally left I checked out my odd collection of plants, minus the one that I rejected at the 11th hour because it cost 3 arms and two legs (as the saying goes). On the way to the car I became convinced that they were all too tall and that it was going to look horrible and stupid. Sarah would be right and I would be wrong- horror of horrors!

We planted them right away. And they looked beautiful. End of story. Only that I nearly cried they were so lovely- just like a piece of heaven.

Rachel Baglietto nee Adams

I just finished packing away Rachel's wedding dress. It is now folded up, but not squished, into a large blue Roughneck container between layers of acid-free tissue paper. It hung in the door frame of one of the bedrooms for ages after the wedding. Then it was sent to the cleaners to get the mud off the front hem. That was acquired walking down the steps from the church to the van and from the van to the Dining Hall.

Slowly the last bits of the wedding and shower are being cleared away. The big poster board titled "Rachel's Brains" was pulled off the fridge, the last of the party favors made by Mrs. Sandford have been properly disposed of (yum!), the calendar no longer displays a carefully choreographed layout of the month of January with marriage counseling sessions, airport runs, arrival times, etc.

Maybe now that the details and reminders are disappearing, I can actually start figuring out what just happened.

My sister, Rachel, remember her? just got married. If you didn't happen to notice. Weird. And yet, so right.

But how did it happen? And will it really ever sink in? An Adams girl? Married? I guess we can ditch that idea of all being old maids together like the Bronte sisters.

Actually, that wasn't such a good idea anyway. I just read a quick bio of them- apparently there were 6 kids total- 5 girls and one boy. Eldest two girls died early, the mom died of cancer. Then the four remaining kids and their dad hung out together trying to piece together a living tutoring, pastoring, writing. Then three of the kids died inside two years. First the boy died of alcohol and opium abuse, then two girls of tuberculosis. They were all right around 30 years old. Charlotte, the one who wrote Jane Eyre, lived a while longer and even got married. But she died while pregnant with her first child. She was 38.

So... yay for Rachel getting married! Now we aren't doomed to writing novels full of angst or dying early of sickness or substance abuse. Thanks, dear!

Hello, hello? Anybody still here?

The sound of my small voice is swallowed up by the darkness in the room. I open the door a little wider and hesitantly put in my head. When was the last I was here anyway? I flick on the light and blink in surprise. It really has been a long time! Everything is covered in dust. I see the footprints of friends who have come and gone and not found me at home.

Oh well! A good dusting, a little beating of the rugs, maybe make a pot of tea for myself and a pot of coffee for everybody else. Put out the welcome mat, turn on the music, pull up the shades... maybe they will come back.

Hearing Glory- St. Anne's

Today I was hanging out at St. Anne's. How lucky am I- being able to just hang out in such places!

Anyway- I was admiring the way the light shines through the stone latticework windows, how the pillars are un-faced and have rugged seams in them, and the look of huge oak and black iron doors. There was an Italian (I think) tour group sitting in the pews (which, by the way, try to avoid them if possible- rare forms of torture calculated to keep tourists moving) in front of me. They were singing in Latin and enjoying the acoustics.

Remember St. Anne's? For those you who have been there it needs no explanation, but for those who haven't- you can practically sing three-part harmony with yourself because the notes echo around the dome so long. Very nice, as long as you stay on tune.

After a bit most of the group stopped singing. A few hadn't had enough and kept on going- a young man (in an exceptionally ugly hat), and sundry middle-agers with good voices. Fewer voices are really less confusing anyway, and I sat back in bliss to listen. How they sang! Controlled, slow Latin hymns with beautiful harmony. One exceptionally pure soprano would suddenly rise out of the steady flow of the harmony with a few notes of pure joy.

The young man with the ugly hat seemed particularly intent. He never got up and wandered around, and didn't even seem interested in looking around at the architecture. It wasn't until they all started to move out of the church that I saw why- he was walking down the center aisle arm-in-arm with an older man, and with a familiar rigid and focused gait.
He was blind.

As I watched him out the door I wondered what it must be like sight-see without being about to see, to tour and to need a guide for every step, to visit the Holy Land and not come home with a 1,000 photos to remember it by?

But what vividness some memories must hold- memories of sound, heat, the feel of the stones underfoot, the voices of people praying, singing, the Arabs on David's Street calling their wares.

No wonder he kept singing. All the rest could wander at will, and see, but oh how RICH that sound must have been for him!

Lucky man.

A Tale of Two Airports.... and Several Continents

I'm an irritated state of mind right now. I'm trying to finish a project. The project has a goal to be reached. It should be reached soon. Sadly the goal is difficult to define. The steps leading to the goal are difficult to define. Nobody else seems to be able to define them for me. I can't define them for me. So I am lost in a sea of rabbit trails, loose ends, computer issues and circular thought patterns. I hate this.

So now I am sitting on the floor with the sun on my back listening to Valentina Igoshina play Chopin and I shall tell you a funny story to help me forget my troubles.

Once upon a time I flew to Turkey. I didn't really want to fly to Turkey, but hey, whatever. The day before I left the travel agent called to ask me if I minded taking by an earlier flight. I didn't....

wait a sec, Valentina is buffering and I must go pause her.

Okay, as I was saying, I didn't have a problem with that. Mark and Liz were going to pick me up at the other end and I was pretty sure 3 pm was better than 8 for them.



"Same airport, right?" I asked the travel agent person.



I put that question on its own line with extra spaces to make it stick out. It is the crux of the whole matter. Don't forget that I asked it.

The travel agent allowed as how it was the same airport. Or, maybe she really meant that my leaving and returning flights both left from the same airport.

Anyway, I flew to Turkey to see the king, or at least the Stamps.

I landed in Istanbul at 3 pm. If you have a moment, look up a map of Istanbul. You will notice that the city has two sides separated by water. That water is called the Bosphorus. The two sides are on two continents! Isn't that cool?

So Istanbul has an Asian side and a European side. What does that have to do with my story? Well, there is a tiny airport on the Asian side, a bigger airport on the European side, and Mark and Liz live sort of mid-way between them, but on the Asian side.

Ahhh, we begin to see why it might be important to know which airport we are going into!

Anyway, I landed in Istanbul and scanned the crowd for a familiar face. I was really looking for a guy who looked like Matt without a military haircut, because I hadn't really seen Mark since he was a small lad. And I had no idea what Liz looked like.

I saw no Matt-esque men. Suddenly I knew what had happened. I wasn't in the tiny airport on the Asian side. I was really in the larger airport on the European side.
But Mark and Liz were on the Asian side. Holding down the tiny airport and looking for me.

But I wasn't there.

Funny, I had worried about lots of things involved in this trip to Turkey, but arriving at a totally different airport wasn't one of them. Guess I'm bad a worrying.

Anyway I didn't have time for worry now. I went to the nearest information desk to double-check my location. Is there any non-stupid way of asking, "Excuse me, but can you tell me where I am?"

Then I changed money into.... ummm liras? Somebody (that would be me) did absolutely NO research about Turkey before they arrived. But I learned a lot, fast.

I found a phone.

I found a post office.

I bought a phone card.

I called Mark and Liz's home phone. I'm not sure why, since I knew they were at the airport. Not MY airport of course, but AN airport, which isn't where they live.

Then I took the next logical step and called my Daddy. He called Rachel in NH to get Roy and Lee's number in California. Daddy called California to get Liz's cell number. It was an old one. So Daddy called Mike who was on a business trip in China. Couldn't reach him.


While Daddy was continent hopping via phone, I was looking at ways of continent hopping myself. Take a taxi? I nixed that without a second thought. I don't trust a taxi unless I can speak the taxi driver's native language.
Shuttle bus? Some helpful Turkish guy told me all about it and showed me a map and was so polite. But I wasn't sure of the exchange rate and it seemed an awful lot of money. I called Daddy and had him run it through a exchange rate calculator. $115????!!!? Ummm, I don't even have that much cash on me! Maybe I should just walk. In a foreign country, after dark, in a city. Ha.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, or the airport on the Asian side, Mark and Liz (being smarter than the average bears) decided there was problem. Their airport was so small that there were only three planes in the whole place. None of them were from my part of the world. So Mark decided to stay at the airport and Liz when home. Whooo hoo! Good has been done here!

Lisa meanwhile sent them a message on Facebook on my account. In essence it said:

"Katie's in the other place!"

To make a long story end soon:
Liz saw the message, called the accompanying phone number (Daddy), and got all the gory details.

Then she took a ferry, a tram and a light rail to pick me up. This was simpler and cheaper for all involved. Really. Its was just more time-intensive. Poor Liz.

I sat at the airport taking boring pictures and wondered what Liz looked like.

Thankfully she looked at my picture on Facebook, so she knew what I looked like. She found me and we went home via light rail, tram and ferry. Arrival time: 9 pm.

Bless his heart, Mark had bought pizza. Pizza, pizza, love of my heart, joy of life.... when was the last time I had real pizza?

Moving on...

I have been involved in fiascos before. I have done many stupid and clumsy things and have had to be dragged out of multiple scrapes by sundry people. But this is the first time that I have involved all the following in my ineptness all at once: family, friends, China, Turkey, California , New Hampshire, Israel, long-suffering relative strangers,Turks, Israelis, trams, ferries, light rails and large bodies of water.

This, my friends, takes the cake.

the moral of this story is: Never travel.
ha.

"That MUST have hurt!"

Today in my English class we studied the various uses of must, may, might, and be able to. It was thrilling. Positively chilling!

Did you know that may and might mean exactly the same thing, but that may is slightly more formal? Does it mean that I am more formal because I frequently use the word may? How may times do you use may versus might?


On other fronts: I nearly met my death on the stairs this morning. Remember them? Those marble slabs descending in parallel order from the second to the first floor? Weren't they particularly cold and unforgiving? I came down them with my computer in arm, careless and unafraid. I even had socks with little sticky things on the bottoms to keep me upright. Was it enough? Oh no. It must have been a classically gorgeous fall- my feet flew out from under me just like Jon of Garfield fame, I came down hard on one hand and my posterior and slithered, bumped, fell down three or four stairs. All without dropping my computer, I might add. Good for me. But Oy Vay did I holler!

Okay, happy Sabbath to you all. I am off to an evening of laziness. :-)

Last night I was standing behind the counter of the restaurant watching the incoming customers. Suddenly there was a crowd of fifteen or twenty policemen all in uniform standing in line. "What is this?" I thought, "County police vacation? Huge police meeting at Panera? How much food do twenty policemen eat anyway? It would have been nice if they had called first. Its going to take us forever to get them all fed."

But this is no time for idle speculation! I leaped into action just as the lights in the restaurant all went out...

and landed with a clatter on the plate and fork I had left on the floor beside my bed. The clock informed me it was only 12:30 am.

Serves me right for eating chicken pot pie for dinner RIGHT before going to sleep.

Books

With birthday money burning a hole in my pocket and a book wish-list of decent length, I made my way to to the Amazon a week or so ago.

Then I spent the next several days checking the front desk every day- hey, you never know!

Today they were on Grandma's kitchen table and I was so excited I nearly cried!


I am now the happy owner of:

The Complete English poems of John Donne (beautiful hardcover edition- I have wanted this for so long!)

Christianity for Modern Pagans Pascal's Pensees(I am going to leave this around at the restaurant- Just Kidding!)


I am so happy about them I am going to leave right now for softball and take them with me. That way I can show them to Gretchen who will be suitably excited for me.


TTFN

Death, be not proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more;
Death thou shalt die.

John Donne, Holy Sonnets X

Right back where I started from- a short journey up the East Coast

Hey Guys,
I am moving again. Really, actually I didn't "move" away from NH, I was just paying my parents an extended visit. :-) But however I word it, the fact is that I am returning to the North. Immediately. Without further delay. Okay, in the next couple of days anyway. :-)

I have been re-hired at my previous place of employment, so come visit me there!

I am looking forward to days that are less than 100 degrees, and less humidity. More than that I am looking forward to seeing those of my friends who live up there!!! Yay!

See you soon.

Going Places With God

Hey Guys,
Lisa is back from Jerusalem! She survived the killer trip and arrived in Atlanta around 10 pm. This series of flights was extra bad because the original round-trip ticket took her into Boston (where we had expected to be). We couldn't change the destination so we tacked on a one-way flight from Boston to Atlanta. Here is the list of cities she visited yesterday:

Jerusalem Tel Aviv Frankfurt Boston Baltimore Atlanta.

Pretty good, eh?

(Change of Subject coming up)

While I was in Israel and taking classes at UHL, I had a couple lectures and a couple field trips with one of the most enthusiastic and knowledgeable teachers I have ever had the privilege of studying under- Todd Bolen. He's got a blog and a website for all you interested Beulah-lovers, and I have a couple of his compiled Israel photo collections (on CD). Most Excellent.
Several months ago he offered to send a limited number of copies of this book (Going Places With God) to anybody interested if they agreed to review it when they were finished. Lisa and I both responded, but I got the book because I was in the States and the books were being mailed from the West Coast. Lucky me. :-)

Here is the review. Careful, the first paragraph is a bit thick says Lisa. Apparently I shouldn't dump all the technical info about the book on you before I grab your interest. Maybe I just have great faith in your above-average intellects and attention spans.


Going Places With God by Wayne Stiles
A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible


Just finished a winner of a book!
It is a 90-day devotional using the geography of the "connecting link between theology and humanity", i.e. the land of Israel, to drive home spiritual lessons. Each day has a verse, a lesson, a short prayer to help you actually internalize, and a quote from some well-known and classic sources. Interspersed throughout the book are reference maps and photos of various places in the Land.

I have been to Israel, so each lesson brought to mind some vivid mental images- all the way from the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem to the springs of Dan, the desert hills of the Judean Wilderness, to the Temple Mount. But despite my familiarity with the subject matter, I found many fresh and unexpected lessons both from a geographical and a spiritual point of view.

The spiritual lessons were wonderful! It takes something more than just a good writer to make a devotional books more than just a feel-good experience. I found myself intrigued, educated, comforted, and more importantly, challenged to reach higher, trust more, complain less, and love God with my whole heart.

(I would be willing to farm out my copy, but I think Lisa or Daddy want it next. Sorry, go buy your own copy.)