Every creature has its sound

Mondays can be foul, loathsome creatures.  The dull beginning of another long, busy work-filled week.  It sounds like a screeching alarm clock, a groan - if not given life, at least you know it's there.  It sounds like sighs, horns, and fingers tapping on the keys, producing not a word, just an audible expression of boredom.     I don't want to start my week this way.

Mondays can be quick, hopeful creatures.  The fresh start of what could be another, love filled, spirit inspired, new adventure.  Even if it's an adventure with the same old routine, there's a way to make it different.  They sound like a happy good morning, they sound like the end of a rainfall.  They have the anticipation of a child.

It's the Monday after another beautiful friend-filled weekend.  I'm listening to Peter and the Wolf, beginning my week on a high note as I prepare to dive expectantly into my studies.  I remember studying Peter and the Wolf with a student teacher in grade two, talking about the characters, and how the music portrays them: quick, light, carefree, daunting, miserable, frantic.  I wonder what my sound would be.  Which instruments would sing my song.  How it would make a listener feel.  Would the melody be enchanting? Would it be memorable? Would it be pleasant?  Would I care what others thought about it? Would it be an offering to God?

This weekend my song is more of a cheerful dance, freely running, freely resting, freely moving.  A perfect end to an eventful, challenging week.  Monday was on such a high and happy note - I received a paper back on which I'd been given a nearly perfect mark.  Proof miracles exist.  Tuesday was pretty good too, with the exception of some pretty heavy reading about the history of Africa.  Wednesday evening, when I was supposed to be working on my french presentation for the next day, there was a fire in our building.  Not just a false alarm, but a fire.  It didn't quite warrent the eleven fire trucks which came, but evacuation was necessary. One of the apartments on the floor above mine no longer has a kitchen.  Pray for this family! While we were waiting to get back in, we met some neighbours that I'd talked to before, and enjoyed warm tea with them at Tim Hortons, and having a chance to talk with them - sometimes even in French! Thursday morning I went to the Remembrance day ceremonies downtown. It was a lovely warm day - if you were in the sun.  We had a great place to stand, due to being there very early.  But after standing for more than two hours, my feet were so cold I could actually not bend them, which made walking back to school rather difficult.  I spent the afternoon preparing for my presentation - which went terribly, I was pretty down afterwards.  Here's where I must write how thankful I am for Amber, who always cheers me up, and reminds me to put my faith and trust in God's perfect love, and perfect plan.

Sometimes, when I'm with Allison, who came to Ottawa from Sooke for school this year, she'll introduce me to her friends as "home in a person."  And that's how I felt when Hannah arrived for a visit from school in Montreal.  Home in a hug, voice, laugh, and smile.  We did all the things I would normally do on a Friday night, stayed up to late, slept in, woke up and cleaned the house.  We spent the afternoon wandering around the Byward Market and Parliament, then came back in the evening to shop and fill a shoebox for Operation Christmas Child, eat some slightly healthier food (Poutine and Beavertails had been our food for the day), and watch a movie. Sunday morning we got up, and in case we weren't awake by the time Sam and Lane picked us up for church (after  church was supposed to begin), we definitely were by the time we got there.  I love Sam, and love that he's willing to drive me places.  But I am sometimes surprised that I survive the car ride.  After church we (Sam, Lane, Hannah, Amber and I) had brunch at our place, and then left Amber to study while we went the the third world bazaar.  We looked at lots of beautiful, crazy things.  Played with a whole bunch of unknown percussion instruments, laughed a lot, and left with a few little treasures.  Oh, and if you ever hear of a band called 4th World Bizarre, it's either us, or someone stole our name.  As the sun went down, Sam dropped Hannah off at the bus station, and me off at my apartment, where I rushed to make cookies, dinner, and head out to go swimming with some girls from the neighbourhood.

I also learned that apparently, keeping a piece of bread in a jar of brown sugar will keep the sugar soft.  I love it when neighbours come to my door.

Today's song is going to be thoughtful, and quiet, as I attempt to spend the next 5 hours doing school work.  Hope your week is off to a good start too.

Messy Endings.

What an amazing week I've had.  Fall reading week is such a lovely, lovely gift.

The last two days in Nova Scotia were so, so memorable.

Thursday morning we went to an exercise class with Amber's Grandma...who could certainly run circles around me.  This was the second class we did with her, the first, Zumba, was kind of an aerobic, latin dance work out.  Thursday's dealt more with weights and targetting specific muscles.  I couldn't lift my arms above my head until Sunday night!!! Later we went to their cottage in Walton for an afternoon fishing on the beach.  I sat on the rocks, holding my rod still and just staring at the water for hours.  Watching tiny waves roll across the water and gently flap onto the shore.  I watched the fog come in, and inched back as the tide brought the water closer and closer to me.  I didn't catch a fish, but I sure fed lots of them!  It was a warm day, and it was wonderful to feel the sun on my skin, and to wander around the beach with my jeans rolled up and my socks and shoes abandoned.  I even waded into the water, though, for the sake of trying to catch a fish, didn't go past my knees.  Oooooh I love water.

As afternoon became evening, we headed back to the cottage to have dinner.  We were discussing how full we were, when Amber's grandpa noticed what was happening outside.  The fog had completely filled the inlet where we'd been fishing.  He thought I'd like a picture, and I did grab my camera and rush outside.  But not because of the fog (which, is obviously not an unusual experience for me), but instead because the sun was going down.  Beyond some trees, I could see the sky becoming bright pink and purple, and I had to run to the beach.  I slipped on my shoes and bolted down the road trying to get to the other side of the trees so that I could experience it all.  By the time I reached the beach I couldn't breathe from suddenly running, and from the overwhelming beauty around me.  The pictures I took, though lovely, didn't capture it at all.

We left the cottage after Amber, after a reasonably large amount of hints and coaxing, managed to tear me away from the beach.  We made it back to Windsor just in time to head to a haunted house put on by a local school.  I was a little concerned about this, as I've never liked the idea of scaring myself. Luckily, I managed not to scream, potentially because Amber's Grandma did enough for all of us.  We went from the haunted house to carving pumpkins, to watching TV, to going to bed.  It was our last night in Nova Scotia, and finally, the clouds had been blown far enough away that I could see the moon and stars.  After looking at the sky until I couldn't keep my eyes open another moment, I lay back in the silent, dark room, and slept.

In the morning we had breakfast, and went into town to go to the bank and post office, before going for a short walk in the woods to a waterfall that Amber's Grandma had been telling us about.  We walked strait past a gate with a no trespassing sign, and followed the road until we found another sign nailed to a tree.  "This is where we turn," she told us.  It was beautiful.  I don't think I need to say more!

Then we headed off to find some mud.  Yes, mud.  When the tide goes out, it leaves mud.  Lots of red, squelching, gooey, smelly mud.  We painted our selves with it, fought with it, and sunk to our knees in it.  My camera is still covered in it.  And incase that wasn't ridiculous enough, when we got back to the car, and watched Amber's grandfather line it with plastic so we could get in, we headed not home, but to a carwash, where he sprayed us off as we screamed and danced around.  Now that's a memory I'll hold forever.

Memories, and full suitcases in tow, after an hour delay we got on the plane back to Ottawa, where we found something entirely unwelcome - SNOW.  Actually, it was really just enough to be beautiful as it fell, it wasn't sticking or causing any problems.

Saturday, on the other hand, I was on my way to a friend's party when it began to really snow.  And stick.  By the time my friends and I arrived at our destination, snow had covered the grass and roads.  Winter's a-comin!

(The snow is all gone now, but the morning temperatures are all below zero for the rest of this week/month/year/season.)

October 27

October 27

Windsor, the town we are staying in with Amber’s Grandparents, is the “Little Town of Big Firsts.”  There have been lots of firsts for me so far: First time in Atlantic Canada, first time seeing the funny looking, shy pheasant with it’s bright feathers, a porcupine (though, it was dead), and the beautiful soft, playful bluejays.  Today we took a road trip away from the town, which is known best for it’s gigantic pumpkins (the first to grown them for competition, race them as boats...go crazy over them...), and as the home of the pond where Hockey was first invented.  We drove through Nova Scotia, took photos with a giant statue, stopped at Tim Horton’s (Which is more than a daily occurrence here), and stared at the beautiful landscape.  We got to the ferry just in time, drove strait on, parked the car, and turned the engine off as they closed the door and pulled away from the doc.  We had lunch, and then I, not able to contain myself, excitedly headed outside to walk around in the wind, stare at the waves, and watch as Prince Edward Island grow from the skyline, while Nova Scotia disappeared.  I loved being on the ferry, though, as I opened the door to head outside, I realized that I hadn’t brought a balloon, which was sad.  (See my July Posts).  Only that could have made the trip better.

It was a rainy day throughout the Atlantic Provinces, so we stayed in the car and drove through a good chunk of the Island, making a few stops for Tim Horton’s, the “World Famous” Cows Icecream (which is supposedly one of the top 10 creameries in the world.  I disagree.), and the Anne of Green Gables store.  We didn’t have enough time to make it to Cavendish where we could have seen the house, as the weather was getting worse and we wanted to make it back most of the way before dark.  I’m going to have to return to PEI in the summer, I can just imagine the crisp contrast of the red dirt, the blue sky, the white lighthouses, and the green grass.  It was beautiful even on the dullest of days.  On the way back we crossed the Confederation bridge in to New Brunswick, and directly after we arrived, it began to pour so hard that we could see only the colour and outline of trees and telephone poles through the streaming water on our windows.  As the little light that was making it through the clouds began to fade, a thick hazy fog surrounded us.  So, while I may have spent a couple of hours in Nova Scotia, for all I’ve seen, there could have been palm trees or polar bears, and I wouldn’t have known. 

After a stop for some delicious chili, we returned to Windsor around 9 at night, and spent the remainder of the evening relaxing, and, in my case, writing.  

I’m not looking forward to getting back into school mode.  Vacation is so much more enjoyable, and I’m convinced I could learn almost as much. (Ok, maybe not almost.  But I’m learning some! )

October 26

I hope that one day, my house will be a place where even a complete stranger can feel at home.  It’s not because of the ocean, or the trees.  It’s not just because we can lay back and relax.  It’s not because they love and spoil us.  It’s that little something extra, that blissfully indescribable feeling, kind of like the taste of pure fresh cool water on a warm day.  It dances around your mouth and slides down your throat. It quenches your thirst, rejuvenates, comforts, and leaves you satisfied.  

Nova Scotia is beautiful.  It is a breathtaking combination of natural beauty with an added touch of quaint, artistic, easy-going personality.  It is magnetic and magical.  We’ve spent many hours driving along roads which gently lead up and down hills, and around abstract turns through rolling fields and pituresque forests. Even though it is definitely past the peak of autumn, the leaves are still bright with impossibly saturated gold, orange, and red.  I love the historic beauty preserved in the houses, elaborate gravestones, and even the shop signs.  I love the coastal pride - fishing nets, lobsters, shells, and boats decorate restaurants and boutiques which sell fresh bread, warm soup, honey, pottery, and trinkets.   There is a certain style - maybe it’s the way that homes are situated on property, or the contrast of colours, or the folk-art tin stars which hang on most houses.  Maybe it’s as complex as the architecture.  But something ties each of the places I’ve seen together.  We’ve dipped our fingers in beautiful lakes, stood    braced against the wind, standing away from the powerful waves of an angry atlantic ocean, jackets zipped, hair flying, eyes watering, voices raised to try and overpower the magnificent sounds around us.  We’ve watched the sun rise, the birds, and the rain.  

Last year at thanksgiving, a friend of mine introduced me to someone, who said “you’re in first year, aren’t you?” My friend mentioned how she thought I looked older than I was, and asked how she could tell.  And the girl said, “because you don’t have bags under your eyes.”  The other day, I was alone in the elevator on my way home from school.  I was looking in the mirror, and realized that with the exception of bangs, I currently have the same haircut I had in grade nine.  I remember being so in love with the way my hair had begun to curl, thinking it made me look grown up and beautiful.  And that was the point my eyes shifted from my curls to my face - and discovered the bags under my eyes.  

I’ve had lots of time to sleep, to relax, and to think only about things which give me pleasure this week - and the bags are still there.  “That’s what school does to you.  It drains your youth away. You can always tell how many years you’ve been in school by how dark the bags under your eyes are.” 

This week we’ve practiced drinking water upside down from the wrong side of the cup (a proven hiccough cure), “Danced our pants off” with Richard Simmons, watched 4 ridiculous, either girly or nerdy movies (one of them more than once), and lay awake having conversations on par with those I may have had at 13.  So, tease if you must, but I could say that what I’ve been doing this week may be the ultimate anti-aging strategy. I’m having a relaxing, exciting, and extremely fun reading week, and loving every moment of it.

And don’t worry, I actually have opened my books once or twice. 

October 22

For Thanksgiving, Amber and I put a large section of brown wrapping paper on our wall, along with some markers, each held to the wall with a large wad of sticky tac.  And for the last two weeks, anyone who’s passed by it have been adding things they are thankful for: socks, mashed potatoes, toilets, rain, friends, laughter, beds...literally almost everything, though, strangely, the kitchen sink hasn’t made it up there yet.  But next time I see it, I’ll add it on.  Today was the last day of a two week period which has been crammed with exams, papers, and presentations for everyone at school.  In fact, the campus and surrounding areas have been noticibly quieter.  As of 10:00 tonight, the University’s first fall reading week, has begun.  And I feel like I’m just one of thousands finally taking a moment to breathe.  After handing in my last assignment, I rushed home from class, grabbed my suitcase, packed a few final things, and left with Amber for our journey “down east.”  3 Busses later, we made it to the airport, and then finally to Nova Scotia, where we met Amber’s Grandparents who drove us to their home just outside of Windsor.  

For the last two weeks I’ve watched the brown paper become more and more filled with colourful words.  I have been so, so blessed to be where I am, to have the friends I have, to know things and be learning more every day, to be loved and accepted for who I am.  And I am thankful! I live in a beautiful, vast, large country.  I can talk to, visit, and discover places thousands of kilometers from my home.  

This week is going to be a week of adventure, a week of relaxing, and a week of getting caught up with life - yes, life.  Not just school.  And hopefully, that will mean updating my blog as well...if not...well, next time I see you, I may talk for hours....potentially days.  Keep your fingers crossed!

Published a while after writing...

I started writing this a while ago, in between classes/getting ready for thanksgiving.  This week is going to be really busy for me, so I wanted to just post what I have, so that I'll be a little less behind when I finally have some time to blog again.






sum·mit  (smt)

n.

1. The highest point or part; the top.

2. The highest level or degree that can be attained.

3.

a. The highest level, as of government officials.

b. A conference or meeting of high-level leaders, usually called to shape a program of action.

v. sum·mit·ed, sum·mit·ing, sum·mits

v.tr.

To climb to the summit of (a mountain).

v.intr.

To climb to the summit.

---

[Middle English somet, from Old French sommette, diminutive of som, top, from Latin summum, from neuter of summus,highest; see uper in Indo-Eu

                                                                                                                                                        

As I take a break from turkey dinner preparations, conversations about thanksgiving plans, and thinking of the massive amount of work that I've piled up which i need to get through this weekend, I'm reflecting over my experience this past week.  And I've come to realize, that this is one of those rare occasions where I am so incredibly thankful for a few people who pestered me.  

No Tim, I'm not talking about you.

September was filled with transitions, getting back into the flow of school, and being told to go to Summit.  Over, and over, and over again.  I now understand the heartfelt intent behind the constant poking, teasing, and questions.  

Summit is an annual fall retreat that happens across the country.  At each "Summit," students from various Campus for Christ groups join together for a weekend of friendly rivalry, relationship building, and most importantly, growth in faith.   

Friday evening, I rushed home after my class ended at 4, and madly ran around the apartment trying to get everything packed, and leave the place in some sort of semi-organized chaos.  At least I succeeded at half of this plan.  Cassie met Amber and I at our place, and the three of us, along with all of our stuff, bussed back to campus for 5:30.    There, we were given some extremely lovely blue headbands - team unification, apparently, and waited for the school bus which was to take us on a 3 hour journey to Saint-Saveur, Quebec.   I love somehow, no matter what the purpose of the bus trip seems to be, or how old we are, school buses bring out the singers in all of us. I'm thankful for the patience of bus drivers... 

 Disney, Veggietales, Worship Songs, Middle School Songs, French Songs, English Songs.  Song competions.  What a way to travel!  I'm surprised I even had a voice left at all by the time we made it to Camp Kannawana, the YMCA camp which was hosting students from uOttawa, Carleton, Queens, McGill, and Concordia for the weekend.  


We set our stuff up in really nice cabins, played apples to apples, and then went to our first worship session.  The building that we were worshiping in was FREEZING, but that aside, the time that we spent there over the weekend was absolutely amazing.  Being in the middle of a large group of students, singing at the top of their lungs, praising with every bit of breath and meaning inside of them...aah! There are no words!! SO incredible.  


Beyond the sheer joy of  a weekend in the woods with my friends, Summit challenged me in my faith.  It was wonderful to be removed from the noise and busyness of the city, and to be surrounded by beautiful creation, spending time alone with God.  It help me to realize how silly some of my fears are - and to make a commitment to conquering them.  That began with evangelism on campus...terrifying, but worth the pounding heart. 

A few photos for you!

The sun going down during our first week here.  Note the Bird poo on the window.

City lights!

Back to School!

Are you starting to notice a theme? This was a few weeks ago, judging from the crescent moon.

So...here's a moment of humility.  Mom - I don't give you as much credit as you deserve.  While I promise our apartment doesn't normally look this bad, I have discovered that it's a lot harder to stay on top of cleaning, and especially dishes, than I thought it would be. One room with all my stuff in it is definitely NOT the same as a whole apartment.

Tonight...while I was blogging.

(Extra)Ordinary

On the last official day of Summer, I awoke suddenly, and my first thought was " I HAVE to look out the window right now." I'm not sure which is stranger, this ridiculous desire, or the fact that I actually got out of my extremely comfortable bed, and did it.  It was around four in the morning, and my apartment was just dimly lit by the city lights from outside.  Quietly, but with some urgency, I walked to the open window, and pushed my face up against the screen.  There, in front of me, was a full and golden moon. Thick beams of amber light shot up to the top, bottom, and sides: a perfect, stunning, unbelievable cross in the sky.  I blinked.  I  ran to the office, and then to the living room, and then to the spare bedroom, thinking it must be a trick played on me by the glass, or the screen. I tried to take photos, pinched myself, and blinked several more times - I must be imagining this.  It must be a really, vivid dream.  Finally I allowed myself to stand still, and silently stare at this phenomenon which I was witnessing.   I love the little moments in life.  Whether miracles of nature, or just funny little you-had-to-be-there stories, I think it's amazing that it only takes seconds to create memories that  could last forever.   

I'm finally (knock on wood) almost over the cold that's been haunting me for the last couple of weeks, and with the return of my ability to breathe normally, has been a lifting of my spirits.  I'm not sure if it's health, or the season, or the things I've been up to this week, or maybe just a renewed breath of life in me...but the world just keeps seeming more and more wonderful.  Autumn hit with the equinox - almost exactly.  Overnight millions of leaves changed from green to yellow, and now with each passing day the city is becoming more vibrant as orange and red take over the trees, and the ground as well.  Though there are definitely still hot days, scarves, sweaters, and mitts are beginning to make appearances around me.  I've also seen my breath in the air already.  And all of these observations, which I could linger on for hours, have happened in the company of friends. 

Friday after C4C, we all went out to enjoy bubble tea in the byward market before the weather gets too cool.  While I definitely wouldn't want to be the one or two lone workers who are suddenly swarmed by a large group, I enjoy being part of the group which all at once takes up the entire restaurant.  I love losing my voice by the end of the evening, because we've been talking and laughing so much.  After 4 hours with the group, Amber and I, and two friends - Carla and Cassie - headed back to our place to play a much anticipated game of Munchkin. Maturity flies out the window with this one, and potentially, any remaining respect you still have for me.  It's a card game of battling monsters with the most ridiculous weapons.  It's a ruleless, ruthless game, which had us laughing ferociously.  And please don't think pokemon - this is much more fun, and much more entertaining.  I'm hooked!  After being terribly behind for most of the game, I teamed up with everyone to make it impossible for Cassie to win, and then forced her to either lose a point, or accept my help (and thus share the glory) to battle the monster.  So the two of us defeated it together, and won the match....at 1 am.  We then walked her home, and returned for what was going to be a sleepover with Carla...but actually turned into watching ridiculous youtube videos, and laughing so hard we were balling until almost 5 in the morning.  

I woke up 5 hours later feeling unusually rested, and proceeded on with a quiet day of organizing, and procrastinating.  Amber's mom and little brother were visiting from Toronto, so they were out together for most of the afternoon.  I admit that having them over made me a little homesick, well, maybe not homesick, but I guess just really wanting my family to be able to visit me too.  It was also fun having them over though! After going to Amber's church, which now meets on Saturday nights, I came home and spent some time preparing for Cross Training at Grace the next morning.

Sunday, I left the apartment around 830, walked to the mall to catch the 95, sat on the bus for about 20 minutes, and then transferred to another bus which would get me almost all the way to church.  When I stepped off the second bus, I was overwhelmed by how fresh and beautiful the air smelled. I think this is the first time in Ottawa that I've noticed loving how the air smells.  It had just rained, and the leaves had just started to fall, and I was far enough from major highways to actually smell nature...mmmm...nature.   

After worship, I left with the kids to observe cross training - and meet some of the youth so that in two weeks, when I teach by myself, it will be a little less awkward.  I am even more excited now to be working with the Sr Youth at Grace - they seem like such an awesome group of young people, and I can't wait to get to know them more!  Church was followed by a potluck brunch, and then I went home to get some work done.  I love Sundays!

Monday I returned to school, and after my morning class and doing some stuff for C4C, I went to the market with Allison (who just graduated from EMCS and is now attending uOttawa too!).  It's so weird having someone from home here! But I'm enjoying spending time with her each week, talking about life, rez, classes, and things that are different in Ottawa.  I bought some local fruits and vegetables, including purple cauliflower, which I bought specifically for Amber, who I'm trying to teach to love vegetables. Then I came home, did some work, did some skyping, cooked shepherd's pie, and enjoyed the rest of my evening with Amber.  

The last few days have been pretty ordinary, a word which here means, full of their own special moments, combined with the every day tasks of cooking, cleaning, and going to school. 

Here ends this post. 

Under Construction.

This blog is under renovations at the moment.  Please post comments/suggestions!

Ode to Just Outside MRT 212

I've found myself a quiet spot
A quick escape from bustling halls
and flexing minds, tongues, calves.

It's not a shaded nook where
I sit, the small of my back pressed
against a solid, ancient tree,
and breathe fresh earthy air
and warm my toes in patches of streaming sunlight.

My eyes don't dart from wonder to wonder,
wandering amid the artistic
poetic creation around me.

My hair isn't blown by a butterfly's
breeze which dances in leaves
and sings soft ambiance.

I'm not sheltered by marble columns
or arches, or coloured glass
or hand laid bricks.

I can't smell the warmth and age
of profound discoveries and recorded truths
that are kept in the words or cryptic symbols
of great philosophers, linguists,
historians, or mathematicians.

But
There is something captivating
in the tinged concrete pillars
in the humming floreescent lights
in the conflicting institutional
colours of the carpets, doors, and walls.
Something which shatters my romanticized vision of study.

My eyes are caught by the one beam of real light
which invades through an impossibly narrow window,
the one reminder of simplicity in this semi-closed
academic sanctuary.

I stare at tipsy leaves
which boldly reach from the safety of
abstract vines which bring life
and love to
concrete.

I do not imagine sweeping colour,
breathtaking art, granite floors,
a ceiling of skylights,
or even an inviting chair
in this foyer.

I do not hear harmony or music
in the cacophony of clinking doors
and the choppy rise and fall of
the lectures taking place behind them.

I do not need to.

The future is in this room, carefully contemplating
absorbing, processing, highlighting,
memorizing, resting, eating, sighing,
laughing, waiting,
breathing,
learning.

And that grandeur is inspiring enough
for me.

School's officially in.  I mean actually officially.  It's past the point of exciting new school supplies, welcome back, how was your summer, and introductions.  And there's one fundamental difference from last year, and I think, from many of my years of schooling.  I haven't hit my usual, UG, I have to do this for  X more months.  In fact, even though I'm on the verge of falling behind in my readings, I have quizzes and assignments due in every class, and I'm counting down the days until Thanksgiving, Reading Week, Exams, and Christmas (Ok, maybe not the last two), I'm actually enjoying most of my classes.  I really care about my African History class - I feel like it's actually helping me to understand more about WHY things are the way they are.  I really love going to my History of Health and Disease lectures - I dont sit there watching the clock, my mind doesn't wander.   I love the challenge of my French Pronounciation class - I love that I can actually see where it's going, and how it's going to help me grasp the language.  And while I dread attending my other french class, I don't always hate being there. I remember talking to my friends at school last year and thinking "You are getting so much more out of University than I am."  Maybe it's because I wasn't ready last year.  Maybe because for one noticeable period of time in my life, my maturity level was lower than my age.  Maybe it's just because I know a bit more of what I was getting myself into this time.  Whatever the reason, I'm sitting on the top of the slide that's about to be this year - and actually looking forward to the ride down.  Before coming to Ottawa last Fall, I remember spending some time with a little girl in Edmonton.  And I remember helping her climb up to the top of the slide, sitting down with her on my lap, counting, and sliding down together.  There's a gradual transition between being scared to slide with someone, enjoying that slide, being nervous to slide by yourself, and squealing with glee as your body gains speed in an effortless, exhilarating trip to the ground.  I think this year, I'm so much more ready to slide on my own.  I'm excited for the journey - I don't know where it's going, I dont know if I'll succeed, I don't know how I'll pay for the next part - but rather than just looking forward to the end result, this year, I'm looking forward to the learning curve itself.  In my back yard growing up, we had a blue slide with a few little bumps or waves on the way down.   I remember trying to slow myself down for the bumps, trying to hold myself to the slide so as not to gain speed as I slid over them.  It's so easy for me to get scared of the bumps that are coming: finances, exams, stepping out of my comfort zone.  But looking back on my countless afternoons racing up the ladder and zooming down that slide - the bumps that scared me turned out to be the best part.  (And so I'm praying that this will apply to my dreaded tuesday/thursday french class...and soon!)

~
^ This means that I'm tired of trying to figure out how to make my last paragraph flow into the coming one.

Sunday Amber and I spent the afternoon painting faces at a community barbeque.  I was amazed how quickly I was able to paint butterflies, sponge bob, and spiderman after the first few tries.  Let me say this: I love spending time with kids.  I loved the way they scrunched up their noses when the cool, slimy paint first touched their faces, and how they tried so hard not to budge when the brush tickled their skin. I loved their amazed, giggling explosive smiles when they found their new face in the mirror.  I loved that at any given point the conversation was in at least 2 or 3 languages, with one translating for another, translating for another.  I loved listening to them talk about what they love about superheros, or why one cartoon character was better than another.  Having spent all of last year immersed in my studies, spending time with people my age, I'm quite positive that if I were to do the same thing again this year, I would begin to shrivel up inside.  And so, this post marks the death of the non-involved, quite spectator Jennifer.  I'm excited to begin leading Cross Training (which is basically Sunday School) for Senior Youth and potentially K-4 at my church this year.  I'm excited to be using my time for more than just me: and praying that I'll know when to say yes, and when to say no.

Also this week, I had the opportunity to meet Kim Phuc, who became famous after a journalist captured the image of her running out of the fire ball that was once her Vietnamese village, her clothes melted off and her face saturated with emotion.  I sat and listened to her speak to a group of students in the beautiful Tabaret Chapel.  We are so blessed, in Canada, to be free to study.  To be free to decide what it is that we want for our lives.  To be free to choose where we want to go.  I think her story for the first time really made me think about my freedom, and even though I've always been thankful for it, I guess I haven't really understood what it meant.  She's speaking for many Universities through events organized by Campus for Christ, and after her presentation, a group of us went out for dinner with her at a Vietnamese restaurant.  She talked to us about how she defected to Canada -with her new husband, her purse, camera, and nothing else.  She talked to us about losing her dreams to the will of politicians, who wanted to use her as a symbol of the war.  She talked to us about forgiveness: and how she learned to forgive the people who dropped the bomb.  It was an incredible evening: talking and laughing with her, and also bonding more with some friends from C4C.

I think that brings me to this moment.  I'm sitting outside of the technology/engineering building at school, in which I'm about to have my next class - French Pronounciation. I'm cozy in my jeans and knitted sweater, the breeze keeps pushing my hair to one side.  It keeps pushing the clouds that way too. To the right, the sky is grey and white and blue, strips of opaque clouds give it depth and texture.  But over my other shoulder, the clouds are soft, seemingly paper thin, whispy, light, and beautiful as they dance across an endless blue.  It's all about perspective: and I'm praying that you see the sun today.

Transition part 4 (There's a Woset in my Closet)

I love that as the day slides into evening, I can stare out my large living room window, and watch the sky react to the coming darkness: with vibrant, bold sweeping colours, the clouds become chameleons and change as rapidly as the moments pass.  The sun slips down behind the temporarily-silhouetted tips of parliament's peace tower, in a golden, blazing hope-inspiring farewell.  And then I watch as the clouds retreat to cool, peaceful blues and sleepy-time purple.  I also love to listen to the cacophony of pounding rain and snapping thunder while lightening flashes in the sky, as though God is frantically trying to capture photographs of the feuds taking place within the deep heavy clouds. I feel small and safe and awed and warm and young, as I sit on the edge of my seat, or bolt to the window, and press my face against the glass as my eyes dart around the sky trying to catch the next surprise.

And I can't even describe how much I love being able to invite people over to my home - or how much I love even just all the details of making it a home.  I love that each room is becoming unique, and that when Amber and I finally have time/money to finish what we've planned, our personalities will be expressed through our decorations.  I love the space that we have.  I love that I can leave dishes and food in the kitchen.  I love that I can leave my towel and shampoo and anything else I desire (to a point) in the washroom.  I love that my work space, living space, sleeping space and eating space are not all in the same room.

And I'm trying to love the quirks.  For instance, the rather large quantity of pigeon droppings on the balcony and windows.  Not to mention the hurricane that's almost constantly going on inside of the apartment.  I feel like I'm locking some sort of magical explosion or three headed dog inside each time I stand outside of the door, either pulling with everything inside me to close it, or pushing with all my weight against the wind, so as not to slam the door.  You have to lift the drawers to open them, and you can't open one of the vanity doors in our washroom, oh, and you can't completely close the window in our awesome room.  We've added a few quirks of our own.  Almost everything we own is named Zellers, with the exception of our futon who is named "Forsaking Zellers," and our cleaning gloves, which are named bed bug and cockroach, two things of which we are terrified. Today, Amber and I discovered that we actually dont live on the 15th floor. The missing 13th floor is really not a myth! How hilarious is that? Very. I think.  But maybe I'm just weird.  In which case, you should try laughing at these kinds of things too.  It makes life much more entertaining!

What kind of first apartment would this be if everything was perfect? Imperfection is what leads to personality.  And how boring would life be without personalities?  So our place isn't perfect.   But what kind of strange first apartment is? Imperfections lead to great personalities, and how boring would life be without those?

Transition Part 3

It was also filthy..but spacious!  We looked at each of the rooms: two large bedrooms, a small washroom, a storage closet, a "den," the living room, the kitchen, and the numerous closets...and then sat down in the coolest spot we could find, to go over the gigantic stack of papers I'd been given.  That is when we noticed that after taking off socks and walking around the apartment for a few minutes, our barefeet were pitch black.  And so we took off for our first trip to Zelllers, conveniantly located about 5 minutes away from our apartment, including the time it takes to wait for the elevator.  I'm pretty sure we've been to Zellers at least once every day since arriving, though the record may be closer to 4 times in one day.  We bought some cleaning supplies and groceries for the night, and then headed home.  By this point, the sun was going down, and we were very much anticipating the coolness that should come with its departure.  I believe it was when we went around to open windows in each of the rooms that we discovered the great lack of lighting in our apartment.  We'd noticed lightswitches earlier - but had not noticed that there are no cieling lights in any of the bedrooms, or in the living room. And so we spent our evening cleaning in the dark, listening to music.  When I was getting to the point where I was about to fall over with exhaustion, we decided to get ready for bed.  Amber had brought an air mattress, which, if it had been a reasonable temperature, we probably could have shared.  But given that it was still 30 degrees, and the mattress was a twin, that was not going to work.  Instead, I borrowed her sleeping bag, and carefully organized all of my clothes inside of it to use as a mattress.  It was rather firm...but I actually slept pretty well each of the nights I used it!

We spent most of our time before classes began trying to find furniture and organize our apartment...and now that classes have started, would you be surprised to know we are still doing the same thing? I will share a few stories...

Friday we decided to go to a Salvation Army and a Value Village which were both within walking distance of the apartment.  It was still uncomfortably hot outside, and so we walked slowly as the sun beat down on the concrete roads and on our heads.  I had coppied directions down from google maps, and the plan was to go to the Salvation Army first, and then to Value Village.  I'm not really sure what happened, but we never found the Salvation Army, even though we followed the directions and walked way farther than we should have needed to.  By the time we gave up, we were both too hot and too tired to walk all the way back to Value Village, so we decided to take the bus to our next stop, Walmart, instead.  Since we are both terrified of bed bugs, and so we decided that it would be a good idea to purchase a cheap futon new, isntead of risking having to get rid of things should our apartment become infested.  After checking a few different stores, we decided that we'd get one at Walmart.  Unfortunately, since Amber's Dad was our only access to a car, and he was only in Ottawa Saturday and Sunday, when we found one on Friday and the store wouldn't hold it...we had to leave it behind.  So, Saturday morning, we phoned Walmart with the product number to see if there was still one there...but it was gone.  Then we began phoning all of the other Walmarts, including two in Quebec.  We switched the website to French, which listed the same futon under the word "futon" and so, when I attempted to find if there was one in stock, this is the word I used in French.  My dictionary, and the computer, and the Walmart Website all say the same thing...but aparently it wasn't the right word, because noone that I talked to understood me.  Finally I was talking to one person in English, and I asked for a futon...and was transfere to the photography department.   While I may never speak French again, we did find eventually find a futon!

On the way to pick up the futon, we stopped at Value Village, where we purchased a table and a shelf.  We were told that they'd hold them for 24 hours in the warehouse part of the store, so we could come back later to pick them up.  Well, when we did, the table was there, and the shelf was there, but the leaf for the table had mysteriously disappeared.  By this point I was really tired, and really frustrated - because we'd bought that table specifically because it had a leaf.  After phoning and sternly talking to the manager, I was told that there was nothing they could do about it, and they would not give us any money back because they lost the leaf.  If we wanted to, we could exchange the table wtihin 7 days, but they didn't have any other furniture, and the entire exchange amount would have to be used at the time of returning the table.  Well, we do have a table.  And we didn't have to drive all over town to various homes we'd found on used Ottawa trying to buy one.  But, if there was any doubt before, when it comes to thrift stores, I'm definitely a Salvation Army girl!

After lots of drilling, screwing, hammering, and redaing instruction booklets, our apartment is finally beginning to resemble a home.  We just need some things on the walls, oh yeah, and a cushion on our couch.

Tune in to the next episode of Transition: Jennifer-getting-her-blog-caught-up,  and you'll get to know some of the things I LOVE about my apartment, and some of it's semi-loveable quirks.

Transition Part 2

Ottawa was hot.  Very hot.  Sweating, exhausting, brain frying, sticky, icky hot. (Yes, Taylor and Veronica, I made you wait in suspense for that!)  Lianne picked Lane and I up at the airport, and we headed off in the direction of the apartment. While Lane caught up with all his family news, I madly phoned Amber to find out when she’d be arriving, and the rental agent, to see if we could still get keys at 6 in the evening.  After not  getting very far with either one of them, we decided to just try going to the apartment.  I ran between the buildings and the car, trying to find the rental office, and the management office, and let Lianne know what was up without calling long distance.  Eventually, I signed a paper, and the keys were in my hands! Lane helped me take my tote and suitcases up the elevator to my apartment on the 15^th floor.  He waited at the elevator while I went to open the door.  I slid the key from my pocket into the lock, turned, and pushed the door.  Nothing happened.  I pushed harder – and it was opened enough to let a brilliant light come through, but that was it.  My heart was racing in anticipation.  My cheeks were burning with heat and embarrassment – I’ve always had door problems, but this was ridiculous! I stood in the hallway and watched Lane fiddle with the knob and push on the door.  Finally, it opened.  Light poured out into the hallway, and we stepped in to my first apartment.  This was a moment that I’d hoped to soak in, to breathe deep, to allow my excitement to build in me, bursting through my smile and my quickened steps as I raced around my new home, trying desperately to capture each image and thought into perfect, happy memories.   But in the heat, after a long flight and a long fight with the door, I was too overwhelmed to intensely feel anything, except my phone beginning to vibrate and ring in my pocket.  Amber was downstairs.  We dropped everything, locked the door, and went back down to the parking lot.  Lane and his mom left for home, Amber said goodbye to a friend that had driven her from Toronto, and together, we entered the building, steped into the elevator, and made a fateful turn down the hall.

Yes, fateful.  When Lane and I had come up, we had turned left, and found the apartment in the corner.  So, Amber and I got out of the elevator, turned  left, and began trying to open the door.   But the lock wouldn’t budge.  After my initial struggle with the door, I wasn’t surprised, and so we kept taking turns trying to get it to move, but with no luck.    We saw a woman in the hallway, and asked for her help – but she too couldn’t get it to move.  So as she left, she volunteered to send security up to help us, and asked which room number.  That was when we looked at the door.  I thought my cheeks were red before!  What I hadn’t considered, was the fact that there are elevators on both sides of the hallway.  When I came up with Amber, it must have been on the opposite side of the hall.  Laughing at ourselves, we pulled Amber’s suitcases to the opposite end, where after only a little pushing and shoving, we made it in to the right apartment.  

And it was warm.  Nice, bright, laughing, smiling, story-to-tell-the-grandkids warm. 

To be continued…

Transition Part 1

It’s been a long time since I last blogged! The last sands of summer are slipping through the hourglass as I type.  In so many beautiful little moments, this summer has been unforgettable.  Staring at infinite stars, walking through barely touched woods, surprising friends, swimming in one of nature’s most extravagant pools,  laughing and paddling ridiculous homemade boats,  gathering with people I love to praise and pray both at my church and my home…how blessed I have been!   There are definitely major challenges that come with having my life in two different cities, so far apart, but I am overwhelmed by the love and support of my family and friends in both places!

August came to a close with our annual camping trip, dinners with my grandparents, last little adventures with my friends, and the long-dreaded task of packing my belongings to head back to school.  On August 31,  I woke up after a short sleep to meet Sidney.  We sat and talked, prepared a marinade for dinner, and then took the bus to UVic together, where I was meeting Lane, who had driven across Canada with his friend, and was flying back to Ottawa around the same time as me.  Let me say this: after taking the bus even once from Sooke to UVic, I am SO glad that I’m not living at home and commuting to school!    After hugs and numerous goodbyes and trying-not-to-really-think-about-it faces, Sidney went into the bookstore, and I set off for home with Lane.

Do you ever have experiences that seem completely natural and yet seem like they are impossible and foreign and…I can’t even think of the right word.  But that’s what it was like having Lane at my house.   As normal as inviting a friend over after school…and yet, this was the bridging of two completely different worlds for me.  There haven’t been connections between my Sooke life and Ottawa life before.   Everything that has existed in Sooke has been just in Sooke, and beyond my feeble attempts to describe a scene, or a friend, or the colour of the walls in my bedroom – ocean blue when the sky is painted with happy clouds and sun is bouncing between the waves and the air is sweet and refreshing - Sooke has been just on the map, and in my heart.  And everyone that I’ve met in Ottawa, all my experiences here – they too have been just my own when I go home.   It makes me wonder how it felt for Amber and Veronica to have me at their homes in Toronto.  It makes me want to be able to bring more University friends to see the place where I grew up, and to touch its trees, dance in its wind, be renewed in its water, and understand the intertwining of salt air and cedar roots in my life.

It was good to be reminded of why snowflakes and flaming leaves are making their way into the fibers of my heart too, right when I was getting ready to leave one home and return to the other.   Lane and I caught up on the adventures of the summer while I crammed exactly 50 pounds of random things into each of my three bags, and late into the night as I tried to remember everything and to think rationally when it had been days since I’d had enough sleep, I was so glad of the company.  I made it into bed sometime around 1 am, and the last thing I remember thinking before falling asleep, was that I should get up and put my flip-flops in my bag.

Mom, Dad, and Tim got up around 4 to drive Lane and I to the airport for our early flights, and we laughed and talked in the van all the way to the airport.  It’s such a bittersweet time of year.  I part with some, only to meet up with others, and the hug-fests on either end, though both motivated by love, are embraces of polar opposite expressions.   Maybe I’m dramatic about goodbyes.  Maybe things were getting to me more because my sleep deprived self is more like a 6 year old girl than a young woman about to move in to her first apartment.  Lane flew Air Canada, and I flew West Jet.  We flew through different cities, on flights just a few minutes apart.  And I was so thankful to have a friend to sit with in the airport of one home, and a few hours later, to meet up again in the airport of the other. 

 ...to be continued.

It's raining again...

...and it's beautiful.

Even the sky needs to let it all out sometimes.

This morning I woke up sad.  In my dream, which was quite realistic, given that it had to do with my plans for today, I'd offended my mom, and was really mad at me.  I was running late to meet my friends somewhere, and so she'd packed me an outfit ( because I said I'd need to change) and brought it to a mid-way point so I could get ready and meet my friends.  I looked in the bag and said "I can't wear this.  It's not an outfit."  And my mom responded with "It's good enough for me."  And I stormed off.   Maybe in my dream I was a little more materialistic then  in real life.  But the fight was like so many mom and I have.  I hate that we dont really understand each other.

This morning, I woke up disappointed.  The one day that I finally have a plan to be outdoors with my friends, to be active, to share the last few weeks of West Coast with Hannah, who's getting ready to move to Montreal just to be closer to me! (Or perhaps it may have to do with school...but I think I'm the real reason).  Anyway, after being sunny for a month, what does it have to do? The most West Coasty thing possible...rain.  Not sure if we're still going.  I'd be up for it.  But somehow the watermelon doesn't have quite the same appeal. 

This morning I woke up.  And despite my first thoughts, I am so blessed.  I've been struggling with work lately.  It's frustrating working hard, and not getting paid very much.  It's frustrating smiling while people treat you poorly.  It's frustrating being caught in the middle of work-place politics, feuds, and drama.  But this morning, out of the blue, Chris said hi to me on facebook.  We haven't had any sort of communication for months, and I can't even decide what I was feeling with the little convo window popped up.  But the simple question how's it goin was just what I needed.  It's going poorly.  I'm hating work.  I'm fighting with my family.  I'm not getting to do what i want to do with my friends. It's raining.  No, It's not.  I'm in my super comfy bed.  It's the beginning of the weekend.  The rain that we've been needing desperately has come.  I have a job.  I'm going to be able to  pay for school.  I'm going to be able to follow my dreams.  "I'm alright, you?"  And his response about working hard, being treated badly, and not getting paid much hit home.  And suddenly I had epiphany number more-than-I-can count.  How many times will I need to turn this light on before it sticks?  I am loved by a God who chose to become fully human, chose to work in the midst of people who would treat him poorly.  Chose to be crucified by people he came to save - and he took the nails for me.  I only have 7 more work days at the Salvation Army.  All my anger has been washed away, and I pray that I'll be able to hold on to a servant attitude, and work those last few days with the patience, love, and grace from the Spirit inside of me. 

The rain has stopped.  And I don't know what kind of day it's going to be.  But it's getting better by the minute.  

On record

This morning I woke up to a cool, damp wind blowing in my wide open window, and withdrew deeper into my thin, well loved blankets, wrapping myself tighter, and just lay there.   I stretched over, and grabbed my book - without glancing at the clock.  And i just lay there and read.  Not a French book, because I want to keep up my French over the summer.  Not anything that might be getting me ready for my upcoming classes.  Not information about prerequisites and programs.  Not advertisements for furniture or locations of stores.  Just a book, that I'd already read, and wanted to read again.  I sat in my dimly lit room, curtains mostly drawn, and read by the sunlight streaming through the fabric, even my fingers covered by my quilt.  There in the quiet, reading a book that really makes me think about relationships, trust, forgiveness, and unconditional love.  When my dad left with my brother, I ventured outside with the two dogs (one my mom's, one my grandma's).  After traipsing around in the forest for a few minutes, I came back up to the house, tethered the dogs, and lounged in a chair half way up the driveway, with my book.  From where I was sitting, it was like the driveway led strait to the blue sky, which had been light-heartedly dabbed with whispy white clouds.  God the free-spirited artist.  I sat, jeans rolled up and shoes kicked off, effortlessly reading, soaking up the sun.  I haven't read because I wanted to in a very long time.  In fact, I'd begun to wonder how I once loved it so much.   But this morning, reading in the sun and remembering summers gone by where all I did every day was read.  I read in the grassy field behind my house.  I ead in my bed.  I read on the bridge that crossed our little creek, shaded by two arching alders.  I read until I my eyes were stinging and the words were blurred and I could barely change the page - I read late into the night, until I reached the back cover, set the book finished on the floor, and sunk instantly  into my dreams.  What pure pleasure to have rediscovered. 

The weeks have been going by with such an alarming, yet teasingly menotenous speed, and I can feel the sudden limits of time rushing within me.  There are so many things that I want to do while I'm home - and now, a rapidly decreasing amount of days in which to do them.  This July has been one of the Victoria's driest July on record, and it's gone by faster than any I remember.   Maybe it's because in the Sun, the days go by lightly, and with my set schedule, I rise, work, and sleep while the days just roll on by.   

Shortly after coming home, I was sitting waiting for Justin's Poetry Slam to start, when he caught me off gaurd by asking what my goals were for the summer.  I  had some pretty lofty plans.  And I'm beginning to feel that shaming guilt that begins to creep up near the end of January when you first realize how little time  it took to give up on a New Year's Resolution, and decide to wait until next year.   I'm not going for long runs on a regular basis.  I'm not filling my days with the beach or the forest.  I haven't seen my friends very often.  I'm not spending much time with my Saviour.   I haven't skyped, emailed, or written often to my friends from school.  Any school.  But the summer's not over, and although I know I've grown up in so many ways this year, I'm still not that great at allowing others to know my failures.  So, now that more than just Justin, who has hopefully forgotten that little exchange, anyone who reads this can potentially keep me accountable.  So, with my one month left, I'm going to try to at least work towards the most important of these things.  

But I have at least done some things worth doing since my last post:

What? A nice picture of Emily and I?

On July 17, Michelle and I successfully kidnapped Emily and went on a little adventure to Vancouver in celebration of her birthday.  Michelle and Emily went to purchase bus tickets right after we snagged a table on the ferry, and while they were gone I set up a breakfast feast, complete with balloons.  We enjoyed our croissants, deli meat, and cheese, along with some lemonade and strawberries, and as soon as we had cleaned everything up, we grabbed the balloons, and headed outside.  I don't want to ever go on a ferry without balloons again!  It was so much fun walking around with them, watching them blow around in the wind, laughing at the expressions on other people's faces when they saw the three of us being silly.   In Vancouver, we went to the Art Gallery, and attempted to go to a festival, but instead just found an enitre downtown street blocked off, and covered in astroturf.  There were no buskers, no tents, very few people, only a few randomly placed sections of chairs, which would have been pefrect for musical chairs, and a booth from a local radio station.   According to the schedule, we should have been an hour into a 4 hour event.  Uh-huh.  Weird? I think so.  After a short amount of time being, well, not really lost, because we knew where we were, but sort of lost, since we weren't sure how to get to where we were going, we managed to get some good directions, and safely made it back to the bus station and then to the ferry, and then to Emily's, where we finished off the day with a more mature (?) sort of Lemonade, and a silly, musical movie.  Oh yeah, and, with my dad sending me a text message to tell me there is a new baby goat at my house.  A bundle of joy for some! And even I admit, it is cute.  For now.

On the way home from Vancouver, Just before returning our "Victim"

I also wanted to share two random experiences from work, one serious, and one fun.  Fun first!  It is now almost midnight, since I've been blogging on and off all afternoon/evening, and I am too tired to remember if I've mentioned the little contests my co-worker, Steven, and I have trying to find the best "uniform" for the other, in terms of the most hideous things possible.   Well, we now have gotten the warehouse, where my dad works, on board.  July 26th was my dad's birthday, and as a little surprise I put together a fiesta in a box.  Since he's ridiculously obsessed with the Ford Fiesta, and wants desperately to buy one in "Lime  Squeeze" green, I made him a green sombrero, and put it in a box with some balloons, cake, party hats, and noisemakers for his friends at the warehouse.  I gave it to the guys on the truck who bring stuff back and forth, and off it went!  Now, I'm not sure if it was retaliation for the very beautiful green, tasseled, gigantic hat I made him wear, or if it was for telling everyone he worked with it was his birthday, or if it was just because he wanted to get in on our little game.  But the next time the truck came, they brought a box for my manager and I.  Inside was a very outdated, very stained dress, along with a white felt hat with a bunny face, a wig, two ugly coats, some green nylons, and some neon orange high topped converse, along with instructions to take a picture.  I'll have to add the picture on my next post, because I think Dad has my camera right now, and I haven't uploaded the photo yet.  Or I could save myself some embarrassment and not.  But I love to make people laugh, even at my own expense once and a while!

The more serious was just a brief moment of realization.  Somehow one of our carts had ended up way down the road from our store, and I was asked to go and retrieve it.  Pushing the cart back along the Island Highway, (which, for those of you who aren't from here, isn't really a highway at this points, it is a well travelled two lane road through a residential area with a speed limit of 50km) I couldn't help but feel people's eyes on me.   And as I walked, trying to laugh at how silly I must look, pushing an empty cart down a road with no stores, dressed for work, I was filled with the strangest feeling.  Maybe it was a realization, or a humbling of sorts.  Hearing the wheels rattling on the paved shoulder and gravel beneath me,  sensing the skin on my back begin to tingle as I overheated in the mid morning sun,  feeling my hands start to itch and turn red from the vibrations of the cart that I was gripping, and reading the word "Salvation" which was the only part not covered my my uncomfortable hands, I was touched in a way that I can't really describe.  I am thankful for the life that I have.  I'm thankful that I've never had to put all my belongings in a cart, and push my poverty around in a visible way, suffering the judgements of others, and the harshness of our capitalist world.  I am thankful that I haven't been in the position of watching a love one struggle in that way.  I am thankful that I am working for an organization that is trying to improve lives.  And I am SO grateful for the love and forgiveness of Christ, who is my salvation!  My hands stung for half an hour after my little walk ended, and I sunk back into my routine at work.  I think I appreciate my job a little bit more now though.

I am also thankful to have had the opportunity to spend time with friends this week.  On Tuesday, Justin and I met downtown, and spend the evening in some of Victoria's most beautiful spots, just talking about life.  This is what I'd been missing.  It's not so much the big adventures or exciting plans that I needed.  I think that for most of my life I've really taken the opportunity to just see and be with my friends for granted.  And I really love just sitting down to talk.   There are so many "things" that I want to do, and sometimes I forget that friendship can be so much deeper than just having company for watching a movie, or having someone to go for a run with.   More then anything, I just really want to KNOW people, and be a part of their lives as they are a part of mine.  It was so wonderful to feel the air cool, and watch it get dark, and even when we were getting too tired to carry out a normal conversation, it was nice to just be hanging out together.   Perhaps next time though, we should plan our time a little better.  After deciding to miss the bus leaving town at 9, we were very close to missing the bus leaving at 10.  We sprinted down the street and across the thankfully-almost-carless four lane street, and just caught the bus.  As amazing as the evening had been, somehow I don't think waiting until 11:30 for a bus that would take over and hour to get home would have been a good idea.  Especially because we both had to work early in the morning.

This week has also been an exciting week for mail.  Veronica and I had a mail race, and her letter arrived at my house first.  So I think maybe we tie? Because I got one first, but hers arrived first?  Perhaps establishing more clear rules for the future would be a good idea, should we actually want to compete.   I love letters.  And I'm discovering that I enjoy sending them as much as receiving them.  I love how exciting it is to find one in the mail.  I love feeling the excitement build as I try not to open it until I get home, or when I know one's coming, I love the anticipation of opening the box each evening.  And I love knowing that I'm going to surprise someone.  Life's better when it's full of good surprises, isn't it?

And as much as I'd like to tell you about some other funny stories, I should probably save them for another day.  I'm sure my writing is becoming incoherent, as I can barely think properly right now, and I can't really read what I'm typing.  So I wouldn't be surprised if it's giberish.  Who knows, maybe I'll even write you a letter about how my pastor's been teasing me about a mystery man who's going to be visiting our church in a few weeks, and supposedly would be perfect for me.

Off the record,
If anyone knows of a good way to get myself out of this merciless teasing, or if anyone would like to come to church with me on that day and be more impressive then a football playing soon-to-be fireman, I'd appreciate the favour.

Oh yeah, Life.

There really is a world beyond pricing used clothing, sorting hangers, and answering repetitive inquires.  No, we don't have a public washroom, and yes, we have a new manager, and no, I don't know when they are reopening the Burnside Store.   People? There's the drama of people quiting, being injured, being transfered, having boyfriends, and being sick.  There's the people that get on and off the bus, who smile, and sometimes, bravely, or more likely out of boredom, or some sort of  frivolous attraction venture to utter a few words.  They usually have to do with other buses, sleep, or - back to the little world, work.  There's the ironic connection between my boss and I, over the animals that I...love...   There's the quirkiness of coworkers - the way that a cart is a "boogy," and a conversation starter is "So, do you have a favourite colour or something?" and the times that I'm surprised when my name, rather than being followed by a "can I have your assistance up front," is a direction to a shadow puppet on the wall behind me.  "You looked lonely back there."

And I think to myself, I am lonely in here.  Work has been comsuming my time, my energy, even my dreams.  Who would have though hangers could be such a predicament?

Glimpses of the real world:

Today I went to Sydney's house for a barbeque.  After having a delicious dinner in her back yard, which, thankfully, was completely shaded by the time I got there just before 7, fearful of the 35 degree weather,  we decided to go for a swim.  I love the water.  I love the way it surrounds me, and holds me, and silences everything.  I love the way the light shines through it and gives it endless colour and refracts to alter reality, and sometimes paints it the same as the sky or the trees or the people.  I love the way the wind moves it, and how it can be still and how it can gently lap against itself and how it can crash against jagged rocks.  I love the way it smells. I love the way it dances.  

Sydney and I are laughing and we jump into the lake.  And for a split second, I panic.  I haven't been swimming for a year.  But my body needs air and forces me upwards.  I feel the water swirling my hair, I feel its softness on my arms and legs.  I feel the crispness rising to a perfect, refreshing cool as I come towards the surface.  I tilt my head up so my face comes up first.  The water streams off my face.  My hair clings to my head, shoulders, and back.  My eyes and lashes are wet, and I love how this makes the world look for just a moment.  I think my emotions are stronger with wet eyelashes.  (I think I might need to go to bed.)  I love how mischievously joyful the sound of splashing is.  I love the laughter.  I love the resistance of water swooshing around.  The effort it takes to move.  We swim and talk and play until the shade has reached our sunny spot, and we head back for land.   I love my friends!

~

On Sunday, when Tim was off at camp and mom was working, I convinced Dad to go for a hike.  I just wanted to see what the park just down the road was like.  Dad and I, and my additional four legs and tail got in the van and drove to Manuel Quimper park.  We weren't planning on being gone long - not long enough to need to bring a drink.  Not long enough to be warm from walking and not need a jacket.

Too bad I'm not very good at turning around.  We ascended into the hills, or mountains, or whatever you'd call them, which I'm sure just depends on where you're from.  Soon, the gravel road was branching off to other less traveled trails and narrow lightly trodden paths through bushes.  Some were marked by flagging tape, or sticks on the road - but none of the familiar signs that at most regional parks, direct visiters to lookouts, benches, or water.  We kept getting deeper into the woods, and farther up the mountain, and as our hopes began to rise for an actual place to say we hiked to, our turn around point was pushed later and later.  About 10 minutes before the time we'd decided to turn around no matter what, unless of course, we were still going up hill, we came across another hiker.  We hadn't seen anybody for over and hour, and we were alerted to his company by a bear bell - meaning he can't have been just a little in front of us for that long.  He said we were over 10 km in (though, we dont think he came from the same spot as us), and that he was trying to find Crabapple Lake.  After some small talk, we came to a fork in our road, and, as it was the only reason we were going to keep going, we parted ways in favour of the uphill path.  We were going to turn around, seriously no matter what, at 5:17, two hours after we began.  At this point, my "what if we find out we were just 5 minutes away from something wonderful" argument, was to stop working, as we needed to be out before dark, before our feet fell off, before we became faint from hunger and thirst, and, most importantly, before the dog ran out of energy.   At 5:15, we were surprised to see the sparkling blue of water.  Encountering a Lake with no signs, no people, and no buildings of any kind was amazing.  I wonder what Sooke, or Ottawa, or Edmonton, looked like before highways and houses.  I could hear only my dad's voice, the water, the wind, and the birds.  This, I thought, is beautiful.

I might have been going a little insane by the time we got back to the Van two hours later.  I don't want to go for a walk on a gravel road again anytime soon.  And next time, I will listen to my instinct, not my dad, and bring water.   So much for taking a relaxing day off!

~

July 2nd, my family was celebrating Grandma Helen and Grandpa Merv's 50th wedding anniversary along with many of their friends.  Among the conversation, the music, the story telling, and the gift giving, was an incredible period of reflection.  What a journey they've had together!  And not just because I'm sure at some point they'll read this, I want to share how proud and honoured I feel to be their granddaughter!

~

So that's my life.  I'm working, saving some money, and missing my friends - from school, and from home.    Now it's time to sleep, so that I can go back to the more consistent of my worlds, for one more day, and then it's the weekend.  What adventures shall come then? Hopefully tackling my embarrassingly disastrous bedroom, and being sill with some wonderful people.

My somewhat fake summery, relaxed self says:

Peace out!

PS- Here are some pictures that should have been with my last post, taken of the Snowbirds during the Navy Centennial in Esquimalt.