starting to wish I had a car

Yesterday, Sat, I went to church as always. Nothing big to report on that subject (church and John and motives, etc.). Under normal circumstances it takes me 40 minutes to an hour to get home from church by bus. Last night however it took almost two and a half hours. This is why...

Service let out at around five after seven. I left right away because I needed to break a $5 bill to get change for the bus. Apparently Sat night is the neighborhood shopping night and I didn't get back to the bus stop until after the bus had already been there. The next one was scheduled to arrive at 7:49, but it didn't get there until five minutes to 8.

By the time I got to the stop I transfer at to get to the apartment, it was just before dusk. I don't know the exact time because I had stopped checking my watch. I was in a situation I couldn't control (and getting frustrated) and I knew seeing my wait-time go from 5, to 10, to 15 minutes wouldn't help. So, some undetermined time later I was on the final bus home, or so I thought. It turns out that this particular bus takes a slight detour than the one I wanted. I say slight but it's a good 16 blocks out of my way.

At 9:00 PM, now very dark, I boarded the real final bus. 10 minutes later I got off at my stop and still had to walk 3 long blocks to get home. When I walked in the door my dad said he was beginning to wonder if I'd gotten mugged. That right there was actually the worst part of this whole ordeal. I like the dark and didn't mind getting home late. It was having my dad worrying about me that was frustrating.

"it's different"

My dad must've said this at least three times, which is usually a cover for not liking something. But afterwards he said he had a good time and was glad we went.

We got there early as a matter of course (remember I don't like being late) and people were still setting stuff up. Because of this my dad and I ended up just standing around for a half-hour. I was anxious and uncomfortable and then my dad informed me he was having second thoughts. Even though I was just as nervous I laughed it off because I wanted to stay.

Between 10 and 10:30 AM other dads and daughters started showing up. Most were young but there were some older daughters too. By 11 o'clock there was quite a crowd so my dad and I didn't feel as conspicuous (my dad put it best, "the more people there are, the less they're focused on you").

The tea was loosely based on High Tea which is usually British (High Tea is around 5 or 6 o'clock instead of in the afternoon). This tea was set in a medieval theme with a King and Queen. All the guests were formally announced with fancy made up names to fit the period, and I think because I knew the King and Queen it wasn't near as uncomfortable as it could have been. Luckily our seats were in the way back next to a wall so we were out of the way. I didn't know anyone at our table but after we did a round of introductions I started to relax and ended up having a good time. It wasn't fantastic but it was a fun experience. Dad said, "Well, now we can say we've done it." My sentiments exactly. I didn't go for the food or even expecting to have a great time, I went for the experience.

Because of all the food (there were eight courses and tea throughout) dad and I decided not to stay for church. We were both full (almost like Thanksgiving) and the caffeine from the tea was wearing off. Also John wasn't preaching and sometimes I have trouble staying awake for him. I wouldn't hear half of what this other guy said because I'd be fighting not to nod off. So we came home and tried to keep busy until bedtime. At least I got to listen to Garrison Keillor tonight.

tea (and all that that implies?)

Tomorrow my dad is taking me to a Father and Daughter Tea event that's going on at church. When this event was first announced during this past Saturday's service, I thought "hmm, that'd be nice," but then my past experience/common sense kicked in and I dismissed thoughts of the event from my mind. Then on Mon Dad asked me "Did you want to go to that?" It surprised me because he doesn't do the Father/Daughter thing, at least he hasn't for quite awhile, but I said sure. So I called up the person in charge and signed us up.

Part of the reason I didn't think much about going at first is because of the word tea. I associate this word with fancy cups, dresses and the color pink, high society and social refinement. I don't do frilly, girly dress-up. I'm a tom-boy and have been since I was about ten years old. My idea of dressing up is pants that aren't jeans and a shirt with buttons and cuffs. My idea of a fun get-together is beer, pool, and loud music. Also, this tea was mainly meant for young girls and their dads but was then opened to any age group. Hopefully I'm not the only attending daughter over 20.

Because of these factors I'm a little nervous about tomorrow. I have nice clothes so that's not a problem. Also the King and Queen (it's supposed to be a British High Tea) are old friends of mine from Junior High church group, so I don't think I'll be as uncomfortable as I would around strangers. It's the playing it by ear that I'm nervous about, the pretending. I don't like personally being a part of make-belive in the real world, probably a hold-over from some reprimand during my childhood. That may also be the reason I don't like to read books written in the first person, I prefer to be separate from the story. But my dad will be there, a kind of security blanket if you will. I'll just have to refrain from derisive snickering, rolling my eyes or arching my eyebrows as a cover for my anxiety.

up and down

In Jan of this year I published a two-part post about a change in my perspective, my outlook on life if you will. It had to do with a Messengers' prayer meeting coupled with an All Night of Prayer at my church. The confluence of these two events collaborated to put me up, not just emotionally but in a practical way of understanding. Since then I told Dave my secret (one of them anyway), consequently got booted from Messengers, and was for all intents and purposes excluded from rehearsals. Add on top of that my joining a book study where I don't know anyone, and Doc Sig being out of town. Right now I'm back to where I was before Jan, not caring much for church except to see John on a regular basis. By the way, in this past Sat pre-service prayer we all laid hands on him. Let's just say I've become very proficient at suppressing my outward expressions, so no one suspected I was giddy at the mere thought.

In a side-note, I figured out why I get so agitated when I think of talking to John. He makes me feel stupid. I know he doesn't mean to, but it is what it is. He has numerous degrees from universities around the world (I know for sure he studied in Germany for a time). He's written dozens of books, the majority of which go right over my head. Except for the summer when he's on sabbatical, he writes a weekly sermon for a congregation of thousands. What could I possibly have to say to a man of his caliber? Nice sermon? Keep up the good work? Forget about quoting scripture. It's be like the Pharisees quoting to Jesus.

busy weekend

Doc Sig is back! Yaaayyy!

He got back on the 9th. I called his office the day before and set up an appointment for a week later. I figured he'd be booked solid for at least that long. Between therapizing, presidenting a school/college program and also pastoring, I think he works too much. He gets migraines.

This Thur, the 12th, is book study; Sat the 14th, is church; Mon the 16th, I have an appointment with Doc Sig; the next Thurs, the 19th, is a farewell for Ed because he's going off on another missions trip (I think I heard Kazakhstan, one of the 'stans' anyway). This is the busiest I've been since I "took a break" from Messengers.

What else, what else, what else? Ummm.....

Can't think of anything else for now. Maybe tomorrow or the next I'll do a political rant. It may be long.

finally

The cast party for Messengers was this past Fri, at which time my mom returned my digital camera. So here come the kitties.


This is Rocky, aka Muffin-Head (because there's nothing upstairs but crumbs). He's not the brightest crayon in the box but a sweeter more lovable butter-ball you couldn't find. He's a Ragdoll cat, I've heard quite high-end when it comes to breeds. The funny thing is he was a stray. My grandma found him in some bushes by her credit union. Considering his breed I doubt him being outside was intentional. But my mom immediately fell in love with him and as such was not too quick to put up 'Found Kitty' posters.




This is Max. Despite his surly countenance here, he's very sweet. He adopted my younger brother Matthew and only him because Max is skittish around any family member that isn't Matthew. Max will let Matthew pick him up any which way, head-butt Matthew and lay down on top of him. The rest of us he's a little scared of but tolerates because he gets fed I guess. Max was also a stray, he just wandered up to our house one day and decided he'd found a good thing so he stayed. I don't know if he's a special breed, though I think a plain black and white in a world where patterns are coveted makes Max unique.




This is Dizzy. We gave him this unusual moniker because it fits him perfectly. When his mother was pregnant with him she got sick with something and Dizzy ended up with cerebella ataxia, which means he doesn't have full control of his muscles. Because of this, he walks like he's drunk. He wobbles around the apartment and sometimes falls down if he turns around too fast. It's actually very cute and endearing. But this doesn't mean he's stupid. Dizzy has adapted miraculously and could go up and down the stairs at the house we moved out of. He'd learned to lean against the wall and just take his time so he wouldn't tumble all the way down. The other cats tend to pick on him a bit, but he has the sharpest claws I've ever seen and can hold his own. We got Dizzy at the animal shelter. We originally adopted him because we felt sorry for him. We felt sure no one else would want him because of his condition. Now we know he's not inferior, just different. He's turned out to be my favorite.



This is Buster, a gray tabby who was also a stray. We acquired him from a then-neighbor who found him and couldn't keep him, so we got him. He's my mom's baby (a spoiled brat) who would not sit still for a picture, I had to dig this one out of my dusty digital library from a few years ago. It took us the longest time to come up with a name for him, but after a week we got to know his personality better and found that he'll do whatever he can get away with, then brush off a scolding like "Who? Me?" So we named him Buster, as in "Listen, buster. I've had it up to here with you!" We all agreed it fit.


And now the pièce de résistance, my kitty, Pumpkin.


-cue the trumpets-

Isn't she the cutest? She's a Tortoiseshell. She's a licker (a comfort thing I think) and she loves to play-fight. She's my baby and I love her to death. I've been around cats my whole life, so not having one around makes it feel like something's missing. So the first thing I did when my dad and I moved out was to check out the shelter. Pumpkin was the third or fourth cat I looked at and part of the reason I stopped was because I'd always wanted a Torti. As soon as I picked her up she snuggled into my shoulder and I knew right then that she was coming home with me.

a shameless plug 2

My dad and I just rented a movie called 'Death of a President.' It's a fictional 2008 TV documentary about the assassination of President George W. Bush on Oct 19, 2007. But that's not the main point of this movie. True the filmmakers did a masterful job of blending reality with fiction, but Dubya getting gunned down is not the sole reason to watch 'Death of a President'. If that's the only motive you would have to rent this you'll be disappointed because it happens fast and you don't see much (but let yourself get swept into the story and it's shocking nonetheless). The point of this movie is to show what can happen (and is happening) when the media and politicos jump to conclusions and personal and political agendas take the place of truth and justice.

Truth be told, it was morbid curiosity that made me get this movie off the shelf. I'm too young to know for myself about the last presidential assassination (I think it was Kennedy) and I figured (hoped) this is as close as I'll get. But I like this movie because it makes plain some of the forces behind the decisions that are made, supposedly, for the good of the country. What's scary though is that anyone who watches the news consistently and keeps an ear to the ground will not be surprised by what this movie talks about. It's all circling the drain. This movie just brings it all into focus and adds a personal/patriotic gut-wrench with the fictional assassination.