Bumper Beauties

Art comes in many different forms, and I enjoy many of them, one of the better forms being classic cars. The size of the engine is irrelevant, it is the swoop of the bumper, the gleam of the chrome, detailed door handles - that is what I enjoy. This weekend was the Concours d'Elegance in Forest Grove, the better classic car show in Oregon. It had been a few years since the last time, so today Dad and I went again. I still had the borrowed Lensbaby and the cars would be a great source for testing it out. It was a challenge to get the focal sweet spot just right. The field of view is quite narrow so to get a whole tire within the frame I had to be relatively far back, which was hard to do considering the number of people milling about. My favorite continues to be the early 1950's Corvette. The BMW Isetta was beyond cute. A beautiful Cobra could be felt in your chest as it rumbled by up to the stage. An intriguing find was a Tatra, a sports car made in Czechoslovakia during the Cold War era. How did it makes it's way from Communist Czech to Milwaukie, Oregon? One beautiful 1948 Ford was being shown by the original owner. Dad and I couldn't decide which should be classified as the antique - the car or the owner. So many beautiful cars, I think I was born in the wrong era. (more pictures here)

Friday Funnies

It has been awhile since I've posted any of my office interactions with Jon. Since he made me laugh to the point of nearly squirting tea out my nose I thought I'd share.

I was half listening to Jon as he talked about this website he had found last night of pictures of an exotic gun collection of a busted drug dealer. Or at least that is what I thought I heard, I wasn't really paying attention. He mentioned something about the odd pets these type of people have, but couldn't think of one. I offered the suggestion of "komodo dragon." "Yeah, like that! Weird animals." To which I off-handedly said, "Did I tell you that I almost ran over a peacock the other day?"
Stunned silence. I took a slurp of my ice tea.
Slowly, an awe filled response, "That may be the most awesome sentence I've ever heard." It was at this point that my mouthful of tea almost came out my nose.
Somehow I managed to swallow it down and answer the ensuing questions, it was a couple weeks ago, on a side street in Lake Oswego, yes - I stopped and stared it down until it moved to see if it was real, and no - I didn't question if I was crazy and seeing things, didn't occur to me. Oh, it was too funny.

A little later we were walking to Starbucks and a tabby cat went shooting across the street with amazing speed. Jon exclaimed, "Geez! It's like wild animal kingdom out here!"

As I walked back to my seat at Starbucks with drink in hand I noticed Jon was staring at my right forearm. "What did you do this time?" he asked. "You're just now noticing it? I've had this bruise all week." With an exasperated sigh, "You know how unobservant I am." Of course I told him a prolonged detailed story of how the vacuum cleaner attacked me. To which he just shook his head.

Missy, Jon's wife, cut his hair the other day and he has been fussing over it constantly ever since. "As soon as I cut my hair, I wish it were long." She did a really great job, but he can't figure out what to do with his bangs. We both have that issue. I offered him one of my little clips that I keep in my desk. "While I do wear barrettes and make it look good, I'm not going to do that here."

As we were waiting for the elevator to head out for the day, "You know how bad my memory is and how unobservant I am; each day for me is brand new. I get to do goal structures today? What's that? Sounds like fun!" Ha! Ha! Yeah, you keep thinking that, Jon.

Bonus funny story from Thursday:
I walked back into our office with my lunch that I had just heated up. Jon asked, "Why do you always do that?" "Do what?" "You always heat up your lunch right before a meeting." "But I'm hungry." "But we have a meeting in 15 minutes." "What? I thought we had more time." "I always feel bad for you. You heat up your lunch and eat two bites before you run off to a meeting and it just sits here getting cold. I wonder if I should cover it... but I don't. You need someone to take care of you." "I know, I do." Jon was a little surprised at how quickly I acquiesced. "Isn't that in your job description? I think that is the whole reason you are here, (in a silly voice) 'Take care of scatterbrained Jenn.' "

Garage Sale for God's Glory

Two years have passed since the last garage sale endeavor of my mother's and I. Not quite enough time to forget the pain, annoyance, and work involved in having a sale but the stuffeth over floweth, so a sale will be had. My brother moved to New York City last week and left everything he didn't want or need (e.g., dishes, pans, etc.) with my parents to deal with, including a vehicle and a townhouse - anyone need a 4Runner and a garage in Beaverton to park it in? I keep a container in the garage that is my designated donation box. The past year I've been saving it up for a garage sale. When Janelle was up visiting over Memorial Day, she helped me purge the stuff in my garage. The box is now heaped and other boxes have been pressed into service. Unfortunately I am on my own to purge the rest of the house. It won't be very thorough, it's not as if I am moving to NYC into a teeny shared apartment, so why bother? Why, indeed. Because of God's glory.

Having a garage sale for God's glory may seem rather strange. If our purpose as Christians is to bring God glory, it requires us to be refined and purified from those things that detract us from this goal. We need to remove whatever idols and little gods we have in our lives which dilute our passion and effectiveness. Like a professional athlete who trains with diligence, perseverance and determination to receive glory in their sport; likewise, Christians should be training too for God's glory. We are in a battle, we need to be fit warriors.

Still wondering how a garage sale fits into the picture? I live in America, a culture known for it's consumerism. We are consumed with having stuff. This does not bring God glory and traps our heart. Stuff in itself is not bad. A couch is a comfortable spot to sit and write my random thoughts on this blog. Some stuff is necessary, even nomadic tribes and ascetic monks have some stuff. But what happens when a single person has too much stuff? They get comfortable, sated, complacent, immovable. Being comfortable and content isn't necessarily a bad thing, but when that is valued more or keeps a person from following God's leading it isn't a healthy place to be. I recognize that I am getting closer to that line than I would like; my comfortableness is making me uncomfortable.

As I talked with a friend last night, sharing a budding idea about moving, she asked in dismay, "You have such a great home. You would give up all of this?" I realize it is a very un-American attitude to think of selling my home, most of my possessions, pick up roots. Yet I don't want to be so comfortable that when God says, "Go!" that I stammer with excuses of being comfortable, settled, and unable to obey. My answer to the question from my friend, "You would giver up all of this?" was - "Absolutely." A conviction doesn't mean it will be done easily. I have many fine things that I inherited from my paternal grandmother, items I have never once used - they don't fit my lifestyle, but they are my connection to grandparents I hardly knew, a substitute for the relationship that wasn't there. I also have items from my maternal grandmother, not quite as fine but greater treasures because of the dear relationship with my grandparents. Passing these things along will not be easy, heart-wrenching actually as I have made them a substitute for the person they represent. Since I am not moving imminently, those items will be held on to for a little longer. I want to use the gold filigree Wedgewood demitasse cups at least once before I sell them.

Many other things have no connection to relatives that are just taking up space and weighing me down. Taking inspiration and a cue from my brother, I'm starting a purging process. Making room for something new in my life. Ironically, my new House Beautiful magazine arrived this weekend and the theme is 'small living' and each article talks about paring down to the essentials, small spaces needing to be uncluttered. How nice of God to send me another source of inspiration and instructions. I better wrap this up, I've got work to do!

"DUSK" is NOT a Time

I've been picking up my camera fairly regularly lately. It is still too much of a mystery of how to operate it and get the results I want. The only remedy is experimentation and lots of use. So the Tigard Balloon Festival seemed like a great opportunity to try some different environments. In the evenings they have "night glow" when the balloon owners turn the burners on just enough to inflate the envelope but not lift off. Sounds like a great photo op, doesn't it? The night glow was scheduled to start at "dusk." Dusk. What time is dusk?

I waited until the sun was just about down, 8:30 pm this time of year, and headed over to the park. I asked the first parking attendant - "Are they still doing the night glow?" "I am sure they are, they like to wait until it's good and dark." he answered. I asked the next parking attendant who took my money, "Is the night glow still going on?" "I don't know, probably." I was feeling much less confident but paid the fee anyhow. At the admission gate I asked once again, "Is the night glow still going on?" "If you hurry, you may see the last few. But the ticket is good for all weekend, you could come back tomorrow for the launch." Argh! After paying to park and the ticket I turned down the street to head to the park and was met with a wall of people - leaving! I raced down the hill and made it to the entrance just in time to see the last balloon go down. I was so mad. Dusk! Dusk is NOT a time!! I was there, may as well make the best of it and take some long exposure shots of the carnival rides.

Once home I was still grumbling that I had forked over the money for "nothing." I decided I'd show them; stick it to the man! If I had to pay for a weekend ticket, I was going to take advantage of it. Despite the fact I wasn't going to bed until a little after midnight, by gum, I was going to get up at 5 am and go to the balloon launch! That'll show 'em! How silly, like anyone would care; I was only depriving myself of sleep. The balloons would wake me up at 6:30 when they started floating over my house, might as well wake up early and join them.

I still had a bad attitude in the morning. I was determined not to pay anymore money for this weekend adventure so I parked on a side street and hoofed it to the park. It may have been my bad attitude that motivated me to skip sleep and go early to the balloon launch, but it ended up being great. The balloon launch was really fun and interesting. I spent a couple hours taking shots, some actually are good. Since I was up, might as well get my workout in. I was already dressed in my gym clothes so I headed straight to Tualatin H.S. to use the track. To my delight, some of the balloons were landing. I grabbed my camera and ran to the other side of the campus, following a balloon as it came in for a landing. After it came down in the parking lot, the crew tethered it to a trailer and truck and started giving rides! Without the crowds around I was able to get up close for some shots, talk with the crew and learn a lot about hot air ballooning. Best of all, I got a ride! We only went up maybe thirty feet, but it was fun. It ended up being a great morning. Now how often does a bad attitude lead to a great day?

The Big Red Box

Sometimes, I scare myself. Today I had one of those moments. I was wandering through The Container Store checking out what was on sale. Down one aisle I spotted a box, a big 12x17x3 red leather lidded taffeta lined box, on sale. After hemming and hawing, trying to convince myself to get the paperboard version that was a little less than half the cost of the red one, I went with the leather one. I could justify it because I plan on having this box for a long time to come. There is a very specific purpose for this box: to hold all the ephemera that constitutes the memories of my life. My memory has more holes than a fine Swiss cheese. Keepsakes of good times are stuffed into various boxes, envelopes, etc. to jog my memory, fill in those holes. But there is too much. Thus the red box, I'm limiting myself to what can fit inside this box. Plenty of things can be scanned and stored away electronically. But for those things that I want to hold onto the original, they'll go in the red box- and only the red box. Why pare down to just this one box? Simplicity, less clutter, focus on the essentials... and if I happen to move, it will make it a little bit easier.

Okay, just imagine the bottom box in a deep red.

Heading to Honduras Hoping for a HUG!

Click on the text to see this larger and more readable. If you would rather, I can email it to you as well.

Twilight

I really do not understand the appeal of Twilight but the vampire fever has swept through all generations of my friends. Fans come from former students who are now in high school to women my mother's age. Curiosity got the better of me and when the first film was on TV for free, I did watch it. I was creeped out. Not so much by the idea and notion of vampires but by the values and attitudes that were highlighted. Trying to explain it to my co-workers who are fans I was at a loss to articulate my opinions more than "It felt insidious." To which I was met with confused stares combined with a suspicion that I was a bit crazy. Yet I have good company. I found an article by a woman with a doctorate who was able to make the arguments I would, if I could find the words. I am by no means a women's libber, not by a long shot, but if any of my former student were to start dating some guy that was controlling and isolating her from her friends and family, subjugating her, I would throw a fit, as would you, so why is it okay for Edward and Bella? It may be just a 'harmless' fun story, but values and morals are taught through story, myth, and fairy tales. I am not saying I agree point for point with this woman, but overall I do. Find the article her:

Why This Middle-Aged Woman Loathes Twilight | Psychology Today

And this is from a secular point of view. There is an element of spiritual allusions and I think that is what creeps me out the most. How Edward refers to himself as the lion and Bella as the lamb. Ah, no... God is the lion, the Lion of Judah. Yet Edward does behave as a demi-god, a very controlling one at that. And when he steps into the sunlight and is all sparkly, my thought was, 'Yeah, and Lucifer was the most beautiful angel too.' Those are the two that stick out in my memory. Insidious. I tried to explain my point of view to a friend who is a Christian, who is a Twilight fan, her response was essentially 'It's only a story. Vampires aren't real, what is the big deal.' And the frog thought, 'It's only a pool of warm water.'

Okay, stepping off my soap box now.

Going Retro in all the Wrong Ways

As a teenager I was spared that hideous right of passage that most all of my friends and classmates were forced to go through. Apparently my escape wasn't to be life-long. As my birthday approaches ever closer, that odd year where no longer can I say I am in my mid-30's, but not quite into the late 30's - not just yet, for the first time in my life I'm dealing with acne. I've had the occasional blemish, but nothing much or consistent. It has been a blessing. As a highly insecure teenager, I don't know that I could have handled dealing with constant break-outs.
I remember junior year, chemistry class, two friends were talking about their zits and one looked at me and made a disparaging comment about my clear skin. The other friend insisted I was just covering them up and promptly lifted my banana roll bangs (it was the 80's after all) to prove her point. She was somewhat dismayed when proven wrong. I don't know how I got so lucky, up until now that is.
Ever since my surgery I've been having a horrible time with acne. When I mentioned this to the spinal surgeon and his P.A., their response was, "huh." Gee! That's helpful, thanks. For whatever reason, my face has decided to revert back to my teen years and make up for lost time. It's awful. It's maddening. It's embarrassing. This has been going on for almost nine months, I hit my limit. This week I went to the dermatologist for my biannual mole check and while I was there, asked her for help with the blemishes. Being in my mid-late 30's I should be more capable to handle this issue, but no. It may be less traumatic than if I were in my teens, but it is still a challenge to my self-image. Hopefully the cream from the doctor will do the trick. But I have a theory of what is happening that the cream may not help. Here is my theory: surgery took a lot out of me energy wise, I'm still recovering and trying to regain my energy. I sleep, a lot,and even deeper than normal. I've woken up more than a few times drooling. I think I'm drooling more than I am aware of and that is causing the break-outs. It makes sense, right? Who knew that could be a side-effect of the surgery? Ugh.

Sabbath & Me

I've been struggling with the question of Sabbath in our modern era. In Exodus there are very clear commands that we are to keep the Sabbath, a day of rest set apart for God. I'm all on board for having a day of rest, a day to put aside the distractions of the mundane everyday, slowing down so that we can reflect and focus on God; it's like hitting the reset button. On days where I do slow down and put aside the to-do list,the shoulds, oughts, wannas, and do what connects me with God, life is so much better. Yet as a modern day single lady it's hard to carve out a whole day of no work. With only 7 days in a week it's hard to take care of all the chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, bills, cleaning, etc. - and work a full-time job. Then add on top of that maintaining relationships, trying to get fit, be part of church and ministry, and all the other good stuff that fills my time. It's just all too much. How is one to keep the command of the Sabbath? Really, I am asking, how?

Today I tried to make a couple errands/to-do items more "Sabbath-y." I still needed to get some things accomplished but perhaps they could be done in a way that would promote rest, reflection, connection. One thing on the list was to go to the Eddie Bauer Outlet store in Woodburn to pick up another t-shirt and see what other deals might be had. Why not do that and then head out to Mt. Angel Abby to write the support letter that should have been done a week or so ago. It was a lovely day, the Abby was beautiful, as was the drive, had some interesting conversations with God, and I even got a first draft done of the letter.

But then the drive home happened. Just pass the Donald exit, the last exit for many miles, traffic came to a screeching halt. The trip took three times as long as normal. There is just something so wrong about putting a car into park while in the middle of the freeway. Since I didn't plan to be gone as long as I had, I didn't have any snacks and it was dinnertime. As we creeped slowly forward in short increments, my bladder likewise was filling. Not a good situation. Not very Sabbath restful. But what are you going to do? There is no where to go. Sit back, relax, laugh at the kid hanging his head out the window looking pitiful, pop in a Rich Mullins CD and go with the slow flow. Maybe it was God's way of slowing me down and giving me a Sabbath rest after all. Is it wrong that I am disappointed that after an hour of sitting on the freeway I wasn't even rewarded with seeing what caused the shut-down?

A Reason to...

...Use Paper Towels on Door Handles.
This morning I had trouble waking up, nothing unusual. I hit the snooze, again, and again, and again. Finally lifting my face out of the pillow I tried to open my eyes, but had trouble. My right eye was all gunked up and wouldn't open. I managed to get it clear only to see an eye that was beyond bloodshot. It was a day for Visine. Drop, drop, drop, and let it do its work while in the shower. By the time I put my contacts in my eye looked normal. I was good to go. (This is building up to something, really.)

A couple hours later my eyes were feeling horrible. Time to switch to glasses. Grabbing the glasses I keep in my file cabinet for days like this I headed to the bathroom where a bottle of saline is kept. While I scrubbed my hands everyone's favorite mug stealing soup nipper came in. Despite everything she still surprises me. WARNING: You may not want to continue reading, think about it, the setting is in the bathroom and I'm writing about soup nipper - do you really want to know?
So, for those brave enough to keep reading, as I filled the contact case with saline and plucked the filmy contacts out of my eyes, soup nipper came in. She came in, went through to the stalls, made use of one and was back out in under a minute, maybe even under 30 seconds. What?! Women are not capable of such speedy use of the facilities, they're just not, especially older women! I'm certainly not and I'm half her age. It makes me wonder how she manages, or what she is doing. I don't want to think about it, but I couldn't help myself. I decided to leave it at one possibility - a colostomy bag, it would be quick to empty - I think, maybe, I don't know. I don't want to think about it.

But the story doesn't end there. In my world after using the toilet you always, always, always wash your hands. And to wash your hands properly you should wash them for 20 seconds, about the time it takes to sing "Happy Birthday" or "Jesus Loves Me." Apparently that is not true for soup nippers. In her world one quick millisecond swipe under the faucet is sufficient. My only response - (shuddering) EWW! If someone has a need of a toilet, they have a need to wash their hands after wards and that includes using soap. And that is the reason to start using paper towels to open the door when exiting the bathroom at work.

...Be Thankful For The NBA Playoffs.
Walking out of the locker room and into the main cardio area of the gym I was surprised at how empty it seemed. Granted, I had left work late and was getting a slow start, but it is rare that my favorite treadmill is available on a weeknight, even at 6ish. It wasn't until about the time I was leaving that I realized, with a big "OH!" that the NBA playoff game was on. Of course the guys would chose to watch the game in a more enjoyable place than the gym! C'mon Lakers and Celtics, take it to game 7! Just have those games on weeknights when I'm at the gym.

...Not Take Your Style Cues From Star Wars.
I was doing my floor work, finishing up at the gym, when a young guy joined me in the general area. I was laying on my side facing him while doing leg lifts. First I noticed that he was wearing Chaco sandals, so I put him in the outdoorsy yoga rock climbing group. But what really caught my attention was the bright red shade of his toes, especially his little toe. We are talking seriously red to the point I almost asked him what was wrong with his feet, if he had had frostbite at some point. I thought better of it and controlled my curiosity. Then I noticed he had one long small braid behind his right ear with the rest of his hair rather short. He looked like the teenage Anakin Skywalker from the 2nd (or is it the 5th) Star Wars movie. Some people need to choose who they model their personal style after a little more judiciously.

Neighbor & Matchmaker in one!

When I arrived home after my spending spree at the garden center I noticed that there was a white Highlander parked in the drive way of the unit next to me. I had seen the same car there are couple of times this week, most of last weekend, but never any people. Today was different, there was a woman in the garage. I poked my head around the corner and called "Hello!" An older woman in a black and white striped t-shirt with dark curly hair turned towards me and quickly returned my greeting introducing herself, Judy. She immediately asked if I had children, I answered "No, it's just me here." "Oh, you must work awfully hard, I haven't seen you once all week when I was here cleaning. Are you engaged?" Slightly startled I fumbled a negative answer. This delighted Judy, "I have a single son! He's in his early 30's. He'll be coming down for our open house on Memorial day! You'll have to met him." A little later her husband, Gary, came out and as soon as the introductions were over Judy made a point to inform him that I was single, and that they'll have to make sure I meet the son (I didn't catch his name).

Oh, good golly I think I might have to accept Manuel's application for boyfriend! Looks like I'm going to have my hands full with my new neighbor. At least it sounds like the son lives a bit away, he won't be around much.

Manuel, applicant for boyfriend

My relationship with Manuel started several months ago. I pulled into the Chevron down the street from my home to fill up on gas one afternoon. Manuel was the only attendant and he stuck close by my car. He tried making some small talk, "How is your evening?" "Oh, good." I'm not used to talking it up while getting gasoline. I had asked for a fill-up with the discounted car wash - my car was more dirt than car. As he handed me my receipt he carefully pointed out where it showed that I had pre-paid for the car wash, how much I had saved, and "you have very beautiful eyes." Huh, what?! My brain couldn't register his last statement as it didn't have anything to do with my car, gasoline, or a car wash. He repeated himself, "You have very pretty eyes. Are they green?" "No, they're blue. Thanks." "They are very beautiful. Have a good evening." Weird, but amusing.

A few weeks later my gas grill ran out of propane. Having never been in need of propane before I didn't know what to do. I noticed my local gas station had it for sale and figured that if I showed up while Manuel was working I guessed that I could bat my eyes and have him take care of it for me. I guessed correctly. While he was filling up my propane tank he asked what I was planning to fix - hot dogs. He suggested carne asada, and that I should invite him over. I agreed that carne asada sounded much better than hot dogs, but I had been craving a grilled dog covered in sauerkraut and topped with a little veganaise so I was going to stick with my original choice. He said I could bring him one, that he still would be working for a couple more hours. I just laughed it off. Manuel was very helpful, he did everything, even putting the tank back in my trunk, and wrote up the receipt for less than what actually went in. Did I feel a little guilty for taking advantage of him? Just a twinge. But it's just so hard being me with my beautiful eyes that I can use to persuade guys to do work for me.

It has been awhile since I've been in desperate need of gas so that I'll go to the Chevron instead of Costco, but today was one of those days. The needle was precipitously close to the E and I didn't want to take the extra time to go to Wilsonville for the cheaper gas. After all, I'd only save maybe a buck. As I pulled into the Chevron I noticed my buddy and wondered what he was going to say this evening. Manuel did not disappoint. As he was giving back my debit card he was sounding out my name, "Yenn-e-fair. Hen-i-fir. That is your name?" "Yeah. (he hands me the card) Thanks." I start digging around for the wallet I just had in my hands to replace the card in it's slot. But then Manuel is back at my window, "Henny-fur, are you married?" "No." "Do you have a boyfriend?" Long pause - do I lie to try and create a barrier or tell the truth?? "Do you have a boyfriend?" "Not at the moment." Good compromise, truth but with enough edge that maybe one is imminent. "Can I have an application?" "Ha, ha! That's a good one." He walks off with a grin. He brings me my receipt and is studying it, "Ginn-e-fer, is this number right? 503-637..." "Ha, ha. Nice try." "Can I have your number?" "No, I don't think so." He hands me my receipt and then reaches into my car and squeezes my shoulder. He tells me, "Have a nice evening. I love you." "What!?!" "Just kidding. See you next time." And again, he reaches in my car and gives a couple squeezes to my shoulder. Part of me is incredibly amused and humored by the interaction with Manuel, another part is screaming don't ever go back there.

Got Fierce?

Got Fierce?

That is the tag line on the bottom of a poster at the gym. There are other posters with other lines, but this one struck a chord with me. The take off from the milk commercial is getting a bit old. The use of the word "fierce" to describe things is getting a bit passe. Yet, "Got Fierce?" is a good question. It is possible that I have been reading too much lately about how Christians are warriors and need to have that mentality, and being fierce is necessary. Sin and darkness are rampant, aggressive, persistent. Fighting it requires fierceness.
So let me ask you,

Got Fierce?

Ode to Lilacs

I love lilacs. Ever since my trip to Ukraine in May 1995 where they were prolific, I have loved lilacs. They don't seem to grow as well here as they do in central-eastern Europe, why is that? As I turned the last corner towards home on my evening walk I came across a lilac bush in bloom! My heart leaped with joy and a giant grin spread across my face! I cupped my hands around head after head, shoving my face into them, inhaling deeply. What a glorious, yummy scent. I was reluctant to leave the corner. Deciding to play by Czech rules, that anything growing into public areas is fair play, I broke off a branch that clearly went past the fence and was protruding into the sidewalk area, and quickly hurried past the house towards home delighted with my contraband flowers.

It's a what?!?

I just don't know what to say about this. Notice the strips of garbage bags creating a "mane" on top of the car. What you can't see well are the various zebra stuffed animals along the back deck, the zebra seat covers - both front and back, the zebra disco ball, air freshener, seat belt cover, and best of all - the head of a zebra stuffed animal attached to the front grill. This guy (yes, a guy was driving this thing) really, really likes zebras!

6 Month Anniversary

Ka-POW!! I did a 5k in 48 minutes with change. Now that is the way to celebrate my sixth month anniversary post-surgery. I'm still not at 100%, but I've been told I need to be patient, it will probably be about a year before I get there. I'm not sure I am that patient, but it's not like I really have a choice.

Thursday, April 1st, marked my last physical therapy appointment. It was sad, I even got a little choked up saying good-bye. Although it was quite fitting that my last workout and time to harass and tease Damon and Jarret was on April Fool's Day. The whole crew at North Lake Physical Therapy are fantastic. They have been patient and kind when I cried with every move, could barely walk at a 1.5 mph pace while wearing a huge back brace. Once I started feeling better (and got off the drugs), I started getting a bit sassy, no longer burst into tears and P.T. become fun. Damon has been really good at challenging and pushing me. He started me on a great program, Core Performance. But now it is up to me to keep moving forward and getting buff. *sniff*sniff*

Daylight savings is an extortionist

It has been a hard week, whether I can really attribute it to the time change I don't know. But I have been rather snarky this week, hitting Jon with every snide remark and low blow that came to mind. He provides plenty of fodder, usually I'm better at holding my tongue - not this week.

Jon: You have been really grumpy since you can't eat anything.
Jenn: It's the lack of sleep
Jon: You don't have to agree so quickly!

Jon: I gotta tell you, my self-esteem is down here this week (placing his hand around middle of his shin). And if we had a therapist on staff we would be in their office right now. I would be crying and you would be in soooo much trouble!

We had three interviews for a new admin this week. As we were prepping for the interviews, looking over the standard questions, Jon decided on creating his own that he thought would be the most important:
-How do you work with people you don't like, such as Jennifer Streger?

I think we are heading down a slippery slope of sarcasm.

Conversation with Damon

I laughed at myself the other day talking with my physical therapist, Damon.

Damon: "So how is the knee doing?"
Jenn: "Actually, really good. Except the left one, it's pretty sore, but that's because I fell on the sidewalk and landed on it Tuesday evening."
Damon: "Yeah, that could make it hurt. You shouldn't do that."

a little later

Damon: "That's a nasty bruise on your arm, how did you get that?"
Jenn: "I was talking to someone getting off the elevator as I was getting on and the doors closed on me, got me in the arm."
Damon: "Watch out for those elevators, they're vicious."

and yet later

Damon: "What was that??" (referring to a loud popping noise)
Jenn: "Oh, my shoulder. I feel down my stairs once and landed on it. It's never been the same since. Occasionally it just has to pop."
Damon shares a story about his back that used to pop but hasn't since he has started this new program that he is starting me on.
Damon: "Remind me, how did you injure your back?"
Jenn: "Playing soccer in 9th grade, I ran into a mole or gopher hole and fractured the vertebrae."

When I do balance and flexibility activities I do really well. But apparently in everyday life, I'm a total klutz.

Hopefully the deep purple bruise I accidentally inflicted on myself yesterday, in a very stupid way, will be faded enough by this week's appointment so that I don't have to explain that one as well.

Oh, Jo(h)nny Boy...

Jon, my work partner. Yes, that's him to the left. The first part of "Joniffer." He keeps me entertained, hopefully he can entertain you as well. Here's a sampling of our life from the past few weeks.

[Previously, I've chided Jon to recycle his soda cans. One day I gave him 'a look' as he got up and was about to throw away a can or juice bottle into the garbage.]
Grabbing his can, "I'm not leaving my DNA around for you! I don't trust you."
"I'm gonna take your DNA and clone you to make my own Jon army. Maybe you'll get your work done that way."

We were talking about movies one afternoon. Jon was talking about Inglorious Bastards, a movie that he owns, and that I should watch it. I quietly said, "Maybe someone should let me borrow it, if they really want me to see it." There was no answer from Jon, he kept staring at his computer. After a minute or two I couldn't help but ask, "Did you hear me?" "Yes, I made a mental note." "Oh, okay, it's just that you didn't respond." "Geez! I'm going to start getting in trouble like I do at home. (Doing one of his voices to mimic Melissa) "Are you listening to me?"" He has yet to loan me the movie, must not have been a very good mental note.

I made the comment to Michele about Jon, "He's a total smart alec." To which he very quickly responded with a little snippityness in his voice, "I think you're just projecting!"

me: "Jon, is AK Alaska or Arkansas?"
Jon: "I'm so manly that when I her AK, I think AK-47!"

Jon decided to play Houdini for a good part of today. He just disappeared for chunks of time. One of those chunks was just before 10 am, our coffee run time of the day. It wasn't really a mystery where he was, I could hear him and Sarah G. talking in her office. We haven't been going as regularly since I've changed my diet to exclude all foods I'm allergic to, which rules out everything but black coffee or tea. Limited options. But today I was totally jonesing for coffee and decided I'd cheat a little (which means a little half & half in my drip coffee). I waited for Jon, and waited, then waited some more. I thought about just going on my own (oh, the horror!) I thought about IMing Sarah to prompt them to wrap it up, it's not like their conversation was work related - and I needed my coffee. Instead I kept working until he came back to our office. As he walked through the door, Jon said "Do you want to go to Starbucks today?" "Um, YEeeAH! I've been waiting for you. I almost went without you." "Pffa! You wouldn't remember how to get there without me!"

Some fun Jon quotes:
"Why don't you complain like I do? You should try it, it's fun!"
"I've decided my peak time is Tuesday, a lot gets done on that day."
"I wasn't even potty trained by then!" ("then" being age 11)

Kooky Kind of Family

The last few weeks have been somewhat dull in Joniffer land. I guess we've actually been working. I was thinking the other day how the 3rd floor is a kooky kind of family. So I thought I'd introduce you to some of the other characters that I work with that also brighten up my day. Where to start?

Kristi was my work partner before Jon. She's still part of the team, just in a different role. Last week she came to our office to ask a question of Jon, I had tuned them out until I heard Kristi mention how much she likes Skittles and could eat them until she is sick - and has. Jon said, "You can puke up a rainbow of colors." "Magically delicious!" was Kristi's response. Ew! Yet, even after hearing this, I bought a huge bag of Skittles for my candy dish on my desk later that week. I've been seeing a lot more of Kristi, the Skittles have been disappearing quickly too.

Speaking of Kristi, a huge Johnny Depp and Tim Burton fan, she is very excited for the release of Alice in Wonderland. Did I say she is a huge fan? I meant gianormous. Her computer desktop has been a revolving show of pictures from Alice. One caught my eye the other day when I was in her office and we started talking about the movie. Kristi mentioned that she is re-reading the book so she knows the real story, 'but Tim Burton usually sticks really close to the original story, he'll do a good job with it.' It took all my strength to not double over laughing. Do you not see the humor? Oh, well, read this post from "Stuff White People Like" and then re-read her comments. Are you laughing now?

Jon and I had some good laughs over the "Stuff White People Like." Although some of it was embarrassed laughter as we recognized ourselves. Banksy? Yeah, Jon is a fan. Vespa scooters? One of my fantasy vehicles. Jon felt his cool factor go back up a notch when he read that white people actually hate tattoos of dead people. Check out Jon's left arm, he has made a full commitment to tattoos of dead people. I don't like sushi or Barak Obama and have never seen "Mad Men" or "Arrested Development" - that is my redemption. But Moleskins... I do have one, it's my appointment book. I didn't chose it just because it was a Moleskin, but it did lend to its appeal. It really was the best choice and met my space-allotted-for-each-day criteria. But what is Sarah G.'s excuse for her multiples of mini-Moleskins?

If the stuff white people like is a barometer - Sarah G. is ghostly white! She's vegan, likes hummus, grocery co-ops, listens to NPR, supports Teach For America - a non-profit, etc., etc., etc. Sarah G. (yes, I have to use last name initial to distinguish her as I work with five, yes, count them - five - Sarah's) has the office right behind Jon and I. There is a transom window in the common wall so we put messages to each other on the window occasionally. And, unfortunately, Sarah directs the scornful gaze of the ceramic nun and the haughty disdain of Sir Cat in our direction. These lovely works of art, purchased at the Goodwill, were gifts from Jon and his wife, to Sarah. They creep me out. They unnerve Sarah as well, which is why they look down into our office. Monday Sarah used her lunch break to do some grocery shopping at Trader Joe's. I was sitting in the lunchroom actually eating lunch when Sarah came back. She stuffed her bags into the fridge, then put a mango and a single package of fruit leather on the table in front of me. A random gift from her, to me. And in case you are wondering, it's a chocolate dipped peppermint stick and a couple cashews in the vessel the nun is holding. Random!

The media team is a special collection of guys. Kyle and Matt are the audio geeks. They were filming or doing some project down in the office of our CEO who is just down the hall from Jon and I, so they were passing by our office window frequently. Kyle doesn't say much, maybe that comes from listening to audio clips all day. In fact he doesn't show much expression at all. But last week I saw Kyle laugh and chuckle to himself, not once but twice and both times at me! You need to know that my desk is up against the window so that I look out at everyone, and everyone looks in at me. One of the incidents he walked by the office and chuckled at the faces I was making as I tried to make the numbers in my database reconcile. He laughed, actually laughed! Another piece of background information you need to know is that our office tends to collect bad smells, really, really bad smells. And, NO! It's not from the occupants. It was one of those times when the stench was more than anyone should have to endure, so I stuck my knuckles up into my nostrils in an attempt to block the smell. Kyle walked by and guessing by his sympathetic chuckle, I must have looked pretty ridiculous.

And then there is Matt... well, he's Matt. Most people don't like him or are put-off by him, but not me. From the start I always assumed his snarky comments were just for show and effect, and so I laughed at him. Guess that put me on his good side because he's always been 'nice' to me. In January 2008 I was walking from the lunchroom back to the lab, when Matt comes up beside me and asks, "Do you like cheese?" Cautiously I answer, "Yeah." "Great! Here you go, your own block of fine Chavarti cheese food." And Matt hands me a triangle of shrink wrapped Hickory Farms processed cheese food. Nasty. It's not even real food. I put it at my workstation and there it sat, past its expiration date. I left that June to go to Israel, not sure if I would return, I passed the cheese to Paul and left it in his keeping. My first day back at the office as a regular employee I stopped by to say hello to the contractors in the lab, Alan being the only one I still knew, and he was now the keeper of the cheese. Alan offered it back to me but I was generous enough to let him keep it. Later that day I came back to my desk to find the Chavarti proudly sitting there. Matt made sure that I got it back. He has since added to my collection with a block of Sharp n' Smooth processed cheese food. Lucky me! The other day he was standing in the doorway chatting and he spilled some tea on my (short 2-drawer) file cabinet, he sat down and wiggled back and forth wiping it up with his bum. Goofy guy.

Jeff is not technically part of the media team but does a lot with the media team. He is an odd mix. He loves karaoke, plays in a band, is quite cynical, and a master of the fondue. He sat in our office whining one afternoon about how he is so busy with the FACE committee and the media team that he doesn't have time to actually do his official job. He mentioned how much time the FACE committee was taking, which he wasn't expecting, and Jon asked why he participates. Jeff's answer: "I get joy from other people's joy." Said with mock sincerity. You might need to know Jeff to get the funny in that comment.

Soup nipper

I only have one Joniffer story to add today, but I have another story involving a familiar co-worker for your enjoyment too.

As you would expect from co-dependent co-workers, we spent the majority of Friday together. This included "secondsies" - our 10-ish am coffee run. And when I decided to take a short walk around lunch time to drop off my dry cleaning, Jon came with me. A little later when I decided to eat lunch in the lunchroom, getting away from my desk for awhile, Jon did likewise, even though he had already used all of his lunch break going on our walk. While we sat at the table chatting, our tummies full, our manager walked in. My first reaction was slight panic. Was she wondering why we were just sitting in the lunchroom? Especially at 2:30 pm? Would she notice our lunch paraphenalia and know we were legitimately away from our desks? She then started laughing and mentioned, "You two make me laugh! Don't you ever get tired of each other?" We simultaneously answered, "No." with a shrug of our shoulders. Jon's answer may have been more of an "eh" but that means "no," right?

As for my other story, it involves a character mentioned previously who likes to steal my coffee mug, let's just call her "Old Lady Lips" or Ollie for short, to protect her identity.

For the greater part of January the company sponsored a food drive to benefit the Oregon Food Bank. There was good friendly competition between floors; sadly the third floor lost the Golden Plate award this year. The food donation spot was on a table in the lunchroom. One day a case of soup showed up on the table. I noticed it only because I had just bought one can of the same soup at the market and it triggered an idea to bring it in for lunch the next day. The food sat in the lunchroom for many weeks, even after the food drive was over. Some brazen co-worker about two weeks ago must have forgotten lunch and decided to appropriate the case of soup for their lunch. At that time the case went from being part of the donations for the Food Bank to sitting open on the counter next to the microwave. I was stunned that someone was so bold as to take food from the donation pile.

Now fast-forward a few weeks to yesterday. I walked into the lunch room to heat up my stew (yes, more stew.) and was shortly joined by Ollie. While I spooned my barley turkey stew into a bowl, Ollie took a can of soup out the box and started to open it up! I was gobsmacked! She was the one who had taken the soup from the needy? As I tried to process what I was witnessing, she said, "Do you know who brought in this soup? It's really good." WHAT!? I abruptly tell her, "It was originally part of the donations for the Food Bank." Ollie may have picked up on the disapproval in my voice as she attempted to come up with an excuse, "Oh, it must have come in too late to be picked up." Having to duke it out with her for my mug two days before had not left me in a generous mood. "Actually the food was only picked up this week and the soup has been on the counter for a few weeks, and was on the donation table for several weeks before that." She remained quiet for almost a minute. Instead of offering yet another excuse, she said "It's good soup. I wonder where you can find a box like that." I informed her it was from Costco. "Really??" she responded in that annoying high pitched nasal voice of hers. I simply made a "um-hum" sound instead of giving voice to the thoughts in my head - 'no, not really. I'm lying about where you can find soup in some plan to trick you to make a visit to Costco to find soup only to come up empty. Why would you question and doubt me over something so trivial?'

While I would be mortified and ashamed to be caught eating the soup, Ollie didn't even seem flustered. She didn't seem bothered by the fact the soup was intended for the needy and poor, or that the food was counted as part of the donation of the third floor to the Food Bank, and she was eating it. Nor did she seem to recognize the boundaries she had crossed, she was blissfully ignorant of the rules of community office life. I don't know why this surprised me after the incident earlier this week. And I don't know why I guffawed when she put her bowl of soup in the microwave before me, even though I had been there first. I couldn't handle being in the lunchroom with her anymore. I left my bowl on the counter under the microwave and went back to my desk to wait it out. I know it's petty on my part, but I had had my fill of insipidity for the day.

Coffee Runs and Coffee Mugs

Monday
Sitting at Starbucks, reluctant to get up and go back to the office, Jon and I just sat, holding our drinks, looking at each other. With brow furrowed, Jon said, "I should be honest with you," With concern rising, I also raised an eyebrow. He went on to say, "I feel like I'm fighting something, like I might be getting sick. So you might want to keep your distance." "I have some EmergenC in my lunch bag." "Aren't you worried?" "About what?" "Getting sick! We essentially live together." 9 hours a day in a 10' x 8' room, guess we sorta do live together; maybe I should be worried about his germs.

Wednesday
Returning to our office after the team meeting I inform Jon, "I'm still jonesing for my 2nd coffee." Swiveling around in my chair I looked out the transom window that leads into Sarah's office which has real outside windows, and checked if the sun was shining yet; it was. "Actually I just want to get outside."
"No! Not allowed!"
"What!? Not allowed?"
"No, you're never allowed to go outside the building during the work day."
a moment later
Jon: "Do you really want to go to Starbucks?"
Jenn: "Yeah, but you don't have to come with me."
Jon: "No, I want to come."
Jenn: "How have I become so co-dependent? I live on my own, take care of myself, I'm independent, yet in the last two months I've become co-dependent on my co-worker!"
Jon: "Whaaat?" (Jon's favorite word)
Jenn: "I can't go to Starbucks by myself, I can't eat lunch by myself - I've become co-dependent!"
Thankfully, Jon thought it was funny - I think, I hope - he laughed. We might as well be attached at the hip, conjoined co-workers, my brother from a different mother.

As we walked over to Starbucks I whined about how a particular co-worker keeps taking my mug. Our office has a lunchroom on each floor and there is one cabinet for personal mugs, which in theory are not public domain. Apparently, this one gal has decided that my mug should be hers. Jon tried to help me come up with ways to deter her from taking my mug. His idea was to lace the edge of it with a disease such as herpes, gonorrhea, or syphilis. Hm. A little drastic. As we waited for our drinks, Jon scrunched up his face and asked, "Can you really drink from that mug again? She's had her lips on it! It's had old lady lips on it! Eww!!"

Later as we sat in our office I made some comment which prompted him to wonder aloud if it was going to get physical between me and this co-worker. I told Jon, "I can take her." To which Jon said matter-of-factly, " Well, I know that." This is the second reference he has made this week to me physically fighting. What does he think of me?

Life with Jon, always amusing.

Conjoined Coworkers

Tuesday - 8 am-ish
Jon: Sooooo... did you bring a lunch today?
Jenn: Yeah (said disappointingly)
Jon: You don't sound very excited about it.
Jenn: No. It's stew. I'm not in the mood for stew. Plus I forgot to bring the cheese and sour cream. It isn't nearly as good without the condiments. (Quick scan under Jon's desk where he normally stashes his lunch) Did you not bring a lunch?
Jon: No.
Jenn: oh! We should go out for lunch!
Jon: But you have stew.
Jenn: It'll keep in the fridge until tomorrow.
Jon:Whatever.

11:45 am
Jenn: I'm hungry, what are we going to do for lunch?
Jon: I don't know, you've got stew.
Jenn: But I don't want my stew. What are you doing for lunch?
Jon: I don't know. If you don't eat your stew what are you going to eat?
Jenn: I don't know, what are you going to eat?

this goes on, back and forth, for quite some time.

12:30 pm
Jenn: You've never been to Burgerville?!?
Jon: No. Is it good?
Jenn: It's very tasty. It's the only fast food that the author of Fast Food Nation will eat.
Jon: Why?
Jenn: They buy local produce, they can trace the meat back to the ranch or farm.
Jon: That's such an Oregon thing.
Jenn: So should we go?
Jon: Are you sure you don't want your stew?
Jenn: (exasperated) no.
Jon: I think we should go to Burgerville!
Jenn: Okay! Let's go!

Actually left around 1 pm, we had to debate a bit more.

Wednesday 12:30 pm-ish
Jenn: What!? No lunch again? What happened to last night's leftovers?
Jon: There weren't any.
Jenn: Do you want some stew?
Jon: Noooo... I don't want to take your stew!
Jenn: Really, do you want some stew? There's more than enough for two. Wow! That rhymed!
Jon: It sounds like Dr. Suess!
Jenn: I like Dr. Suess!
Jon: You should write a book and start with that! Yeah! Yeah!
Jenn: The Stew for Two book! But seriously, do you want some stew?
Jon: What kind of stew is it?
Jenn: Turkey barley. I remembered the condiments today, so it'll be good. I'll go heat some up while you think about it.

As I start serving up a bowl for me, still not sure what Jon is going to do, he saunters in and looks at the bowl.

Jon: It looks good. I don't want that much, that's fine.
Jenn: This is my bowl! You can serve yourself.
Jon: (grabbing a bowl from the cabinet) Eww! I'm going to get salmonella. Is it really clean?

Joan: So what's the deal? You're bringing lunch for each other now?
Jenn: He didn't have a lunch today, I had plenty, so I'm sharing my extra.
Joan: He's your work husband!
Jenn: Don't let him hear that!
Joan: I have my car husband, we commute together.

(at the same time)
Adam: So you two are the 1pm lunch crowd, huh?
Jon: Yeah...
Adam: Do you just like to eat later?
Jon: Well, we do Starbucks at 10, you see.
Adam: Oh, got it!

Jenn + Micah = CAKE

Hey Ya'll!!

It's Valentine's Day this Sunday! Time to think sweet for your sweetheart!

Help support an amazing group of boys and young men by bidding on a cake auction.

Click here for all the details:

http://jennsfavoritequotes.blogspot.com/2010/02/jenn-micah-cake.html

Mission Connexion Connection

Last weekend was Mission Connexion NW, the largest missions conference in the Pacific Northwest. I was there to help staff the Perspectives booth for a couple hours which turned into most of the day. Towards the afternoon I was hungry, Ron was thirsty and tired, so we decided to head to the exhibitors room for a snack. Unfortunately we got there as they were cleaning up and the snacks were almost all gone, except for some pretzels. I really should have packed a lunch. We sat down at a table thankful to rest.

Ron asked me where I am at with missions, what I am thinking about it all. I gave some short answers, enough to satisfy if he was just trying to make conversation. But he probed further, so I took it as a sign that he really did want to know, and gushed everything that has been going on in my head and heart. Something about verbalizing it all, real connections between my mind, heart and reality started to develop. God is leading and directing, preparing me for something; what exactly? I'm not quite sure, but here is what I do know.

At the age of 16 I decided that I was meant to be a missionary. The summer between high school and college I had to memorize the following verse as part of a missions team. At age 17 I took the passage as my life verse ~ Matthew 16: 24 "Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. 25 For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. 26 For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? 27 For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done. 28 Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”"

My desire to be in ministry, to be a missionary has never waivered, despite all the setbacks, delays, and lack of direction.

In January 2009 a friend encouraged me to join her & her family for a spaghetti feed fundraiser for a ministry called the Micah Project. She mentioned that it was a great ministry to kids.

I like hearing about ministry to kids.

She mentioned it is located in Honduras.

Um, I had no interest in going further south than San Diego. I was interested in Central Europe not Central America. But I figured it's always good to hear how what other ministries are doing and glean ideas.

She even tried playing the single guy card, explaining that the founder would be talking at the fundraiser and he was single.

That gave me pause. I reconsidered attending, but ended up not going; other priorities took precedence over gathering more information about kids at risk from a random ministry. But Micah Project stayed in my mind, although it wouldn't come back to the frontal lobe for several months.

During the summer, as I anticipated and worried about the quickly approaching back surgery, and dreaded another birthday, I decided that by age 40 I wanted to be back in full-time ministry, preferably overseas. A book I had been reading made the point that most people knew what they really wanted to be when they were young, that it's as we became more aware of social pressures and have disappointments in life that we move away from our true calling. Maybe you're wondering what I wanted to be when I grew up; I wanted to be many things depending on the interest of the day. The most amusing, to me, was an attorney, which I can only explain by the fact I had been watching a lot of Perry Mason. But what I always went back to was running an orphanage. I'm not sure where that came from, but I wanted to provide a home for all the children that didn't have one. In high school as girls are wont to do, we mapped out our lives by naming who we were going to marry and how many children we were going to have. My answer to the second question was always, "at least a soccer team worth, " quickly qualifying that statement with "they'll be adopted." So as I thought about where and what I wanted to be doing by the big 4-O the idea of dedicating my life to loving children without family really resonated deep in my heart. To exhaust my days lavishing what love and care I have to give on them. To do my best to emulate some of my heroes of the faith: Gladys Aylward, Amy Carmichael & Mother Teresa. I recognize that with my health issues living overseas may not be wise in most peoples mind; it could aggravate symptoms, especially if I contract some other weird disease and possibly shorten my life-span. Yet we only have this one life and sooner than we think it will be over, so why play it safe? "When I go, I want to go out like Elijah" (Rich Mullins), with my boots on, not hanging on tight to the balance beam.

It is with this mindset that I started to think and pray about how to proceed. My current job allows me ample vacation time, once I build my vacation days bank back up (surgery was going to take me into the negative count), it seemed reasonable to visit two or so places a year to check them out. I didn't have plans as such, just toying with the idea of an orphanage in Africa that some friends had worked at previously, a boys orphanage/Christian camping center in the Caribbean I had come across during my seminary days, Lebanon has some interesting opportunities that my church partners with, going back to Brno, CZ seemed like the natural choice and then there was a vague memory of a ministry to dump children somewhere in South America that I could have learned more about if I had just gone to a spaghetti feed. Figuring out where to go, which ministries to consider, when to visit was something to do in the future. I just needed to focus on getting through surgery and healing, then worry about all of that stuff.

It wasn't much more than a month after I had started making all these mental resolutions that I got an email from the same friend as before, inviting me to a dessert informational time for the Wiggs family who were preparing to join the Micah Project long-term. As an added bonus one of the older guys from Micah would be there to share his story as well. I already had something on the calendar for that day and time. I hemmed and hawed, back and forth, and again, did not attend. But this time I had my mother pick up any material they were handing out. A few days later I picked up the Year End Report of the Micah Ministry from my mom and read through the whole thing. Then read it again. The ministry seemed pretty amazing, why had I been so reluctant to learn more about it before? I needed to learn more, so I started reading the newsletters and the blog with a greedy hunger for more information. My heart sunk as I read about three of the boys running away. Quickly scanning the next few blog entries to make sure they returned I was left without any news. I jotted an email to my friend, I had to know if they were still on the streets or safely back at the Micah house (they had come home). One day, plopped in front of my home computer, reading an archived newsletter, a voice spoke to me. Actually it was my own voice, but a phrase was uttered aloud before it ever crossed my mind, which never happens with my own thoughts, it had to be the Spirit who said, "This is worth giving your life to." Stunned, I seriously wondered if I was crazy. I couldn't argue though, Micah is worth giving my life to. Since that moment I have read every blog post, every past newsletter, rabidly follow their Facebook page, and, well, there is no other way to put this - stalk - the pages of the staff in hopes of learning what is going on in all of their lives, any morsel of news. And for the record, a couple weeks after the aforementioned informational dessert, there was another one that I did attend and was able to met the Wiggs. Somewhere along the way, it happened before I knew it had started, I became invested into the lives of the boys, developed a love for each one without having ever met them - except Oscar who I met around Christmas - and have settled that if this is truly where God is calling me - “Here am I! Send me.” (Isa. 6:8)
A bold claim, especially since I have yet to experience the ministry first-hand. I may be overzealous. I worry that I am misinterpreting what I see as "words" and "signs;" I'm scared of it being true, and of it not. I am looking forward to visiting Micah this summer and seeing where God leads from there.

Jon + Jennifer = Joniffer

For as much as I fought for Jon and I to have separate offices, I am really glad we are together. Now that we've rearranged the desks so that we aren't crammed into the room like sardines it's actually a very happy situation. Keeping us together has a direct negative impact on our productivity, thus the reason I wanted my own space. But being together, and the amusement it provides is about the only thing keeping me sane at the office these days. I'm getting very accustomed to spending nine hours a day with this dude which is evident by my slip while calling roll for our team meeting on Wednesday. Since the list of attendees goes alphabetically and Jennifer and Jon are both "J" names, guess which two names are in order. Yup, ours. Kristi has taken to calling us "Joniffer" and Wednesday so did I. I meant to say that Jon and Jennifer are online (the meeting was taking place over the phone) but instead, what came out was - "Joniffer is here." I started laughing, I could hear Kristi snickering, and despite my efforts I couldn't correct myself. I just moved on to the next name.

Spending as much time together as we do it's a good thing we get along. Thankfully we get along very well, too well. We sit and chat in the morning sharing our stories of what we did the night before. It's the reverse of a husband coming home and telling his wife about his day. I joke that he is my "occupational partner" - a phrase stolen from Mark & Dave on KEX. Jon usually has good stories to share about his evenings with his wife, I'm eager to meet her after hearing so much about her. I say we get along too well because if something good happened the night before it can be a good chunk of time before we actually get around to working. We have to get caught up and check-in with each other first. It's really amusing.

Sometimes we chat as we go through our email, our backs to one another. But yesterday I had turned around and was facing him. Something caught my eye over Jon's right shoulder. At first I thought it was a feather from his coat or a small hairball from one of his five dogs floating through the air. I asked him what it was and as he looked to see what I was talking about he suddenly jumped up and backed away from his desk. "It's a spider! Ahhh! A spider! I HATE spiders!!" I was in hysterics. I'm used to my mother reacting to spiders but even she doesn't freak out as much as Jon did, screeching like a little girl. Giggling I grabbed a tissue and scooped up the spider and squished it all up into a ball. Jon wasn't sure whether tossing it into the trash was sufficient, he was concerned the rest of the morning that it was going to crawl out. So amusing.

After we had calmed down from the spider incident we started to discuss an article that one of our teammates had sent out about the difference between cat people and dog people. (Cat people tend to be more reserved, and more open; dog people are more extroverted - nothing new) I was curious to get Jon's take since he and Melissa have 4 furry canines of varying breeds. He keeps telling me that I need to get a dog. And I agree. I would really enjoy having a dog. But I won't at this stage in my life, it's not fair to the dog, leaving it alone for the vast majority of the day. Even though I would label myself as a "dog person" Jon decided that unless I actually have a pet I can't claim to be either. If I'm neither a dog or cat person, that, according to Jon, makes me a serial killer - just like Dexter. He knows I hate Dexter.

Working with Jon, sharing an office, having an "occupational partner" has become a blessing. He keeps me laughing, which keeps me sane. Living alone, it's nice to share life with someone during the day. Having someone to share life with, it's interesting to discuss values, morals, beliefs and hear different views. Especially when it often breaks down into laughter. We are Joniffer.

Just call me 'Baby-face' Streger

Due to deadlines and major projects we didn't have our company holiday party until this past Thursday. For the last hour and a half of the work day we socialized at "Margaritaville." While it was amusing to watch my one co-worker who I'm pretty sure has a little crush on me follow me around the room but never quite have the guts to come talk to me, that wasn't the funniest event of the afternoon.

Earlier in the week I had been talking with Adam and it came up that I had been in Bodega Bay last spring. We had been talking about Hitchcock's "The Birds." (Hate that movie!)
Here's how our conversation roughly went-
Adam: Hey, I've been wanting to ask you, what took you to Bodega?

Jenn: I was visiting one of my very dear friends in Santa Rosa and we decided to go to the beach one day. She pointed out the church and I made her pull over so I could take pictures of the church.

Adam: Is your friend from there?

Jenn: Yeah, she grew up in the area.

Adam: I wonder if I'd know her. Probably not, you're in a different age group, a bit younger, I probably wouldn't know her. (mostly talking to himself)

Jenn: I think we're pretty close in age. She's a year older than me, but I think we're all around the same age.

Adam: I don't think so, do you mind me asking? How old are you?

Jenn: I'm 36.

Adam: (Taking a big step back, putting his hand over his mouth, eyes as big as saucers) Nooo! Really!?!? You don't look it at all! Really!?

Jenn: (Laughing very hard) Yup. I know. Now, how old are you?

Adam: 34...

It was hilarious. People are always surprised, but Adam's reaction was one of the more dramatic I've ever had. I don't look my age, that's for sure. Usually I'm told that I'm very lucky. And I agree. Although it's a blessing and a curse. Unlike most of my friends, I don't have to dye my hair to cover the gray. That's a definite plus. In the work environment I don't get credit for having the work experience or education that I do; I don't look old enough. That's a curse. It's a blessing, and a curse. And oh, so fun to watch people's reactions when they learn the truth. But sometimes I wonder if they're more shocked by how immature I am for my age. I am a kid at heart determined never to really grow up.

Hope Springs A Turtle

Hope. It's a four letter word. I was taught that four letter words are naughty. Okay, so not all four letter words are naughty - kind, love, care, life, and you would think hope should be one of the acceptable words. But hope is a four letter word that for me has been a naughty word, because hope has brought pain, another four letter word. I have hoped for certain jobs, for relationships, for plans to work out, for any innumerable different things. And mostly have been disappointed. It has taught me to be guarded, reluctant to hope, cautious, and frankly rather cynical. Lessons that most people would say are the hard knocks of life, but are really lessons from the father of lies. Yet God does not allow me to stay there. I was talking with a friend about how, despite being of a bit older age, and the string of broken hearts we've suffered, we still hope that one day we may meet our husbands. We continue to hope for love, for children, and family in the face of growing odds against us. Hope is an amazing phenomenon. Our hope is to be in the Lord. And if rightly placed it will not be disappointed. Our Lord does not disappoint. God instills hope in each of us, it is His call to rely on Him, to draw us forward, and deeper into relationship with Him. Hope helps us see the possibilities that God sees as realities. Because God is hope and our hope is in Him who reigns on high - our hope is eternal. "Hope springs eternal" to rattle off a cliche. For one young girl, she thought it meant it was a turtle named Hope. Maybe I should hope for a turtle.

"Sarah's Key"

Several nights this week I stayed up late, too late. Curled up in my bed, cozy and warmed by the electric mattress pad with the clock just out of sight behind the lamp base so that I didn't know how late I was really staying up and therefore lessen the guilt. I knew how painful the consequences would be in the morning, but I couldn't help myself. Yes, I was staying up late to read, again, this time it has been Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay. I had to know what happened to Sarah, I had to know her story - all of her story; like the other main character in the book, Julia.

Also, like Julia, as an American, I was completely ignorant of Vel' d'Hiv. I admit I have a weird kind of fascination with WW II, Hitler and Nazis, in the same way you can't help but watch a wreck. You know it's going to be horrible, but you can't turn away either. It's a curiousity I can only satisfy in small doses as anything more would make me completely sick. I wonder at myself, how I keep returning to that time and place in history. Part of my rationale is that I can't wrap my brain around something so massive and inexplicably horrible. Jon (my office mate) and I were talking this week, how does a man (Hitler) become so twisted and evil? How does he develop such radical ideas and then rise to power, gaining the support of an entire nation? And yet it is repeated over and over, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Papa Doc, Pol Pot... the list could go on, those are just the ones that easily come to mind. Neither one of us had an answer.

The book is written with two parallel stories, one starting in 1942, the other 2002, that weave in and out and together. Julia, the modern day character, feels almost like a pressure valve and an intermediary. To read only Sarah's story would have been too much, too overwhelming, too sickening, too sad and grieving. Yet it could be worse, much worse, De Rosnay takes a delicate hand with the descriptions. Julia allows us to take a breather, focus on something different for the few pages of her chapter, giving us a moment to recover before diving back into Sarah's heartache. The book transitions about half way through, we start learning Sarah's story through Julia. It is through her storyline in the book that all the pieces come together. While Julia becomes our informer on Sarah, the shared need to know Sarah's story puts us into the story as Julia. The story is gripping. Sarah's Key not only educates but helps remind us of what we'd rather forget, but what cannot be forgotten.

Fixing in the New Year

Today, I decided to put my kitchen back together after a two week frenzy of baking and cooking (aka - Christmas). It started out with turning on the self-cleaning cycle on the oven. I question the sanity of such a decision and the rightness of having such an option; for I am sure that heating up the oven to the equivalent of a warm night in Hades is not a safe procedure, despite the auto-lock on the oven door. The stench that it produced made my eyes water and my throat burn. I opened the windows, lifted the glass panel in the screen door, and turned on fans – all this on a chilly winter night – in a desperate attempt to expel the toxic air that has filled my home. While trying to watch a movie I sat on the floor in front of an open window so that I could get a few whiffs of fresh air. Surprisingly the smoke alarm never went off despite looking in the window at one point and seeing burning embers at the bottom of the oven.

After poisoning myself with the cleaning cycle I moved on to sorting out the under sink cabinet. Two weeks ago while preparing for a girls brunch at my house I managed to stop up the kitchen sink with potato peelings. After a few attempts at fixing it myself with no luck I called in the big man – dad. In a desperate phone call I asked if he could bring over the snake and fix the drain, pronto! Before the girls came over, if at all possible, please. He obliged, but wasn't sure whether or not that he had put the pipes all back together tight enough not to leak. So we moved my tower of storage baggies and kitchen papers to the garage and left the bucket under the sink instead. Tired of going to the garage to fetch a baggie, it was time to move them back under the sink since the bucket was still dry two weeks later. Everything had just been put back in place, I was closing the cabinet doors when the left door started to hang at an awkward angle and there was a distinctive clink and tink; that of a screw falling from its intended place and bouncing around. After five years in this home and struggling with this particular cabinet door, I was forced to finally deal with the problem. Kneeling down, I removed everything that I had just so nicely put back, laid down partially inside the cabinet, with a flashlight gripped between my teeth to figure out what needs to happen. A few attempts later, a self-education on hinges, and my cabinet door is working just fine now, better than it has in five years!

Next up was cleaning the inside of the microwave. My bean and rice taco thingy exploded and made a mess... almost two weeks ago. As I scrubbed to get off the baked on bits of pinto beans that are almost melted into the walls, I think this job would have been much easier if I had cleaned it when it happened, instead of letting it sit in there while I continued to use the microwave for the past couple weeks. It is all the fault of one bean, which exploded and shot rice everywhere. At the time I was thankful that I had let the plate sit in the oven after the timer went off so that the mess was contained. But now I'm thinking that if it had been on the counter, I would have been forced to clean up the mess at the moment and not now.

I start to philosophize in my head about why it isn't until something is broken and demands our attention, or when we finally get fed-up with something, that we get around to dealing with the issue, instead of addressing it when you notice the symptoms. But that is too heady for tonight. All my procrastinating by getting the kitchen back in order has only delayed the inevitable task that must be accomplished tonight – de-ornamenting the tree and un-weaving the lights so that it can be recycled tomorrow morning. Removing the Christmas décor is one of the saddest tasks for the entire year. The tree is the first thing to go. I would put it off for another week if it wasn't already prime tinder and if I didn't have a very healthy fear of Christmas trees spontaneously combusting.

Onward...

Christmas Reflections

Topol sings about "Traditions" while fighting a losing battle to keep them in "Fiddler on the Roof." My cousin Rebecca insists on keeping the menu the same every Thanksgiving, even the Stove Top Stuffing, because it's “tradition.” I found myself thinking a lot about traditions this past Christmas season,, and crying out for traditions to remain the same. I spent Christmas Eve baking, cleaning and pondering. In the morning I had read a Christmas message from some missionary friends, newly arrived on the field in Honduras. They are going through the initial phase of culture stress; feeling lost, inadequate, frustrated, and exhausted by the daily toll of it all. Moving from the Pacific Northwest to Central America is quite the change. Amongst all this change, is a remarkable gift and opportunity at this time of year. Christmas will not be the same, no fir trees to decorate (at least not real ones), no need for wool sweaters – t-shirt and shorts are fine, no push of consumerism in the same masterful way America does Christmas, a new house that isn't familiar enough just yet to be called home – Christmas was inevitably going to be different for this family. While it could be disappointing and emphasize all that this family has given up to serve in Honduras, it is also a gift. With all the traditions of Christmas for this family stripped away, or at least seriously mixed up, they have the chance to refocus on the real meaning and event of Christmas. The entrapments that divide our attention and dilute the holiness of this day have been minimized (not eliminated). Instead of a normal Christmas they have been given a time to reflect on what Christmas really means, and how they want to celebrate, what traditions to keep that have meaning, and an opportunity to create new traditions. That is a gift, a unique and wonderful opportunity. I am a little bit envious.

Like Topol, I felt like I was fighting a losing battle to keep traditions alive this year. I sounded like my cousin, lobbying to keep traditions. It was the first year that we purposely were not spending Christmas with the extended family. David and Kayle were spending the day with her family, Gary and Sue were going to Bend to spend the holiday with Rebecca, Rob and the kids. We chose to stay in town as Chris was flying in on Christmas Eve, and his girlfriend the afternoon of Christmas. Instead of the usual family gathering, we invited three other families to join us for Christmas dinner. For every other holiday that involves special meals, I've been an advocate for inviting lots of people. Christmas has not been one of them, it's time for family. But I was excited for this year. I didn't want it to be just the five of us and the Carlocks are like family and I wish I was part of the über-fun Childress family. With all the changes to Christmas this year, and despite my mother's best efforts to dissuade me, I insisted on keeping the tradition of aebelskiver for dinner on Christmas eve. In order to perpetuate the tradition one more year, I had to host dinner, which was fine by me. We went to the Christmas eve service afterwards at my parent's church, which was fine, but not satisfying. I stayed up late to keep my own tradition of watching midnight mass at St. Paul's Cathedral at the Vatican. Christmas morning I went over to my parents to join the rest of the family, exhausted and not feeling top notch. Chris sat in the red wingback chair watching me through the window struggling with a box filled with my gifts for the family. Apparently the lack of shoes, and the NBA, prevented him from helping me. We still do stockings, and this year we unpacked all the goodies, while watching a game. I don't even know what game, there were actually several that he would flip back and forth between. It was disappointing. This is CHRISTMAS! Can't we turn off the TV today, of all days? We moved to the living room to open presents, the only way to get Chris' attention off of NBA and with the present company. But the living room wasn't even cleaned up before he was parked in the red chair again, watching a game. I was mad. After doing all I could to help mom out before dinner started, I went for a walk. A time to walk out some frustration, enjoy the sun, see the blue sky, have the wind in my face, reflect, and hopefully wake up a little.

The friends started arriving around 3 pm. We had a pleasant dinner. I still am sitting at the “kids” table, even at age 36. The funny thing is, that I had one idea about how the day would go, and didn't consider that those who would be joining us for our un-traditional Christmas dinner, were also changing their traditions; and may have traditions that they didn't want to change. Such as going out after dinner. Shortly after dinner, Courtney, Joy and Luke left to go to the Blazer game. (Ack! What is up with basketball and Christmas??!!) Connor and Spencer decided to go down to the Childress' home to sleep or play video games. Which left me, with Jillian, a junior in high school, along with the older “parents.” Not what I had anticipated. Not how I had wanted to spend Christmas. It didn't feel like Christmas. It was pleasant enough, but subdued. It was just an odd year. Nothing much was the same, and without the familiar it didn't seem like Christmas. And I realized that even when you are still in the same physical place, Christmas can be all jumbled up and different, it doesn't take moving to a different country. And maybe the Wigg's are not the only ones given a gift to re-examine the meaning of Christmas. But if it is going to be different (I'm anticipating more changes next year), why not move? Maybe next year I'll celebrate Christmas in Honduras too!

The day after Christmas I logged on to Facebook and looked through all the pictures of Christmas, Honduran style. I wasn't envious any longer. I was out right jealous. 50+ people for dinner at the Micah Project house, now that's a celebration!

While I missed doing one of my own traditions, reading Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Christmas and Advent sermons, I did keep another tradition of mine, to buy a new Christmas CD every season. This year I bought three. The last one was from a band called “Downhere” and there is one particular song that cut through all of the noise of the season and reminded me of what we are celebrating. The song is “How Many Kings,”

follow the star to a place unexpected/ Would you believe, after all we've projected,/ A child in a manager?/ Lowly and small, the weakest of all/ Unlikeliest hero, wrapped in His mother's shawl/ Just a child/ Is this who we've waited for? 'Cause...//How many kings step down from their thrones?/ How many lords have abandoned their homes?/ How many greats have become the least for me?/ And how many gods have poured out their heart/ To romance a world that is torn all apart/ How many fathers gave up their sons for me? // Bringing our gifts for the newborn Savior/ All that we have, whether costly or meek/ Because we believe/ Gold for His honor, and frankincense for His pleasure/ And myrrh for the cross He will suffer/ Now, do you believe?/ Is this who we've waited for? // All for me, all for you/ All for me, all for you//

CSAs rule the world

Jon and I are stuck sharing an office the size of a broom closet. We've cajoled, kindly requested, conscripted others into our fight and flat out begged to have our own offices or to share a larger office. No success. Carol came by and was sympathizing with our plight and tried to help with suggestions for how to rearrange the desks so that we would feel less like sardines. One idea was to put the desks facing each other in the center of the room, but she had second thoughts when she realized it may be awkward to stare at each other all day long. Jon's response, "It's a good thing we are both so extremely attractive."

I haven't laughed that hard in awhile.

Lucky 13

With a very busy weekend, week 12 concludes and lucky number thirteen starts. It's Christmas week and, almost as exciting as the holiday, I can stop wearing my back brace! Woot! Woot! I haven't needed it for most of the day and only required while in the car to strap on the monstrosity. It is so awkward and uncomfortable, especially getting in and out of the car. Although it does hold me in well and flatten out my stomach, and my back muscles could relax while strapped in, it did have it's benefits. But I'm putting those aside for the comfort and freedom of being brace-less. Progress! A real big sign of progress. Despite such a monumental marker in my recovery, I was also reminded today that I am not completely healed. A friend of the family, a freshman in college, came over today and helped me with yard work, for pay of course. All the winter clean-up hadn't been done and with the cold snap a couple weeks ago, I lost several plants and my front porch was looking sad. Now it looks bare. I was busy baking in the kitchen while Jayme worked outside. As I took a break later in the day and sat down on the couch to chat with mom I looked out the window and noticed the nasty dead hanging basket - untouched. Opps! Guess I have a little work left for me.

This week I'll see my brother. The last time was the first weekend of October, the weekend I came home from the hospital after surgery, and he had to "babysit" me while mom went out for her birthday dinner. We watched "Wall-E" and I witnessed my brother being kind, considerate and thoughtful. Remarkable day. Eleven weeks later, perhaps there will be a Christmas miracle and he will give a repeat performance.

Christmas obsession?

I fully am aware of my tendency towards obsessive-compulsive behaviour and work at curbing it. When my family notices it, they are kind and tell me I'm being "Monk-ish" - it's much easier to be compared to a lovable TV character then to be told you're being a freak. There is one area where I do not inhibit my nature and that is in collecting Christmas music. I have an obsession with Christmas music. To prove my point let me give you a few stats from my ITunes Holiday playlist.

716 songs representing

64 albums

3.23 GB of space

1.7 days of play time

Yes, that is just Christmas music. There is one caveat - I've downloaded several single free songs from Amazon, so be assured that I do not actually own 64 albums.

Also, it isn't 716 different songs. Here are the most popular:

Silent Night - 23 renditions

The Christmas Song - 16

Let it Snow - 14

Joy to the World - 13

White Christmas - 13

and most surprising to me, there are 4 different renditions of Blue Christmas - whodda thunk?

Do I have favorites? Each year, I get stuck on a new album. Last year it was Jars of Clay's "Christmas Songs" and this year, I discovered the group Straight No Chaser and am loving their "Christmas Cheers"

At least that is what it is at the moment. Today I did throw in one more CD with my order of some Christmas present for family. One day I will have to stop, but that wasn't going to be today. Should I have openly admitted all of this? Probably not. And I'm aware of that too. But I just couldn't help myself, kinda like my collecting. :)

And so starts week 12

Somewhere in the last two weeks I finally turned a corner. I started to feel "normal" while still not being quite normal, yet. The muscle spasms have mostly subsided. Every once in awhile when sneezing or while doing my exercises or stumbling into the laundry hamper in the middle of the night the back muscles decide to freak out a little, but nothing like a few weeks ago where I was reduced to tears. I'm able to wiggle and squirm, twist and bend - it's marvelous. I still can't consistently lean over the bathroom sink to wash my face (usually in the morning); and I still need to brace myself with one arm to deal with the oven or dishwasher, but I'm improving.

Last week one of my remote co-workers was in the office to train new peeps. He was giving me a hard time that I hadn't baked anything for him during his visit and generally giving me grief - there is a reason his nickname is Mr. C-P, short for Cranky Pants. But you can't hold it against him as he resembles the lovable Fozzie bear. Anyways, he starts acting silly, teasingly acting out putting something in the oven all wobbly and twisted, while commenting snidely, "What?! Can't you use the oven?" In between my laughter I mention that is pretty much exactly what I look like trying to get something in or out of the oven, and the dishwasher too. Mr. C-P then sheepishly said, "oh." But quickly chimed in with, "Get wall ovens then!" It was all very amusing, but it also proves a point - I'm looking "normal" again, but I'm not quite there yet. And that can be challenging when people expect me to be charging ahead at full steam.

After 11 weeks of recuperating, I'm taking one big leap into "normal" life - I go back to work full time. I've been working 6 hour days and last week all but one was in the office. But to go back to 8 hour days (9 including a lunch break) all at the office seems a bit daunting. My sleep schedule is still off. I go to bed to late and can't get up early. That is going to have to change. I expect I'll be wiped out when I get home in the evening. I would try to cheer myself on with "Rah! Rah! Make it to the weekend and you can rest!" But the coming weekend is busy. Friday night is the HOTEL Christmas party which I'm very much looking forward to, I haven't seen my guys since August. Saturday is my Bible study Christmas brunch - at my house. Sunday evening is my book club holiday party (yes, holiday - as several in the group are Jewish, it's a Chrismukah or Hannumas party). So much for resting after a full week. I'll be looking forward to Christmas break just so that I can sleep.

Week 12 starts with some big new goals: get to work on time, stay awake all day, get my work done. The challenge isn't only physical, but social. Even though I have been working shorter days, I've been more productive working at home. Less social interaction, less distraction, more diligence, more concentration - telecommuting works well for me. Well, tomorrow it's back to the grind...