Muddled Musings

something beautiful.

2010-09-01T17:16:00.000-07:00

Tonight I am eating a sacred meal. Most of the ingredients come from the gardens of two men that I've known for years. One of these men gave me his very first tomato of the season-- the crowning glory of any gardener. He's been eyeing it for weeks, updating me on the status of this first fruit. The other man literally depends on his garden for survival; yet, he's shared more vegetables than I can eat this week. If it weren't for them, I would probably be eating Kraft Dinner tonight. I am honestly overwhelmed by these gifts.

Ironically, both of these men have had several bouts of homelessness. We usually think of giving food to the homeless, not of receiving food from them. I think I've just tasted something beautiful.

africa in my blood.

2008-08-01T17:46:00.000-07:00

I(along with Kara K)am back from South Africa and Swaziland-- physically. But there is something inexplicable about that corner of the world that's made me crazy in love with it and I can't quite leave it behind. I've heard so many people say that Africa gets in their blood...they weren't kidding. It's not the awe of being 3 meters away from a pride of lions eating a wildebeast. It wasn't the curious taste of chicken feet (don't eat the toe nails), crocodile stew, ostrich pie, giraffe sausage and worm (surprisingly tasted like salted licorice). I think it's the people.

My complicated love affair with these people began at a church in the Daveytown Township (just outside of Johannesberg). Some serious soul-singing. Some serious depth. Maybe it's the music that first tugged at my heart-- layers of heartfelt harmonies, rythms and dance. And the mealand conversation afterwards, lovingly prepared for our group of 10 Canadian women (despite never having met us) confirmed that I was definitely infatuated.

Their pastor, Pastor Eric, was a role model to me this trip. I would be missing a big piece of our experience if I didn't talk about him. He joined us during the duration of our trip, leaving his wife and 2 young sons behind. He acted as our pastor (and it seems he is the pastor to everybody in South Africa and Swaziland-- he is known and respected by what seems to me to be the entire population!!!), our interpreter (I'm pretty sure that he sometimes had to re-invent what we said to make it culturally appropriate. We Canadians are kinda crazy, I think), our comic relief and our cultural navigator. He has a heart for bringing life-giving gospel to everyone around him.

We headed to Swaziland, dissuaded the border crossing guards from making us give them bribery money, and practiced our isiswati greeting: Saobona! WE met a remarkable woman, Halisile. In a country where women are not allowed to own property, she had a vision from God of starting a low-cost preschool (children in Swaziland cannot go to elementary school without going to preschool. And they can't go to pre-school if they can't afford school fees-- which means at age 4, many children already have been denied any hope for an education and little hope for a viable future). Her father, the elder of the village of 2000 people, Phonjawe, caught her vision and gave her land. From there, Halisile had a tiny school room built-- 3 meters by 3 meters-- and 40 little students. The name of her school: Big Things Begin Small.

I feel it's important to note that many of her students have HIV/AIDS (15% of the child population, according to stats). That means that many of her students won't ever grow up to be adults. I think one of my most meaningful, painful interactions over the past 2 weeks was an afternoon spent holding a tiny, lethargic 6-year-old (I thought she was 3), who went from playing Ring Around the Rosie with me enthusiastically earlier in the week, to barely being able to lift her head. The reality is that she has in her blood an inevitable death sentence. Despite this reality, Halisile finds it crucially important to educate. Because she truly believes that God wills it. (I wish I had faith like that).

Now that Halisile's plans to establish a pre-school are well underway, she has been making plans to use her schoolyard as a place for adult eduation courses, for Pastors to get theological training, a feeding centre (Swaziland has had drought and famine for a long time now) and to start a sewing co-op. Somehow (and I'm not sure how) she was connected with our organization-- Missionary Ventures. The South African MV director, Coralie (who also joined us and was also a crucial part of this experience), is a gentle force to be reckoned with and has been able to support Halisile in fullfilling her vision. To support and jump-start her vision, our MV team brought 5 hand-cranked, motor-less sewing machines (there's no electricity) and two of our Canadian women taught basic sewing skills to 15 Swazi women. Eventually, these Swazi women will be able to sell their hand-made crafts and earn an income. This "Threads of Hope" co-op is incredibly important in a place where finding a job is near impossible, where women are often dependant on unfaithful husbands to provide, and where women have not necessarily been given the opportunity to learn a skill.

Our presence in this little community did not go unnoticed. Some of us had a chance to visit the Under Chief (the Chief was summoned by the King and could not meet with us). Our organization-- Missionary Ventures-- will most likely be given a plot of land to continue community development. To show his appreciation, the Under Chief gave us a live chicken.

I had the fun priviledge of discussing HIV/Aids with these warm women. How the heck is HIV/AIDS a fun topic???? Games. These women sure know how to play. Through games like "Button, Button, Who's Got the Button", I was able to talk openly about how the virus works, the injust social stigmas we find ourselves stuck in, and joined them as they taught each other facts and fiction about HIV/AIDS. I was able to engage in a few conversations with women living positively because of these games, and I praise God for those times.

My mom might be cursing God for those times. One woman, Priscilla, with whom I spoke, works for World Vision, right beside the school. She and I discussed the HIV/Aids crisis in-depth and I'm very nearly convinced to return to Swaziland to start a clinic. During the week, I had learned that the nearest place to get antiretroviral medication (which although does not cure AIDS, can extend your life for a very, very long time) is Manzini-- a city which costs 20 Rand ($8) to get there and back. Although the meds are free (a very recent and very hopeful improvement in a place where 43% of the population is infected and the average life expectancy is 33 years)-- many people can't afford the transportation costs to go to the city once a month to get their meds. I was frustrated by this barrier. It seems so easy to set up a small clinic to dispense meds. Anyways, it seems that Priscilla is of the same opinion of myself: easier access for people living with HIV/AIDS. And not only meds, but counselling (people won't be likely to take meds if they are unwilling to accept that they have the virus or if they believe myths such as having sex with a virgin will cure it). And not only counselling, but a feeding centre (it's useless to take this medication on an empty stomach). She asked if I would come back and support the community to start a clinic. Although I made no promises to her, I must admit-- I'm extremely tempted. And that was my mom's fear: that I would want to go back.

I've already started weighing the pros-and-cons. Established relationships in the community- cheque. Have land- cheque (almost- I think Missionary Ventures has something like this on their radar in the future). Have some experience in counselling- cheque. Today, I sat with my friend Ashley in a coffee shop outlining a vision of how we could help make this clinic happen. It's exciting to realize that this clinic could be a real possibility. Our current goal is to simply continue establishing the connections made in Phonjawe and discern how committed we would actually be to this venture. I guess my fear is that it's a pipe dream, and if it's not a pipe-dream that I will eventually lose my current motivation. But I guess that's where Trust and Prayer come in. Time will tell.

Uh oh. This post keeps getting longer and longer and longer. Sorry-- I process through writing. And this trip has certainly given me a lot to process. I haven't even touched on the miles and miles and miles of government-subsidized shacks I saw Daveytown (our Torontonian Rooming Houses almost seem livable in comparison; although, to their credit, their new subsidized housing, in my tentative, humble opinion, might be better than ours-- a small house on a plot of land).

Nor have I talked about the biggest lesson that I learned-- the resiliant hope and trust in God that the people I met (both in Africa and on my team) hold. These people must genuinely, literally must pray "give us this day our daily bread"...I have a lot to learn.

returning from a blogging sabbatical...

2008-06-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

My happiest update is my garden!!! I've been spending all my evenings trying to tame the overgrowth of a garden gone wild. And I'm finally seeing plants peek out of the ground. Anyways, I'm no Wendell Berry, and so I can't express how much I love taking care of my garden quite so eloquently...but there is something so fulfilling about stepping into my backyard to pick some spinach for supper.

Life has actually been a time of settling down instead of moving around. Weird. Sara and I moved to a house in April. It was Move#4 for me this year. And it looks like I'm staying put for a bit. I just recently deferred grad school and am continuing to work at the men's shelter. I'm learning (albeit...slowly...)what rooting oneself in community is like, instead of just dreaming about it while I pack my suitcase and move nomadically from adventure to adventure.

And I think I'll stop with my Male Stranger Encounter updates. In part, because it's become a daily reality at the shelter. And in part because I don't feel comfortable making a joke out of a social situation that is more usually complex than I have been recognizing. Last week, I restricted a 70 year-old man for slapping me on the ass. He got restricted a week before from another shelter for the same thing. He has a degenerative brain disease from alcoholism coupled with a sex addiction that fuels an environment for dumb choices to be make. And probably a really complex past to have lured him into those addictions. And while it's not acceptable to slap a young girl 's butt, I feel it's equally unacceptable to make a joke out of a really broken life.

(Although I do have one last thing to say about that story: the word got out on the street to the rest of the homeless population that I doled out a maximum restriction for that incident. Another 70-year-old man in the park came up to me and said, "We've all heard what happened! What he did was absolutely not acceptable behaviour. I mean, we were all thinking about wanting to do that, but we never actually did."

Aargh. Thanks. Thanks for only thinking about it. Ideally, that sort of thing should not have even crossed your mind...)

Well, I guess that's a little portrait of my every day life. Cheers!

guilty.

2008-06-14T19:38:00.001-07:00

I am feeling very guilty for ditching the blog world for so long. If I had an excuse, it wouldn't be so bad. But I don't. I'll try updating tomorrow. For now, it's late. Good night, sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite, everyone! (this takes on a whole new meaning, working at a shelter..........)

another subway man.

2008-02-23T13:51:00.000-08:00

Last week, a man who was under the influence came up to me and commented on my female anatomy. I told firmly told him that was inappropriate and walked away. (At which point, he told me to f-off). Oh well.

The next day, I saw a strangely vacant seat on the subway and sat down. I realized why the seat was vacant when a severely sickening stench wafted my way. The man next to me had awful breath (the smell of rotting that comes from too many years of drug use) and had begun breathing quicker and quicker while giving me The Stare. My gut told me: you don't know this guy's story, his mental health issues, if he currently has drugs in his system, etc... get off the subway and take the next train. So I did.

Meeting men in public who aren't conforming to societal norms (ie. stalkers, stare-ers and gawkers) feels somewhat commonplace these days, given that I'm a female working at a male shelter...and I think I am finally learning how to set boundaries, confront and walk away!!

this one's for you, Dane...

2008-01-07T17:04:00.000-08:00

(Note: I promised Dane that I would write a blog entry in exchange for him posting pictures on his blog of our trip--since I ended up taking pictures from a camera with no film inside for half of the week. Yes, that was brilliant, Ann Renee.)

My week in one word? Hezellig. (can someone tell me how to spell that???) It's that warm, contented feeling you get when you are with people you love being with. Sitting down for a really good cup of coffee and conversation. Or a glass of wine and talking until late into the evening, losing concept of time. That's hezellig. And the Netherlands is a really good place to have hezellig times. I'm pretty sure most of my time was spent with coffee or wine in hand.

It helps that Amanda, our dear dutch latino bride, pretty much embodies the word hezellig. She went faithfully to the airport every time someone got off their plane. I'm pretty sure that she spent most of her time living at the airport for the 2 days before her wedding. I'm still not quite sure how she got all the last-minute details of the wedding done.

Highlights of the trip...
...watching Matt K lug a million-pound keyboard around the Netherlands.
...a lingerie party with Amanda's grandmas!
...sitting around drinking wine with Dordt peeps until 3 am.
...seeing my 2nd cousins...and 3rd cousins...and 4th cousins...no, seriously. It's so wonderful to be with family, even if you don't speak the same language.
...crazy quick shopping spree with Dane to find on-sale European stuff, in hopes that we'll come home looking fashionable, or something like that.
...convincing Carmela to move to Toronto (note this well, Carmela!)
...having a real dutch Heineken, which is better than the imported stuff
...driving over the border from the Netherlands to Germany (there is barely a border, because it's all the EU)
...Amanda and Luuk saying "I do" after a really, really long engagement (too bad my camera was broken, because I had the perfect picture taken of this moment)
...playing with firecrackers in the sreets at New Years
...Having Amanda and Luuk around when someone committed suicide in front of a train, preventing us from getting to the airport, and having them barter a taxicab driver down from 70 euros (140 bucks) to 40 euros so that we could get to the airport.
...making it to the airport 2 minutes before gates closed. And then making it through the security 3 times with knives and liquids in my carry on. (No, I wasn't planning to do anything with those materials)

The Non-Highlight of my trip...
...playing Risk with a minister (Amanda's dad) and a politician (Luuk): I ended up having to make a moral decision of having to break a treaty with a minister or play dirty with a politician. This is definitely a high-level stress game for peace-loving hippies like myself.

Oh, good times in the Motherland.

2007-11-18T18:49:00.000-08:00

HA! I am not proud of the following rating...

Cash Advance Loans

Sex and the Streets.

2007-11-18T11:49:00.000-08:00

Africa

An African woman’s husband strips her. Strips her of her right to live by tearing off her clothes. He is HIV positive. And condoms just don’t make sex as pleasurable. So fuck you, Bitch, it’s sex or the streets.

Sex or the streets? She stands at the door, staring at the streets. The shadow of her naked body stretches outside. She wants to step through the doorway and join her shadow. To free herself from these 4 walls that renders her a sex slave, not a spouse.

But she won’t find freedom on the streets. The streets are synonymous with sex, sickness and starvation. Not unlike her own home. So she stays.

Fuck you, Bitch.

Toronto

A Torontonian woman’s pimp hands her some hooker boots. He is hiding the searing burns that he gave her as he whipped her legs with a copper clothes hanger that he heated in the oven. He needs crack cocaine. And she didn’t bring home 2 000$ last night. So fuck you, Bitch, it’s sex on the streets.

Sex or a beating? She stands on the corner. She could forego the condom, raise her selling price, and save herself a beating-- for tonight. It’s true that she might contract HIV. But what the hell. Life is hell anyways.

She can’t walk away from her corner. Fear keeps her there. Fear of the next beating, of not making enough money, of being found if she hides. So she stays.

Fuck you, Bitch.

...why?

I’ve been really haunted by these two stories this week. I went to an AIDs fundraiser, where I heard the first woman’s story. I did outreach for the sex-trade workers in Toronto, where I assumed the second woman’s story. It doesn’t matter that one woman is from Africa and one is from Toronto. It’s pretty much the same story, different setting: the lack of voice, the lack of freedom, the exploited vulnerability. And it makes me so angry and hurt.

sands of time.

2007-11-01T20:17:00.000-07:00

Today I was mistaken for a 19 year-old and a 33 year old in the span of an hour. The end.

strange encounters.

2007-10-12T12:06:00.001-07:00

I don't understand how life happens to me. I bumped into a man (literally), while walking up an escalator. He said, "Pardon" with a french accent. I responded, "Je m'excuse" automatically. French connection (literally). As a result, I ended up meeting a reporter for CBC (Canada's npr). Turns out I may have a radio interview one of these days about homelessness.

too much tea.

2007-09-20T20:15:00.000-07:00

Caffeine creates racing thoughts; so, since I can't sleep, I am blogging. I guess I could update people on my life. Besides drinking hemp milk, I've also started working at a men's homeless hostel in Toronto. I love the street community here, so I'm feeling privileged to get to work alongside these men. Basically, I'm supporting them as they make goals-- whether that be getting lost ID or finding a job.
I'm not going to lie: It's a little intimidating. Some of these guys know "The System" a lot better than I do, seeing as how they've been in it for years. Some of these guys are new to "The System", and, since I am also still learning the legalities and laws of "The System", we're in the same boat, which is rather unhelpful, since I am here to assist them in figuring it out.
On the other hand, maybe it's a good thing that I'm a virgin in "The System." I can see the people as people-- and not as cases, which is one of the main missions of the Gateway (the organization I'm with). And dignity, or affirmation of their worth simply because they are made in the Image of God, is one of the most basic human needs, I think.
Good-night, all...

oh, organic.

2007-09-05T10:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes buying organic isn't worthwhile. Sara and I tried hemp milk yesterday. It would've been cheaper to eat grass and would've tasted better.

wall workouts.

2007-09-02T22:09:00.000-07:00

Today is Day#1 of Sara's and my attempt to work-out. So far we've done 20 wall push-ups. Soon, we'll be able to open pickle jars. Maybe.

Today we also experienced a miracle. Somehow our internet started working-- wirelessly-- compliments of two non-techie women (specifically, us) who did virtually nothing.

summer days...

2007-08-11T14:45:00.000-07:00

It is 3 months to the day since I've last logged on. Sorry, Sara! (And of all people...you even lived 5 blocks away from me all summer :) )

I've been living out of a suitcase in a Salvation Army Church in Toronto, directing a mission site for 70 teenagers weekly. I've been living simply: 1 shower/week, a suitcase and minimal sleep on an air mattress. And I still feel like I have so much. Talking with a homeless friend who camps outside of a street church has taught me that an air mattress is much comfier than concrete. I have guilt for my ungrateful complaining that I am enduring Taco Tuesday for the 30th time in a row-- because at least I have food; that I have no place to call my own-- but I can lock my door without the worry of rape; that I haven't showered in 7 days-- but I can wear semi-clean clothes. I am living a comparatively luxurious life.

There was one major low to my summer: My first trip of the summer to Sam's Club (the oversized Wal-Mart). As I walked in the doors, the greeter cried, "Ann! It's good to see you again!"...and then a manager looked up, with recognition, saying "Ann! What have you been up to!" And another...and another. My question is this: HOW IN THE WORLD HAVE I BECOME A MUCH-LOVED CUSTOMER OF WAL-MART? I hate that corporation!! I suppose it's because my job forces me to shop at Sam's Club for 1 000$ worth of food on a weekly basis...but still. I felt like I was a hypocrite, preaching an Anti-WalMart Utopia, but I've obviously shaken hands with the devil.

For those of you who thought I died, I am alive and well. I am now moving to Toronto semi-permanently, transferring my bohemian life into Sara G.'s basement appartment. We even have basil plants to make a pesto dinner if ever anyone feels like visiting!

minneapolis.

2007-05-11T14:37:00.000-07:00

I found this picture of Chris Wyenberg that someone decorated and sent to me a few years ago. Enjoy :)

If I were American, I would be Minnesotan. But I'm not, so I'll settle for having wonderful friends who live there. Last week I took a ''business trip'', which is a fancy way of saying that I got to see many of my favourite people for free (Laura D, Brian D, Hannah Curly, The Kunnaris...thanks for a sweet weekend!).

It was wonderful to be surrounded by people again. Let me tell you about the week preceding my trip to Minneapolis:

My apartment was empty. The only things left were a dying flower, a futon and a kettle. Quebec was empty too, since most of my friends had left the province and those who stayed were in exam-mode. Quite simply, I was bored. And I realized that it is not a place that makes living somewhere worthwhile-- it's the people. My walls echoed from me (appropriately) singing ''Life for Rent'' to myself, instead of the laughter of friends.

Imagine that! A year of Bohemian Adventure in the province I've always dreamed of returning to...and my love for Québec has little to do with my balconey where I can watch the sunset, the boardwalk along the Saint-Laurent, the old European architecture... my love for Québec is mostly because of the friendships I found.

No Breakthrough...

2007-04-27T10:59:00.000-07:00

In my last blog, written earlier today, I talked about how I had a breakthrough in avoiding awkward pick-ups. Ironically, without leaving my appartment, I learned that I didn't learn at all.
I had a telephone call to sublet my appartement. Very normal. The guy asked if I was from France-- a wonderful compliment, but still normal, as I am obviously not from Quebec. End of conversation. Then, I checked my email, in which he had written that my accent was so sweet that he wanted to go out for coffee with me. Oh dear. I just found it ironic that I had thought I had successfully "Citified" myself, only to fail shortly thereafter. I guess I haven't learned after all.

Breakthrough...

2007-04-27T06:09:00.000-07:00

I just thought I would let everyone know that I have finally learned the City Stare-- the blank look that refuses to smile at strangers and looks right past them. Yesterday, two drunk guys boarded the bus. Despite the bus being very empty and having many different seats to choose from, these guys decided to try and pick me up, sitting in the two chairs directly facing me.

I was so angry. The audacity!

So I continued staring out the window, looking at my reflection and secretly admiring the newly acquired bitchy look that I am finally capable of portraying. And the drunk guys didn't dare say a word.

my home.

2007-04-16T16:41:00.000-07:00

Just in case anyone is interested in seeing where I've been living for the past 8 months, "Bienvenue chez moi."

2007-04-16T16:35:00.000-07:00

snow.

2007-04-16T16:27:00.000-07:00

OK. It is April 16. And I walked to school with ice pellets and snow whipping my face. Right now, my window is rattling, threatening to cave under the wind's pressure. This is a cruel and injust world, when I hear of everybody who got sunburns today. Hurrah for the Great White North. No, actually, this is not one of it's prouder moments.

On another note, has anyone ever gone rock climbing? Well. Let me tell you: my poor arms. I know that the most basic rule of rock climbing is that all the work should come from the legs. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done. And I am paying for it.

This week is exam week. I generally enjoy exam weeks, because they tend to be easier than the other weeks. Maybe I'm odd. I don't know.

Otherwise, no news to report. I will try to update more frequently. Maybe.

Aaah...I'm going to finish writing this and get away from my window. I really am worried about the force of that wind!

2007-03-30T20:34:00.000-07:00

I got stuck in an elevator yesterday. It gave me a chance to meet a nice french guy named Dominique. Last time I met a nice French guy named Dominique, I dated him. But I didn't do that this time. 20 minutes later, once we were rescued, the Elevator Dominique gave me a wink and we parted ways. The end.

Knock on wood.

2007-03-27T14:18:00.000-07:00

In my last blog, I mentioned that strange people don't usually come to my door. I lied. I was expecting a friend at 1h00 Friday night. Yes, that seems like an odd time to welcome a friend; but anyways, when the doorbell rang, that's who I was expecting. Much to my surprise, it wasn't him. It was a drug dealer. Note to self: never open the door without checking the peephole. And I do hope my mom doesn't read this blog.

This weekend I hosted a party. But not just any party-- a dessert potluck. I think sickness that follows such an event of too much chocolate and sugar is probably worse than a hangover. I vomited afterwards and still feel sick 3 days later. Yuck.

Has anyone taken statistics? If so, do you think it is possible to follow 2 3-credit courses in the span of 8 weeks or less? I'm about to try. Somebody stop me if I'm setting myself up for self-destruction. It's my only chance at getting accepted to grad school for September....

PS. Did anyone know that Arcade Fire is Christian/Catholic? I discovered that one of them graduated from some theological seminary in Texas and that one of their goals is to get the Quebecois thinking about spirituality again, after having rejected the Church, in their new CD Neon Bible.

no people to report.

2007-02-27T15:55:00.000-08:00

I have no people to report on this week. Thank Heavens. It might have something to do with staying home and reading Dostoevsky's Brothers Karmakov. If I don't leave, the strangers are usually pretty good about not coming to my door.

Anyways...trying to think of something interesting...trying...trying...
I learned how to salsa. Just a little.
I learned that bomb threats mean cancelled classes.
I learned that I shouldn't forget about tomatoes or they grow fungus in my cupboard.
I learned that my computer battery broke. This equals no computer.
I learned that I can hear my upstairs apartment folks go to the bathroom. This makes seeing them very awkward, since I've never talked to them before. I just know their bathroom ritual.

And other than all the studying about grammar and phonetics that I've been doing for my exams, I think that's pretty much everything I've learned in a nutshell.

happy valentine's day.

2007-02-15T18:43:00.000-08:00

A nice man on the bus invited me to join him and his alleged girlfriend for their Valentine's Day dinner. I declined his offer and instead ate a chocolate cake and half a tub of ice cream with my room mate. I never want to meet another stranger again as long as I live. They are everywhere.

oh, life.

2007-02-03T10:01:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been awhile since I've reported the interesting people who have come into my life. So a quick recap: (1) an elderly European gentleman who almost beat me up with his cane and (2) a man who preached to me about girls, guys and astrology on the bus (which would have been funny, if he didn't follow me around Quebec and grab my shoulders so that I would listen to him).

Anyways, other than that and having my credit card number stolen so some lucky person could take a trip to the United Kingdom (aargh! If I don't have enough money to go, why should I give my money to a complete stranger?????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I want to swear. A lot.), life is pretty good. And a special thanks goes out to Amanda, Sara and Brian for helping me keep my sanity this week.

End of rant.

addenendum.

2007-01-29T14:13:00.000-08:00

PS. No. I do NOT have frostbite. I just almost had frostbite. Sorry for the confusion.

it's cold.

2007-01-27T15:03:00.000-08:00

Today, I fulfilled a childhood dream. I saw Bonhomme. Bonhomme is a Quebecois snowman, the mascot of the winter carnival. When I was 5 years old, I went to the Carnaval with high hopes of seeing Bonhomme. But then I didn't see him. My dad said he was sleeping. But, 17 years later.....youppi! I can die happy, albeit with frostbitten toes (I walked around in the freezing -20 (plus windchill...) weather for the entire day).

cigars and a cemetary

2007-01-20T11:32:00.000-08:00

I smoked a cigar in a cemetary on a snowy evening last night.

After that, I had a get-together with 4 strangers and 2 friends at 1 AM: one Buddhist, one Muslim and 4 Christians. With my dad's homemade brew in our systems, the conversation quickly turned into a heated discussion of religion. Then, this morning, Jehovah Witnesses came over. I also sat with the only Messianic Jew in Quebec at a restaurant this morning. All in the span of 5 hours. I'm just waiting for a Mormon to walk over my threshhold.

Could someone please tell me why I shouldn't be a universalist? There are people out there who are just as passionate (sometimes even more so, although that could be the effects of the wine) about their faith and their god. And I can't bring myself to undermine their intelligence either and say that they are stupid for believing what they believe. What makes us right and them wrong?

sorry.

2007-01-17T18:04:00.000-08:00

I HATE THIS STUPID NEW BLOGGER. IT WON'T LET ME POST ON ANYBODY'S BLOG (at least, not without a 10-minute long rigamorole). DON'T SIGN UP. STICK WITH THE OLD, EVERYBODY. And I'm sorry if you are not getting comments from me. I've been dealing with my new blog.

tobogganing

2007-01-16T18:23:00.000-08:00

Hurray for snow and steep hills! Despite a near-frostbite experience and a nasty cold, I rather enjoyed it when our toboggan became air-borne. And to top the afternoon off, we (my semi-permanent room mate and a class mate) drank fair-trade hot chocolate.

simon.

2007-01-15T16:42:00.000-08:00

My semi-permanent room mate, Marie-Claire and I were on the bus. A guy in a bowler cap and big, black, thick-rimmed glasses. His name is Simon. Simon likes to travel. As it is a bad habit that I have in regards to strangers, we went out for coffee with him. Basically, he lives in Quebec only when he runs out of money and needs to make some more to travel again. Fascinating. Why can't I be that free-spirited? Why do I stress about getting into grad school? I should just travel. Why have I gotten myself into stupid student loans that prevent me from putting a backpack on and waving good bye to this continent?

Uh oh. It's kicked in again-- that nomadic spirit that follows me around. It's been lying dormant for several months now, as I soak in this (still) agreeable Quebecoise culture.

grace and joy.

2006-12-24T11:50:00.001-08:00

Merry Christmas, everyone! And the title has nothing to do with Christmas Greetings, really. I met Grace last week. She's about my age with a huge smile, a vivacious laugh and a vibrant personality. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Joy is her daughter-- a three-year old who loves running around touching people's hair and giving compliments. Joy also loves music, and can plink out an 'artistic' rendition Jingle Bells on the piano. Grace told me about all the plans she has for Joy--swimming lessons, gymnastic lessons, piano lessons. Grace would do anything to protect her little Joy from the kind of life she's got. Grace is a prostitute and a great mom.

I was at the Marriott hotel last week, helping to host a party for the street girls of Toronto. The biggest thing that surprised me was how human they were. Laughing, singing Christmas carols with their kids, handing out Christmas cards and gifts.

And one rant against Wal-Mart. I met another wonderful woman at the party too. She works at Wal-Mart, but Wal-Mart won't give her enough shifts nor does it pay enough. Instead of going on welfare (which would probably give her more money, but seems more degrading for her), she has to work the corner the last week of every month in order to pay the bills. That makes me angry.

grace and joy.

2006-12-24T11:50:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, everyone! And the title has nothing to do with Christmas Greetings, really. I met Grace last week. She's about my age with a huge smile, a vivacious laugh and a vibrant personality. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Joy is her daughter-- a three-year old who loves running around touching people's hair and giving compliments. Joy also loves music, and can plink out an 'artistic' rendition Jingle Bells on the piano. Grace told me about all the plans she has for Joy--swimming lessons, gymnastic lessons, piano lessons. Grace would do anything to protect her little Joy from the kind of life she's got. Grace is a prostitute.

I was at the Marriott hotel last week, helping to host a party for the street girls of Toronto. The biggest thing that surprised me was how human they were. Laughing, singing Christmas carols with their kids, handing out Christmas cards and gifts.

And one rant against Wal-Mart. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Wal-Mart? It offers cheap prices for the poor by exploiting the poor. I met another wonderful woman at the party too. She works at Wal-Mart, but Wal-Mart won't give her enough shifts nor does it pay enough. Instead of going on welfare (which would probably give her more money, but seems more degrading for her), she has to work the corner the last week of every month in order to pay the bills. That makes me angry.

this is where I live.

2006-12-13T17:09:00.000-08:00

My room mate and I were on a mission: to find the coolest view in Quebec.

My bum was not the coolest view.

Neither was the wall I was looking over.

Mission Impossible: to sneak into the elevator

of a hotel that costs $2500/night and find the secret floor.

Aha. The view was found.

Actually, pictures don't really do justice. At all.

In fact, this picture here, "c'est plat" (It's boring).

You should come visit me instead.

i still don't have any paper.

2006-12-13T16:53:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to buy paper. There's this ecological shop, Ecologik, that I've been meaning to check out, in hopes that it sold some hemp paper. It didn't. By "eco" they were referring to plants. And by plants, I think they were referring to marijuana. If anyone is interested, I've a 5% discount (personally created for me by the shop owner) on your choice of bongs or hookahs.

And then I found half of a cathedral. I don't know where the other half went. But it definitely wasn't there. Maybe I was high.

And then I found a Middle Eastern shop. It smelled like Ecologik. I met a man in black and he had a long beard. Not only did he look mysterious, but he also acted mysterious. When I asked him where he was from, he said, "Not Thailand." Great. That narrowed down my choices to 192 other countries. Eventually I learned that his parents smuggled him from Lebanon to Quebc when he was 3 years old. Since then, he's been travelling wherevever the wind blows him. He's "only visited 20 or 30 countries." His next plan is to live by the sea in Brasil.

And then I went to a coffee shop. At the coffee shop, a strange thing happened: instead of me being the people-watcher, I was people-watched. A man sipped his coffee and watched me read my newspaper. I know because I could see his reflection in the mirror. And when he left, he said, "Bonjour."

he wore two hats.

2006-12-06T17:31:00.000-08:00

There was this man on the bus today. He wore two hats. One was a blue khaki bandana. The other looked like he skinned his neighbour's cat. His plaid coat was overflowing with paper towels. He was carrying Christmas lights. And he sat by himself at the front of the bus.

It was rush hour, so the bus was crammed with people. There were no seats left, except the one beside him. Once, a lady sat down beside him. But after a few furtive glances at his tobacco-stained hands stuffing his pipe, she quickly got up and moved.

My heart hurts when I see people fall through the cracks of society and no one offers them dignity to help them climb out of their rut. "They" are people too.

snow and evanglizing.

2006-12-04T17:09:00.000-08:00

I don't know whether to laugh when I have to climb snowpiles to get on the bus or to cry, knowing that I'm going to be surrounded by snowdrifts for a long, long, long, long time.

Does anyone have any thoughts on evangelism? More specifically, effective and ineffective ways to go about doing it? I have some fairly evangelical friends who are handing out tracks and randomly sitting down at cafeteria tables to talk to people about Jesus. Me, I find it has at least two dangers: (1) of explaining things too simplistically (how much can you express your faith in a 10 minute conversation?) and (2) often (though not always) there is a wrong attitude of trying to get more jewels on your crown in heaven...oh, and maybe I'll add a third...there is also an attitude of "I'm right. You are wrong" (again, not always). I'm uncomfortable with this blatant approach, but is that simply a personality clash or something theologically inside of me screaming that this isn't what evangelism should be?

Where do these thoughts come from? From hanging out at a coffee shop last night with friends for the pure purpose of discussing theology. Mmmm. It has been much too long since I've done that. And my exciting news: I spent hours expressing myself ONLY IN FRENCH! Not Franglais. Not Fringlish. French. I think that you can finally call yourself bilingual when you are able to express feelings and faith-- that's the hardest part of learning a language. And I have finally crossed that barrier...

peanut butter.

2006-11-26T20:15:00.000-08:00

I hate peanut butter jars. The oil repels the water, making it impossible to clean.
Anyways, I don't know why I'm blogging. I have nothing to say.

Oh! Except to say that I love people. After being alone in my apartment for 24 hours yesterday, moping around, I was feeling the need for social interaction. Social interaction with people who really know me-- not just kind of know me. And I got it. I love people. From the moment Amanda called this afternoon (you made my day, my dear), I had non-stop people-ness in the form of visits and phone chats until Sara hung up the phone tonight(you made my night, my dear), I've been surrounded. And I have spoken almost no French.

And now I will continue with my homework.

wildflowers.

2006-11-25T11:43:00.000-08:00

This week was tough and tearful. Life isn't always butterflies and rainbows. But, a hopeful thing happened to me yesterday. I got home from school and my wildflowers that I planted just last week had sprouted during the day (they weren't there yesterday morning). Even if they are simply some wildflowers in a broken pot, seeing them sprout gave me some hope that life has beautiful things too. I don't know why seeing my wildflowers sprout gave me so much pleasure, but it did.

cultural acclimation.

2006-11-24T21:40:00.002-08:00

My teacher made an interesting comment today, after discovering I was actually Canadian. She said (and I translate), "Oh! I thought you were American with a touch of British. You just had those characteristics." I have no idea why she would ever think that! :)

coffee shops and christmas concerts.

2006-11-19T09:47:00.000-08:00

Last night I discovered an acceptable coffee shop. I'm not going to rave about it-- it doesn't sell fairtrade and the waitress gave terrible service-- but at least it made decent cappuccinos and had a nice ambiance (well, except the music was too pop rock). OK. So maybe it wasn't that great. But it's the best I've found so far. Anyone who has any business skills should come join me in starting a revolution up here in Quebec and show these Francophones what a coffee shop is supposed to look like. It's strange-- for a people who have a creative, European-flair to their culture, they are lacking in the coffee sector (their pubs are great!!).

On another note (drat. I think I'm about to make a terrible pun): I spent my Sunday morning try to get junior high kids to sing on key for the Christmas Musical. Some of the boys voices are in the midst of pubescent changes. Some of the girls can't find their note. Yup, it truly is going to be a regular, imperfect church Christmas Concert full of laughter and cheer. In reality, I'm actually really proud of these guys: they've got a great attitude and lots of smiles to go around.

comedy league.

2006-11-18T08:46:00.000-08:00

My dear Dordt friends who were in Comedy League, I miss you! Last night I went to Laval University's comedy league. Even though there were hundreds of people there and it was funny-- the quality of your humour outshone their's by a long shot! So, this is just to let you know that you guys did a fantabulous job...

lost in translation.

2006-11-11T22:06:00.000-08:00

Oh dear. Please, if you are learning another language, learn the proper expressions for l'amour, or you can get yourself into a lot of trouble. For example, saying "Je veux te baraisser" when you want to give someone a hug and a peck on the cheek is fine if you are from France. However, I am in Quebec, where this phrase is a derogatory way to say, quite bluntly, "I want to have sex with you." Another one that got me in trouble lately is, "J'ai passe une bonne journee avec toi." I thought this meant an innocent "I had a good day with you." My boyfriend was quick to correct me, since it means I enjoyed having sex all day. I hope this isn't too blunt of a blog; but these mistakes are some of the most important discoveries I have made lately, since they may contribute to some of my difficulties in this culture :)

(Oh yeah-- and if I hadn't mentioned it before and you didn't catch on from this blog-- I have found a Quebecois guy: Dominique (a.k.a. Mr. Videotron, my telephone technician from last month's blog...). There. It is officially out in the open.

redeeming halloween.

2006-10-26T05:59:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not talking about going to a Reformation Service or something Protestant like that (less than 1% of Quebec goes to church-- and most of that 1% is Catholic). I'm talking about the little boy I scarred by telling him that people got to old for Halloween. I bought him a chocolate bar for Halloween...I hope I don't seem like such a terrible person now.

free-spirited.

2006-10-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

Today, while I was huffing and puffing, trying to bike up a hill, I watched a man sitting comfortably in his wheelchair in the middle of the road, whizzing past me down the hill. I was jealous.

i'm a teacher.

2006-10-18T16:56:00.001-07:00

I'm a teacher-- the real kind--with good money and everything. Basically, all I needed was two legs and the ability to speak English. The interview consisted of my boss telling me his life history, me smiling and listening, and then a handshake to seal the deal. I do feel slightly like a corporate cop-out, since I'm teaching business people from the (soon to be) largest oil company in Canada. But I have the excuse that I didn't know that when I was contracted out.

killing childhood.

2006-10-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

Oops. My neighbour boy came over to play with me. He excitedly told me all about his Halloween costume. Then he asked me what I was going to be. I told him I was too old to go trick-or-treating. His eyes got really big and he said, "You can get too old for treat-or-treating?" His face had a look of fear, and he tentatively asked, "How old do you have to stop?" I said 12 years old. He became very quiet and a sad look came over him as he thought about only having 5 more years to trick-or-treat. You learn a lot of hard lessons as you grow up.

Also, today I got another number from a random Quebecois boy who wanted to know where he could buy shoes (we were standing beside the mall, idiot). This number-asking is irritating. I can't figure out why this is happening! If I could, I would change! Is it because I'm a country girl in the city? Is it because I'm an anglophone in a francophone culture? Maybe I'll shave my head.

Oh! And one more thing (for people who care about politics): I went to hear Gilles Duceppe speak (for you Americans...he is the leader of the Bloc Quebecois, the separatist party). It was a wonderful Harper-Bash on Harper pulling out of the Kyoto Protocol...but even if I agreed with him, I felt a little out of place when he began also bashing Ontario and then concluded that the only way to solve any of our problems is for them to separate from Canada. Please don't ever tell my grandpa that I went-- I'll be disinherited from his will.

thanksgiving and parsley.

2006-10-10T18:06:00.000-07:00

I love trains. Especially when they take me through forests and streams at the peak of autumn to visit my family in Eastern Ontario for the weekend. My grandma knit slippers for me. My sister baked for me monstrous peanut butter-chocolate chip cookies. My dad made me wine. My aunt cooked a turkey dinner. My mom created a care package. Mmmmm...I love family! It's so strange to be able to see them every month or two instead of 3 times per year (as has been the norm...).

On another note, my poor parsley plant. It's dying. Just like the cilantro plant that died before it. Regarding my cilantro, I understand my mistake-- I transplanted it, thereby putting it into shock, and it was dead within an hour. It was the fastest dying plant I have ever witnessed (and I've worked in a green house for 8 years and seen many plants in my time). But my parsley plant--I've given it sunlight, water, love-- faithfully attending to all of its needs. I don't understand! At least my chives are still growing strong.

carrots.

2006-10-04T18:13:00.000-07:00

Carrots were on sale last week. I bought too many. Cream of carrot soup. Carrot casserole. Carrot Cake. I am sick of carrots. End of blog.

the market.

2006-09-26T16:07:00.000-07:00

Today I biked to the market for my organic vegetables. By now, the farmers recognize me, endearingly calling me "La belle fleur." One of them made sure that I got the only red pepper they had. My favourite farmer is a grandfatherly fellow who loves teaching me "real" Quebecois phrases (not that "useless" French they teach at the university! he says.). He sells a lot of exotic vegetables-- every week he has another bizarre vegetable to show me. This week, it was an African cucumber, which looks like a little green, lumpy, spherical-ish thing. I'll miss the market and my new farmer friends when it closes for the winter.

mr. videotron.

2006-09-22T17:03:00.000-07:00

It's time for my weekly update on creepy men. Except that-- hallelujah-- I don't have one! That's because last week I met Mr. Videotron. Mr. Videotron is my telephone technician. After a cup of coffee while he hooked up my phone, he asked for my number. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. So I said, "But you already have my number-- you hooked up my telephone." I think this was an awkward point in the conversation. Regardless, we are now on a first-name basis and have had a few more cups of coffee.

elevator man.

2006-09-16T08:23:00.000-07:00

I don't know what is up with these French men! I keep meeting creepy people.
Yesterday I had the longest elevator ride of my life, even though it was only for 2 floors. It was me and Mr. Elevator Man. Mr. Elevator Man was more than happy to meet my acquaintance. He told me that he really liked my anglophone accent and my smile. And then he gave me the once over with the creepy kind of smile (Don't worry, mom, I had my mace on me and I know how to punch...). If the French are known for "L'Amour", I must be meeting all the wrong ones!

a strip tease.

2006-09-06T10:31:00.000-07:00

It was a Sound of Music moment: a 40 year-old man (with cut-off shorts cut much too short) running over the hills of the Plains of Abraham to greet his ''Belles Fleures''(the beautiful flowers, who,unfortunately, happened to be me and my friend). He was a Quebecois filled with spontaneity and sexuality. He invited us to his apartment to give us a drink and a strip tease, giving us detailed descriptions about his anatomy-- much more than I ever wanted to know. It was one of the more awkward moments of my life.

Besides our stripper friend, c'est la vie en rose ici. I think that's an expression meaning that life is pretty darn good. Classes for 4 hours per day without homework gives me more time than I know what to do with!

cut off from community.

2006-08-31T10:18:00.000-07:00

This is me feeling sorry for myself. I am in the middle of a culture that refuses to speak English and does not understand my anglicized French. And I can`t check my email because this place has cut that avenue of communicating with people off too. And my phone won`t kick in for another 9 days! After living in Toronto where 48% of the people are immigrants who don`t speak English as their first language, I can finally say I relate to them, now that I`m in Quebec. Even simple things like figuring out where I can recycle is a task and a half.

OK. So it`s not that bad. Well, actually, it IS that bad, but I can handle my lack of communication with a smile on my face anyway. I have not been reduced to tears and utter despair.

Despite my sorrows (which, seriously, could be much worse), I have a huge hallelujah-- my neighbours are immigrants from Iran who prefer speaking in English. Two nights ago, we sipped Iranian tea and ate Dutch boederkoek, talking in ``Franglais`` (French and English mixed together) for hours. If if the community I love to is cut off from me, at least I have the opportunity to thrive in a new community!

ah, l`amour.

2006-08-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

The very first person I met in Quebec was my drunk custodian. I thought to myself, «Yup, I really am in Quebec-- the land where beer is cheaper than water (for real).» Even though my first conversation with a Quebecois was sort of sketchy, my new apartment is not sketchy at all...I can happily call it home. The only downside is that I can`t officially say that I live in Quebec City, because the border between my suburb and the city is 100 metres from my apartment.

au revoir.

2006-08-24T12:35:00.000-07:00

Up until 2 weeks ago, everything I owned fit into one suitcase. Since then, I've somehow accumulated enough stuff to fill half of my family's garage. I've been ransacking my basement, garage sales and goodwill stores trying to furnish an entire apartment (which I'll move into tomorrow). A huge thanks to my parents for driving all over creation to search out good deals. My mom even spent an entire night dedicated to finding curtains.

I've mixed feelings about heading up to Quebec City. On the one hand, I'm fulfilling my Bohemian dream to grow herbs, read Kierkegaard, make wine and just live life. On the other hand, I'm really, really sick of packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking and packing up again. Hopefully I'll be settled in my little apartment in Quebec for a little longer than four months (which has been my usual average time in one place for the last while). Mostly, I'm stoked; but I get those moments where I think to myself, "What the heck are you doing???..."

home.

2006-08-18T14:13:00.000-07:00

I, the small-town girl, have finally left my dear city of Toronto to come back home. I smell chicken manure instead of smog now. I see stars instead of lights. I see corn instead of people. And...I can have a glass of wine whenever I want (I've been on a no-drinking contract all summer)!

I have nothing to say, except to say that I am doing nothing. After working pretty much 24/7 for the last 3 months, doing nothing is amazing.

joan.

2006-08-05T17:56:00.000-07:00

The plastic bag lady has a name. Joan. The fact that she has a name is absolutely weird. Even more weird is that she actually talked to me yesterday. It was not a coherent conversation by any means-- something about a sailor, a social system and a fruit market (simultaneously)-- but regardless, she even said, "Take care" at the end of the conversation.

I also learned about her situation: she is married to a crack addict (and is likely addicted to crack herself, hence the bags that she chews, since crack rots your teeth out). Her husband does not treat her well and all, so she is hungry, so she steals of food from our church. Her brain is too fried to remember anything, and so she wanders around in a muddled daze. I tried to direct her to the nearest shelter (which is really close by) and she could comprehend anything I said.

i love t-dot.

2006-07-23T21:17:00.000-07:00

I love the fringe society. Today a street person (and friend) gave me a bottle of water-- cold water-- for no reason. On the streets, water is a precious, precious commodity. In the summer, you won't die of starvation-- you'll die of dehydration. I need to start taking lessons on generosity and sacrificial love from my friend. I wish I knew his name. He knows mine.

Besides drinking water (no alcoholic beverages until August 7 for me since I signed a contract), I had the most glorious weekend ever. Mostly because I ate fresh cherries from the outdoor fruit market across the road while I sauntered down the streets of Toronto with my staff. And because I bought lots of sweat-shop-free clothes and some thrift shop pants. And because I had a picnic while watching a Shakespeare play (A Comedy of Errors).

It ended with me accidentally throwing my purse into the washing machine (it was hidden under 4 industrial-washer-sized loads of laundry) . Unfortunately my cell phone was also in that purse. Oh well. C'est la vie.

she's back.

2006-07-06T10:54:00.000-07:00

The plastic bag lady has snuck into the church every day for the last 2 weeks, at least twice a day. Today, she was especially daring-- she stopped stealing bagels and upped her culinary tastes to include bacon. Not satisfied with the bacon, she asked me for the cheese I was in the process of eating. I think she put another bag in her mouth. It looks fresher-- not quite as mangled and chewed up. I'm not sure how she eats. She only has one tooth (that has rotted and nearly fallen out) and her mouth is full of plastic bag. If she can't eat, I see no reason for her to be stealing our food.

the worst week ever.

2006-06-23T19:35:00.000-07:00

I have survived hell and live to tell the tale. It all began when I spent Monday morning tracking down lost Americans who were scattered across Toronto (some even made it beyond Toronto), rural drivers driving in the big city for the first time with maps with wrong directions...that was only the beginning....

These teens eat. A lot. I made 6 grocery runs to No Frills in 3 days. I am gaining arm muscle from all that milk I'm buying. Somehow, I unfortunately managed to lose 5 pounds in the process. Maybe it's the stress of watching the teens drop 5 dozen eggs onto the carpet (smell from hell!!), or of overflowing toilets which cause ceilings to fall out or of 30 teengage boys dropping suitcases off of a 150-year-old balcony (which also creates collapsed ceilings. Surprise).

Let me tell you about Plastic Bag Lady. She sneaks into the church every morning to eat our bagels. She has plastic bags braided through her hair. She has plastic bags wrapped around her fingers. She chews plastic bags constantly--even when she eats our bagels. Today she said she was 7th Day Adventist. Yesterday, she was Pentecostal. Pretty much she just likes bagels.

This morning, I discovered that 5 American Passports had gone missing (for the record, not my fault). While talking to the president of Youthworks regarding this slight problem, the fire alarm went off and I had to simultaneously herd 75 people out of the church. How do you explain to the head of a huge organization that you can't talk to him about missing passports because you have to talk to the head of the fire department?

And then tonight. Oh Friday. The weekend. Right? I was going to get into nice clothes, and maybe even shower (haven't really done that since last Wednesday. Baby wipes and sink showers don't suffice). No such luck. Stupid eggs. Another 5 dozen fallen on the floor. The work never stops. Ever.

I am going to bed to hide from my responsibilities. Good-night.

hippie heaven.

2006-06-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

Roncesvalles-- a neighbourhood on the west end of Toronto. My new home for 10 weeks. Fairtrade coffee shops, organic food, thrift stores, 75 different languages-- and many conversations with starving artists and film-directors (the neighbourhood consists basically of right-brained people). mmmmm...hippie heaven.

And also hmmmmm...the church I am living in also hosts a Healing Center, in which tarot cards and hypnosis are used. It's the first church to have a legalized same-sex marriage in North America and the only church to have a community service with the Muslim Church directly after 9/11 in North America (yes, I am living in a fairly well-known church. It shows up in the news. A lot.).

The theology is much more liberal than I am used to. Sometimes I wonder what happened to Christ here. The church has a phenomenal outreach to the poor (street peeps) and the outcast (gay community). The church has formed a phenomenal community-- people from all ages, socio-economic classes, ethnicities, and sexual orientations are in and out of here all the time. This church has so much of what a church MUST be. But...it seems to me like it is a humanisitic approach, as shown when in church the pastor says, "This house (the church) does not belong to me, to the United Church of Canada, to Toronto, or to the government-- this church belongs to you." I thought it belonged to God. Social justice without Christ...that means full reliance on humans. A scary thought. We haven't been doing that great at doing good since the Fall- I'm pretty sure we're not getting better.

Please pray for me as I lead 3 staff members and 330 youth throughout the summer in an environment that requires a lot of discerning....Soli Deo Gloria...

grown up.

2006-05-14T16:38:00.000-07:00

Today I ceremoniously officiated the shift into Adulthood by taking out my eyebrow piercing. [insert sigh] It didn't look nice anyways-- it's always infected. Even so, it 'twas somewhat sad to say bye to it. If I have a 'real' job where I'm leading 'real' grown ups, I suppose they won't appreciate some punk who will lead them astray. Needless to say, my mom is happy. (I haven't quite given it up completely--it's just that it's barely visible. I can't bring myself to transition 100%.)

Today I also talked with cousin who I hadn't seen since the day of my Pake's (friesen for grandpa) funeral 3 1/2 years ago. My own flesh-and-blood-- we wore diapers and were potty-trained at the same-- and I didn't even recognize him. He's moving out West. I'm moving out East. And the chances of us meeting again anytime soon are becoming less probable...weird. I wish him God's blessings, I suppose.

i'm back.

2006-05-02T17:12:00.000-07:00

Whoops. Apparently, even my own blog got tired of waiting for me to update, and stopped updating me on the requests to update.
Since I last drank wine with Amanda, I've been doing a great many things (including having more wine with Amanda). Too many things for this blog to contain. Basically, if you read Sara's blog, you will have Ann's blog. We are practically the same person.
Let me see. Oh! An update on my room mates. I love them. Kara, aside from doing my laundry all semester, also made my bed and put fresh sheets on it last week when I was going crazy. It's too bad that I did not have the chance to enjoy the freshness, as I didn't really sleep. Dead Week has a knack for torturing students with a combination of papers and sleep-deprivation.
Oh. I never explained the morphing of Ann-Sara. We did Justice Matters two weeks ago (something which everyone at Dordt would either have to be blind to have missed or skipped a lot of classes, thereby missing our great white tent). Once finished with that, we had a day or two of hardcore homeworking, followed by pursuing our Student Manifesto from last year. We are potentially accomplishing a great many things. But we can't talk about it or we'd have to kill you. Now, we are studying together.
Tomorrow, to celebrate the end of exams, we may or may not smoke a cigar on the roof of SV.

wine.

2006-04-04T17:54:00.000-07:00

After a particularly stressful few days, today had some very wonderful things happen: sun, the smell of grass, and a glass of wine all combined together while talking with Amanda. All the stresses were banned from entering her backyard and for a few hours, life was just as it should be. It's these moments of near perfection that give perserverance to keep going for the next 32 days before grad, and well, for the rest of life...

rain.

2006-03-31T09:17:00.000-08:00

Mmmmm....it's rainy, drizzly, dreary...the kind of day where curling up with a book, wearing your room mate's comfiest sweater, and sipping chai tea is the most tempting way to exist.
Too bad I probably won't do this. Instead, I'll do my homework, go grocery shopping, and go to class--the practical things that I am supposed to do. Aargh. I wish I didn't have the oldest-child syndrome in which responsibilities always take precedence over living life fully and abundantly! Someone should tell me to take my life, screw the responsible living, and curl up with that book and sip my chai...

Aside: For some interesting coffee art, go to http://www.ebaumsworld.com/videos/coffee-art.html

ice cream.

2006-03-27T21:04:00.000-08:00

I love my room mates. A lot, actually. BUT we need to work on Food Communication 101. We have ice cream in our freezer. Too bad I didn't know it was room ice cream. I am blessed to say that I scrounged a bowlful, unlike yesterday's spaghetti conflict. But I missed out on a great many stress-relievers that more bowls of ice cream could have provided earlier this weekend (like last night, writing the worst paper ever). Uh-oh. My room mate just spotted my bowl of ice cream. She's going to the freezer to take the last of it. My only consolation is remembering that the calories that should belong to my body are going to be on her's. Unfortunately, it's not that great of a consolation, because I can't say I care about calories. I'd actually prefer the ice cream over no calories. Oh...and let me re-emphasize that I really do love my room mates despite all!

spaghetti.

2006-03-26T15:22:00.000-08:00

Today my room mates made spaghetti. It is my favourite food. And then they didn't call me for supper. And they ate it all. I am sad. And hungry. Now, I am eating whole-wheat crackers. They are dry and unfulfilling, albeit healthy. I will eat my crackers and continue working on the worst paper ever now.

styrofoam.

2006-03-26T15:11:00.000-08:00

Aaargh. I have a question: Why do people make fun of me for being anti-styrofoam? I don't get it. I want one good reason why we shouldn't care about the environment, especially as stewards of God's creation. If someone could explain why using styrofoam doesn't matter, I'd appreciate it, for real. Honestly, I don't understand that mindset at all.

it exists.

2006-03-24T09:23:00.000-08:00

School really does exist. For a long time now, I've been able to convince myself that homework was a figment of my imagination. Unfortunately, the textbooks whacked me in the head this week, woke me up from my Utopian dream, and threw me back into reality. And here I sit, doing homework.

In actuality, this is useful stuff that I'm studying. Stuff that will get me a job so I can say I'm fulfilling my calling. But the fact that I have to sit down and do it...well...I can think of some semi-useless other things that I'd rather be doing right about now, like blogging. A proposal should be given to Ken Boersma which states that seniors should not be allowed to have or do homework in the last month of school, as it should be spent 'building community' with those around them (ie. socializing).

have a hug, kramer.

2006-03-19T11:13:00.000-08:00

Spring Break makes me feel as if I've entered the wardrobe into Narnia for one week, and then stepped back into Dordt life again as if Narnia never happened--as if Spring Break has been a figment of my imagination. 33 Tim Horton's coffees and 5 wins later, Rachel, Jenn and I leave my home and native land and head back to Iowa.
'Twas a good adventure, albeit strange. Strange, because my Dordt-World and my Home-World collided, two worlds which had previously been distinctly separate, save for the commonality of me existing in both of them. From exploring the sophisticated activity of wine-tasting to hopping on a hay-ride for a maple syrup tour, we saw everything Canada has to offer, from a well-rounded perspective of a med student, an ed student, and a Bohemian Canadian.
Highlight stories:
Disney on Ice: A sketchy man selling colouring books calls out to Rachel, "Hey, want to colour with me tonight?" Rachel, being the excited education major that she is, replies, "Yes, yes! I'd love too!"
Jenn meets Henry: For the first time in two years, Henry met someone who shared a same passion for biology as himself. This married man followed her around the maple syrup farm to bask in her knowledge on maple syrup. She even knew, afterall, that syrup boils at 104 degrees Celsuis and is only 66 percent sugar. Unbeknownst to him, all her info came--not from being a biology major-but from reading his pamphlet.
Mom is happy: Jenn performed her first surgery, replacing my pussing piercing with something a little less obtrusive. My mom can look at me and love me again.
Cheers!

hello, chantale.

2006-03-08T09:30:00.000-08:00

Hello, to my dearest littlest sister, Chantale, also known as Jellybean...
Sources tell me that you've been a faithful follower of this blog...so I thought I'd say "Hello." AND GUESS WHAT? I get to give you a humongous hug in less than 2 days! I love you...your favourite older sister...

new post.

2006-03-08T09:17:00.000-08:00

There. I now have a new post. I didn't know that keeping a blog would be so difficult. I had meant it to be for my own personal creative expression--and now I have friends and the responsibility to entertain them. Thus, "Hello, friends!" This is me entertaining you.

Let me rack up a story for you...hmmm...actually, I'm not sure I have one. I have self-diagnosed myself as suffering from Seasonal Depressional Disorder/Cabin Fever, and am therefore actually not very much fun to be around right now. Haha. Poor Rachel and Jenn, who will be spending all of Spring Break with me. No, likely The Break will do me some good. [sigh] Sitting around with my parents with a glass of wine, visiting old friends, hanging out with my grandmas, regurgitating memories of Toronto with friends-- oh joy, oh bliss--less than 24 hours and one World Religions Presentation away and I am free at last. Safe travelling, all Dordt people! Praying for safety, fun and rejuvenation...

PS. If you are ever looking for something intriguing to do with my blog whilst waiting for me to post something, try counting the times I say "thus," "therefore," and "thereby," following which, feel free to rate me on a Geek-o-meter (which Mike K will develop...).

c'est la vie.

2006-02-27T21:24:00.000-08:00

The Senior Scramble is a very real phenomenon; and refers to a much broader context than getting hooked-up, engaged and married by May. The SS refers to scrambling for some tangible survival plan for post-college life. Which is why I sit here, staring at my computer screen, writing a resume--and wondering, "Hmmm...what have I done that is worthwhile during the past four years?" Considering I don't have a major, worthwhile things are difficult to prove. Marketing myself as a jack-of-all trade (conveniantly omitting the "master of none" clause) will simply have to suffice. One day--perhaps--it will be nice to have life semi-figured out, to cease nomadic tendencies, to settle, and to have complete direction for my life. Likely, I'll be hallucinating on LSD on a street corner if I ever actually think I've gotten to this point.

Konstantine [Live]

2006-02-26T15:16:00.000-08:00

so i know ann and no one else in this blog. lol. but i'm sure they're cool if they're at all like my ann renee! anyways, i like music and songs -- specifically lyrics -- and now i will post a very, very long song. it's 10 min 30 sec long, in fact. and sad. but beautiful.

I can't imagine all the people that you know
and the places that you go
when the lights are turned down low
and I don't understand all the things you've seen
but I'm slipping in between
you and your big dreams
it's always you in my big dreams

did you know I miss you?
God I miss you

and then you bring me home
and we go to sleep
but this time not alone
no
and you kiss me in your living room
oh
and you see
no
what I've been missing in my living room
’cause it's all you
yeah
this is what I've missed
what I miss

we don't have much room
I said does anybody really need that room?
because we all need a little bit of room
to live

my Konstantine

-- Something Corporate

2006-02-25T15:03:00.001-08:00

null

new post

2006-02-25T15:00:00.001-08:00

why is it that i can post on this site?

1984

2006-02-24T18:10:00.000-08:00

The 80s: ruffles, poofs, velvet and big hair. Happily those days are over, and we have 'improved' our fashion sense to include short shirts, tight tank tops and miniature mini skirts--the more minimal the clothing, the better. To demonstrate the hideousness of the '80s, Kara and I scrounged around for monstrous makeup and gold shoes, discovering how we would have looked had we been 21 years of age 21 years ago. The picture indicates our discovery...

fairytale world.

2006-02-19T10:14:00.000-08:00

Directionally dysfunctional,
She stumbles down a twisted path,
Wandering up to a gingerbread house.
Different than the one she remembers from fairytales,
It's made of strawberry cigars and apple-flavoured Smirnoff bottles,
But it will do.

Flopping down against the house,
She plucks a cigar from roof
And pulls a bottle from the siding.
The once perfect house
Has cracks now
And starts crumbling.

Just like her.

ps. Arcade Fire CD cover...see http://www.arcadefire.com/yope.html to hear their music.

a mild mistake.

2006-02-14T10:40:00.000-08:00

An example of what happens late at night behind the doors of Southview 404: While Amanda waxed her legs, one room mate (who will remain unnamed) in an attempt to procrastinate from Astronomy, decided to borrow some wax for her eyebrows. The directions, read afterwards, state, “Do not use on eyebrows.” This particular room mate learned why this is so, as she is currently partially missing an eyebrow.

jellybeans.

2006-02-13T19:12:00.000-08:00

This jellybean jar sits on our kitchen counter. This jar is my Stress Gage. Note how the jellybeans are nearing the bottom of the jar. Stress=sugar=jellybeans. Red and yellow, pink and green—the enticing colours allure me, as if eating them will somehow allow me to see life in rainbow colours, instead of the grey cloud of confusion called Life. Oh dear. I am becoming philosophical about jellybeans. I have officially hit an all-time low. Time for more jellybeans...

regarding the military and knitting.

2006-02-10T22:58:00.000-08:00

[sigh]. Getting kicked out of a coffee shop that didn’t know how to make a properly foamed cappuccino could have left Rachel and me frost-bitten and hunched beside a garbage dumpster down a dark alley (a thought honestly contemplated) in Sioux City. Fortunately for Rachel’s idolatrous lust for wool and knitting needles, we stumbled upon a little shop decorated with $4 000 worth of IKEA merchandise and a motherly manager, who invited us in from the cold to read the “Stitch and Bitch” knitting book. Her husband came along and tried to recruit me into the military. This proposition, although kind of him, was hindered by two problems: I am not American and I am staunchly NOT Republican. Even so, they directed us to Rebo, a relaxed, properly ambienced restaurant, which was wonderfully conducive to a Heineken, a taco and a good conversation.
[aside: And speaking of Heineken, I realized tonight that I can only order beer in French or in British English, neither of which helped to clear up confusion between the waitress and myself when I asked for a pint. I learned, however, and can now order beer properly in 3 countries.]

Dead.

2006-02-05T16:40:00.000-08:00

I walked past a dead body last term. Sometimes, I can't get him out of my mind. There he was: propped up against a store door. Just him. No one around but an ambulance guy. No blood. No life. Just a sunken, half-smashed face; skin paler than a regular Brit--and vacant eyes. A little lopsided, like a rag-doll flung and forgotten. To me he is nameless. We share no history. I can walk on by, my life unaffected.

Yup. He's dead. Just like the billions before him. "So what?" I think callously. But I want to vomit.

He represents the universal human. Billions have died before him. But seeing his eyes wide open, watching me--this lone corpse--I stared at Death. In one human, I saw all humans.

His mutually souless and soulful stare--I want to forget it. But I hope I always remember. In that stare he accussed me of the crime of robbing life. Were I the corpse and not the passerby, to what would my life have amounted? A pile a books. A pile of hours in a library. A pile of brains, splattered, not shared.

Adam became a living Nephesh. Death reigned from the time of Adam. We weren't created to die. If we weren't created to die, what were we created to do?

Love.

Love God. Love His creation. Love every person you walk past. Love. Is love life? Is life love? Who ever lives in Love, lives in God. To live is Christ. To die is gain. I no longer live. Christi lives in me. Love.

Death puts Life into perspective.