six days with 8000 Mennonites
It’s impossible to summarize six days with 8000 Mennonites, so I won’t even try. On my blog, you get what you pay for, so here are just a few snippets from the week.
On Monday night a week ago, I packed a suitcase and a brown-bag breakfast and set my alarm clock for 4:30. I didn’t get to sleep until sometime after midnight, but at 6:00 Tuesday morning, I climbed aboard a charter bus (er, “luxury motorcoach”) with a bunch of half-awake teenagers and a handful of other fearless youth leaders. Destination: the Mennonite Church USA Convention 2009 in Columbus, Ohio.
I wasn’t even planning to go to the convention until two weeks before it started. One of the youth leaders from our church was unable to go, so I agreed to go along at the last minute. Lucky me — I got to miss out on all of the planning, preparation, coordination, and fundraising, but I got to enjoy all of the fun, meaningful times with the 14 youth from our church. I had been a youth leader several years ago, and I definitely enjoyed being back in that role again.
I don’t know who I thought I was fooling, but I actually thought I might find time to write a quick blog each day. “Quick” is not a word I would use to describe the few minutes I spent each day checking my email via the slowest internet connection I’ve used since about 1996. But the best thing about the little temporary internet cafe set up by Third Way Media (formerly Mennonite Media) is that everyone and their mom walked past, and approximately 57 percent of them knew me and stopped to chat.
More than 4000 youth and their leaders worshipped together in a hockey arena twice a day, and the music and the speakers were excellent. Among my favorite speakers were Greg Boyd, Shane Hipps, and Shane Claiborne. I actually got to hear Greg speak twice, and it was interesting to read his reflections on it yesterday.
On Wednesday night at 11:00, our group met for a time of reflection on that evening’s worship service. When we finished, we walked out to the hotel lobby, only to discover that there were people stuck in one of the elevators. The elevator had stopped about two and a half feet from the floor. People who looked official had managed to get the door open just wide enough to stick an arm through. Claustrophobia, anyone?
I attended a variety of interesting seminars, but not even a great seminar called “Soldiers Speak” could keep the sleep-deprived guy behind me awake. Not long after the hour-long seminar began, he was snoring away. After a few minutes, I turned around and was surprised to see a high-schooler. He was leaning forward, so I nudged his shoulder a bit, woke him up, and whispered, “Hey, you’re snoring. Thought you might want to know.” He apologized and said something about having low blood sugar. When the seminar ended, he apologized again and thanked me for waking him up. If you ever decide to wake up a snoring teenage boy, be sure to pick the most polite kid in the room.
After lunch on Saturday, I had a little time to kill before the first seminar of the afternoon, so I sat down along the wall near room E161 to read the final edition of mPress. There were tons of people (especially youth) waiting in the same area, so I barely noticed when a man came and sat down several feet away from me. After a few moments, he turned to me and asked, “Are you Rachel?” What? I had never seen this guy in my life. He told me that he’s following me on Twitter, and recognized me from my profile picture! So we chatted for a bit until it was time to grab one of the last remaining seats in the popular seminar I wanted to attend… 20 minutes before it started.
On the way home yesterday, we stopped at a rest stop in Pennsylvania, and as I was standing in the long line for the women’s restroom, a guy I had never seen before walked past me, stopped, and turned around. “Do I know you?” Here we go again. “I don’t think so,” I said with confidence. Undeterred, he said, “You’re not Katie? You look almost identical to a friend of mine. That’s freaky.” I told him it happens all the time. Really. In case you think I’m exaggerating, I should mention that earlier in the week, I met a guy from Kansas who thought he knew me… until I told him where I’m from. Maybe he knows Katie from Pittsburgh too?
This really doesn’t have anything to do with the convention, but on the back of the nametag that hung from my neck all week, there was a place to write emergency contact info and list any allergies. On the last full day of the convention, it dawned on me that I actually have allergy information I should have listed. After 28 years of not being allergic to anything, I had forgotten that I developed an allergy to penicillin a couple years ago. Oops.
I had a great time at the convention, but by the time I got home last night, I felt like I was on the verge of overdosing on Mennonites. Today my friend Jeremy’s Facebook status said he was “still feeling hungover from all that “Mennoniteness” of convention.” Whether it’s an overdose or a hangover, I’m just glad I’m not allergic.
you’ve been warned
If you happen to find a mysterious little white splotch on your upper arm when you’re out for a walk and it turns into a tiny red bump, ignore it.
DO NOT under ANY circumstances do a Google Image search for “spider bite.”
No, really. Don’t.
what’s your excuse?
I was trying to post a comment on someone’s blog just now and got an error message due to “high network traffic or heavy usage of Blogger.”
The error message took me back 12 years to a professor I had in college whose name was Ed. (All faculty were addressed by their first names). Ed is one of the most chipper morning people I have ever met. I was a night owl, but I didn’t mind mornings — which was a good thing, because if I had hated mornings, I might have hated Ed too. Three days a week, he would walk into our Principles of Management class a few minutes before 8:00 with a huge smile and an over-enthusiastic “GOOD MORNING!” Ed had been awake much longer than the rest of us, not only because he couldn’t get away with rolling out of bed and going to class, but because he Got Up Early to Use The Internet.
That’s right, folks. He started his morning with Netscape and the screechy sound of dial-up before the information superhighway became congested with traffic from timezones to the west. (Remember that little comet that crossed the Netscape horizon while waiting for webpages to load?)
The following year, Ed taught my Quantitative Decision Making class — affectionately known as Quant. It was memorable not only because it was my favorite class in college (I’m serious!), but because that’s where my favorite Ed story took place. I’m probably the only person in the class who still remembers this, but one day as he was handing back our homework assignments, we noticed that some of them were rather wrinkled and even torn.
His explanation? “My dog ate your homework.”
the turtle I didn’t imagine
Yogi Berra once quipped, “If I hadn’t believed it, I wouldn’t have seen it.”
Fortunately, the 9-inch (!) turtle I spotted when I was out for a walk this morning stuck around long enough for me to return with my camera and a yard stick an hour later. Isn’t it incredible?!
drive-by shooting
I pulled out the owner’s manual for my digital camera this evening and happened to see the following admonition in the safety notes at the back:
Never attempt to take pictures while in motion. Do not use the camera while you are walking or driving a vehicle. This can result in you falling down or being involved in a traffic accident.
Oops.
great tree, terrible location
Four months after I bought my house, Hurricane Isabel blew over the ornamental plum tree in my front yard. She huffed and she puffed and down it went. I wish I could have seen it go, but if I hadn’t been working late that evening, the tree would have landed on my car!
I didn’t feel any particular attachment to the tree, so I didn’t really care that it was gone. What I cared about most was the opinion of the long-time owner of the house. The family I bought the house from had only lived in it for a few years while the dad was in a graduate program, but the couple who owned it previously had lived here for many years. I was sure that one day they would be driving through their old neighborhood and gasp as they exclaimed, “Someone cut down our beautiful ornamental plum tree!” And I was sure they would think all kinds of mean thoughts about this new owner of the house because they didn’t know the truth.
I needn’t have worried. A day or so later, some men from my church brought their chainsaws and hauled the whole thing away, and while they were working, my neighbor across the street came out to chat. Frances was 90-some years old and quite spry, and she told me that she had already called the former owners of the house. “I said, ‘Pete, you’ll never guess what happened to your tree!’”
So they knew the truth about the demise of the tree. I’ve never met Pete and Greta, and I don’t know if they’re still in the area or if they’re even still living, but I hope they never find out what I’m going to do this week. I’m having a big, old walnut tree chopped down. A walnut tree that provides wonderful shade. A walnut tree that drops walnut bombs on my metal roof and litters the property with those wretched stem things. I’m sure Pete and Greta would disapprove. Even *I* disapprove, and I’m the one doing it!
“What’s wrong with the tree?” my sister asked when I told her I was having the tree taken down.
Nothing is wrong with the tree. That’s why I feel so guilty. The tree is in perfectly good health, and it’s probably as old as the house, which was built in 1945. It’s big and tall and awesome. I love it.
The only problem is that it’s ten feet from my house… and ten feet from my neighbors’ house… which is about 23 feet from mine. Not surprisingly, the tree branches are currently hanging over both of our houses, and if I keep trimming it like it has apparently been trimmed for the past how-many decades, it will continue to be a weird, narrow, two-dimensional tree. Still, I feel like I’m unnecessarily destroying a piece of history. I’ve convinced myself that when the tree is gone, my house will look short, boring, and naked and I will be wracked with guilt and regret.
Some of you probably think I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe I am. After all, it’s “just” a tree. But if you think this is unnecessary drama, just wait ’til I describe my indecision about possibly painting my brick fireplace…
doing CPR
“Are you OK?!”
He was flat on the ground and wasn’t moving. I tapped his shoulders and then gently shook him.
“Sir, are you OK?” I asked again. No response. I placed my ear near his mouth. I heard nothing. Felt nothing. He wasn’t breathing. I kicked into high gear and started administering CPR. Thirty chest compressions. Two breaths. Thirty chest compressions. Two breaths.
And then I stopped. Not because the CPR was successful, but because he was plastic… and because it was time to learn about AEDs (Automated External Defibrillators).
You probably didn’t know that June 1-7 is National CPR and AED Awareness Week. Neither did I — until I read a short article in the newspaper yesterday notifying the community that Emergency Prep, a local CPR/First Aid/AED training organization, was offering free CPR and AED instruction (not certification) classes today.
We each got to practice on our own mannequin that made a clicking noise when the chest was sufficiently compressed. And when I tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and breathed into the perfectly sanitary mouth, the simulated airway caused his chest to rise. I realize that nursing students and med students get to use far more high-tech patient simulators (like SimMan), but I thought it was pretty cool.
I know a lot more about CPR and AEDs than I did prior to this evening, but I obviously hope I never have to put my hour and a half of training to use. And if I’m ever in need of CPR, I certainly hope nobody has to pull out a little CPR quick-reference guide to remind them what to do!
brownie edge lovers
If I were to rank the popularity of my blog posts by the number of hits they’ve gotten, the “wanted: a perfect brownie recipe” post would come in at #12 out of 334. Just within the past week, people have used such search terms as “perfect brownie recipe,” “brownie recipe crackle top,” and “flaky brownie” to find that post.
Psst. Googlers: the word “wanted” means I Don’t Have One.
I also don’t have one of these:
Isn’t that amazing?! (And don’t you think it looks a bit like a computer game from the early 90s?) This “Edge Brownie Pan” is made by a company called — are you ready for it ?– Baker’s Edge, and retails for a hefty $34.95.
As clever as the idea is, there are three reasons I don’t want one:
1. I prefer not to fill my kitchen with tools that have only one purpose… although I do own a pizza cutter, an ice cream scoop, and a waffle iron. If I’m going to own a kitchen item that only does one thing, it needs to do that one thing much better, much more quickly, or much more easily than the classic alternative. In other words, I have to be convinced that a specialty tool is worth adding to my kitchen.
2. I apparently missed the memo informing the world that the prime brownie real estate is along the edge, so I’d rather have a middle piece.
3. As much as I love brownies, I actually don’t make them very often, so a pan like this would spend the vast majority of its life sitting in my cupboard collecting dust, and that just wouldn’t be fair to an incredible brownie pan like this.
But… if you’re a die-hard brownie edge lover, this just might be your dream come true!
tales of a three-day weekend
:: FRIDAY EVENING ::
Having made it through the most difficult part of the weekend — choosing a paint color, I find myself at the paint counter at Lowe’s. I give the paint chip and two gallons of paint to one of the people wearing a red vest. As I wait for the paint to be mixed, another employee walks behind the counter and asks if I’m being helped.
“I am,” I say, “but I do have a question. What’s in the box marked ‘Feather Pickers’?” I point to a cardboard box behind him.
“I have no idea!” he says with a laugh.
He walks over and looks in the open box. “Caulk.”
“Oh. Right. Of course…” I say with mock understanding.
:: SATURDAY MORNING ::
I finally get my garden planted. I still think it’s a miracle that a seed + dirt + light + water = vegetables.
:: SATURDAY LUNCHTIME ::
A nearby church is hosting a community Fun Fair, so I stop by to get a pork BBQ sandwich for lunch. I approach the serving area, but can’t seem to figure out where I’m supposed to place my order and pay. A man wandering around near me appears to be struggling with the same thing. I ask someone behind the tables where the line begins (”Right here!” she says) and tell the enthusiastic woman that I’d like just the sandwich (i.e., not the full meal with coleslaw and whatever else).
The man behind me tells her that he would like just the sandwich too.
“That’s odd,” I think to myself. Usually the second person in line waits to place their order until after the first person has paid. I tell myself that he was probably just trying to be helpful so that the people serving could prepare two sandwiches at once and be more efficient.
“That’ll be seven dollars,” the woman with the moneybox says.
“Oh! We’re not together,” I say.
Next time this happens (which will be never), I won’t bother to correct the misunderstanding. Instead, I will put on my best “wow, I’m flattered by your generosity” face, say “thank you” to the person behind me, and move on down the line. If you’re a young, single man and you don’t want to pay for my lunch, then you shouldn’t place your order before I’ve paid for mine!
:: SATURDAY EVENING ::
After mowing my yard, I stand on the sidewalk and chat with my old/new neighbors. They have recently moved back to the area after living elsewhere for a few years. He tells me that they have bought his dad’s shoe repair business, which is one of two here in town. I express surprise that there is enough demand for shoe repair, and ask whether this is his sole occupation. He catches the pun before I do.
:: SUNDAY MORNING ::
I visit a church that I’ve never been to before. It’s more formal and, well, gray-haired than I expect. The first song we sing is a praise-and-worship song — accompanied with the organ and directed like a hymn. This oughta be good.
While the pastor preaches about the Pharisees, the image being projected onto the wall behind him suddenly switches to one of a cow in a grassy field. No one else appears to find this funny. A minute later, while I’m still trying not to smirk, he makes a reference to animals. Before long, the projected image is of a man standing on the edge of a cliff. The minor reference in the sermon doesn’t come ’til later. Just before the final prayer at the end of the service, we were treated to a picture of a cute puppy.
PowerPoint FAIL.
:: SUNDAY AFTERNOON ::
The woman sitting next to me at a dance recital thinks it is appropriate to talk during the performance. It is not. There is one empty chair between us, and I am not above giving withering looks, albeit in the mostly-dark auditorium. She also finds it necessary to get up and leave three times during the performance. Each time when she returns, she says, “Excuse me, sorry” at full volume. I regret choosing a seat near her.
:: MONDAY MORNING ::
While running errands and doing some shopping, I decide to stop in at Barnes & Noble to see if I can find an excuse to spend a gift card. I sit and page through some cookbooks while a man and his four(?)-year-old son browse the shelves and then also sit down to read. The adorable little boy wants his daddy to read to him. He makes this request four times in about 20 minutes and is refused each time. I miss my nephews and feel sorry for the bored kid, so I offer to read to him. I then realize that he is looking at a book from either the home improvement or creative arts section. Not so much a children’s story. The daddy takes the hint and decides that it’s time to go to the children’s section.
Quite a while later, I get up to leave. I see that the boy and his daddy are also walking towards the front of the store. The daddy isn’t wearing a wedding band. Was he wearing one before? Your guess is as good as mine.
I suddenly become very interested in the computer books I am walking past.
:: MONDAY NIGHT ::
Do I really have to go back to work tomorrow?
musical quotes
I’m keeping a delightfully steady pace with my progress on my New Year’s resolution to watch all 25 movies on the American Film Institute’s list of the top 25 musicals. I need to average two a month, and since it’s the middle of May, I’m right on track with 9 so far.
Here are a few memorable quotes I jotted down while watching several of the less popular musicals:
Jerry: That’s… quite a dress you almost have on.
Milo: Thanks.
Jerry: What holds it up?
Milo: Modesty.
Lise: It’s a pity you don’t have as much charm as you have persistence.
[Somebody]: Tell him you were wrong.
Fanny Brice: But I’m not!
[Somebody]: Oh.
Chip: Why do you have to chase after girls all the time?
Gabey: I’ll tell you when your voice changes.
Gabey: You know, somewhere in the world there’s a right girl for every boy. I guess I found the one for me before I even met you.
Dale (a female): I don’t know you from Adam.
Jerry: Maybe it’s the way I’m dressed.
Madge: Well if that’s your story, Horace, you stick to it.
