rachel’s blog

In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I have decided to pinkify (don’t you love that word?!) my blog for the month of October. Last year I was blogging elsewhere and made my whole site pink, but this year I’m just changing the header image. I had fun creating it, so it’s kind of sad that it will only stay up for a month.

I wish I could say that this pink thing is an original idea, but it’s not. Pink for October is an internet-based collective effort to support Breast Cancer Awareness Month by turning our websites pink. Feel free to add as much or as little pink to your site as you like!

This afternoon some colleagues and I spent almost three hours sitting in a meeting. Actually, it was more of a presentation than a meeting, but whatever you want to call it, it involved sitting still for an extended period of time while slowly flipping through our three-ring binders. The presenter is a very likeable and knowledgeable guy, and the project we’re working on is important, but since we had already sat through a four-hour presentation/meeting with him on Wednesday, I’m sure none of us were terribly eager to sit through three more hours today.

Today’s meeting was actually much better than I expected, but the highlight of my afternoon was when the presenter said something that no public speaker should ever say:

“I’m getting to my point sooner than I wanted to.”

Unbelievable.

I have been known to occasionally make snarky comments about the appearance of my neighbors’ houses. Well, not the houses per se, but the porches and front yards… if you can call them yards. Unlike my neighbors to the right and left, I actually have grass in the front yard. And I don’t use my porch for storage.

One Saturday morning when I was outside working, a middle-aged woman walked by on the sidewalk, carrying a bag. She said hello, and then she stopped… and proceeded to initiate a conversation. I had never seen her before in my life, so I started to become slightly suspicious of this random stranger who suddenly wanted to engage in a longer-than-comfortable conversation about nothing in particular.

Just when things were starting to get really awkward, she motioned to the one neighbor’s house and asked, “So are they having a yard sale?” Ohhhh. No, they weren’t having a yard sale. That’s what the porch ALWAYS looks like…

I live on a narrow, crowded street just a few blocks from the downtown area. Fortunately, most of the houses on the street are pretty well cared for… except for the ones next to mine. A number of my friends have asked whether anyone lives in the house next to mine (not the yard sale-ish house). Yes, in fact, it is occupied by the owners’ young daughter and her boyfriend, but I could see how the out-of-control plants and cluttered front porch could lead you to believe that it has been abandoned.

Last weekend my parents and I went out for Sunday lunch when they passed through town on their way home from North Carolina. Dad asked what the tall stalk-like plants were between the neighbors’ sidewalk and my yard. He liked them. I told him I didn’t know what they were, but that they were leaning so far into my yard that it made it hard to mow the grass beside the raised bed. I can’t exactly remember where we had this conversation (weren’t we in the car already, Dad?), but when I got home from work this evening, I was utterly surprised to see that ALL of those lovely stalk-like plants had been chopped down.

This, of course, makes me slightly paranoid that I somehow made that comment within my neighbors’ earshot. Maybe I should stop saying things I don’t want them to hear. I mean, if they clear out the abundant vegetation in the backyard too, I’ll have to quit my side job as a jungle safari guide…

I made some amazingly yummy Magic Cookie Bars (aka Magic Squares) for a potluck I hosted on Saturday night, so I thought I’d share the recipe with you. Of course, there’s really nothing MAGIC about them. If you put enough fat and sugar together, the results can’t HELP but taste good!!

:: Magic Cookie Bars ::

1/2 c. butter or margarine, melted
1 1/2 c. crumbled graham crackers
1 c. chopped nuts
1 c. semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 1/3 c. shredded coconut
1 can sweetened condensed milk

Layer ingredients in a greased 9×13 pan in the order listed. Bake at 350* for 25 minutes. Cool in pan.

The reason I haven’t written much recently is NOT that I don’t have things to write about. I do. For example, I could write about hearing Desmond Tutu speak on Friday night (did you know that he’s not only amazing, but funny too?). Or I could write about attending a live taping of a Ted & Company performance on Thursday evening (which lasted almost three hours…). Or I could write about “Pearl Diver,” an amazing independent film I saw on Wednesday evening (go see it!).

But right now I’d rather write about the new love of my life… the hammered dulcimer. :o) I know, you were getting all excited there for a moment, thinking I was dating someone, right? Sorry to disappoint you. (Or depending on your perspective, perhaps you’re relieved…)

I’ve been wanting to learn to play the hammered dulcimer for a long time, but I don’t own one, nor have I had access to one. A year ago, a friend of mine who owns a dulcimer moved back to the area. When he and his wife were getting ready to leave town for a couple months this past summer, I kindly offered to keep his dulcimer at my house while he was gone. However, my summer was very busy, and I didn’t play the dulcimer as much as I would have liked. After my friend returned home, I was prepared to give the dulcimer back (albeit reluctantly), but he agreed to let me keep borrowing the dulcimer indefinitely!

Up until Wednesday night, my repertoire was pretty small. I could play Turkey in the Straw and Old Joe Clark, and I could have plunked out a few more tunes if I tried… but I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to listen to me. After seeing the movie Pearl Diver, in which a group of people sings the hymn “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need,” I decided to learn to play the hymn on the hammered dulcimer. As I started to pick out the notes, something clicked. Playing the dulcimer felt natural. I got it.

Since Wednesday night, I have spent HOURS playing the dulcimer. (Don’t ask how late I stayed up Friday night…) I’ve been practicing and tweaking the hymn, as well as learning a few more folksongs. When I was playing the hymn yesterday afternoon, I thought to myself, “I’ve been playing this song so much I could probably play it with my eyes closed.” So I tried it — and I actually COULD play parts of it with my eyes closed!

Last evening I hosted a little potluck at my house, and several times I caught myself referring to the dulcimer as MY dulcimer. Unfortunately it doesn’t belong to me, and eventually I will have to return it to its rightful owner. I know, it’s very sad.

Is a Christmas wish list really a LIST if it only has one item on it?

It was The Day I Forgot to Go to a Meeting. According to my calendar, I was supposed to get together with two other people over lunch to plan for some upcoming worship services, but I totally forgot.

I know what you’re thinking: “Rachel doesn’t forget meetings.”

You’re right. Some people are careless with their commitments or perhaps don’t check their calendars very often, but I’m pretty conscientious about such things. I faithfully write meetings, appointments, and events on my little planner in pencil. Then I actually LOOK at my calendar on a regular basis. When the time comes, I show up. It’s really quite simple.

Needless to say, I was surprised when I suddenly realized that I had completely missed the scheduled meeting. This is the only time I can think of that I missed an appointment due to sheer forgetfulness. I suppose it’s possible that I’m just blissfully unaware of other such instances, but I doubt it.

When I got to work that morning, the lunch meeting was already in the back of my mind. I was prepared for it and was planning to attend. So how did I manage to forget about it? It’s kind of a long story, but I’ll spare you the gory details and just fill you in on the context. That morning at work I was reviewing a project with my boss that I had just completed. When we agreed that it was ready to go to print, we walked out of her office and promptly ran into a colleague of ours who was arriving at work later than usual. He had been listening to the radio in the car and told us about a breaking news story.

It was a day of tragedy.

It was The Day I Forgot to Go to a Meeting.

It was September 11, 2001.

My calendar tells me that today is a holiday — Labor Day, to be specific. Unlike other people in my neighborhood, who spent the day working in their yards, flying kites (no joke), and enjoying their backyard BBQs, I celebrated Labor Day by laboring. My colleagues and I even kicked off the holiday with a staff meeting at 8:15. (On a Monday? What were we thinking?)

According to the U.S. Department of Labor website, Labor Day is “dedicated to the social and economic achievements of American workers. It constitutes a yearly national tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country.” Never mind what the DOL says. This American worker spent the day working, um, I mean, contributing to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of a certain private institution of higher education that chooses NOT to give their employees the day off.

Of course, I certainly wasn’t the only person in America who labored on Labor Day. There are many, many people who spent the day working hard just so other people could enjoy a day off. And really, I’m not so sure our nation is ready for what it would mean to actually give the “American workers” the day off. Gas stations, restaurants, grocery stores… all closed. Americans would have a fit (to put it mildly) if they were all prohibited from spending money for an entire day.

I find it particularly sad that some of the people who worked today probably didn’t even WANT the day off… because having a day off means a day without pay. This became glaringly obvious to me several years ago when we had a heavy snow/ice storm one night and the organization I worked for decided not to open the next day. While I was outside shoveling, my neighbor came out, and I made a comment about his having the day off too. “Yeah, unfortunately.” Oh, right. If he doesn’t work, he doesn’t get paid.

On behalf of those of us who get paid holidays, a huge heart-felt THANK YOU to those of you who don’t.