Cool Cucumber

I am naturally clumsy. In 7th grade when I was in honor choir, I was kicked out of the elf troupe because I was never going to learn the cute elfling-dance. In high school, I didn’t make it through even one day of cheerleader clinic because I couldn’t keep up with the movements. (My cheerleader dreams died that very day as a result.)

Yesterday, however, was a new high in clumsiness injuries for me. To start, I was teaching science and a darling 4th-grader abruptly stood up, slamming his chair into my left kneecap. “Owwww!” I whined, tears filling my eyes as I tried to shake off the sharp pain shooting up my leg. His eyes were so big and scared as I reassured him, wincing, that I was all right.

Later, I was leaving a restaurant with friends when I decided to take a shortcut to my car in its parking spot. I leapt up onto the wooden planter separating the parking rows… and missed it barely. SLAM! My right shin hit the edge and the rest of me hit the rocks on top of the planter. Even my keychain, which I’d been holding, was broken by the impact. Owww… I edged down from the planter with the hope that no one saw it. No good- my friend’s fiance popped out of his car- “Are you okay…?” (Translation: “How in the world did you do that?”) “Yes,” I replied sheepishly. I limped to my car where I was able to look at my scraped hands and already bruised legs.

Fair readers, there is still one injury left in my day. Last night in a strange sleeping/twitching incident, I startled my cat, who was sleeping WAY too close to me, apparently. I remember startling, but what I really remember was receiving the gash on my arm- the cat got me with her claws, probably in her sleep! Argggghh…

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I found this cool quiz on The shaping of myself towards a more grown-up form. Here is the variety of American English that I speak:

(Note to Melissa: It’s pronounced “Car-mul”, not “Care-a-mell”.)

Here’s the quiz if you’d like to take it yourself: What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Let me know how you score!

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Mmmm. I just bought a carton of mango sorbet and I am just sitting here enjoying the warm October night in Colorado.

Church this morning was wonderful, even though my normal church pal Becky wasn’t there. She’s in Ethiopia for the month working on a nonprofit home she’s opened for women with fistula. She posted an update this morning on her web site, and she told me I could quote part of it here:

I am living with Legesse, Bizuneh, Tigist, Martha, and Elizabeth. Martha is the first woman with Fistula that we have helped. She looks so healthy and happy. Tigist was saved from the countryside and forced marriage. Elizabeth is our newest love. She was also saved from forced marriage. Forced marriage is quite common here in the country side. A man waits for the unwilling girl to let her guard down and be somewhere alone. Then his friends hold her down while the man has relations with her. She is then his wife until he leaves her. The house where I live is about two hours from the closest internet center so I may not be able to write as often. We have electricity but no running water. I learned how to shower with a bucket and dipper in the Philippines, so it is really not difficult. We share two bedroom between all of us. It is wonderful to see how much their lives have been improved. Our home is about a 30 minute walk from where the last taxi drops us. As I was walking up the hill after I first arrived, Elizabeth came running. She started crying she was so happy that her whole little body was shaking. You can imagine how I responded. We were a mess. Especially in a country where it is not correct to display emotion publicly.Tomorrow, we will begin our “step by step” with the government to get our home officially opened. I am sure we will have good news soon.

I am so happy for her, and want to travel with her sometime to see this wonderful home that dares to love and care for the outcasts of Ethiopia.

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I had a dilemma… and I guess technically, it’s been solved. I made my decision and it’s over. I’m not sure many people are even thinking about it anymore, but I thought I’d write about it anyway.

One of my closest friends had a “party” last night. I say “party” because it was one of those trying-to-sell-you-something “parties” disguised as a real party/happy hour on a Friday evening. First of all, I don’t like those selling parties. I’d rather have someone invite me to come over and try a product one afternoon than try to pass it off as an opportunity to get people together for fun. She doesn’t sell the product herself, but got roped into hosting for an acquaintance of hers who sells the darn stuff. And I don’t want to buy this junk anyway.

I saw the party hostess today and asked how everything last night went… she is still puzzled, maybe even a little hurt that I didn’t attend.

I guess I don’t understand why I had to feel obligated to go in the first place.

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