Happy Reformation Day

I currently am situated in the Redeemer computer lab, blessed with surrealistically fast internet service. It's quite shocking, actually, to click on something and have it come up within two seconds instead of 2 hours. Would it be so difficult to extend such wonderful speed to our apartment, I wonder? Or are we just destined for perpetually slow-like-molasses internet? Sigh. I think I pose a rhetorical question.
Work today was work. At least no one asked me to take down a fridge from the overstock and prepare it for delivery. Do I look like I can carry a fridge? Do I look like I have worked there long enough to have a license to drive their machinery? No, I don't think so, Wally with a dolly.
Mike and I just returned home from a dinner out with my family at Swiss Chalet. Mmm!! And the Halloween . . . . Reformation day dinner tradition lives on.
Yesterday we had our first annual fire drill at church. Of all the eligible people in the church, I happened to be one of the few lucky ones chosen for nursery duty in the morning. It wasn't too busy, at least not in the infant nursery, as we only had four kids. Fire-savvy babysitters that we were, we smelled some hypothetical smoke and just happened to have the kids all bundled up for the entrance of the elders, one of whom announced with a completely convincing monotone intonation of "Fire. There's a fire. Everybody out. There's a fire." So we left, and somehow in the commotion a renegade toddler escaped from the nursery next door and was found later, alone in the church, looking for his parents. This indicates a problem in our fire evacuation procedure, I believe.
I only have one more thing to add. Today I talked to a fellow employee at Staples about one of his most interesting sales experiences. He sold a laptop to an Amish man who had never seen a computer before in his life. Quite funny actually. It was for his daughter going off to college, and they were planning on hiding it in the barn whenever she didn't have to use it for school. This guy had no idea what he was looking for in a laptop, so my colleage explained the concept of a computer in relation to the workings of a tractor. The hay wagon is the hard drive, where you keep all your stuff. The tractor wheel is the "input device", or the keyboard. The engine drives the tractor like the CPU drives the computer. It's strange to realize how accustomed we are to computer terminology, and to think there are people who have absolutely no clue about what a computer even looks like.

If You But Let

If you but let the Father guide you,
Relying on His faithfulness,
He will be evermore beside you
In all your sorrow and distress.
He on whom God Most High depends
Builds not his house on shifting sands.

Will anxious care or bitter sighing
At any time give true relief?
And what avails us our decrying
Each morning's evil, trouble, grief?
We only add to grief and stress
By discontent and bitterness.

Be still! What God in His good pleasure
To you in wisdom may impart
Is given you in perfect measure;
Thus be content within your heart.
To Him who chose us for His own
Our needs and wants are surely known.

With song and prayer, in faith progressing,
In all you do God's will obey.
Expect from Him alone your blessing:
He will renew it every day,
For God will never those disown
Who put their trust in Him alone.

Disjointed

Today I feel somewhat disjointed. Not in a particularly bad way, but just one of those days when you start off a little off balance, like one leg's longer than the other. So far, though, it is a better start to the morning than yesterday's, where almost the first thing I did in the day was drop an open box of Q-Tips into the waiting toilet bowl. My day definitely improved after that, though, for which I am thankful. I found my name on a "Top 3" list for special orders in the lunch room, which was somewhat exciting.
There is a really freaky phone in Staples. It is set up near the front of the store, and advertised as a courtesy phone from Bell for anyone who needs to make a phone call. That would be all fine and dandy, except this phone talks to itself. It has a screen with random video clips of happy people using telephones (well, I think that's what it has, but honestly I haven't wanted to spend too much time around that phone, either because I'm too busy or it makes me nervous). When you walk past it, it talks to you, and it makes me jump everytime.
Did you know you can buy a 25 foot roll of bubble wrap for $7.83? I really had no idea how much bubble wrap would cost, but $0.31 a square foot doesn't seem too ridiculously much for hours and hours of self-therapy. If one were to use 1/4 of a square foot every other day for stress relief purposes, a 25 foot roll of bubble wrap would last you 28 and a half weeks, or about 7 months and 4 days. That would last me till the end of May, which would possibly be the end of my Staples career, depending on when and where we move. That works out to 3.6 cents per day - possibly a worthwhile investment for countering the negative psychological effect the courtesy phone is having on me.
This morning, I am having a coffee and a cookie for breakfast, just because I can.

Grey Monday

Well, it was another long and tiring day at work. A Monday, which began dark, dreary, and wet, without a sunrise to light the way. While busy filling shelves and checking up on items misplaced or reported out-of-stock, I completely missed the main excitement of the day, which involved fire and danger of explosion and fire trucks. How sad! I would have enjoyed something as interesting as a burning car in the parking lot and a subsequent dousing of said car by a pumper truck.
I watched two strangely dressed young women pick out Sharpie markers for whatever project they had on the go. I decided that they either belonged to a strange monkish cult or working for a Heritage Canada place acting out people who belong to a strange monkish cult. They were wearing maroon and yellow robes to the floor, covered in ornamental beading and tied at the waist with a metal chain. Their hair was exactly the same length and was done in exactly the same way, brushed back very tight with clips on the side. They received my vote for the interesting part of the 11 o'clock hour.
I had a long conversation with a elderly Swedish woman today, if it can be called a conversation when she talked for most of the full twenty minutes at the pace of an auctioneer, hardly letting me get a word in edgewise. She complained of the poor treatment of senior citizens by the Canadian government and the isolation she feels living in Canada. When I told her that a church community does a lot to bring more meaning to life, she told me she left the church because it was full of hypocrites and disrespectful people, and wanted nothing to do with any further church conversation.
My replacement did not come at 5:00 as scheduled, but arrived late enough (5:35) to give me ample time to discover and report the theft of a number of high ticket items, which had been stolen and their packaging dumped amongst the file folders in the nether regions of aisle two, which apparently is the favorite dumping ground for thieves. Sometimes, people are disgusting.
Tonight, I broke a beautiful champagne flute, a wedding present from one of my brand new sisters. This did not make me happy at all.
I have 900 pages left in my book, so I think I'll wear some cozy clothes and curl up in a comfy chair and read till its bedtime.

The Return of Heat

It was somewhere around the beginning of September that we discovered our trusty little car's heater was refusing to work anymore. How long this was a problem, we can't be sure, but it certainly was a sad discovery. For the weeks since then, the lack of heat was not too bothersome and we were not thinking ahead to the imminent arrival of cold weather and the unfortunate reality of frost and foggy windows. This past Thursday I was met with the evil reality of a frosted-up windshield when I arrived at the car on my way to work early in the morning. Lacking a snowbrush and enough time to search for one, I unhappily scraped the ice off with my fingers, and drove to work with hands so cold that the beautiful sunrise did not get as much respect and awe as it certainly deserved. It really was a fantastic sunrise - do they become extra spectacular in the autumn or is it just that I'm able to enjoy them more now? Anyways. While I was visiting my parents this afternoon, my Dad went out in the rain to take a look at the car and, "all done", he fixed it!! Thanks Dad!!

Sleep Deprivation

I can't write much today because my fingers are burnt. Oh, not too badly but enough to make the tips shrivelled, red, and occasionally quite painful, especially when doing dishes. After a long and tiring day of work, I came home with a depleted reserve supply of active and alert brain cells. It was to be chicken pot pie for supper, and the oven needed to be heated up first. Unfortunately, we store our cookie sheets and the like on the two shelves in the oven, and these were not unloaded before they were heated up along with the oven to a crispy 350 degrees F. When we realized this, Mike, using his very intelligent brain, grabbed oven mitts and removed the first load of cooking stuff and when he had the second load of stuff and nowhere to put it, I had a brain fart and grabbed the first load with bare hands to stick it on top of the fridge. Needless to say my fingers got a little bit frizzled, and now they hurt. It was dumb, and I have decided that next time I burn myself it won't be my fingertips but it will be some body part that isn't quite as essential - perhaps my appendix. We had an extended conversation on the possibilities of such a thing being accomplished - how does one go about burning one's appendix without burning anything else in the process? My idea was a hot hot chili pepper encased in a slow-dissolving capsule, swallowed and then deftly manouevered via handstands and crunches to end up lodged in the appendix, where the capsule would break open. Mike's creative idea included many lasers coming from different directions, all converging on the appendix. Anyone with better ideas, feel free to let us know. Anyone else, who may think this conversation seems to be a little strange, you must realize that it is fueled by a mixture of creativity, curiousity, and exhaustion. Anyways, since I'm not going to be experimenting with chili peppers or lasers anytime soon, I need to get some ice.

Death of the Mistletoe

Hooray for the return of our oven! Our fuse has been replaced and once again we can make pizza and cookies and pies and yummy potatoes. Except that we've never made pies. Unfortunately, however, as the maintenance guy was leaving, he took a glance up to the ceiling and noticed the absence of our smoke detector . . . and the mistletoe in its place. He took one look at me and said, "ok, where is it?" Those readers unfamiliar with Redeemer's apartments should be informed that these fire alarms are located directly outside the bathroom door, and the bathrooms are equipped with ventilation fans which serve purely decorative purpose - they do not function as ventilation. In fact, if the shower is on for 30 seconds, the whole bathroom fogs up and as soon as the door is open, the smoke detector is activated. Every time. So imagine - two people living in an apartment, taking an average of one shower per person per day, this ends up with the alarm going off two times a day, 14 times a week, and a stunning total of 730 times per year. That is competitively worse than an oven timer going incessantly. So, before we moved into the apartment, the smoke detector had been removed by the previous occupants and we found it tucked away in a cupboard on top of the fridge. Now I fear that the mistletoe, which had happily taken its spot on the ceiling, will have to be removed and replaced with an oh-so-much-less fun smoke detector. Who needs fire regulations anyways?

Especially for Rebekah

After enjoying a great evening out drinking luxury coffee, eating fancy cookies, and talking about this, that, the other thing, and the meaning of life in general, I feel it is my duty to confirm to my wonderful teacher friend ex-roomie that her birthday gift coupon, which I neglected to bring with me last night to let her redeem it, has been officially deactivated. She is no longer on the hook for birthday treats, but anytime she wants to go out for coffee again, or whatever, I'd love to go!!

Pop Went the Fuse

For strange and somewhat amusing reasons, our oven is currently out of commission, and most likely will be in such a condition until next week as the campus maintenance men are gone for the weekend. It all started last week . . . for some reason or another, the timer was set for a random time on the ancient, possibly first-ever-constructed Kevinator mini-stove we have in our apartment. Upon reaching the set time, the timer went off. And off. And off. Or was it on? Well, off or on, the timer was buzzing and there was no way we could figure out how to turn it off. If you've never heard an oven timer on an ancient stove before, you should know that it has to be one of the most annoying noises ever created, especially when you know there is no good way to shut it off. So, off Mike ran to grab a pair of plyers, and, after pulling off all the dials on the front of the stove with no success in cancelling the noise, the whole center timer portion of the stove somehow became completely dislodged from its casing in the stove. So here we were, wires and innards of the stove hanging out on the stove top, and the buzzing continued. After random and frantic pulling of wires, the noise finally stopped. Oh, well, we thought, we didn't need that timer anyways. And we thought the story was done.
But lo it was not! Before he picked me up from work, Mike had made pizza dough so we could enjoy our wonderful and perfectly perfected pizza for supper. Having enjoyed proper stove functioning for a week or so, we expected nothing unexpected - it would be a simple matter of turning on the oven and letting it heat up, and then soon we would enjoy our pizza. But NO!! That was not to be. It was discovered that the evil buzzer, somehow and for some strange reason, had decided to associate itself not with the timer but with the temperature control knob on the oven; perhaps our oven is possessed but now it wanted to buzz when the oven is on. And that simply is not a good idea, if we would like to remain sane. And sane is good most of the time. Once more, it seemed an attack on the oven and its wires was warranted - out came the plyers again. This time, sparks were flying and buzzes went on and off, then sparks, then buzzes, then . . . . silence. And the discovery that the fuse popped, for some reason. All this excitement has made me very hungry.
Thank you Karen for letting us use your oven :)

Failing rambles

There's something about sitting behind a computer and staring at a screen that makes my mind go blank. I don't know if this is a case of minor writer's stage fright, or if it is a lingering effect of having graduated from university and leaving the world of essays, assignments and exams behind. Oh, I remember the days and late blurry nights of being chained to the Computer Beast, pumping out words and paragraphs and citations as though my life depended on it. I wonder how many hundreds of pages of writing a university graduate has put together over the years - and how many of those, on average, are a result of last-minute scrambling and caffeine-stimulated brain cells working in overdrive.
It seems that my morning cup of coffee isn't affecting my brain quite the way it used to.
I think my brain is shrinking.
I need a book.
Yes.

Hooray For Safe Returns

After over two months (actually I believe since Civic holiday Monday) our most favorite and cherished trivet/pot-holder has returned to his home in the tea-towel drawer. It is unfortunate that such objects are not equipped to relate to us their stories, because we certainly would like to know where he has been for those many weeks. With no warning at all, he just up and left that unfortunate day in August, leaving us bewildered and confused. Perhaps he grew tired of that small, dark little drawer, and after yearning to see the world beyond the kitchen, he finally decided to take off for a while. His return today was as unexpected and surprising as his departure - we just opened up the drawer, and there he was, nice and quiet, as if he had never left at all. Silly pot-holder!

Thanks

Well, Mike and I just finished our first ever Vander Deen family Thanksgiving dinner for two. Granted, it was a few days early, and did not include a turkey or apple pie, or even stuffing (not that I eat it anyways) but it was still very yummy and we were both thankful for it, so I think that qualifies it as a "Thanksgiving" dinner. Plus it's almost Thanksgiving, so what more do you need? Mike is such a wonderful cook - I came home from work to the smell of roast cooking and potatoes boiling, and by the time it was all said and done there was the table, laden with meat and potatoes and gravy and broccoli and cheese sauce. It certainly is easy to take all our many blessings for granted - here we are with great food on the table, each other to eat it with, meaningful things to fill up our days with, a place to live with everything we need and many things we don't, a fantastic family, a strengthening church community - when you are living in a bubble world of blessings it becomes almost hard to notice them unless you really sit back and count them. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!

On podiatry and patience

I think my feet are just about ready to give up the ghost and fall off. They've been so overwhelmed by the whole new job thing that they've gone into shock, and I don't know how much hope to hold for their recovery. As soon as I'm done this blog, I'm going to dress them up in soft fuzzy socks, sit down with them on a comfortable chair and read them a good book. I'll treat them to some warm tea and perhaps even a piece of chocolate, and then a good night's sleep and we'll see how they are bright and early tomorrow morning. And THEN after all that, I'll take them along with me again to work and plunge them back into the marathon mayhem that I have learned is working the aisles at Staples.
On another note, it has not taken me very long at all to discover that this whole new blogger-identity that I have assumed is likely to do one of two things for me, both of which stem from the sporadic and unbelievably slow internet service provided to us by our trusty institutional landlord. I will either quickly learn a whole new level of patience and anger management techniques or I will be driven to such a level of frustration that the damage suffered by our computer may quickly end my new blogger career before it really takes off. Let's all hope for the first option, as everyone could use a little extra patience.

Welcome to the World of Blog

So. Several years after the word "blog" first entered my vocabulary, I have finally broken down and joined the mass of bloggers who post their minds on the net. Thanks to my wonderful sister-in-law Karen, I have (semi) committed myself to being creative and dedicated in drafting tidbits about my life and times, sending them into cyberspace for who-knows-who to read. For those who stumble in, be warned not to expect hilarious entertainment or the deepest philosophical thoughts - if these make their way in at all, they will be rare and created very late at night when the brain juices have started to ferment. Welcome to the world of Rachel!