There is a ghostly number of trick-or-treaters out here in the city. Children are simply crawling out of the woodwork. Some of these houses must see nearly 200 kids. I'm glad my front light doesn't work -- I only have ten candy bars, I think.

So I'm sitting here on the couch, eating celery...

I've only been trick-or-treating once in my life. My mom made me a Little Red Riding Hood outfit when I was three and told me we were going to the apartment downstairs -- I didn't want to go -- and they gave me a piece of candy. Then we went back upstairs and took the costume off.

We didn't participate for religious reasons thereafter. Why go along with something rooted in worshipping the devil, with no possible Christian message to come out of it? (Which is tough to understand as a kid when the pastor's children did get to go out.) It seems like there was even one year I didn't go to the class party at school. One year when I was about five, we lived on a busy street and got herds of visitors, even with the porchlight off. We tried to avoid it by going up to the mall for the night -- only to find it's a popular place to trick-or-treat. I didn't really feel like I was missing out. We still had candy -- just not pillowcases full.

The Halloween debate for Evangelicals is still not one I've made a decision on, personally. I do appreciate the candy discount. And I do appreciate the adorable toddlers who will fill the empty spaces on page 2 tomorrow.

GRE QoD:

The frightened mother _______ her young daughter for darting in front of the car.
A) implored
B) extorted
C) exhorted
D) admonished
E) abolished

Answer: d

randomosity

• Em and I rented this random version of "Pride and Prejudice" after browsing every single shelf. I was skeptical -- but it was hilarious. It's set in Utah and made by Mormons. One highlight: "(Collins:) I had a kind of... funny... encounter with a girl in this congregation, who will remain anonymous, but for the sake of the story, let's call her... Elizabeth B. No-no, E. Bennett." It's off the wall but they did a good job of making it modern and realistic. It never came out in theaters, and probably didn't deserve to...but it's still a fun twist. Any group creative enough to cast Jane Bennet as an Argentinian exchange student deserves a chance.
• When I grow up, I'm going here.
• New "Edge of Iowa" column: The GRE question of the day. We will only be having verbal questions because A) I have the math under control, and B) you try displaying those math charts on a blog.

(Directions: The following question provides a given word in capitalized letters followed by five word choices. Choose the best word which is most opposite in meaning to the given word.)

28: LUDICROUS:

A) mundane B) semaphore C) illogical D) reasonable E) fallacious

Answer: Ludicrous means illogical, senseless or absurd. Mundane means earthly; it does not relate to ludicrous. Semaphore is an apparatus for signaling. Illogical is a synonym for ludicrous. D - reasonable is the opposite of ludicrous and the right answer. Fallacious means logically unsound, it is a synonym

diary of a church hopper, pt. 11

It might be easier to meet people if I bring a friend to church, I thought. So I took along my friend who was spending the night to the RCA megachurch.

No such luck in meeting people.

Not that we were trying.

Part of me said, "Don't put a lot of effort in if you don't see yourself getting involved." So I tried envisioning it...the easiest thing to see was myself helping teach second graders, or convincing a four year old to sit down on his carpet square and watch the flannelgraph. Or aiding parents trying to escape from their children in the nursery.

But is that in this church?

Pros

• Lots of young people
• Lots of groups
• Need for volunteers
• Small groups

Cons

• An irritating trek across the city to get there
• The unfamiliar worship music
• My skepticism toward the pastor
• Lack of elderly
• Rumors of church problems

Question 1: What is most important in looking for a church? If I liked everything, everything except the pastor, would that be grounds to move on?

Question 2: Is my skepticism toward the pastor warranted? "Wearing a mask" is the best way to describe my thoughts about him. But, is that just my past experience with pastors showing through?

Question 3: Couldn't a worship team be placed so that one could not see them, so that they would not be a focus of attention, maybe even we wouldn't know who they were?

Question 4: If one chooses a church according to where they see God at work, what is the evidence of his presence? This winds back to how God speaks, I think.

I find myself singing this song pretty frequently. Possibly, this is because it plays at least once a day in my car, where I haven't changed the CD in several weeks.

It's a new Switchfoot song. I can't say I love the CD or even that I can pinpoint what this song's about. But it's the only semi-acoustic track, and the tone makes me think of October.

Daisy, give yourself away
Look up at the rain
The beautiful display
Of power and surrender
Giving us today
And she gives herself away

Rain, another rainy day
Comes up from the ocean
Give herself away
She comes down easy
On rich and dead the same
And she gives herself away

Let it go
Daisy, Let it go
Open up your fist
This fallen world
Doesn't hold your interest
It doesn't hold your soul
Daisy, let it go

Pain, give yourself a name
Call yourself contrition
Avarice of blame
Giving isn't easy
Neither is the rain
When she gives herself away

Daisy, why another day?
Why another sunrise
Who will take the blame
For all redemptive motion
And every rainy day
When he gives himself

diary of a church hopper, pt. 10

Church-hopping might make a good book, yes?

Church-hopping and a profile of my boss after he dies. Those are the two books on my list to write. That and a collection of vignettes based on kitchen memories.

Anyway...

Amanda and I met up not far from the big RCA church. Recently it's been on my mind that I simply need to make a choice -- that I cannot have everything I want in a church. I cannot have a traditional service and lots of families and and age variety and lots of groups and ministries. I cannot have those minisries and families without a contemporary service, which I am far too cynical of right now. Anyway, decided to trek down to the area early and try to speak with the RCA pastor briefly before lunch.

And I did.

This was the guy who looked like Jerry Van Dyke's son in the service. He looked less like him up close, but he was still sugary sweet and clean and shiny. Thought my cynical self, like someone wearing a mask. So I set that aside and was honest with him -- that I'd visited, wasn't sure it was for me, tried lots of things. Wanted to know where they were looking for help.

He pushed small groups, and said they were looking for help in the children's ministries. Children's ministries are something I have experience with and would probably be good for me to plug into, somewhere.

I asked if he had advice for church hoppers. He said he encouraged just sticking with someplace for six months or so. Six months! That's...a long time. But he's probably right.

Told Amanda about the situation. She advised that she'd heard the church recently had a big split on a big issue, may be unstable. (Does this sound familiar?)

So, time to make a choice. Sunnybrook feels more familiar, but the Baptist church is closer and I have met someone there who was nice. But Sunnybrook is more welcoming. But I liked the Episcopal liturgy. But I can't make up my mind.

Come, Lord Jesus, and show us life.

shallow opinions

1. Aussie really is a better shampoo than Thermasilk. Sure, Thermasilk makes my hair soft. But Aussie...Aussie makes it soft. And, Aussie sounds cooler.
2. Online journals are kind of a dumb idea. How vain is it to think anyone would care to read the random things going through our heads? EVERY DAY?
3. I hate it when people overreact or overuse extreme punctuation.
4. Pet peeve: people who love spelling and "grammer."
5. I avoid fruit cocktail because once in a blue moon there are those fruit pieces with brown pits or spots or something on them. And those irritate me like nails on a chalkboard.
6. I have lovely wrists.
7. What if we covered zits with brown and pretended they were freckles? Did "olden days" people have zits?
8. Who knew the kids on "Everybody Loves Raymond" were actually siblings?
9. This job still seems like a study abroad that will never end.
10. It's so nice to wear a sweatshirt to work.

P.S. -- Friends of JoAnn, she and I will have no more travel diaries. JoAnn has a new home.
P.P.S. -- Do you ever feel bad for not feeling bad enough regarding our indebtedness?

All said and done I stand alone
Amongst remains of a life I should not own
It takes all I am to believe
In the mercy that covers me
Did you really have to die for me?A
ll I am for all you are
Because what I need and what I believe are worlds apart

diary of a church hopper, pt. 9

Are we only on Part 9? It seems like Part 30 at least.

Today was a second visit to the British-looking Episcopal church. There wasn't anything particular I noticed on the second go-round -- just admired the proficient organist.

Listening to the sermon, I wasn't terribly impressed -- and then I got angry with myself. I shouldn't be analyzing how good the sermon is. I should be listening to it. The sermon is not there to impress me. I shouldn't be zoning out if I've heard the message before. It's easy to become too comfortable with some of these truths.

There was another potluck after the service. I darted out this time before someone could ask me to join. The reason I don't want to go is that I don't want to be a social burden on someone. If I went, I would either sit awkwardly by myself, or stick around to the one or two people I met the whole time. And they wouldn't be able to socialize comfortably with other parishioners. I don't want to do that to them.

I enjoy the service, but I'm worried about hooking in to the body. The congregation is almost completely baby boomers and up, and then 8 and under. There are no "families." And I'm not saying I couldn't hook in -- I throughly enjoy baby boomers and children; rather, there could be something out there that would be a better fit for me.

But that's me again talking, looking for what I want, what I need.

I'm sick of hopping. I want a church to be useful in, and I want an instinct it's the right place to be.

Is there a "right place"? Will any place do?

I'm almost ready to go over to Sunnybrook (RCA) and just stay there, regardless of my thoughts about the service, just because I could see it being easier to get "plugged in" and useful. At the very least there would be children's groups looking for help.

"Useful" is a key word. I have huge amounts of unused time on my hands; it's awfully hard to love my neighbor when I don't have any.

(Which brings up another issue -- of course I do have physical neighbors, but I've rarely seen any of them. I could go up and introduce myself, but then there are issues of safety. Jesus wouldn't worry about safety, part of me says. But Jesus was a man, and I am a single young woman, the other part replies. What is the role of safety in ministry?)

Come, Lord Jesus, and show us life.

blast from the past

Twenty-seven hours ago, I discovered the radio show.

Well, maybe "discover" is the wrong word. "Stumbled across" might be better. Like Columbus.

My co-worker and I were sitting around in the late morning typing, and it was quiet so turning on the radio seemed like a good idea. But sports didn't seem like the right choice, or pop, or news.

So I went into the iTunes radio, and looked for some big band music. For whatever reason I kept looking through the stations and found one that was old-time radio shows (AM 1710 Antioch). Later in the evening I tuned in again. It's so interesting. The commercials are more fun because they're so polite and...almost amateurish. Like something I would have written.

You do have to tune in on the half hour, pretty much, to get the beginning of a show. Programs tend to run in half hour chunks, though episodes may be 15 minutes, and many are serials, meaning they're always continued from a previous show. But they're pretty good about catching you up at the beginning of each episode. (Except with "Magic Island" -- I've listened to a couple of episodes and still don't understand what's going on exactly.)

I have now successfully listened to two consecutive episodes of "Speed Gibson of the International Secret Police." This afternoon I went to vintageradioshows.com and saw I could download 106 episodes!

They're great for if you're trying to get some work done. Today, for instance, I've been tuned in for a few hours while I'm doing some fall cleaning. Sometimes (especially with Speed Gordon) I get so immersed in the show I find I'm not working at all.

How could you help not liking programs such as "I Was A Communist for the FBI" or "Have Gun, Will Travel"? I want to hear some of the classics like "Superman" or "Sam Spade" or Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen.

experiment

(Second recording goes first.)

A) This post from B.G. I found interesting.

B) It wasn't exactly that I've been drawn in to the hype of the new Narnia movies; in fact, I am quite skeptical about them. But it did occur to me that I haven't read "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" (note the decided lack of Oxford comma) in over a decade, and probably have never read the entire series.

So last weekend I picked up the first book. I had never read it before. It was one of those books you consume a couple dozen pages of before you realize you've even turned one. In those situations, I'm usually in a quandary: on the one hand, you want the fulfillment of having finished the book, and on the other hand, you don't ever want it to end.

But of course it did end and I don't have the next in the series. But that's good -- it will force me to go back to Dostoevsky. You are all my witnesses, whoever you are: I will finish it this time.

And, it's probably good for me not to add to this book collection. It seems like an awful lot of books, and I don't remember what happened in many of them. Some are textbooks filled with things I learned but do not know. It occurs to me sometimes that I should make it a goal to reread every book in the bookcase, to know everything within it.

A note more on "The Magician's Nephew": it was chock full of biblical allusions, causing this reader to rack her brains for parallels constantly. Most are imperfect, but perfect all the same.

D) Fun Web site, HEL grads: word-detective.com.

on weather

For part of the afternoon, I was riding along with a security officer in a local community. We simply spent an hour driving around, looking. It was impossible not to simply absorb the colors.

I could feel at home anywhere with these vibrant trees. Even here.

Drove through my favorite park on the way home, hadn't been there in a few weeks. The green is gone, and patches of yellow pop up here and there in the valley. Couldn't we have this variety all year long? No. Then it wouldn't be this special. We wouldn't be this grateful. Or, we'd simply be so in love with the outdoors the nation would lose efficiency and we'd all be paupers. But we could be paupers outdoors.

The weather man mentioned flurries Saturday night. Something in me wanted to sigh deeply with relief, and whisper "it's finally here." I cannot explain why having a cold nose gives me joy, or why a snow-covered world feels like the base, like normalcy has finally returned. Like I am finally on my own ground. Like I could possibly be in control again. On the other hand, the thought of being completely alone in winter is more frightening. The Donner Party comes to mind, and the winter depression of 2004.

But, sledding comes to mind. And snowmen. And the soft "trudge" sound of footsteps.

Come, Lord Jesus, and show us life.
We want to change the world,
but we don't know how.
We want to throw our arms around our brothers and sisters,
but we cannot reach them.
We want to break the bonds of self-centeredness,
but we are not strong.
Come, Lord Jesus, and show us how to live
before we die.

scary things to do

#1. Visit classmates.com. View the list of people you graduated from high school with; recognize names that have not floated to the forefront of your mind in at least four years. Find really no information regarding those people except that they've logged on to this site.

all-time 100 novels

Devi posted this link to the All-Time 100 Novels. I was surprised I've actually read 10 of them -- pure luck of curriculum. It's kind of depressing to look at the list. It's like a list of good intentions overlooked; a list you'll finish before you die if you're a good person.

the ever-fixed mark

that bends with the remover to remove... Nevermind. (Does anyone get it? ... Nevermind.)

Yes, my friends, I have finally gotten around to fixing the html in the blog links along the side here. It's funny how just one missing bit of punctuation makes all the difference. Let that be a lesson to all of us -- punctuation is important.

Tomorrow evening there should be a partial update on the weekend -- waiting to upload a picture. But, for now, a few bits:

• French people decorate the land alongside their freeways with modern art.
• My little sister turned 21. Family birthday week is officially over.
• I saw a beaver; and two dogs riding in a car with their heads out the window, ears flapping in the wind. It made me think of country bumpkins sticking their heads out of a limo sunroof in the big city.
• Candy corn has an unfortunate highly-addictive quality.
• Toby finally 'fessed up at the end of West Wing. I knew it wasn't C.J.
• There was a woman at Target who was nagging very loudly. I think she was at least a half dozen rows down but I heard everything she said. It was hard to tell if she was on a first date or something, because at one point she said "Remind me never to go anywhere with you again" and something else to the effect of this possibly never having happened before. Later on, I walked past the woman who owned the voice and saw she was with a teenaged daughter, not a man. My first thought: that girl is going to run away from home. And no one will blame her. Why was she dealt this cruel hand in life?
• Went Catholic again today -- long story why. Made a point of sitting next to the "cupboard" where they lock something up. I'm not sure if it's so much the chalice for the wine they lock up, but I think it's the extra wafers -- the extra body of Christ, because they can't just throw away the extras. And, everyone doesn't get the wafer and the cup. Why is this? It looks like everyone gets the wafer but most people don't take the cup.
• The Sloppy Joes' NBK Club has lost a member! Only two more to go.
• Consumed most of a drink without completely hating it. Then found out later my eyes appeared to be doing funny things. It was very disappointing to hear. I didn't feel affected at all, and didn't want to be. Didn't think I would be, on two-thirds of a glass of wine over two hours. Good thing it's a situation that virtually never comes up.

There are those moments when you are overwhelmed by the thought of "I am not enough" for A or B or C. For better or worse, the thought eventually passes and the unfounded sense of semi-adequacy returns.

Periods of self-loathing normally cause us to look at ourselves and then decide it's better not to look. Sometimes I think of this poem by Jess Babcock. I love it.

I hate my thighs
I hate my thighs and the way they jiggle
I hate my nose and my corny giggle
I hate that I'm turning into my mother, and
I hate that I hate this because
I love her.
I love the color of my hair and my eyes, but
I hate that I love them -- such vain foolish pride.
I love the dreams that run through my head, but
I hate that I kill them and cower instead.
I hate this about me,
I hate that about you, but mostly
I hate what my hatred can do.

I HATE ADVERTORIALS.

100th post -- more Dostoyevsky

Russian lit puts one in a precarious place: it's some of the longest stuff out there, and every inch is stuffed full of meaning. Thus, an hour's reading means you've only conquered 13 pages, and you probably missed a bunch, too. Is there much hope of getting to page 940 this time around?

Plus, Russians speak French. Older French. And not all the English translators bother to gloss over the translations. There are four years of French under my belt, but I killed a good 15 minutes today trying to find a translation for just one word.

After that 15 minutes, the translation: "I've seen the shadow of a coachman rubbing the shadow of a coach withthe shadow of a brush."

Now I need a translation of the translation.

But, as I said, every paragraph demands careful reflection -- much more reflection than I'm patient enough to give.

In the same way, if he had decided that God and immortality did not exist, he would at once have become an atheist and a socialist. For socialism is not merely the labour question, iti s before all things the atheistic question, the question of a form taken by atheism to-day, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to moutn to Heaven from earth but to set up Heaven on earth. Alyosha would have found it strange and impossible to go on living as before. It is written: "Give all that thou hast to the poor and follow Me, if thou wouldst be perfect." / Alyosha said to himself: "I can't give two roubles instead of 'all,' and only go to mass instead of 'following Him.'"

I love Russian lit. I need a Russian lit reading group.

I love how Dostoyevsky builds his characters, even if his sentences tend to be yards long. (The Brothers Karamozov)

It is known for a fact that frequent fights took place between the husband and wife, but rumour had it that Fyodor Pavolovitch did not beat his wife but was beaten by her, for she was a hot-tempered, bold, dark-browed, impatient woman, possessed ofa remarkable physical strength. Finally, she left the house and ran away from Fyodor Pavlovitch with a destitute divinity student, leaving Mitya, a child of three years old, in her husband's hands. Immediately Fyodor Pavlovitch introduced a regular harem into the house, and abandoned himself to orgies of drunkenness. In the intervals he used to drive all over the province, complaining tearfully to each and all of Adelaida Ivanovna's having left him, going into details too disgraceful for a husband to mention in regard to his own married life. What seemed to gratify him and flatter his self-love most was to play the ridiculous part of the injured husband, and to parade his woes with embellishments.

ingredient: carrots

The kind people at the baby carrot factory have given us a gift: what you see is what you get with their product. No preservatives. No artificial colors. No extra riboflavin. Ingredient: carrots.

Where do baby carrots come from? Are they truly the youngest members of the carrot family, or are they simply adult carrots hacked into tiny, more stomachable pieces?

Are baby carrots an innovation of modern vegetable technology?

Do they really peel baby carrots? Or are they too young to have developed the hard shell of age?

Has the influx of carrot children in the produce market led to a depression in the number of carrot adults out there?

Is it just my imagination, or are the younglings sweeter than their elders? "Sugar and spice and everything nice -- that's what little boys are made of."

Baby carrots aren't babies at all, says USA Today. When I think of reliability, I don't think of USA Today. So,

Here we have the Chicago Sun-Times, which also explains the new "petite" carrot.

how i spent my weekend

This was my first weekend at home in almost three months. Here's the view from my backyard:

Just kidding. I wish.

The plan was to go into Minnesota during the peak of autumn and emerge with a card plumb full of fantastic digital pics. There were, however, setbacks.

a) It was not yet the peak of autumn.
b) There were transportation issues to getting to picture locales. (Friends of JoAnn, she suffered another major health trauma last week. The prognosis on her life is dim, says Dad. She remains yet again in Minnesota.)

Well, those were the two biggest ones. The other one was that time spent photographing was time away from hanging with the fam, which, of course, was the whole point for going in the first place.

The above photo was the only real triumph of the trip. If you look closely, you'll notice there are two bridges in a row. Or maybe there are three...I forget. In any case, the scene is from one of the arboretums at Carleton College in my hometown of Northfield, Minn. Both the colleges there (the other being St. Olaf College) have breathtaking campuses with architecture and landscaping and what not. I know St. Olaf's buildings better, but, strangely, I know Carleton's scenery better. It has more public access and is to my knowledge more extensive, as well.

The arb has, in my mind, several parts, but it's technically just the Cowling Arboretum (upper and lower) and the McKnight Prairie. I had been all of these places many times, but didn't appreciate them quite as much until yesterday. The lower arb, for instance, includes a rare oak savanna. There aren't enough oak trees around here. And I don't appreciate oak trees enough. And who doesn't like a good waterfall? Or islands? Or geese? Or footbridges?

One of the islands (small, not even half a ballfield) had this neat maze worked into it in stone. A family with small children was squealing about in it when I arrived.

Three cheers for the arb (and not um ya ya).

diary of a church hopper, pt. 8

The people are the evidence.

Today's worship experience was, again, not a true "hopping," in that the congregation is not an option for regular worship. I call five hours a bit out of bounds for a commute. Still, worshipping with people I knew brought a few things to mind.

1. The people around you are the evidence of God at work. The challenging with being in group you've never met is you don't have their history -- you wouldn't have known Jessica two-and-a-half kids earlier. You wouldn't remember back to the all the lousy boyfriends she had before she finally agreed to a date with her husband. You wouldn't remember how no one paid any attention to the man who became her husband until the new youth pastor invited him out golfing. You wouldn't know that a third of the people in the congregation thought this church championed abortion and were crazy heathen liberals unless you were the one who, in a way, started the migration over back five years ago.

It made a difference for me in worship to see this history, and to watch as I sang "He Leadeth Me" all the testimonies of that before me. In a hopping status, it will be a disadvantage. How can I have these stories of these congregations related to me?

2. Knowing the pastor makes a difference, too. Knowing the respect the congregation had for this man, and having a personal relationship with him (and his beautiful daughter) gave him ethos in his message. It is possible to meet the pastors at these churches I'm attending.

3. Going to church with people makes a difference, too. Just thinking back, in the service, to all the grace you needed to deal with your co-worshippers even in the past hour makes you feel weaker, and more in awe. It draws you out of your bubble and gives grace hands. To hear the voices around you singing P&W be the same ones that laughed through a movie or complained at supper makes a difference.

Conclusion: Awkward as it is, a successful "hop" will take more commitment, more bravery, more boldness.

thoughts about Genesis

* Why did God "rest" from all his work? Can an immortal being get tired?
* There are theories, but just from reading this beginning to Genesis, why did God create the earth?
* How did the serpent become evil? Did God create evil?
* Why put a tree in the garden the humans are not allowed to eat from? Isn't that temptation?

These are old questions, answered and unaswered. Important and trivial.

rise and shine

It's 2:45 a.m., and already I've accomplished so much today. I've spoken with two hospital employees, two concerned parents (one on three occassions), conducted Internet research, and made a trip to Walmart. And, I saw a possum.

I wake up, and the news is on TV. Good, I think -- it must be morning, time to get up and get ready to go home. But no, it's 1:30. These are the late night news reruns.

So I scratch my back and lay back down. Gosh, my back really itches. So does... wow, that's a lot of bumps. And my eyes feel...oh gosh, they're swelling. And my face is blotchy. And my lips...don't they look kind of big?

You can't blame me for flipping out a little when I could feel bumps in my lips with my tongue.
Plus, my only other experience with a mysterious rash was 15 years ago and resulted in a trip to the emergency room.

The first instinct, of course, is to call your mother. But mine was sleeping. So first I did some panicked turning to WebMD...and then I called her, in a calm voice to bring her heart rate down after she answered the phone. And since any symptom is scarier in the middle of the night, she wasn't willing to swear to her diagnosis, and wanted a medical opinion.

A call to the hospital said a simple antihistamine was the remedy -- a simple antihistamine I happened to be out of, meaning a 2 a.m. Walmart run with a swollen face on the coldest night of the season so far.

And Kirk Cameron's on TBN at 3 a.m. I liked Kirk Cameron. Now that he's on "Praise the Lord," I'm not sure how our relationship will turn out.

Now I'm supposed to take antihistamines every six hours for 12 hours after the hives go away. Only catch -- antihistamines + Ariel = sleep. And Ariel has a day full of being awake to do.

Sometimes you're going through old music, and you stop to listen to a song that you didn't pay enough attention to before. Yes, it is more darn Jars of Clay. A track from their 2-cd set "Furthermore," mostly live recordings and remixes, plus one or two never released before, such as "This Road."


All heavy laden, acquainted with sorrow
May Christ in our marrow carry us home
From alabaster come blessings of laughter,
A fragrance of passion, and joy from the truth

Grant the unbroken tears ever flowing
From hearts of contrition only for You
May sin never hold true that love never broke through
For God's mercy holds us and we are His own

This road that we travel, may it be the straight and narrow
God give us peace and grace from You all the day
Shelter with fire, our voices we raise still higher
God give us peace and grace from You all the day through

tea time

It's getting to be cocoa season, I was going to say. Tea season.

Then I realized it's always tea season.

You might think my mom was British, unless you knew your immigrant history. Then you'd think my mom was from a Nordic farm family. And you'd be right.

There were certain things we looked forward to when we went to Grandma's (not Grandpa's, not Grandma and Grandpa's) when we were little: 1) Her larger-than-life unisex (but known as male) baby doll, Spike; 2) walking in Grandma's pasture; 3) Grandma's dog, Hoover, whom we got excited to see but were too scared to pet; 4) Grandma's big morning breakfasts; 5) sleeping in Betty Lyn's bed; 6) various toys singular to Grandpa; and 7) coffee time.

Yes, I said coffee time. And yes, I alluded to a tea time in the introduction. Really, coffee time includes a tea option. But I'm sure you will humor me, as saying "it's always coffee season" just wouldn't have had the same effect.

It was common for farm families way back when to have coffee times at set times of the day, where coffee was accompanied by a snack of some sort. Grandma and Grandpa and their children and cousins and siblings have coffee time in their blood and it is still observed. It's not a "we will remember our heritage" kind of observance, but more so they don't know life without coffee time. It would be a painful effort to take it out of the day. And there's simply no reason to do so.

Coffee times at Grandma's are: 1) immediately following breakfast, without snack; 2) 10 a.m., with cake, cookies or other dessert available; 3) immediately following lunch, without snack; 4) 3 p.m., with the leftovers or possible new options from the 10 a.m. session; 4) immediately following supper, without snack; 5) usually around 7 p.m....I get fuzzy about the ones after supper. I was little enough that I'd get shooed off to bed, or was more concerned about when ice cream might be.

My mom has coffee time, too, usually all by herself. I don't know if this is a practice she always had and I just didn't notice it until a few years ago, or if it has recently become defined. For sure, her coffee times (some being coffee, and some tea -- sometimes a day will include both and some months she is really into one of them) include a 3 p.m. and a 9 p.m. As I haven't lived at home for years I'm, again, sketchier on the rules following meals and on the morning cup. There is usually one cup of something with morning devotions, though. Tea times are something you do not want to mess with in Mom's day. She's not obsessive, but if you've been out all afternoon at a movie or something, it's not unusual for her to say in the car at 6 p.m. "I haven't had my tea" and head to the sink to fill the kettle as soon as she steps in the door.

(Her recent purchase of a new, shiny tea kettle is a separate, controversial subject.)

3 p.m. survives in my immediate family as the natural time you consume a dessert on the weekends, should one be prepared.

But coffee and tea have not caught on so well for us. I have now come to a point in my life where I can drink both, but don't yet enjoy it. My goal is to become a proficient drinker, as you aren't really considered an adult in a way in Grandma and Grandpa's house until you've moved from coffee time Kool-aid to a hot, non-cocoa beverage. My father, by these standards, is not an adult; most of my (younger) cousins are.

ever wondered?

I write a column every week -- it might sound classy, but it's not when you could potentially fill a paper with any crap you want (though, of course, I don't, or not intentionally). This week is National Newspaper Week, so let me share with you part of my submission this week on the issue. The column is called "Ever Wondered?"

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Maybe you haven’t been wondering about it, but here is some newspaper knowledge that might leave you a little better off, anyway.

Anatomy of a newspaper

Take a look back at the front page. See at the top where it says “Two Rivers Times” in huge letters? That’s called our newspaper’s flag.

Now, look down at the bottom right-hand corner of this page. See the box that starts off with “Two Rivers Times”? That’s called our newspaper’s masthead. It contains information about where we are published and when, and by whom. Our masthead also includes information on how you can contact us and what organizations we belong to.

The Two Rivers Times is a tabloid. Wait, wait – we’re obviously not full of Hollywood gossip or anything like that. Tabloid actually has two meanings, only one of which includes sensational stories. The other meaning is simply the size of a paper – about 11 inch by 17 inches per page. The larger sized newspaper is called a broadsheet. I like that tabloids are easier to hold than broadsheets.

Papers in history

The oldest newspaper still in circulation is called the Post-och Inrikes Tidningar. It is Swedish, and was first printed in 1645!

The first daily was a German paper that began in 1650.

The first newspaper to be printed in the colonies was “Publick Occurrences Both Foreign and Domestick.” The first and only issue was printed in Boston in 1690.

Other fun facts

Among those we don’t think of as journalists who were: Presidents William Harding, Benjamin Harrison and John F. Kennedy, Jr., and Dr. Seuss (an editorial cartoonist).

You may have heard about the Dutch and French resistance movements during World War II with their “underground” presses that printed illegal newspapers. Something I’d never heard before: The prisoners of war had their own newspaper, too, called the Pow wow.

Got some old newspapers around? The Old Farmers’ Almanac offers one tip for putting them to use: “Tape several sheets of newspaper together and lay them on the floor. Arrange your frames on the newspaper until you like the grouping. Outline the pictures, then gently affix the newspaper to the wall. Drive your nails right through the paper where your outline indicates. Remove the newspaper and hang the pictures.”

It's pretty easy to guess what the Washington Post thinks of Harriet Miers from the last image of her they leave us with.

it's not coming

Of course you were all waiting by your computer to see the next Diary of a Church Hopper -- and, well, it's not coming. And it won't be coming for two weeks in its traditional form. Next Sunday, there may be a short commentary in its stead. My apologies.

Quick note, though: The baptist church that preached about hell and named Katrina as judgment got some brownie points -- weeks after I'd attended, they sent me an invitation for some newcomer's gathering.

the tale of two televisions

I'm not sure what I was thinking.

For some time it's been clear that I needed to think about replacing my television -- it is a TV/VCR combo, and the VCR is on the fritz. If it gets much fritzier, then the TV goes with it. A package deal.

So when I saw this new TV at a garage sale this morning, a little light went off in my head.

Let's back up a minute. Now, one option for replacing the TV would be not replacing it. However, as I live alone, the television often serves just as background noise to heighten my sense of security. And, frankly, I like TV. I don't watch tons of it, relatively, but I want to have it around.

This new TV, anyway, was sitting on the ground there. It looked nice, and the price wasn't terrible. It got even better when I offered her something lower and she took it.

The first challenge should have tipped me off right away -- the ladies selling it said it was heavy, so I could back my car up and they'd help me load it. The tip -- if it takes two ladies to get it IN the car, how can one lady get it out? Hm?

Throwing reason to the wind, I went ahead and took it home.

Now, ladies, it has been proven once again that brains beat brawn again and again. I took my desk chair out and scooted the set halfway around the block on it and into my very own living room!

That was when I got the TV onto my table, and realized how monstrous it really was. 27" is a lot of television -- at least three of my old TVs would fit inside of it... And when you sit just four feet from it, the people's heads are bigger than your own.

I feel truly disgusted with it. It's enormous. I simply don't need it. But now I have it, and it will sit there, haunting me with its material superfluity, until one of us dies.