so here we are today -- cleaning

Espana

I'm in Spain! We went to see the Rock of Gibraltar today and there are wild and free monkeys! A baby walked right up to us! It was amazing. I promise to post pictures--including one of the Spanish and Moroccan coasts in the same picture! Oh my goodness this world is incredible!

Love you guys!
Suz

Smithing

to Kevin



We couldn't find the nails.

We had sought and sought. We were exhausted from the soughting. Gena and I had been up and down the aisles of Bauhaus, the German Home Depot, looking watchedly for the little boogers. We had found circular Christmas lights, browsed magnetic photo-covers for your washing machine, and finally located hammers, but no nails. And as much as I say I am loving learning German, I am probably just as equally hating the actually-using-it-and-possibly-looking-stupid part. Sometimes it's all I can do to gruntingly grunt out a "danke" or "tchüss."

"Oh, allright. I guess I'll go ask that guy over there," and I was already half-way to the info stand.

*cough, cough* I politely coughed.

"Ja, kann ich Ihnen hilfen?" Not even upwards looking up, the man helpfully asked if I needed any help.

"Um . . . ja, ich suche die . . . " and here I realized that I didn't actually know the word for nail. It was the pause that must have prompted my especially-helpful employee to join my playful game of foreign-language charades. I held up the pretend nail in my left hand and began to pound poundingly at it with the pretend hammer in my right hand. After what I considered to be a sufficient number of pretend whacks for the pretend nail to have been appropriately and sufficiently erected by the pretend hammer, I stopped and grimaced over at him.

"Achso. Sie suchen diese oder diese?" he asked questioningly, pointing to each of my pretend items.

"Diese." (I would hope by this point in the story that I wouldn't have to spend a great deal of time telling you which of the "not real but just pretend" items it was that I gestured to. That would just be a waste of my time and yours.)

"Ah, ein Nagel."

"Genau! Nagel!" and here's where I decided to get fancy and form the plural of nails on my own and try again . . .

"Wie komme ich zum Nageln?"

*silence*

You know, you have to wonder how Janet Jackson felt in the middle of her "star-studded" Super Bowl fiasco. At what point did she realize she was giving us a partial monty, baring her . . . soul to the a world that was about to dish it back to her via internet review-sites. At what point was it glaring that even years later semi-monthly bloggers would be comparing their own shining shame to her bare-chested performance?

"Um, you don't vant to say dat. Dat is some-ting else."

Apparently in the dialect of this region, I had just asked him where I should go to get nailed.

"Nägel sind am Gang 12."

"Danke," I grunted as we each turned, reddening.

Anybody have a sweater? It's getting a bit nippy in here.

"Tchüss."

The Jewish Nation and Me, Part 1: Seder Barbie

Oi! You must watch this film! (It received honorable mention at Sundance this year.)

I got my first Barbie in first grade. She had a purple-sequined gown with a versatile silk wrap that I could twist behind her head or around her plastic arms. Marianne, the daughter of the pastor of the church that had started our little Christian school, gave her to me. She was in second grade. Josh was in second grade. Josh could shoot baskets and make people laugh, and when I overheard him in the lunch line for Frito pies say that he liked girls with ponytails, I wore a ponytail for the rest of the year. Barbie's hair got put in a ponytail, too.

Seven years ago, I found out I was Jewish. Well, an eighth Jewish anyway. My dad's grandmother on his mother's side had fled Germany and changed her name. She changed her name and married my great-grandfather. Their name was Diabell. So Grandma Jean is half-Jewish, my dad is a quarter-Jew, and my brother and I share the rights and privileges of the eighth-Jewish.

I packed up Barbie and her friends a few years ago. Since first grade we had each learned to play tennis, joined a rock band, and collected a few boyfriends. I remembered huddling with them in the bottom of my closet while hurricanes and tornadoes ravaged us. Her legs were sticky and discolored. Her hair was stiff, and stayed pulled back even after I had untangled the ponytail holder. I baby-powdered each leg of each doll and dressed them in their favorite outfits before closing the cardboard flaps again.

As a child, I enjoyed imagining the total destruction of my beloved Barbie collection. My Barbies liked their plastic men with dark hair. I grew up in the southern midwest United States. I went to my first Passover meal last year and didn't stay for the whole thing. I have always liked my dad's pork chops--medium-well, still juicy with seasoned salt.

But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." --I Samuel 16:7

I am a bearer of the image of God's son. I am a descendant of royalty and a rich heritage. I am a princess dressed in white, twirling beneath the snowflakes that fall today in Kandern. I am beloved and caressed. I can take my hair out of its ponytail. For my Abba, my beautiful One, is pursuing my heart and has captured me.

our living room is now yellow!

the view from my bedroom window

the other view from my bedroom window

Bern Bears

"awwww, beeeears!"

Gena's favorite part of Bern was the bears. These are only two of the ten pictures she took of them... Bern means "bears," and the city has apparently kept bears for over two hundred years. I don't know... they didn't look that old. *mwu-wah-hah*


another bear

285 steps of Bern

beth, whitney, and me. gena was behind the camera. we took a weekend daytrip to the Swiss capital. it's about two hours away from kandern, or, as i like to put it, a full four games of sudoku.


we climbed this there...


in order to see this. looking closer at our view, we discovered dirty laundry, an empty birdcage being used as an outdoor fridge, and i revisited a bout with fear of verticals.

why yes, that is the celebrated ogre-eating-children fountain that you have heard so much about.

now that's a slide.

whitney had seen the spinny-thingy from the top of the cathedral and just had to sit in it...


so we did, too

a musical fly... we apparently hit the city during a protest of the World Economic Forum that was soon to be held in a Swiss resort town. this guy sure made me think twice about my use of the Dsus in a C Minor world...

me, beth, and cappuccino in bern

Dear Miss Emily

Dear Miss Suzanne,
Hi, I am ******'s daughter. They have Awana Clubs here in Missouri. In my Awana book says that I need to write a letter to a missionary and ask them some questions.Could you please answer some questions:
Where do you work? What is your job? What is the hardest part about being a missionary? What do you like best about being a missionary?Thank you for answering these questions!

Love,

Emily

~~~~~~~~

Dear Miss Emily,

Thank you for your letter! I am so glad to hear that you are involved in Awana there in Missouri. I remember having a lot of fun in Awana clubs. I think I enjoyed all of the crazy games the most! :) Our gym floor at school had a HUGE red, green, blue, and yellow circle outlined on it--and it was just for us kids. I felt so special... Which group of Awana are you in now? What's your favorite part of going to Awana?

Ok, now you had asked me some questions...ah yes, here they are. Let's see, first, "Where do you work?" I work at Black Forest Academy in Kandern, Germany. (I think you probably remember a thing or two about that place! :) ) "What do you do?" I teach piano lessons to 39 missionary kids this year. My youngest student is in second grade, and my oldest students are in twelfth grade. Now, answering those two questions was pretty easy for me to do. It's your next two questions that make me think a little bit more. That might also be the reason I didn't answer your email sooner--sorry. It's just that your questions were so darn good!

"What is the hardest part about being a missionary?" Emily, I think the hardest part for me is trying not to live up to the word missionary. Have you ever known someone that you really wanted to be your friend? What did you try to do to get them to be your friend? Did you make something for them? Did you do nice things for them? Did you want them to see how well you could sing or draw or dance?

I think sometimes I think being a "good missionary" is treating Jesus like someone that I really want to be my friend. I try to impress Him by how many students I can teach or how well I can teach them to play scales (your dad has taught you about scales by now, I'm sure!). But Jesus doesn't want to be my friend because I can do all these things for Him. He wants to be my friend because He already loves me. Wow... that's pretty incredible, isn't it? Can you imagine if every person you ever wanted to be your friend, already liked you! Well, the best friend out there (the one that sticks closer than a brother... that means closer than Calvin... ok, maybe you'll understand that one better in a couple years... Calvin, be nice to your sister!) eh-hem, the best friend out there wants to be my friend already. And sometimes the hardest part is to stop trying to impress Him and to start getting to know my Friend better.

"What do you like best about being a missionary?" I am sooo glad you asked that question! My students are my favorite part of being a missionary. I think it's because they are teaching me so much about the countries they have lived in and the friends they have made there. They tell me funny stories and ask me questions that make me laugh and (not very unlike your questions) make me think. They make me want to get to know our Friend better.

Now, I'm no C. S. Lewis, but I hope this email answered your questions well. And I hope that you will get to know our Friend better, too.

Lots of love, Emily,
Suzanne

Gerontophobia

Tonight's the Valentine's party at school, and I've been home sick all day sleeping, coughing, blowing my nose, and watching the sixth season of Frasier (thanks, Sharri). On Friday, the high school guys were supposed to wear a hat to school if they were available, and the girls would then pin something to the hat of the guy they asked to the Valentine party. Girls at the dorm on Thursday night were a bit giddy, and I hear that there was a crowd of girls waiting for the guys' dorm vans to arrive early Friday morning. :) Sorry I missed that photo opportunity!

Last weekend, I went with the strings and choir kids to a church in France to do outreach. First, we visited a hospital and a nursing home. It's been a long time since I visited a nursing home. There are two that I walk past on my way to school every day. If I leave early enough, there's a woman who will be in the common room on the second floor of the building closest to school. She'll wave down at me, and I'll wave back up. If I forget to look up, she'll rap on the glass to remind me. I haven't left early enough in a couple weeks. And it certainly hasn't occurred to me to go in and visit her. I'm sure there are whole college courses on this subject--I know it's gotta be related to my fear of being in there myself or the inability to face old age. Whatever it is, it sucks, and I don't like it.

Maybe I expect them to be cranky or not care, because I was really surprised when the men and women in Mullhouse were appreciative and some followed us around the entire time. One old man was walking around and clapping for each song. The ladies with us explained that he was a pianist and had been pretty famous in his younger days. He wanted to give us a concert, too, so we agreed to meet him downstairs by the piano after we were done.


A few choir members and one of their faithful fans.

One woman started yelling unintelligible syllables while the kids were singing a capella in the hallway. I had designated myself official photographer, since we decided not to lug a keyboard up and down the halls. I don't know any French, so I motioned to some of the women that did. "I think it might be too loud for her," I offered. The lady chaplain went in to speak with her. "No, she just wants the group to come into her room so she can see them," the chaplain explained.

She had explained to us earlier that nearly all of the 400 people in that hospital wing would be in a bed for the rest of their lives. So 20 of us crammed into the small hospital room and sang "Give Me Jesus." The last verse was especially moving to those of us who spoke English..

Oh and when I come to die
Oh and when I come to die
Oh and when I come to die
Give me Jesus

Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
Oh and when I come to die
Give me Jesus

Dangit, I want to have Him before that! After writing all of this, I have visions of myself becoming the next Florence Nightingale to the nursing homes of Germany. In high school, I started walking to the nursing home across the street with my piano books. I played on the baby grand in the foyer, and there were lots of folks who would wheel or walker themselves in to listen. But then they started asking for requests. I didn't know the pieces they wanted to hear, and I felt like I disappointed them. So I didn't go anymore. Maybe that was just my excuse, though, to not have to go back.

The formerly-famous pianist gave us a delightful concert on the electric piano downstairs. He and his knobby, niccotine-stained fingers played Chopin, Debussy, and a familiar French tune. I sat right by his hands, and he looked up, smiled, and winked while mumbling in French. We cheered and clapped, and some of the kids played for him, too. As we left, I gave him the traditional French kiss-on-each-cheek goodbye. He grinned and reached for his cigarettes that one of the chaplains was holding out for him.

I guess walking in was relatively easy. It was the walking out that was hard. Walking out is still hard. Maybe that means I should be walking back in more often . . .

(pictures from the trip)

Today

I am now sitting at school at my desk in my office that I am oh-so-proud-of. The walls have finally been hung with a painting of daffodils on a red background, a mirror (for the flute students who need to check their embouchure--I promise), and a music staff-lined chalkboard with the question, "What is a scale?" The tall, curly bamboo that I bought at IKEA last fall is still twisting toward the sun on the marbled windowsill next to my desk. The plant next to it was not so lucky--picture a three-weeks-with-no-shower Kid Rock.... but without the hat to hide under. Ravel's La Valse is swelling and pulsing from the cd player behind me, and Für Elise is seeping through the so-very-not-sound-proofed neighboring wall. I just took a break from this post to give my friend Julia a hug, fill the hot-water-making pot, and wash my coffee mug--it's spiced tea for me this morning, though. It should be ready in a few minutes.

In a bold move, I left my gloves at the apartment door this morning and walked to school with my hands inside the pockets of my lime-green coat. It wasn't as cold as it has been but just enough to force me to tuck my chin behind my thick collar and tilt my head down to avoid doggy treasures on the sidewalk. Success today--my school shoes remain undefiled!

Laurel is coming in 12 minutes for her lesson. I love this kid. She's got the curliest hair in school and just got a short bob over break. She always has a smile stretched from ear-to-ear. In one of our lessons last year, she was telling me about a boy that she liked. Well, somewhere in the story, I picked up the phrase "...and then he kissed me."

"Oh, so that's why it was awkward?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"It was the post-kiss awkwardness..." I tried to explain.

"WHAT! NO! HE DIDN'T KISS ME!!" and she burst into the most endearing fit of giggles and snorts.

So I've made it to the leaf particles at the bottom of my tea, and the soundtrack is now Daphnis et Chloe. The post-it on my monitor reads "What's my goal? What do I want (really)?" I think right now I want to change the cd (really).

p.s. the boy in the picture is her brother, Corban.

I Fought the Settlers, and the, Settlers won

It has pursued me, and it has won.


the settlers of catan

I love this game. Mz first invitation to plaz was over a zear ago, and I plazed for the first time last night. Thanks for having a birthdaz, Dave. It has changed mz life.

Germans know their Wurst, snowsports, and games that involve cards. Promise me. Promise me... if zou are given the chance to plaz that zou will take that chance. Zou see, thereäs this island that zou are trzing to ÄsettleÄ on... )i think thatäs where most of the name comes from? and zou can build roads... but onlz if zou have wood and bricks because we all k now thatäs where real roads come from but if zou have too much wood or wheat zou can alwazs trade it in for a sheep or two but thatäs onlz if someone else has a sheep that thez want to trade for zour wood or wheat ... mazbe zou should ask someone else to walk zou through it, though. someone that uses fewer zäs in their explanation...

p.s. couldnät get the kezboard off the deutsche version

Pink Pants and Santa Shoes

I remember reading a children's book when I was little about how different countries of the world celebrated Christmas. The illustrations showed drawings of little boys and little girls in their native garb holding a symbol of their way of celebrating (a synechdoche, if you will). In my heart of hearts, those pictures have continued to come to mind when I hear again of those traditions. If I close my eyes, I can still see the German child holding her leather shoe filled with fruit and candy. She's wearing a red skirt with little flowers and over it a white apron. I see her blonde hair and shy smile.

Tuesday night, Gena and I were beginning our four-flight trudge up to our apartment to have a quiet cup of decaf and enjoy the stretchings of the cat and the twinklings of our small Christmas tree. Gena stopped on the first landing and said, "Oh! Look!" Two small pairs of shoes were in the stairwell outside our landlord's door. They each had an orange, a wrapped gift, and a treat bag. "St. Nikolaus has been here..." Gena and I giggled. "Oh, I have to take a picture!" I whispered.



Alex and Katharina, our landlord's children, in the tradition that has gone hundreds of years before them, put their shoes out on Dec 5 for St. Nikolaus. Huh, I thought. They're not old leather shoes with woolly tops . . . they're tennis shoes and fun bright Euro-school shoes. And an image of Katharina's bright pink pants replaced the red skirt of my memories.

Deck the Claws

Ah... thanks, Sean--a topic. Similarly to a man-of-glass shipping himself to the Americas as a Christmas present, this post will arrive in pieces.


kitties get advent calendars, too... "meow-meow-meow-meow-meow, meow-meow, meow, meow." the girl is Alyssa, one of my roommate's small group girls. she loooooves Edwina.

Death by Death Ray

The things you find when you google yourself... egosurfing, I believe it is aptly named. The following are excerpts from the very first episode of Law & Order in 1990. (I'm the dead girl.)

Dr. Raza: My children want to stay in this country, my wife wants to stay, and to stay, all I have to do is to be perfect all the time!

Det. Mike Logan: Well you, uh, fell a little short of perfection on Suzanne Morton's chart.
_______________


Philip Nevins: Isn't it possible that pneumonia killed Suzanne Morton?

Medical Examiner: It's possible that death rays from Mars killed her. But I don't think so.

A Two-Edged Hope

"We must come to accept and even honor our creatureliness. The offering of ourselves can only be the offering of our lived experience because this alone is who we are. And who we are--not who we want to be--is the only offering we have to give."
--Richard Foster, Prayer

There is so much in my heart right now--so much to say. It's so full, and I can feel it bubbling over already. It seeped into ten pages of my journal on the trainride home from Stuttgart tonight. It flowed into a two-hour conversation with my roommate. And it's currently coursing its way into a post... Maybe the moment when I have much to say is the same moment I should say nothing.

My voice hurts from writing. My throat aches as if I have cried out to Him audibly. If I had, would You have heard me more? If I groaned, would You listen? You are still to be praised. I will still praise You. I must. For You alone know me. You alone hear and recognize my voice. You alone know when I rise and when I lay down. You alone keep me from travelling alone, though the seat next to me remains free.

You are in Jerusalem. You are in Baden-Württemberg. You are in my heart. You hem me in from behind and from before. You--One full of grace and truth. There is freedom in You, and I will not choose mere emotion. I will not choose what I want if it is not what You want. I will not choose self-fulfillment... at least, I'm having a pretty strong moment here, and I don't want to.

How long, my God? How long will I continue to judge by a man's exterior? His verneer? How much am I missing in those around me? Help me to look--to really look--and to know how to respond actively, intentionally, lovingly to what I find there.

Yeah, life is going to go on--it must, and I'll feel tomorrow a bit less than I do today. But I will hold on to hope--the hope that I do, in fact, want You.

Subtitled: I Can't Keep This From You

1.

Our landlord Tomas came up to introduce his family to us last week--his wife Birgit, his son Alexander, and his daughter Katharina. Thomas was telling us about rent and how to get DSL, Birgit was listening, Alexander was hanging on the stairwell railing, and Katharina stood in front of her father beaming up at us.

Alexander looks just like the little kid in Jerry Maguire of "The human head weights eight pounds" fame. Katharina is just too cute for words. They're both in elementary school, which I think starts this week or next. So, of course, when I made cookies last Friday for my students I had to make some for Alex and Katharina, too! Alex answered the door.

"Hallo?"

"Diese sind für Ihnen."

"Ah, ok. Danke!"

"Bitteschön! Schönen Tag!"`

"Tchuß!"

"Tchuß!"

It was a short conversation as he was apparently entertaining a little friend who was over for the day.

2.

Gena and I were walking to our apartment from our new parking spot--right up against the clock tower on the cobblestone square. A teenage boy was sitting on a park bench with one of the largest dogs I have ever seen. It was laying down, but all we could see was brown fur.

"Wie heißt er?" (What's his name?)

"Er heißt Elton John," he replied with a grin.

Gena and I started laughing.

"Er sieht ihn aus!" (He looks like him!) I smiled.

Uphill

"What am I doing?!" In front of me was yet another steep slope in the mountain trail. "I don't think I can do this anymore," I thought to myself but wasn't about to say it out loud. Most of the cross country kids were a good way ahead of me, but Kathryn from Personnel had stayed back to make sure I didn't lose my way.

"This should be the last steep one before we get to the llamas," she shouted over her shoulder. "Okay," I panted back.

"Go, Happy Camper! You're doing great!" One of the cross country guys had stayed behind on a log to nurse a bad ankle. He didn't know my name, so he was cheering me on by the lettering on my tshirt. I smiled at him. It was a brief smile, however. His log was right in the middle of that hill.

I made it to the llamas where the rest of the team was already stretching. My face was as red as my tshirt, and there were a couple happy-camper jokes. There were no llama jokes. I wanted to make one, but I wanted to puke more than I wanted to think about llamas. So I did.

"I feel so horrible that I just don't know if I ever want to run again ever, and if that's true, how am I going to get down this mountain?" I thought to myself. So I just started walking. After a few hundred feet, I started jogging, then I began running. The next 25 minutes were gloriously beautiful. The trail weaved back through the forest, into a glen, past the public pool and camping grounds, back through a cute little neighborhood, across Haupstrasse, and onto school grounds. I had a big smile on my face when I joined the team's stretching circle. It was as if I had completely forgotten how much pain I had been in.

These first ten days in Germany have been fast-paced and fun, but they have been hard, too. You can read and prepare for culture shock as much as you like, but there's really no way to be completely prepared for it.

I think the biggest struggle for me right now is just how long it takes to get simple tasks done. Going to the grocery store takes longer because I'm not familiar with the items on the shelves. Getting tasks done at school takes longer because I missed orientation, and I don't know how to do simple things like print out a schedule. I must limit my non-food shopping errands to one or two stores a day because stores in Germany close at 6:00 p.m. I'm in kindergarten all over again and find myself doubting my worth and abilities. I think I find a lot of self-worth in multitasking. But I really think that this is just the initial uphill climb. There are genuine moments of beauty that deserve attention as well and God has been good. My next post will include these moments.

For now, if you could pray that my body would be quickly healed of the same bug that I had before I left for my Germany trip last March, that would be awesome. I start lessons with students on Monday, and my schedule is almost complete. They will be coming to my studio on Friday for lunch so we can chat and mingle. Many of them are very advanced, and I am nervous and excited all at once. I will have pictures as soon as I can download my camera software.

Thank you for your patience with me.

an outfit that will not be making the trip. alas, fare thee well . . .

*insert trumpets here*

Dearest Highness Ellen,

*insert groveling bow here*

Mine ears have heard the most wondrous tales of your talent and beauty from afar. The good Queen Rachel and the newly-crowned Queen Jennie speak only of the delights of being a member of your court. They have praised your goodness and your generosity and have compelled me to come before you with my plea.

I am no more than your loyal servant, but I come before you on bended knee. Dare I ask it? Would you bestow such grace upon me as to induct me into your court? Nay, I should be so lucky as to find favor merely to be your musician or jester.

So here I am with nothing and no one to recommend me, but I ask all the same. Would you be so kind as to coronate me?

Your Loyal Subject,
Lady Suzanne

p.s. I might just make you an original Royal Handbag.

Time to Get Ill

Licensed to Ill is only $7.99 on iTunes. Thirteen white-man-overbiting, head-nodding, arms-pumping-above-head tracks for the same price as half a batman tshirt.

Sure Shot isn't on it, though. I had to purchase that one separately.

If leaving this place should feel a bit like dying, then I am expecting St. Peter to meet me at the gate greatly disappointed if I haven't met my Beastie Boys quota by Friday.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I am leaving!! My flight leaves Friday, and I am in mass-panic mode. I may not post much this week, but I'll try to at least leave vignettes if at all possible.

Yesterday: co-hosted wedding shower for Chris and Alicia. They will be getting married while I'm gone. It was my first time to meet Alicia, and she is beautiful. I'm very proud of your choice, Chris, and very excited for you. I then proceeded back to Paula and Adam's and fell asleep on their bed, forcing them to take the couches. Sorry about that.

This morning: breakfast with Kevin and Latonya and back to Ta-town.

It's a beautiful Sunday, isn't it?

Scrubbing & Surfing

The dental assistant job ended yesterday, and I find myself once again unemployed. So what do I do to occupy my day? I clean the bathroom. For three hours. Three hours, folks. And this is not a large bathroom. The tall people on Ellen's site would hit their knees when they squat. Somehow, I managed to scrub for half an afternoon. I scrubbed and re-organized our three-person corner caddy and found the hole that the ants have been climbing through. And Rachel was right. Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser is a miracle-worker. I swear, all I did was gently wipe, and the soap scum ring around the bottom of the tub packed its bags yelling, "I'm packing my bags and yelling!"

It is so clean that I have come to the edge of the linoleum several more times today (I've been drinking a lot of water) and been compelled to remove my shoes before entering. Ahhhhh. It feels so nice to have a clean bathroom. I'm wondering how long I can hold out on taking that next shower . . .

I also found this picture of my old friend Andy Scott from OBU. He's a diving coach at Duke now!! Way to go, Andy!!

And for those few yet faithful fans, the Barbie saga has returned.

Jesus Christ

I went to see The Killers tonight for the first time--nice. I gotta admit I was a bit skeptical about them at first, but I highly recommend you catch them live if at all possible.


mm, mm, good

After rocking out to "Somebody Told Me" and "Mr. Brightside," we went to IHOP for late-night pancakes. It was our 18-year-old waitress Rashael's second night on the floor by herself, "So I hope I do okay," she told us as she set down our pitcher of decaf. "You're doing a great job," we assured her. She was so cute about explaining her waitressing thoughts out loud to us. At one point, our conversation lulled to find her leaning against the divider next to our table. "I didn't want to interrupt you guys, so I thought I would just stand here and listen until you noticed me." How can you not just smile about that?


i found this picture in a google image search for an ihop pic-- let me be that happy to have pancakes.

It took a while for our food to come out, and we were excited when we saw Rashael (pronounced Ruh-SHELL) come around the divider with plates of eggs and pancakes lined up her arms. "Short stack?" she asked Matt. "Who did you call me?" he asked. "JESUS CHRIST!" she answered and blushed. Apparently the plates had been hotter than she had anticipated, and our hunger pangs were quelled momentarily for several minutes of laughter.

The Tooth and Nothing but the Tooth

So I've been pretty busy this week. By night, catching up with friends on the phone, trying to raise the last 35% of my monthly support, and writing thank-yous for those wonderful souls who make up the first 65%. By day--a dental assistant. No, you read that right--a dental assistant.


i did this all by myself!


I am now a semi-certified, x-ray-developing, instrument-sterilizing, patient-room-cleaning, coffee-making, trash-taking-out-ing dental assistant. And let me tell you, I am exhausted. Teaching piano doesn't really fall into your 8-5 work schedule. It is 10:17 pm as I type this, and I wanted to be in bed two hours ago. My dental hygienist roommate Amy's boss (d'ya get all that?) hired me for this week plus a couple days. It's pretty perfect timing really. But that's how this whole week has been--perfect timing.

At some point last week, I had reached the breaking point. August 5 was my goal-date for being in Germany, and, well, I'm still in Wichita. "God, I am unemployed and not at full support--how am I going to do this? Is this really what you have called me to do? Am I really with you? Am I just making this up?" And the tears welled up. It was the first time I had cried out of frustration and fear. All tears up to that moment on my couch had been about saying goodbye to dear friends, family, or places--these were out of doubt. I had reached the end of me.

Within an hour, my friend Austin walked into the same restaurant where my friends and I were eating lunch. "Hey, I think we can help you out on that support thing." The next night at the movie theater we ran into Amy's friend Amber. "Well, send me information on supporting you." Before walking into a pizza place the following day, I heard "Suzanne!" Natalie wanted me to send her family more information on supporting me. My support jumped from 41% to 65% in one week.

It only takes a little thing like money for me to begin to doubt his ability to be God. He turns Jupiter and Mars in their orbits, and yet I doubt his power to move the hearts of those I ask. The wealth of the nations is his, and I can't trust his ability to provide next week's groceries. He loved me first, and I cannot begin to fathom it.

"My people have committed two sins:
They have forsaken me,
the spring of living water,
and have dug their own cisterns,
broken cisterns that cannot hold water."
--Jeremiah 2:13

Muddy water. I've sacrificed the moisture in my hands for sanitization processes and latex gloves this week, and yet I'm still not willing to give up my muddy water. These cisterns, these wells of mine--they're not deep, they're just familiar. There's too much me in this picture. Trust really does require abandon--and until now, I've been trusting my online bank account.

God, lead me to your cisterns. Help me to recognize them. Give me courage to drink deeply.

100 Things About Moi (II of IV)

26. The worst lie I ever told was at summer camp in Wisconsin. We had meals family-style, and I seemed to always get stuck at the end of the table, where the servings plates got passed last. This particular evening, we were having fried chicken, and I had my eye on a particularly juicy-looking piece when Jackie, who slept two bunks over from me and had made fun of my favorite t-shirt, decided she wanted that piece, too. I seethed under my breath, "That Jackie is such a pig!" "What," asked her friend next me, "What did you say?" "Um, I said my friend Jackie's on a dig . . ."

27. I am actually a world-famous journalist that was forced into the witness-protection program after single-handedly protecting the long-lost language of the tribe of Widuni, which survived near-extinction by re-introducing the adjectival hyphen.

28. My lying and hyphenating skills have greatly improved since fifth-grade summer camp.

29. I like shoes.

30. I really like shoes, but I've only worn one pair of hot pink Reef's for the entire summer.

31. I'm not really a Coldplay fan. Many apologies.

32. It is a secret dream of mine to one day attend an Aerosmith concert. oops.

33. I don't like change . . .

34. I got my first CD my sophomore year of high school. I had had two really cool pine racks that each held 100 cassettes hanging in my room. In my mind, there was no economic need to entirely redo the format of my music collection. So, I procrastinated. One afternoon I was shopping at the mall with my friends. We were browsing in a Christian bookstore, and I recognized the band playing over their speakers--Out of the Grey. They were a current favorite of mine, and I walked over to the CD section of the store. "Excuse me, do you know what's playing right now?" "Why yes, it's Out of the Grey, and this is their CD right here!" I replied to the woman who had asked. It turns out, she wanted to buy it for her daughter. "You think she'll like it?" "Well, that's the one I'd buy if I had the money," I said. There was only one CD left, and next thing I knew, the clerk was handing me a plastic sack, telling me it was mine. "Um, no, I don't think so . . . " "Um, yes, I'm pretty sure this is yours." A stranger had purchased my first CD for me. I still like that cd.

35. I bought my first CD player shortly after receiving my first CD and winning the school-wide candy sales competition (see #23-24), which granted me a $125 shopping spree at the mall.

36. Between the two of us, my roommate and I own five cats. No, after three re-readings, that is not a misprint. We have five cats, they are family, and I can identify each of them by the jingling of their collar alone.

37. I was a senior rookie on drill team--meaning, it was my first year of drill team, and I was a senior. I never got entirely comfortable with being in a leotard that year in front of the whole school.

38. I am a HUGE Adam Sandler fan. The love affair began with Billy Madison my junior year of high school. "Stop looking at me, Schwan!" It's still in my top five. Mr. Deeds is my current favorite.

39. "Mrs. Lippe's car . . . is green." Mine is currently a silver Jetta, but my dream car is an orange Scout, and my high school English teacher's name was Mrs. Lippe.

40. I won my first swing dance contest last night. This comes as a shock to me as well.

41. I love experiences that speak to deeper parts of my spirit. Swing dancing has become one of these things. I had my first private lesson today with a kick-ass teacher from Chicago. She worked almost the entire hour on keeping my body and frame in a position that allows me to follow my partner (the lead). Following is really about positioning myself to respond to whatever the lead throws my way. It was positioning that stuck out to me today--there is intention in that word. There is an art, a will, a discipline in allowing myself to be led, rather than a limp-limbed slinging-about. It occurred to me that I am incapable of sensitivity to God's gentlest proddings without that same art, will, and discipline. Thanks, Evin.

42. I sucked a bee up my nose at summer camp in Wisconsin in fifth grade. I think it may actually have been one of those water mimics, but the bee-thing makes a better story, so we're going with the bee.

43. I can't stand cottage cheese or tapioca pudding. I think it must be a texture thing.

44. The list of lessons (we're talking private lessons) that I have had at some point in my life in no particular order: gymnastics, ballet, soccer, softball, tennis, golf, crocheting, baton-twirling (seriously), drawing, piano, guitar, painting, swing dancing, jazz, swimming, Spanish, voice, violin, scrapbooking, driving, jazz piano, racquetball, knitting, typing, strength-training, German, cooking, wine-tasting, basket-weaving (also seriously).

45. I can be indecisive (maybe also insecure) about choosing clothes for the day. I have been known to go through three outfits before deciding. I just don't like the part of the day when I have to decide what to wear. Can we invent an iPod shuffle mode for my closet? Please?

46. I love journaling, but blogging has kept me from writing as much as I used to. As Oscar Wilde's Gwendolyn says, "I carry my diary with me wherever I go. It is always best to have something sensational to read on the train."

47. I may forget birthdays and anniversaries, but I never forget trash day.

48. I like to buy cereal, but I don't really like to eat it. Mikey, the rabbit, and Fred Flintstone call to me as I walk past their aisle, and I just can't resist. "Ooh, look, I can get a big cool bag of generic Cocoa Pebbles, and look how much I'd save . . . " I had two bulk Raisin Bran boxes for over a year--I packed them and moved them to our new home and still didn't eat them, then sold them in a garage sale. I'm currently working on a box of generic Bran Flakes and am determined to finish them before the week is out. Feel free to ask me about those later.

49. I first encountered the word determined in a Superman comic on a ski vacation with my family when I was 7 or 8. I remember asking my dad, "Why is Superman always DEET-uhr-myned?"

50. One of my favorite quick-wit moments (since I have had many) happened at a small gym that used to be downtown where Amy and I had memberships. We had just finished working out this particular day and were hanging out at the front desk. A UPS worker had exercised that morning and was heading off to work in his uniform. "Thanks, Kim! See you tomorrow!" he said on his way out. My friend looked confused, "Did that UPS guy just work out?" "That or he's delivering a gym bag," I quipped. *insert laugh machine*

What makes a Christian marriage unique? How can we, as Christians, be expected to weather lives that those without Jesus are not expected to survive or even respond well to? Is there any difference? Can I really make a difference? Can I really love someone well and permanently? Is that even possible? What really happens when the googly-eyes are gone? What then? Choice? Courage? Do they really exist?

100 Things About Moi (I of IV)

1. I really like baseball. This is defined by relishing the memory of the Athletics in the 80's and going to Ranger games with my family as a kid. My brother collected the baseball cards, and I organized them. We once counted over 10,000 cards. So, I guess, really, I like to organize, and baseball got in the middle.

2. I witnessed Nolan Ryan's 5000th strikeout from the first baseline at Arlington Stadium. My dad bought me a t-shirt, which I no longer own (dangit!). This may or may not have been the same game that I told God that if Ruben Sierra got a base hit, then that meant I was supposed to marry Rueben Foster (my second grade love). Ruben rounded to third base. All in all, it was a good day for everyone.

3. One of my pet peeves is radio commercials that have cars honking in them. I usually only listen to the radio in the car, and my heart skips a beat, I check my rearview mirror, and I completely lose my train of thought. This irritates me because . . .

4. Most of my brilliant ideas come while I am vacuuming, showering, or waiting in the drive thru at Taco Shop.

5. In second grade, I wanted to invent a typewriter that typed in cursive. Second grade was a big year . . .

6. My first job was as a ride operator at Six Flags over Texas on the Log Ride. I don't think that's the technical name of the ride, but I had called it that since I was a kid. It had always been my favorite.

7. The only time in my life that I have ever enjoyed black coffee was a nine-month stretch last year of opening Starbucks at 5:00 a.m. I was a regular opener, and my tastebuds weren't awake enough to protest. Or maybe there was a lot of lobbying . . . I plead the fifth.

8. I LOVE Roald Dahl. When my mom found out, she began to buy up his entire works at Half-Price Bookstores across the Dallas metroplex. My favorites to this day: The BFG, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, and The Twits. I checked out The Twits at our local library at least half a dozen times. (That was just a very wordy sentence for "I really liked it.")

9. As a kid, I owned about five goldfish, one at a time, and I named three of them Virginia.

10. I wasn't allowed to have pets as a child, except for the Virginias. So I collected porcelain cats. I had a space on top of my dresser reserved for their rompings, and I loved to arrange so they had optimal interaction with one another so they didn't get lonely. (See #11)

11. Jim Henson's "The Christmas Toy" changed my life. I had always been sure that my stuffed and porcelain animals came to life when I left the room, and now I had proof.

12. I love Diet Dr. Pepper, even though it is probably eating through the lining of my entire digestive system. Yum . . .

13. To me, ellipses denote sarcasm &/or humor . . .

14. I intend to quit drinking Diet Dr. Pepper and its cousins when I get to Germany--they're more expensive there, and harder to find--to borrow the immortal words of Tom Petty: "I'm taking the easy way out."

15. The very first non-Christian concert I went to was at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Denver to see The Allman Brothers. It's been a semi-illustrious five years.

16. After publishing my blog, I read my own post at least three times for editing purposes . . . and to chuckle at my own fine sense of humor.

17. I don't think I look good in yellow, but I love yellow so I wear it anyway.

18. I love mornings, even though I don't often get up to enjoy them when I can.

19. Spiders scare me, and I can't kill them--but only when I'm around someone who is not scared of them (or they're big-ass spiders). If the other person is the wienie, then something clicks and I can squish away.

20. I taught my dream-self how to wake up. I was sick of getting bullied by all the monsters, zombies, and my brother in my dreams and not being able to scream to wake myself up. So one night in my sleep, I just said, "Come on, Suzanne, swallow!" And after I swallowed, I could scream--which, I think really came out more of a mellow "Ungh . . . " but did the trick nonetheless.

21. My Barbies always suffered natural disasters when they were in my care--hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis. You think they would've picked up on their meteorological circumstances and worn more clothing.

22. I'm a hoarder. Hmm. That sounds a little harsh--I'm very sentimental.

23 & 24. My first known super power was being able to see through walls. In first grade, I always raced to be the first one done with bathroom break so I could be at the front of the line. Now, I am naturally competitive and that deserves its own number, but this particular race was so that I could practice seeing through "the wall." The front of the line was a corner in the middle of a dog-leg hallway (there's some golf terminology for ya). And if I leaned out just so, the wall became half-way transparent. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want to reveal myself just yet--I mean, you just don't know who you can trust, right?

25. My sixth grade science teacher revealed to me that I, in fact, did not have a super power when he had us hold toilet paper tubes next to our hand and un-focus our eyes. Evil villain. I crushed a homemade confetti egg on his head later that year--bet you didn't see that coming, did ya, evil science teacher? Ha.

Last Week of the Firsts

Well, it's finally here . . . my last week of teaching as I've known it. I've been looking forward to it, and now that it's here, I'm just not sure if I'm ready to leave. Today, one of my cute little students gave me this picture from our spring recital and some nice, travel-sized shampoos--because I'm going to be traveling . . . sooo cute.


rowan

Part of me wonders if I'm missing them enough. Acclamation to a new student has always seemed to give me butterflies. My very first official lesson with a student (that was not a photo-lab buddy) was in graduate school. The university gave me an assistantship--to this day I'm not sure why they picked me, and I nearly puked before that first lesson. Turns out, the student had perfect pitch and was majoring in violin--sure, no pressure.

It has gotten better since then, but I still get those same jitters during the first couple lessons with new students. I want to be able to give them my best and let's be honest . . . I want them to like me, too. Did you learn much from teachers you didn't like?

There were four semesters of private lessons and two semesters of teaching group lessons. It was nice sharing a studio (a.k.a. glorified practice room) with another teacher--both of whom are still good friends. Chris went on to get his doctorate at University of Oklahoma and Paula is currently working on hers at UMKC.

It was in the middle of a conversation with Chris that I first really experienced a decent spiritual/musical discussion. My faith could be a vital part of my academia--in fact, it was whether I chose to see it or not. And there have been many "moments" sitting next to the bench in which my mini-lecture on shaping a phrase or the discipline of practicing has alluded to more than just musical reality.

There have been little epiphanies of "my goodness, what a wonderful teacher I am!" and "my goodness, what a terrible teacher I am!" But I would say that overall, I think teaching is one of the gifts God has given me, and if I had not taken that assistantship and my current teaching position, I may not know it yet.

So I'm going to miss these guys. I have learned so much from them. It feels a little bit like moving away from a first crush or a first home. They were first. And they always will be.

Bloggers, Culottes, and Comp

I'm in Cincinnati this weekend visiting my friends Robert and Bobbie. If I were explaining that last sentence to you in person, it would probably come out, "I'm going to see Bobert and Robbie.. uh, I mean..." When he picked me up from the airport, Robert suggested that I reverse the order and say 'Bobbie and Robert.' You're right, Robert, it is easier to say--and type--but I might just have to revert to 'the Bobs.' Being friends with us single people is easy--only one name to remember and repeat. Couples become more complicated... more consonants to deal with. I think my couple friends owe it to me to shorten and/or combine their names. Wouldn't that be supported by Scriptural cleaving and such? So thanks, Bobs, for a so-far delightful stay in Cincinnati. I'll have to introduce you to my friends Dugh sometime... or maybe Driz.

Today is a very exciting day. Not only are Chactory and The H-ood Prince commercially available, but I got to meet my fellow blogger Rachel. I've probably been reading her blog since April or May. I'm really not sure--time seems to pass so quickly in cyberspace. On the way to the Starbucks we were meeting at, I think I was actually nervous. I've gotten to know old friends like Myl-vin even better through their blogs, but this was kind of the opposite--I was about to meet a person for the first time that I thought I felt close to already. Is this what internet dating feels like, Amy, er... Damy?

But there was no reason to be nervous--she's really cool. And she bought my latte. Our conversation came so easily, and my world got a little bit smaller. We went to rivaling TCA's in the Dallas area, and she laughed, "Oh, you were one of those cheerleaders [with the knee-length culottes at basketball games]." It turns out her husband Jared is an MK and went to an international school in Asia very similar to Black Forest Academy, where I will be investing the next two years of my life, and I think that's cool.

She's a full three inches taller than me, and I must say I am very jealous. She's 100% Dutch, and she doesn't like to agonize over big decisions. (I'm not sure those two things are related, though.) Her dad's rule of thumb--God's calling equals ability plus opportunity plus desire. We both think the desire part is very important but highly underestimated by many in the Christian community.

Rachel, it was very nice to meet you, too, on this rainy day in Ohio. Thanks for noticing my bat tattoo and knowing it was because of my Batman fetish. I'm very excited about your TA position--I really do think you're going to be a great teacher. And I would sign up for your English Comp class if it weren't for the fact that I'm leaving the country and you'd have to read my writing on a regular basis . . . um, wait . . .

I promise to resume the Barbie saga if you'll let me call you Jachel . . . or Rared? And now that we know we have the ability and the desire to be friends, I guess we'll just have to wait for the opportunity.

You Did What? Part Two

Allright, so this second installment might be a little anticlimactic--that's okay. That's exactly what I'm going for.

Quick review--I had just attempted to embarrass my brother by standing on my chair and introducing him to the whole restaurant, and in the attempt successfully embarrassed myself and the rest of my family. (Serge has since added me to his 'friends list.' Maybe I should try to embarrass my friends and family more often.) So after our delightful lunch at a Chili's that will have to wait a nice even month before my return, Amy and my sister and I met up with my friend Bambi. Yes, this is the Jack that we all know and love. She's been one of my best friends since college. We grew up in almost the same neighborhood in Flower Mound, Texas, and it took going to a small baptist university in Arkansas to meet.

We stopped at the Grapevine Mills Outlet Mall and Blockbuster and headed home to watch Hitch and sleep soundly. Everyone was changing into their pjs before we started the movie--I had washed my face, and Bambi was sitting on the stairs talking on her cell phone.

Now, it was really hot last weekend in Texas. Really hot. When Myles came up from Waco this week to visit, he kept talking about how nice it was--it was still in the 90's here in Kansas, and it is still humid, but Texas is a freakin sauna right now.

So I'm really hot after washing my face, right? Right. My face is nice and cool, but the rest of me is ready for a slip and slide across the atrium's marble tile floor. "Hey, Bambi, are you hot?" I walked toward her on the stairs and then I remembered that she was on the phone. She nodded and pointed toward the keypad next to the door.

"Oh, okay," and I walked toward the keypad. "Hmm... here's the plus sign, where's the minus sign? Maybe if I hit the plus sign, it'll show a minus sign on the screen..."

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!


is it hot in here, or is it just me?

The whole house was echoing BEEP, YOU STUPID IDIOT, BEEP, FREAKIN BEEP!! Bambi came over to the pad and started hitting buttons.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! WHUURRRRRRP! WHUURRRRRP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Wait a second... that's not the thermostat... that's the alarm system! And that's not the change temperature button... that's the medical alert button! Ah, crap, did we hit the fire department button, too?

"Don't you know the code?" I asked Bambi.

"No, Suzanne, I don't know the code." She was trying really hard not to punch me. Oh yeah, did I mention that we were staying at the house that she was housesitting... and they wouldn't be home for a week... and that she couldn't get ahold of them because they were at a lake house and their cell phone was out of their coverage area? Yeah.

After looking frantically for a code written anywhere in the house and getting hung up on by the Brinks people twice and having two firetrucks and one medical alert truck full of at least fifteen emergency workers show up lights flashing and sirens blaring in that quiet neighborhood at 11 p.m. ... it was quite humiliating.


um, it wasn't this guy

Fifty-five minutes later, while the BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! WHURRRRP! WHURRRRP! is still blaring and our nerves are smoking cigarettes, two police chiefs are still inside the doorway waiting for Brinks to call them back with a code. "So how exactly did the alarm get set then?" the second in command asked Bambi. "Um, she thought it was the air conditioner."

They just kinda stared at me with that grimace that seems to size you up and say, "Yeah, I can see that. I think I knew it was her when I walked through the door. There's no way she's got a masters degree in anything."

I wanted to shout, "I'm not an idiot! Ok, maybe I am, but I didn't want you to find out!" Instead, I asked, "You guys seen Ladder 49?"

They didn't think it was funny.

You Did What? Part One

Eh-hem, so yesterday, I mean Sunday, was one of the more beautifully embarrassing days of my life. Unlike Bobbie's and Natalie's stories, however, (which were bee-utiful!!) half of my embarrassing day was on purpose.


maybe not as embarrassing as being these guys...

Amy and I roadtripped to my parents' bed and breakfast for the fourth of July weekend. We were going to go to the Grand Canyon, but we decided we were both too broke for that--that may have been a cover-up, though, for not having made reservations for the most well-travelled weekend of the year. Are there two l's in travelled? or is it traveled? I'm too lazy to look it up. So we got some good time in with my family. Yea! A couple of free meals and a free cozy room! It was nice.

My brothers Dimitri and Serge were in rare form. Serge has officially given me permission now to spell his name "Serge" instead of "Surge" (his self-proclaimed & self-spelled nickname) like the caffeinated beverage, so I'm taking full advantage. His real name is Sergei, but that's just too Russian for him. He's also threatened to name his children Dew and Pepper.

Well, my dad took all seven of us out for lunch at Chili's on Sunday after the other guests at the inn had left. The restaurant was packed. My sister Tat, Amy, and I entertained ourselves by watching Dimitri and Serge check out the cute hostesses. Teenage boys are so funny--mostly because they take themselves so seriously.

The boys argued for a good part of the meal--mostly about what Serge was and was not capable of. "Man, I just don't get embarrassed," he said with his arms bent up from the elbows, his shoulders shrugged, and his head shaking slightly back and forth--one could have mistaken him for having a tic. "No one can embarrass me."

"Is that right?" I asked. "No one?"

"Nope. No one. Whatchu got?"

I stared at him. Silent.

"You think you can embarrass me? Uh-uh."

A grin slowly spread across my face.

"I know what you're going to do, you're going to tell that story about..."

My chair scooted back from the table, and my hands reached for my drink. Next thing I knew, my feet were in my chair, and I was rapping on my plastic mug with my fork.

"Attention, Chili's! Can I have your attention please!"

A young hipster in a booth opposite us glanced over in mid-conversation with his cute girlfriend. A waitress with a full tray of food on her shoulder and a tray jack in the other hand eyed me and slowed down on her way to the next table. Our blonde waiter was headed toward our table with refills on tea and stopped in his tracks. There was still some chatter on the other side of the partition, but it was definitely getting quieter.

"Yes, thank you! I have an announcement to make! This is my brother Serge, he's 17 and he just had his first date with a girl last night!" There were a few oohs and aahs. Ok, maybe that was just in my head. I didn't freakin make crowd cards or anything.

"And he also says he can't be embarrassed, so if you could all help me by giving him a nice, big round of applause!..." The hipster and waitress broke out into applause with the rest of the restaurant as Serge stood up to receive it with a bow. I sat back down, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. I looked around the table to find blank, blinking stares.

When Dimitri came back to his seat (he had apparently left the table as soon as he saw his sister climbing toward the tabletop), Serge started again, "That didn't embarrass me!"

"Excuse me!" A woman from the table behind us was leaning in toward Serge. "You mentioned he had just had his first date with a girl... how many dates has he had with boys?"

"Ha-ha-ha-ha!" my dad belly-laughed, and my mom said, "Oh, that was a good one!" Serge just sat shaking his head and fighting to keep his cheeks a nice tan color instead of the rosy one that was creeping in. "I'll get you back for this," he said, "but I'm not embarrassed!"

"That was a good one, though, wasn't it?" I asked.

"Yeah, that was pretty cool."

Yesterday was one of the more beautifully embarrassing days of my life.

The E-burfing Challenge!

Ok, so it's been a slow day...

Do you ever type in random words or phrases into Ebay's search engine when you're feeling bored or blue? Today I went through "super cool neat," "super cool great," and "oh my gosh." Look where "oh my gosh" got me, oh my gosh!



Let's see who can beat that one, shall we? I promise to subjectively choose a winner by July 8. The winner will be sent (yes, by snail mail) a hand-picked gem from my garage sale adventures.

Happy E-burfing!! (Ebay-surfing)

Free Cameron!!

You know you want to be like me and take the survey....