Hot with Embarisment

“Nice day today!” said Fr. D as we passed on the sidewalk:

“Yes! Yes!” I agreed enthusiastically. “Just hot enough.”

He gave me a puzzled look. He paused. Finally, he said “You’re welcome(?).”

It was my turn to give Fr. D a puzzled look. Both of us, looking bewilderedly at each other, went on our separate ways.

As I walked along, I reflected on how odd it must be for Fr. D here in the States, having just moved here from Africa. He spoke very poor English, was used to different food, and certainly this cool spring day must be an adjustment for him temperature-wise.

At that moment, it hit me; I stopped walking; I was too shocked to move. He wasn’t commenting on the weather; he was paying me a compliment! He actually had said: “You look nice today.”

I wonder if that was the first time in this priests life someone had so wholeheartedly and enthusiastically agreed with him when he told them they looked nice. It most certainly was the first time I have so vehemently agreed with a compliment on my looks by exclaiming: “Yes, yes, just hot enough!”

Bugs

I’m not really scared of bugs. I don’t particularly like them, but as long as they stay in their space (outside) and stay out of my space (inside) we can live peacefully together. This being said, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive Noah for bringing mosquitoes on to the Arc.

It was really HOT a few days ago. It was uncomfortably warm as soon as the sun came up in the morning (I woke up sweating, ICK!). It was officially hot by the afternoon (I sweat all through work, YUCK!). It was unbearably hot in the evening (I was sick of sweating at this point, BLAH!). So I turned on my air-conditioning when I got home from work.

This was the first time I had turned it on since moving in last August. I’ve found that opening up a select few windows and placing a fan in the exact right place will move the air around and keep my apartment nice and cool. Some nights, it's even chilly by the time I go to bed.

Except for this particular unbearably hot evening, with not even a whisper of a hot breeze through the trees. That night my apartment was hotter than Brad Pitt in a bathing suit. So I turned on the air.

And a big, round, flying insect-beetle shot out of the vents like a cannonball right into my face.

I ran around the room, flailing my arms and trying to blow it away from my eyes (being very careful to not take a breath in; I was afraid I'd inhale it). I ended up knocking it senseless with one of my thrashing arms, thankfully before I passed out from lack of oxygen. In the midst of my panic, I had managed to punch myself in the side of the face.

I still have a nice little burse.

N-E-C-E-S-S-A-R-Y

As I was writing my last post, I couldn’t help but remember one of the few times my mother lost her temper. Mom rarely lost her temper. I don’t believe she ever, truly, lost it at all. The times it appeared she had lost it, were, in fact, moments of righteous anger, similar to when Christ “lost” his temper in the temple.

Such was the time that Mom was grading my weekly spelling test in 6th (I think) grade. Mom had worked out a system, so if I misspelled a word one week, it would appear on my next spelling quiz. Most of the time, I was able to memorize the dozen or so words that I would be tested on, so my Friday spelling quiz was never a big deal to me.

This particular Friday, after I had taken my test, Mom sat down to correct it. I had miss-spelt "necessary," again. I don’t really remember the details, but I believe that this was the fourth or fifth week that I had miss-spelt it. Chances are, I was just not able to come up with a memorization trick, or I kept forgetting what memorization trick I had decided to use.

This was, understandably, very frustrating to mom. I’m sure she got tired of quizzing me on it week after week. Also, my laid back attitude toward my spelling wasn’t helping her peace of mind. She called me over to her desk (by the frustrated undertone, I could tell something wasn’t right, “Cola, how do you spell necessary?”

I proceeded to spell necessary, incorrectly, out loud.

“No, Cola, it’s spelt n-e-c-e-s-s-a-r-y. Spell it again.”

I tried, and again failed to spell it correctly.

Then Mom wrote it down on a piece of paper, “See, this is how you spell it. Look at it! Try it again.”

She took the piece of paper away, so it was, again, miss-spelt.

“Cola, look at me.” Mom said, very frustrated by this point.

I looked at her, although I would really rather have kept looking at the carpet. Who in their right mind wants to look at their mom when she’s mad?

“N (bang) E (bang) C (bang) E (bang) S (bang) S (bang) A (bang) R (bang) Y (bang)!!!!! THAT IS HOW YOU SPELL NECESSARY!!! N (bang) E (bang) C (bang) E (bang) S (bang) S (bang) A (bang) R (bang) Y (bang)!!!!!”

The bangs were Mom’s fists against the desk, as she hammered them both down as the appropriate letter came from her mouth.

To this day, I still can’t spell necessary, unless I bang my fist against my desk. Then it just comes to me. I believe that is why I know that Six (bang) teen (bang) ounces (bang) equals (bang) one (bang) pound (bang).