Cola's Corner

Welcome back, Cola!

2007-06-01T21:22:00.001-05:00

Welcome back to me! If anyone's checking, I think I will begin posting again. Smiles!

Have You Heard?

2006-10-09T12:43:00.000-05:00

Did you know that a famous actor is dead from E-COLI spinich? So sad.

Why?

2006-10-04T13:37:00.000-05:00

The other day I was drinking coffee and I spilled some on my crisp white shirt. Of course it was early in the morning so I’d have to wear my coffee all day, and of course it was in front of a stranger who walked up at just the right time. Thankfully, the stranger was one of the nicest ladies I’ve ever met and she offered to let me try her new Tide stick.

Why don’t those things work like they’re advertised? Or maybe Kelly Ripa just has the magic touch...

Quick update:

2006-10-03T20:57:00.000-05:00

I’m getting fat. After spending the last three years of my college carrier in-between sizes, and this last year of my life living in denial, it is finally beyond debate. I can no longer fit into ANYTHING in the smaller of the two in-between sizes not even at Wal-Mart. I am officially no longer in-between. Or sizes have gotten smaller… That must be it. I don’t FEEL fat! :)

I go to bed before midnight, even on the weekends. I stayed up way late both Friday and Saturday, and I’m exhausted today. This is beyond needing a day or two to recover. It’s been three days already, and I’m not recovered. I’m a mess and can’t function at anything. I’m officially an early to bed person. I have yet to become an early to rise person.

I have no money. But I do have a car that runs. I like it. But it’s nothing flashy. It runs and I can afford the payments… barely. But I can’t afford new clothes. And I can’t afford food. I guess that’s good, because in a month or two, I may be able to fit into my college clothes. Or I could give up my apartment, and live in my new car… I’d save enough to feed me, but not to buy clothes. I guess that won’t work.

Fall is beautiful! This weekend, the trees were lovely! We had a normal day yesterday, and so all the leaves blew off. Today was rainy, and so they are all wet. They are in huge mushy piles all over town now. When it dries out, I’ll jump into one of them.

A Cola Origional

2006-08-28T16:45:00.000-05:00

Silly little Sally Tucker,
Bought a very shiny sucker,
But the pretty candy made her pucker,
It wasn’t sweet at all but sour.
So she put it on a silver tray,
And left it there to sit and stay.

Hot with Embarisment

2006-06-22T13:51:00.000-05:00

“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

2006-06-21T12:18:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-09T08:05:00.000-05:00

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).

I can’t spell!!!

2006-05-30T15:49:00.000-05:00

I’m sure that this statement comes as no shock to you, my dear readers. Even with the help of this lovely thing called Spell-Check, I’m sure that I still end up with numerous spelling errors. I am blissfully unaware of any, however, because unless a word has a squiggly red line under it, I assume I’ve spelt the correct word the proper way.

As soon as I learned the alphabet, I became obsessed with playing the spelling game, much to the exasperation of my folks. The game went something like this: “what does r-q-u-t-k-a-i-e-r-h-j-l-k spell?” Most the time they would simply say “It doesn’t spell anything” but sometime, if they were in the right mood, they’d sound out the letters I’d strung together, which I thought was hysterically funny. Imagine a big, strong, grown man saying riqutierhajelk. Embarrassingly, the only word I ever spelt playing this game started with a p and is a common term for the male reproductive organ. My dad thought the story was very funny and told it to everyone he saw for about a month. I think it was to get me back for laughing at the funny sounds he made while sounding out my “words.”

Another spelling mishap took place when I worked in the Ave Admissions Office. I had to send numerous emails to staff and faculty, alerting them when a prospective student would be visiting. One particular email I sent to a very uptight teacher at the very beginning of his very first semester to let him know that a student changed his plans and would not be able to attend his class. I apologized profusely for the “impotence” (darn auto correct!). Don’t ask me how I managed that one. I never took a class from this particular professor, and I was always wondered why he made no effort to meet me. Guess I'll never know...

My most recent embarrassing error was in a paper I wrote recently for a Diocesan Scripture class. In grand, stately language, understandable to us intellectuals, I described how a sin may appear small and insignificant, but if one persists in corruption, the lifestyle of vice will become a huge, festering organism that seems to have a life of its own and actually controls the sinner’s life, depriving them of their freedom. Except that, instead of organism, I accidentally used a very different word, complete with a very different meaning (sometimes this word is refered to the Big O). Thankfully my teacher is a woman, and her only comment on this particular error was a big circle around the word, with a line drawn through it, the line effectively distinguishing it from the other spelling errors.

After reading this, I’m sure that you’ve come to one of two conclusions: a). Freud IS right, after all, or b). God is trying to keep Cola humble (please note that careless on my part is not an option, as I spell worse and less careless than most people I know).

Ey hoppe u half a goot dey!

Irony

2006-05-25T11:16:00.000-05:00

Some people come back from vacation with a tattoo…I came back from the Caribbean with a scar.

Yes, that’s right. A scar. You may want to know how exactly I procured said scar, and where it’s located, and what it looks like. Nothing would please me more than describe, in exquisite detail, the who, what, where, when and why of this bodily alteration, which I will undertake in a paragraph or two. But before I undertake this colossal but pleasurable task, I would like to put aside these interesting particulars, and take the time to stress the irony of the entire fiasco.

Irony may or may not be the word you would chose to illustrate this situation. I understand completely if are of the type who thinks that scars are a remnants of a dangerous/ stupid/ embarrassing/ excruciatingly painful event (hopefully not all of these adjectives would be used to describe the same scar). That means you are a normal person, with normal scars, unless you have no scars, which would make you extremely cautious, extraordinarily healthy, just plain ol’ gosh-darn lucky (and abnormal). Chances are, you have scars, and that those scars and the experiences involved with obtaining them would not be described as Ironic.

One of Webster’s definitions of irony is the use of words to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning. So when I claim my scar is ironic, am I saying that it is an atypical scar obtained in an atypical way? Not exactly. Am I claiming that my scar has made my skin more healthy and radiant, instead of deforming it, as implied by the meaning of the word scar? Not particularly. All I’m saying is that my reaction to the scar does not cause the emotional response implied by the idea of obtaining a scar.

I feel that this particular blemish is ironic because if I wanted a permanent reminder of my Caribbean vacation, I would have gotten a tattoo. I like tattoos. I’ve wanted one for awhile now. I think they are pretty darn sweet if you’ve got one you like in a non-conspicuous pace. But my friends, being Godly women, flipped out on me. They went on and on about theology, and tried to convince me that it was not pleasing to God disfigure your body in that way and blah blah blah. (The reason I treat their opinion lightly is that I don’t believe one little tattoo tastefully placed is a disfigurement, but an ornament, like pierced ears. So when they toss theology into the mix, I feel that they are trying to make a little, harmless tattoo a moral evil, which I don’t quite agree with). (Please note that, regardless of how I babble on about the subject, I do see their point, and I’m not convinced I’d ever get a tattoo, even if all circumstances were favorable. But, for sake of this blog, let’s just pretend that I didn’t just say that). To sum everything up: I wouldn’t have/ couldn’t have/ didn’t get a tattoo because my friends are good friends and wouldn’t want me to do something I’d regret later (or that would keep me out of heaven, which I dare say I would regret latter).

The other ironic thing about this scar is that the friend who protested the most about the tattoo was the friend who caused me to scar in the first place. She chased me down in the ocean, and then forcefully shoved my head underwater and held me down for an uncomfortable amount of time, while sea water rushed up my nose. I, of course, trying to save my life, put up a valiant but ultimately ineffective struggle. The result of this tiff was painful; somehow my dear friend managed to gouge the top of my foot, by using a bodily part or a nearby rock, and cause a copious amount of bleeding and pain (because of all the salt in the ocean’s water). Now, I have an everlasting deformity on my foot, and not a cool tattoo, which I would have placed in a more discreet area.

To tie up this longwinded post: instead of a tattoo as a memento, I get a scar, nature’s permanent souvenir. Ironic.

Reminiscing

2006-05-17T13:52:00.000-05:00

I went to the Ave Reunion!!!

I can’t believe that it worked out for me to go! It should not surprise me, however, for my entire time at AMC was full of surprises, starting from the very beginning. The first time I heard of Ave was in August, and classes were starting in three weeks. I was surprised that the whole process from applying to being accepted with a nice scholarship took only a week. (I should have known something was not quite right). When I arrived, I was surprised that the Academic Building was in shambles. An absolute disaster area. There was sheetrock everywhere. Wires were hanging in random places from the ceiling. People were running around aimlessly. I think I stood in shock for eons, staring openmouthed at this war zone where my new school was supposed to be.

I was stunned when I showed up just days later for orientation. Miraculously, the building had transformed. It was now possible to imagine sitting in a classroom without fearing the ceiling would cave in. I’m sure the rest of my class was not so impressed, but they weren’t privileged with seeing the state of affairs just two days prior. There were still men walking around on stilts, and people were caring boxes here and there and everywhere, but it at least looked like the inside of a building.

My next shock was in my first Latin class with Dr. Wright. She had frizzy hair covered by a funky hat, low top, short skirt, and FISHNET stockings! Not to mention the stilettos that she tottered around on and which threatened to snap her toothpick ankle any moment if she slipped. I distinctly remember thinking how utterly ridiculous it was that I was taking Latin from this funny lady who looked like a mad scientist (I soon learned that under her exocentric exterior was a sweet, sensitive and brilliant Linguist- another surprise).

I was surprised when I moved into my dorm about a month after classes began (I was off-campus living with family friends). Our phones didn’t work!!!! That’s right, folks, OUR PHONES DIDN’T WORK!!!!!!!! We had to call home from the front desk of the Academic Building, and there was always a line, which meant not only did you feel like you had to rush through your conversation, but everyone was listening. Our heat didn’t work, either. (Most of the winter was spent huddled under blankets). To top everything off, the only computers on campus were the ones in the Library. And when they finally put machines in the computer lab, it closed when the common room did! None of this was what I signed up for.

However, we struggled through that year, studding, working, laughing, eating our “home-style meals” in Holy Trinity’s basement, bonding and getting to know one another. Living together in the same building really brought our class together. We’d have brunch in someone’s room on Sunday morning after Mass, and linger on, trying to pretend we didn’t have a paper to write. I don’t remember a single day during that year where I could honestly claim to be all caught up on my papers! Quiet hours were strictly enforced, but we managed to get around that… Oh, yeah! Movies in the laundry room, conversations in the hallway as far away from the Haley’s apartment as possible, all night study sessions in the stairwell, and the list goes on…

We had a grand time, that freshman year. I’m not sure if any of us realized how much fun we were having, fun that will never be duplicated. The rest of my time at Ave was exciting, and the surprises never stopped coming, but after our first year, we wouldn’t have known how to deal with life if it were uneventful! Despite the unexpected twists and turns that made up my Ave experience, there was a peace inside of me that told me this was where I needed to be.

I think that this inner peace (along with a ton of other emotions, don’t get me wrong!) was the string that tied one day to the next, one semester to another, from the first year to the last, at least for me. I always knew that God had a special plan for my dear Ave, and for me as well.

Even now, when my dear school has closed down, I still feel an inner peace, and I know that whatever happens, my beloved Ave is in God’s hands. And wouldn’t it be a grand surprise if she didn’t stay closed?

Peace and surprises… that’s what I’ll remember when I think back on Ave.

Tree Lovin'

2006-04-27T16:33:00.000-05:00

I went for a walk yesterday!

Going for a walk is not a big event in my life; I’ve been walking every evening after work since the North Dakota weather has decided to be civil and one is able to be outside without earmuffs. But this was a different kind of walk, it was an after-dark walk.

One of my new friends (we’ll call her Pink) wanted to hang out, and between both of our ridiculously busy schedules (hers actually is; I just pretend) we came to the conclusion that the only time we had was about 10:00 in the evening. I’m usually getting ready to think about going to bed at that time, and besides sleep, about the only thing I want do is (no surprise here) go to the bar. And if that’s not an option, than hanging out on picnic tables with friends and laughing sounds like fun.

But no, Pink wanted to go for a walk. I had already been for a walk. I went after work. I walked for 45 minutes. It was just enough to burn off my soup and sandwich and cookie I had for lunch, if you believe the charts. Two walks in one day are too healthy, in my opinion. If I start walking twice a day today, tomorrow I may be eating more veggies, and in a week I’ll be hugging trees. No, much better to stick to one walk. Any more than that is just too risky.

However, Pink refused to go to a bar, even though I suggested sitting out side and offered to let her walk around the table while I drank, which was very kind of me. Imagine how annoying I would find someone in constant motion, especially while trying to enjoy a drink. Pink did not appreciate my compassion. I think she is conspiring with the organic farmers to bring up my veggie intake.

When I suggested a picnic table and ice tea, she pointed out that we have no picnic tables to hang out on. Again, I brought up my splendid idea of night of laughing around a table outside a bar, but she flatly refused. I think it has something to do with her being embarrassed to go out in public with me, on account of my laugh. But maybe she really does love it, and she just wants me to start hugging trees.

So we go for a walk. It was the perfect night for being outside AT A BAR. No wind, no bugs, slightly cool, lots of stars. We were not able to enjoy the stars, however, because we were walking and therefore had to look where we put our feet. If we were sitting down, we would be able to look up at the sky, which is much prettier than the sidewalk. I shared that thought with her and she just walked faster. Some people just do not know how to appreciate nature.

I am leaving work now and I plan on walking later today. But I will only go for one, because today I felt remorse when blowing my nose, drying my hands, printing out important documents and then coping them. In my line of work, these sentiments are very inconvenient.

I am now going to go home and eat a salad and some frest asparagus my mom dropped off for me. Yummm.

Un-typical Saturday

2006-04-26T10:37:00.000-05:00

My door buzzer rings!!!

It is early Saturday afternoon and I can’t imagine who it could be. I’m not expecting anyone, and so far the only person to ever drop in on me unexpectedly tried to sell me magazines.

I contemplate pretending not to be home; to avoid the awkward get-rid-of magazine salesperson scenario which would ensue if I let them in the building and they came to my door to sell me a magazine. Also, if I appeared not to be home, and if the person was someone I knew, then they would think I was busy with important errands or meetings or on a tropical vacation. Thankfully, before I wait to long, I remember that my car is parked right outside the door and if it is someone I know, they would just think I was still sleeping. That would be humiliating.

I push the TALK button: “Hello???”

I push the LISTEN button. It’s a woman with a very far-away and scratchy voice: “Hello, is Linda there?”

Me (surprised): “!?!?!?!?!LINDA!?!?!?!”

Mystery Lady (annoyed): “Yes”

Me (slightly more composed): “Linda doesn’t live here”

Raspy Voice (exasperated): “She lives in the building!!!”

Me (unhelpfully): “Ummmm….. OK…..”

Silence… and still more science. I am just as awkward now as when I had to get rid of the magazine-selling lady. Raspy Voice is obviously was not talking, with the intent to make me so nervous that I just give up and open the door and buzz her in. I am a strong person, though. I am not letting a strange lady into my building to look for “Linda.”

Mystery Lady is still not talking. My finger is getting sore from holding down the LISTEN button. I have to do something! I can’t think of anything to say!!! The lady with the scratchy voice was just standing there breathing, waiting...

So I panicked. I did the only thing I could do at a stressful moment like this. I pushed DOOR!!!

I peer out the little peek-hole, trying to catch a glimpse of Raspy Voice. She does not walk by. I am relieved; her voice made her sound like Joan Rivers, and I do not want to see a woman like that.

She continues to not walk by. I am getting nervous again. Where did she go? After about seven minutes of Raspy Voice not walking by, I leave the door, after double checking that it’s locked especially tight. I continue on with my day, even though it was singularly non-relaxing due to the mental anguish and left-over nervous energy (see above).

I am week. I buckled under pressure. I hope no one was robed or murdered or abducted by Raspy Voice. Even though this happened four days ago, I keep my door locked especially tight, just incase she is hiding in the laundry room waiting to get me. She had a scary voice. I have not done any laundry since.

From Kayaks to Sandbags

2006-04-05T10:12:00.000-05:00

My trip to St. Croix was LOVELY!!! I can not wait until my pictures are developed so I can post them for your viewing pleasure. Hopefully they will make your day better because of their beauty even though you will become insanely jealous of me for having spent a week and a half in a postcard. I kid you not, every beach we were at was perfect. They each had a personality of their own. It was hard coming back to the frozen tundra of ND!

Thankfully, the temperature was up from the pathetic 11 degrees it was when I left. I came home to pouring rain and a temperature of 55. My thankfulness for not having to readjust to below freezing temps quickly dissipated as I learned that the quickly rising temperatures of the last few days had caused the snow to melt unseasonably quickly, and, combined with the rain, had caused the Red River to rise and record fast speeds. Ugg.

And so, practically as soon as I returned, we had to deal with sandbags and dikes and leaking drains.

So much for the stress-free vacation :)

I'm in the Caribbean!

2006-03-25T14:56:00.000-06:00

I'm in the Caribbean visiting Lo and Anna!!! It's so beautiful and WARM here.

I'll return Thursday so check for the complete story after that.

Anyway, this is the beach I was at today. We went snorkeling and saw all kinds of cute fishies and even were chased by a barracuda!!!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2006-03-17T12:59:00.000-06:00

Oh My Goodness!

2006-03-03T16:15:00.000-06:00

Any good captions come to mind? Prizes for the best ones!

Only To True

2006-02-27T15:13:00.000-06:00

Can't live with them...

2006-02-24T13:27:00.000-06:00

I ate lunch today with my coworker, Sandy, who recently returned from vacation in Arizona. She travels with her sister; both of their homebody hubbies are left to fend for themselves.

Sandy told us that during her absence, Don, her husband of 40+ years, had gone through a box of old family pictures, picked out his favorites, framed them and placed them all over her kitchen. Sandy wasn’t really impressed with Don’s decorations, in fact, she was a rather annoyed by one in particular: her mother-in-law as a four-year-old.

Sandy exclaimed: “I didn’t like her when she was 90 and alive, and I don’t want to be living with a picture of her as a toddler now that she’s dead!”

Oops

2006-02-23T11:43:00.000-06:00

The other day, I was driving home from work and noticed that a car had swerved through a turn and ended up on top of a huge snow bank. On the side of the car was a huge sign reading:

Cars

2006-02-16T13:17:00.000-06:00

I don’t particularly like cars. I don’t like knowing anything about how they work. I’m not crazy about having to fill their huge, ravenous bellies with nasty, polluting (but mostly expensive) gas. I don’t like the responsibility of having to change the oil every 3,000 miles or three months, whatever comes first. I don’t like warring about every new little noise or vibration and wondering when the machine will just stop working or blow up or something.

This being said, I do appreciate being able to drive to work on a -40 degree day. Or not having to carry bags of clothes, groceries, etc. around by bike or by buss. I like being about to go places and see things whenever I want.

But I still don’t like having to learn how they work just to take care of them. I don’t know how on earth my CD player, coffee maker, curling iron, or DVD/VCR player work. We are all able to live in peace and harmony and happiness. They don’t require me to perform mysterious rituals for them to be at peak performance. If one of these machines does decide to stop working, fine. I replace it. Easy. Not a big deal.

But a car? You must take care of it or a car will give up. You can’t have the handy “if it’s not broke, don’t fix it” policy. You must all kinds of different types of liquids into different pipes and holes. You must put oil into the engine if the dipstick dictates it. You need to put windshield wiper fluid into the proper container. And coolant. Coolant is what inspires this tirade.

You see, the “low coolant” light began lighting up about a week ago. I wanted to ignore it like I do the “change oil soon” light, which keeps coming on because I haven’t found the button that you are supposed to push every time you change the oil. So as long as I remember the date and mileage I’m ok, even thought the light says differently.

I have bad memories from my childhood that involve “low coolant” lights and “very hot” engine meters. Bad, bad memories. Melted engine. Smoking car. Mad Dad. Sad Mom. Very much in-trouble me.

So I pull out the owner’s manual and begin reading about coolant. I discovered that I needed a very specific brand of coolant. I needed to mix this specific brand with water and then pour it into the coolant container, carefully, so as not to spill any on the engine (I’m not sure why you can’t spill any…the book didn’t say, and I can’t think of any good reasons for the non-spillage warning. It’s not corrosive, is it?). If the level of coolant is too low, you need to put some of the mixture into the radiator, to keep the engine from overheating while the coolant works its way through the car’s system. Then, you need to keep an eye on the coolant container, because the level of coolant in a car when the engine is hot is dramatically different than the level of coolant in a cold engine.

With this wealth of coolant information in my head, I went to the nearest gas station to buy some. I put a confident smile on my face, used purposeful steps to walk through the door. Why this front, you ask? Well, let me tell you. It’s because gas stations intimidate me, at least they do when I need more than gas and a Coke. It seems like everyone in the station knows more than I do about cars, politics and the pursuit of clean vehicles, so when I need a special brand of coolant and a funnel, it’s very intimidating. I feel like I need to put on a front to keep “them” from seeing how insecure I am with my vehicle supplies purchasing decisions.

So I walk in, and a very smart looking (for a mechanical minded youth) asked me if I need help. My first instinct was to cry. My second was to say, “No, no, I’m fine. Where’s your bathroom?” The option I went with was a combo of the first two. I sadly asked him where the coolant was. He asked me what kind I needed. I told him. He asked what kind of car I had. I told him. He looked impressed. I think he thought I actually knew something about cars. He then proceeded to explain to me something about engines and why in ND in the winter it was better to use less water in your coolant but thankfully, he stopped before he really got going. He probably noticed my eyes glaze over. I think he was disappointed that he hadn’t found a kindred soul in me.

Then, I heard the most beautiful words in the world come from his mouth: ”Pull your car up to the front and I’ll put it in for you.”

God bless mechanics.

let go and LET GOD

2006-02-14T19:54:00.000-06:00

I went to a retreat this past weekend. It was LOVELY!!! I am always amazed by how sometimes you don’t even realize that you need something until God gives it to you. Thank goodness that He knows what’s up!

I said that I would go on this retreat on an impulse. I have been so busy lately with work that I haven’t had a weekend to myself since before Christmas, so I was REALLY looking forward to being able to get caught up on stuff like laundry and dishes and grocery shopping. I was actually dreading being gone for two whole days and then working bright and early Monday.

But for some reason, I didn’t back out. Even though I didn’t really know anyone who was going that well, and was tired and breaking out in pimples, I didn’t call to cancel. Maybe I didn’t because I was too lazy to pick up the phone, but I think I just resisted because I didn’t want to seem unable to keep a commitment.

Boy, oh boy, I did not want to go. It was storming out; I was tired from working an extra long day. I had pimples all over my face and hardly any clean clothes. I didn’t even have time to pull cash out of the bank. But I showed up, pimples and all, in one of my least favorite sweaters, feeling like a wreck and looking, I’m sure, like hammered s#!t.

But oh, what a wonderful weekend I had. It seemed the focus of the retreat was directed right at me. The talks were all centered on trusting God and letting him take control. I met some kindred spirits and hopefully made some friends.

God is good.

Happy St. Valentines Day!

2006-02-14T12:55:00.000-06:00

Friday, Day 2

2006-02-10T15:15:00.000-06:00

I'll see if I can do this day in one post. :)

After sleeping in, Therese and I awoke to help Maureen get ready for a wedding she was attending with the new man in her life... she looked spectacular.

And a rather groggy duo (Therese and I) headed out to find coffee and some nice duds, as both of us packed a little light on the dressy clothes.

We then got decked out and went out to eat with Maureen's family at a quaint little Italian restaurant, la Bacchanalia. The food was AWESOME!!! I looked it up online when I got home and the reviews all agreed that the food was great, authentic Italian. And from what I gather, it is hard to get good reviews if you are a restaurant in Chicago.

After dinner, Tom showed Therese and I his SWEET condo, and then we went to an Irish pub that had live Irish music playing. We spent the rest of the evening just chilin' and drinking different Irish beers, except Therese, who drank screwdrivers, because she had a cold and she thought the orange juice would help her sore throat. (I don't think her plan was anywhere near successful, as the bartender made the drink backwards, vodka with a splash of OJ).

In all, it was a wonderful day, but we were all excited for the next day: NEW YEARS EVE!!!

I am almost positive that this restaurant was just down a building or two from where we ate. But even if it wasn't, that's what the area looked like, except with fluffy snowflakes falling softly everywhere. I LOVE CHICAGO!

Day One: part b

2006-02-07T09:45:00.000-06:00

Maureen picked me up from the airport with a car full of nieces and nephews. After dropping them off we hurried to her home for a nephew’s birthday party, or at least what I thought was a birthday party. It turned out to be a different sort of party: THERESE!!! She wasn’t planning on arriving until the next day, so when she decided to come up Thursday night, she and Maureen decided to surprise me… and I was shocked! Almost speechless, if you can believe that.

We went to an Irish pub for dinner and beer. It was a cute bar, and we laughed, and talked and cried. Well, Maureen didn’t cry, but I cried enough for both of us, imagine that!

It was so wonderful to see the girls. I missed them so much! I miss the Ave fellowship and the common ground we all had… oh, it makes me so sad to think those days are over! And we all live so far apart.

Well, after that we went back to Maureen’s, only to go out again later that evening when her high school friends called to let her know they were in town and hanging out. We came back tired and happy, looking forward to the days ahead.