The traffic light simply would not turn green
So the people stopped to wait
As the traffic rolled and the wind blew cold
And the hour grew dark and late.
Zoom-varoom, trucks, trailers
Bikes and limousines,
Clatterin' by - Me oh my!
Won't that light turn green?
But the days turned weeks, and the weeks turned months
And there on the corner they stood,
Twiddlin' their thumbs till the changin' comes
The way good people should.
And if you walk by that corner now,
You may think it's rather strange
To see them there as they hopefully gaze
With the very same smile on their very same face
As they patiently stand in the very same place
And wait for the light to change.
-by Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends
Sometimes, when things are taking a long time and I'm growing impatient, I imagine life to be like this poem.
*All emphasis added is my own.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
Spoons
We had a successful Ogborn family Christmas party this past season. We have done away with gift giving, but there is one tradition we cling to. That is the game of Spoons. For those of you who have never played this palm-sweating, heart-palpitating game, I will explain it to you along with some graphic pictures of some of the action.
The first minute or so is spent removing all jewelry and any excess clothing. This is very important as I have seen necklaces ripped from the necks of the less aggressive, and one cannot afford to be burdened by extra clothing when wrestling for a spoon. Ah yes, the spoons.
Spoons are placed in the center of the table, or floor accessible to all players. However, there is always one or two less spoons than players. It is the same concept as the childhood game of musical chairs.
Two or three decks of cards are used during the game of spoons. The dealer shuffles the cards and then deals out four cards to each player. The dealer then starts passing the remaining cards around the group one at a time.
The game has begun.
A player may only keep four cards in his hand at a time. Each player is looking for four of a kind. When a player has redistributed his hand to contain four of a kind he grabs a spoon, which signifies to the other players to also grab a spoon to remain in the game.
A player is allowed to “fake out” the other players during the rapid and frenzied card passing by slamming their hand on the table near the spoons. If another player grabs a spoon as a result of this “fake out” they are automatically out of the game, or receive a letter next to their name (spelling out SPOONS).
Once a spoon is grabbed, complete chaos breaks out. There should be no young children nearby. A good sturdy table should be used for this game. I tested out the integrity of our table several times during the evening and found it to be very satisfactory.
One should be prepared to leave the table with several wounds. It wasn’t the sliding across the length of the table like a body surfer, and then head first over the end that did me in (it was my spoon!). Rather, it was the wrestling for a spoon that became my downfall.
It happened when three of us latched onto the same spoon: Myself, my cousin Ricky, and Marcus, Rebecca’s Californian man. I held on for all I was worth. Ricky was the first to give in, but not before gashing my right knuckle. I struggled valiantly with Marcus for the spoon, but I could feel it cutting into my left finger. I cried out that he was hurting me. He assured me he did not want to hurt me, but despite my cries of agony, and encouraged by the others around the table he continued to twist the spoon away from me. When I finally let go, my hands were red with trauma, the spoon was bent, a card was ripped, and a piece of my finger had been gouged away.
I was in for a couple more rounds, but alas, I had too many letters to my name: SPOONS
The first minute or so is spent removing all jewelry and any excess clothing. This is very important as I have seen necklaces ripped from the necks of the less aggressive, and one cannot afford to be burdened by extra clothing when wrestling for a spoon. Ah yes, the spoons.
Spoons are placed in the center of the table, or floor accessible to all players. However, there is always one or two less spoons than players. It is the same concept as the childhood game of musical chairs.
Two or three decks of cards are used during the game of spoons. The dealer shuffles the cards and then deals out four cards to each player. The dealer then starts passing the remaining cards around the group one at a time.
The game has begun.
A player may only keep four cards in his hand at a time. Each player is looking for four of a kind. When a player has redistributed his hand to contain four of a kind he grabs a spoon, which signifies to the other players to also grab a spoon to remain in the game.
A player is allowed to “fake out” the other players during the rapid and frenzied card passing by slamming their hand on the table near the spoons. If another player grabs a spoon as a result of this “fake out” they are automatically out of the game, or receive a letter next to their name (spelling out SPOONS).
Once a spoon is grabbed, complete chaos breaks out. There should be no young children nearby. A good sturdy table should be used for this game. I tested out the integrity of our table several times during the evening and found it to be very satisfactory.
One should be prepared to leave the table with several wounds. It wasn’t the sliding across the length of the table like a body surfer, and then head first over the end that did me in (it was my spoon!). Rather, it was the wrestling for a spoon that became my downfall.
It happened when three of us latched onto the same spoon: Myself, my cousin Ricky, and Marcus, Rebecca’s Californian man. I held on for all I was worth. Ricky was the first to give in, but not before gashing my right knuckle. I struggled valiantly with Marcus for the spoon, but I could feel it cutting into my left finger. I cried out that he was hurting me. He assured me he did not want to hurt me, but despite my cries of agony, and encouraged by the others around the table he continued to twist the spoon away from me. When I finally let go, my hands were red with trauma, the spoon was bent, a card was ripped, and a piece of my finger had been gouged away.
I was in for a couple more rounds, but alas, I had too many letters to my name: SPOONS
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
From Glutton for Punishment to Magnet for Grace
Glutton for Punishment
Wednesday
12:30pm: I have a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. What have I done? Why am I taking this class? I’ve never had a chemistry class in my life, and now I’m expected to keep up with this pace when I don’t even understand the simple terms. This is how I felt that time I failed math class.
3pm: I have a great professor. I just wish I knew what she was talking about! Today is a group project. I write down whatever answers my group members are magically coming up with. I just read the chapter a few hours ago! I’m feeling sicker. My brain is starting to disconnect, to escape. I struggle to stay in the classroom. I could learn this if I worked really, really hard. I know myself too well. I need brand new concepts repeated a couple of times. I don’t have time to fail this class and take it again.
Thursday
6:30am: I’ve had such a wonderful sleep! I roll over under my heavy leopard print comforter. Chemistry. My eyes open and I groan. Chemistry is still here. I listen to the sounds of my brother just getting up for work, and begin wondering what I’m going to do about this problem I have.
7am: I decide to get up. I really want to talk to my mom about this before she leaves for work. I watch her eat (I only have the stomach for tea) and she listens to me. It feels good just to talk about it with someone.
7:20am: We stretch out in the living room. She heads for the shower and I head downstairs to run on the treadmill, still thinking. Back and forth. What can I do? Why do I get myself in this trouble? I know that this is over my head and I need to get out while I can. But, I’ll be a wimp if I quit! Then I remember about trusting God completely. I talk to Him, and give it to Him, and begin to cry. It’s really hard to cry and run at the same time, so I quit crying and finish running.
7:45am: I am stretching out my warm muscles when mom yells to me, “Maybe you should be trusting God like you were telling me.” (read “A New Year’s Resolution” post ) Yup.
8:30 am: I’ve showered and dressed. I am alone. Just me and God, our morning quiet time. I grapple with fear and trust. Why am I so afraid? Because I realize that this could mean another delay. All my carefully laid plans! I am applying in two weeks for the School of Ed. A failed or dropped class at this point could potentially set me back an entire year because of deadlines. I can see everything unraveling. God has me where He wants me.
I realize: This season in my life is God’s best for me right now, and if He chooses another delay for me, I must submit to Him. His plan is far above my plan. I can’t see the road ahead, the turns, the detours, the roughness or smoothness of it, but He can. I must trust Him because I am essentially blind. I will do what Hebrews 12:7 says and endure this hardship as discipline.
11:30 am: I find myself in an available advisor’s office with the ESP program. I need to know my options, hopefully before my 1pm chem lab. She listens to me, looks things over and then announces, “I don’t think you even need this class!” We make phone calls. Several phone calls. It is confirmed that I do not need the class at all. My degree analysis made it look like I did because of the way some things transferred. I drop the class just before 1pm.
1:15pm: I head to professor White’s office. I am praying for God’s favor and grace. I want to pick up his class, my English capstone, in place of the chemistry. I am past the deadline for adding a class, and his class is closed (full). If I take it in the spring, I will receive no financial aid because it is the only class I have to take and I would not be full time. If I take it during my teacher assisting, there is a possibility I will go insane. I don’t want to go insane. He will not be in ‘till 4:30.
1:30pm: I spend a little time in the computer lab.
4:30pm: I present my case, humbly, before this tall, distinguished gentleman. He is reluctant. I knew he would be. My chances are very slim. Even if he agrees, I need the Dean’s approval. He questions me, looks at my degree analysis, asks more questions and then says, “Ok”. I am floored! I breathe out my thanks to God as he gets the necessary paper work. He is saving me $800 and possible insanity. Class starts at 6pm 161 LHH.
5pm: I run across campus to the lab to type my letter to the Dean. The Dean’s office is closed. I will have to cancel my hair appt. tomorrow to bring it.
6pm: I can’t believe I’m sitting in this class! I tell Prof. White that I wrote my letter to the Dean. He has emailed her already and tells me there should be no problem with her approving.
Tuesday
11:30am: Stop by the Dean’s office and my approval is final! Go directly to records and add the class and pay the late fee. A little matter with finances comes up, so I have to go across to the financial office and straighten it out. It’s all settled. I smile.
A Magnet for Grace
Wednesday
12:30pm: I have a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. What have I done? Why am I taking this class? I’ve never had a chemistry class in my life, and now I’m expected to keep up with this pace when I don’t even understand the simple terms. This is how I felt that time I failed math class.
3pm: I have a great professor. I just wish I knew what she was talking about! Today is a group project. I write down whatever answers my group members are magically coming up with. I just read the chapter a few hours ago! I’m feeling sicker. My brain is starting to disconnect, to escape. I struggle to stay in the classroom. I could learn this if I worked really, really hard. I know myself too well. I need brand new concepts repeated a couple of times. I don’t have time to fail this class and take it again.
Thursday
6:30am: I’ve had such a wonderful sleep! I roll over under my heavy leopard print comforter. Chemistry. My eyes open and I groan. Chemistry is still here. I listen to the sounds of my brother just getting up for work, and begin wondering what I’m going to do about this problem I have.
7am: I decide to get up. I really want to talk to my mom about this before she leaves for work. I watch her eat (I only have the stomach for tea) and she listens to me. It feels good just to talk about it with someone.
7:20am: We stretch out in the living room. She heads for the shower and I head downstairs to run on the treadmill, still thinking. Back and forth. What can I do? Why do I get myself in this trouble? I know that this is over my head and I need to get out while I can. But, I’ll be a wimp if I quit! Then I remember about trusting God completely. I talk to Him, and give it to Him, and begin to cry. It’s really hard to cry and run at the same time, so I quit crying and finish running.
7:45am: I am stretching out my warm muscles when mom yells to me, “Maybe you should be trusting God like you were telling me.” (read “A New Year’s Resolution” post ) Yup.
8:30 am: I’ve showered and dressed. I am alone. Just me and God, our morning quiet time. I grapple with fear and trust. Why am I so afraid? Because I realize that this could mean another delay. All my carefully laid plans! I am applying in two weeks for the School of Ed. A failed or dropped class at this point could potentially set me back an entire year because of deadlines. I can see everything unraveling. God has me where He wants me.
I realize: This season in my life is God’s best for me right now, and if He chooses another delay for me, I must submit to Him. His plan is far above my plan. I can’t see the road ahead, the turns, the detours, the roughness or smoothness of it, but He can. I must trust Him because I am essentially blind. I will do what Hebrews 12:7 says and endure this hardship as discipline.
11:30 am: I find myself in an available advisor’s office with the ESP program. I need to know my options, hopefully before my 1pm chem lab. She listens to me, looks things over and then announces, “I don’t think you even need this class!” We make phone calls. Several phone calls. It is confirmed that I do not need the class at all. My degree analysis made it look like I did because of the way some things transferred. I drop the class just before 1pm.
1:15pm: I head to professor White’s office. I am praying for God’s favor and grace. I want to pick up his class, my English capstone, in place of the chemistry. I am past the deadline for adding a class, and his class is closed (full). If I take it in the spring, I will receive no financial aid because it is the only class I have to take and I would not be full time. If I take it during my teacher assisting, there is a possibility I will go insane. I don’t want to go insane. He will not be in ‘till 4:30.
1:30pm: I spend a little time in the computer lab.
4:30pm: I present my case, humbly, before this tall, distinguished gentleman. He is reluctant. I knew he would be. My chances are very slim. Even if he agrees, I need the Dean’s approval. He questions me, looks at my degree analysis, asks more questions and then says, “Ok”. I am floored! I breathe out my thanks to God as he gets the necessary paper work. He is saving me $800 and possible insanity. Class starts at 6pm 161 LHH.
5pm: I run across campus to the lab to type my letter to the Dean. The Dean’s office is closed. I will have to cancel my hair appt. tomorrow to bring it.
6pm: I can’t believe I’m sitting in this class! I tell Prof. White that I wrote my letter to the Dean. He has emailed her already and tells me there should be no problem with her approving.
Tuesday
11:30am: Stop by the Dean’s office and my approval is final! Go directly to records and add the class and pay the late fee. A little matter with finances comes up, so I have to go across to the financial office and straighten it out. It’s all settled. I smile.
A Magnet for Grace
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Blogger Self-Award
May it be recognized that I have been blogging for an entire year!!! To commemorate this special event, I am hosting a party right here on my blog (One of those come-and-go-as-you-please parties).
So, grab some chocolate and your favorite beverage (although I forbid anyone to get smashed while here. I don't want any drunken commenting), and meander through the Exhale Archives.
And Now:
A toast to bloggers everywhere! Cheers!
So, grab some chocolate and your favorite beverage (although I forbid anyone to get smashed while here. I don't want any drunken commenting), and meander through the Exhale Archives.
And Now:
A toast to bloggers everywhere! Cheers!
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Mrs. Dunwoody's Excellent Instructions
Mrs. Dunwoody was a Southern woman who lived in the 1800’s. She lived through the Civil War and was respected by all who knew her for her hospitality and wisdom. Some of her advice seems outdated and even hilarious at times, while some (in my opinion) have stood the test of time. She gives great advice to ladies and gentlemen which, to a generation where lady-like charm and gentlemanly chivalrousness have seemed to fade, deserves our attention.
Ladies
A lady will not dress in an odd way as to attract attention or remarks. (Odd dressing is rampant among the "ladies" of our generation. I try not to dress oddly.)
A lady in public walks wrapped in a mantle of proper reserve, so impenetrable that insult and coarse familiarity shrink from her. (I'm not sure this one is possible, but I'm going to try it whenever I'm out in public!)
A lady does not smoke, or bite her fingernails. (Yes!! I've got this one down!)
A lady is never late (lest it give her suitors time to count up her faults). (What faults?!)
A lady possesses a sense of humor and can easily laugh at herself, but never at others. (I am constantly laughing at myself. I probably wouldn't have to do this so much if I walked wrapped in a mantle of proper reserve.)
Gentlemen
Is always considerate of the feelings of others no matter what the station of others may be. (This kind of man gains my respect)
Does not allude to conquests which he may (or may not) have made with the ladies. (Men must not have been that different back in the 1800's. Men who do this make me want to slap them in a very unlady-like fashion.)
No matter who he may be, or how high or low his position in life may be, never besmirches his wife’s name, for in so doing he besmirches still more his own, and proves that he is not, was not, and never will be a gentleman. (I really like the word besmirch!)
Does not walk around with his mouth hanging open, lest he be thought a fool. (This one is my favorite!)
To be born a gentleman is an accident. To die one is an achievement. (An aspiration for all the men I know!)
-Mrs. Dunwoody's Excellent Instructions for Homekeeping: Timeless Wisdom and Practical Advice by Miriam Lukken
Thursday, January 12, 2006
JourneyWoman
This post is entirely devoted to my new favorite website journeywoman.com
This website inspires the adventuress in me. It is crammed with tips, ideas, and opportunities
Like:
An apartment in Italy for $21 a day (split two ways) and two bikes at my disposal to discover Venice.
Anyone want to go?
Warning: Visit this site, but don't blame me if you find yourself dreaming and planning your escape. Just take me too.
This website inspires the adventuress in me. It is crammed with tips, ideas, and opportunities
Like:
An apartment in Italy for $21 a day (split two ways) and two bikes at my disposal to discover Venice.
Anyone want to go?
Warning: Visit this site, but don't blame me if you find yourself dreaming and planning your escape. Just take me too.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Oh.
Trust in God is connected to waiting,
Waiting is connected to impatience,
Impatience is connected to pride,
Pride is connected to the Fear of God.
I'm sorry Father, I cry out for your mercy and grace.
Waiting is connected to impatience,
Impatience is connected to pride,
Pride is connected to the Fear of God.
I'm sorry Father, I cry out for your mercy and grace.
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