On the darkest of nights (corrected, now with a map!)

If you are prone to worry about me (for example, MOM! And Sarah Cool!), please read the bottom of this post first!
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I was exhausted yesterday, so by 11:30 last night I was dead asleep when I heard it – BOOM! I was startled awake by a huuuge boom. Had one of the fuel stores blown up? What on earth was it? I got out of bed to see if I could see what was going on. Of course, pitch black (the moon has been rising around 3 or 4 am of late), I could see nothing, but heard voices in the not-so-far-off distance shouting and talking and whooping. I started towards the gate, but decided that I could be of no help, so just went back to sleep…

Amina is a shopkeeper in town. She’s very friendly and has lived in Korr her whole life, so she knows everyone. Yesterday, there were two warriors who came into her shop, which is not uncommon, as there are men in all their warrior finery around town all the time. But she didn’t recognize these two men, and they were not from around here, as they were speaking Samburu, not Rendille. They never bought anything, just hung around in the front of the shop for a while and then left. They made her a little nervous, as there are occasionally raids and robberies on shopkeepers by thugs from other tribes, so when dusk fell, she locked her shop up tight and just went to bed…

Around 9:30 last night, two students from the upper primary school (maybe class 7 or 8) were heading home from evening preps (study session) in town and were approaching the laga - a dry, sandy riverbed where water scarcely flows, flanked by acacia trees and, in this particular location, a network of about a dozen wells. In the distance, by the wells, they saw two flashlights moving all over the place erratically – not the bobbing light of somebody walking, but up, down, back forth, neither approaching nor retreating. Thinking things looked more than a little suspicious, they ran back to town to alert somebody. They went to a man named Hirkenna’s house and told them what they had seen.

(Click the map for a larger view if you need)

Hirkenna immediately headed over to the wells, about 3 km away, and crept silently along the edge of the laga. He got just close enough to see that the two men were warriors who were removing all their beads, headgear, and identifying clothing. They were now in plain clothes, their decorations and shoes removed and tied into bundles at their feet. He also saw that they had two very large automatic rifles. He left, heading off to tell somebody what he had seen.

Some men from the Tirrim project (the project Nick and Lynne started, the same project that my school belongs to) - Joshua, Ndoto, and a few others - were visiting on the front doorstep of Joshua’s house around the same time the two boys spotted the warriors at the laga. Hirkenna and the two boys met them and told them what they saw, so they decided to return to the laga – to do what, unarmed against two men with huge guns, I don’t know, but off they went. The group split into two and silently crept along the laga – all of them know this area inside and out, and the utter darkness was not a deterrent. One group approached from one side, the second from the other. Perhaps hearing the two groups approaching, the two warriors got spooked, grabbed their guns, and fled, shoeless, into the night. The men ran in, grabbed the bundles and the shoes the men left behind, and ran.

Now, you can’t get far in Korr without shoes. Every plant there is has wicked thorns – some one, some two, many three inches long – that cover the already rocky ground. Even the poorest of all poor Rendille people have shoes. The warriors could go nowhere fast, and I’m sure when they returned to get their shoes, they were plenty angry that they had been taken.

Meanwhile, the group of men had fled back to Joshua’s house to discuss what they should do next. Quickly they decided that the best thing was to go to Nick and Lynne’s house to ask for the truck to go to the police post. Once they got there, they shouted up to Nick and Lynne to wake them up, told them of the situation, and got the keys.

By then, the two warriors had made it past the air strip and were near the three houses on the other side when they heard the car start up. Not wanting to be chased, one man, no more than 6 feet away from the door of Joshua’s house, took his gun and fired it into the air. BOOM! It was deafening, especially to Joshua’s wife and a few others who were sitting just outside the door when the shot went off. Terrified, they locked the door and fled through the dark to Nick and Lynne’s, forgetting that they were leaving a sleeping baby in the house behind them. They decided that going back to get the baby was too risky, and besides, if he woke up and cried, the sound would give away their location, so they left the baby sleeping behind, locked safely inside the house.

After they heard the shot, the med decided to drive the car round the back way to drown the sound, and, keeping the headlights off, headed to the police station. “Police station” is, of course, a bit of a misnomer. There is one man appointed by the government to keep a post in Korr. When the men arrived and woke up the ‘police man,’ he took the bundles of belongings, but said something to the effect of, “Well what do you want ME to do? I’m sure not equipped to go after them!” Again heading the long way around, they drove back to the safety of Nick and Lynne’s, over the desert road in total darkness.

In the meantime, everybody from the surrounding houses had escaped to Intaynoy’s house, just across from Nick and Lynne’s. She has a metal hut with a door that locks, so everybody crowded in there and locked the door tight. Those who didn’t fit in the hut came into Nick and Lynne’s yard and the guard tied the metal gate closed. The few home guards in town – men hired to guard the villages and given a small revolver and a one month training course on how to use it – were alerted and were on the watch. Nobody slept that night – they stayed awake talking, and listening to the pop-pop-pop of the odd home guard’s gun shooting into the air to let the warriors know that they were there and they were armed.

One more BOOM was heard off in the distance an hour or so later, back out by the laga, and then the night grew quiet.

How good to have a God who protects us even during the darkest night.

“He will not let your foot slip
He who watches over you will not slumber;
Indeed, He who watches of Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep”
Psalm 121:3-4

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Where I stay, there is a fence and an iron gate and a night guard. These warriors come very seldomly, and are looking for money from the shop keepers - they couldn't care less about the missionaries. They come in the middle of the night, and never am I out and about after about 9:30, and even then, after dark, I am always with other people. Now go back up to the top and enjoy the story!

Through a child's eyes

When the kids walked in the door Monday morning, the first thing they saw were four great big brown hoof prints on the floor. "Look!" I told them. "Santa came! And Rudolph, too!"

The buzz began immediately.

Santa! Santa came!
Hey, he left a note!
Rudolph put our paper chains on the ceiling!
And our letters are gone!
Santa took them!

The kids could hardly get their coats off quick enough to rush over the the chart board and read what Santa had to say. They looked around at the candy canes hanging, the paper chains a waaaay high up, and the big red fuzzy at Santa left for me to borrow (Miss Hillary, you're SOOO lucky! "Why's that?" Cause you get to borrow Santa's hat AND you get to see him again before Christmas to return it!!!). Some looked around in wonder, some were nearly shaking with excitement. And of course there were a few who punctured the glee with doubt.

It's not real!
The hoof prints are just paint.
Miss Hillary put those chains up.

"Nooo!" I told them. Eighteen excited kids all talking at once and asking questions was boggling my mind, but I just carried on, weaving a tale of Santa's visit and answering their questions as I went. "When I left on Friday, none of this was here! There is a little ladder in the school, but it's not nearly high enough to reach the ceiling! Those chains are WAY too high for me to have put them up. And I would get in trouble if I painted the floor! That wasn't me, either. Rudolph must have had very muddy hooves..." Then why didn't Santa leave footprints, too? [smart little kiddies!] "Well must have been riding his sleigh, so his feet didn't get muddy." It's just paint. Miss Hillary, you painted those. "Nooo! It's dried mud. They weren't there on Friday. Mr. G [an ESL teacher who had come in to drop something off], did you paint those hoof prints?" He didn't either, which was nearly enough to convince them. Miss Hillary, are you sure you're not lying? "I'm positive! I would neeever lie to you! Besides, what could have happened to our letters? And how else could those chains have gotten way up there? Anyway, didn't you say on Friday that you wished Santa would visit our classroom?

Yeah, but why does Santa always come when we can't see him? Why doesn't he ever come for us to see? Then we can KNOW that he's real!

"Ah, but it's not about seeing him. It's about believing. If you ever saw Santa, there would be no more magic."

By the end of our excited discussion on the carpet that morning, the biggest doubter was the biggest believer and every single child was convinced without a doubt that the big man in red had come to visit.

They happily told everyone they saw, too. Friends, teachers, passing parents. Two even ran to the office at recess to tell the office staff.

The day proceeded in sugary goodness as we made and decorated our gingerbread houses. I have never seen so much candy in one place in my life! They loved it, and were definitely in the Christmas spirit, humming Christmas songs and chattering about Santa as they worked.

After school I found a large envelope in my box: our letters to Santa had been read and replied to! I wrote on the outside in big swirly red writing "To Division 21, Love Santa,"dumped a whole bunch of silver glitter inside the envelope, and shook it all around. Up to the staffroom I went, where I dripped some water on the outside of the envelope and stuck it in the freezer to chill overnight.

Tuesday after recess was the big event - our letters from Santa had arrived! I waited an extra minute or two in the staffroom to make sure all the kids were lined up outside our door. As I approached, I whispered excitedly to them. "Boys and girls, look! Santa answered our letters! And it must be fresh from the North Pole! See? There's even ice on the envelope!!!" Gravity and the freezer had worked more magic than I could have hoped, as all the water had run down to the edge of the envelope and had made about a dozen little frozen droplets hanging off the side. Our envelope had icicles!!

Look! It's cold!
And frozen!
It came right from the North Pole!
How did Santa answer them so fast?
He's a fast guy!
Oooh! It's dripping!
Wow! I never got a letter from Santa before!

We all rushed to the carpet where I speedily handed out the letters. I pulled each one out with a flourish, sending silver glitter fluttering to the ground over the students' heads. Miss Hillary, what is that?

With a big grin and a twinkle in my eye, I answered them. "It's MAGIC!"

As the kids got their frozen letters, they all buddied up to read, passing them around and comparing them.

Santa is really busy making toys, so he got his elves to write to us!
Hey look! My elf's twin brother wrote to my friend!
These MUST be real because he answered all my questions!
Oooooh! The raindeers fly using magic flying powder!
Phew! Santa says I'm on the nice list!
Hahaha! My elf's name is "Stinky!"
Here, look at mine! Can I read yours?
[while clutching her letter to her heart:] I LOVE SANTA!!!

The kids spent about ten minutes passing their letters around and reading. (And you have to understand that for my class, to have them that engaged for that long is a nothing short of a miracle!)

I couldn't let the magic end there, though. I know that some of these kids don't really do anything for Christmas, and a few won't have many gifts this year because their families just don't have the money. Santa had to make one last visit...

When the children arrived on Friday, there was a new set of snowy footprints all throughout the classroom - from the door, over to the chart stand, over to the Christmas tree, and back out again. There was a new note, the tree was covered in snow, and there were nineteen gifts wrapped up and laying underneath the tree.

This time there were no doubters.

Santa came AGAIN!!!
And he left us presents!
What IS this stuff?
It's snow!
But it's not melting!
Miss Hillary, those are YOUR footprints!
Put your foot in them, let me see!
... Oh! They're bigger than your feet!
Miss E [my special ed worker], try your foot.
It's not hers, either! That proves it MUST be Santa!
This is the very first present Santa ever gave me!
Oh, this is the best day of my LIFE!

After reading the note and handing out the gifts, the kids tore into them to find the biggest candy canes they had ever seen. These must have come from the candy cane forest at the North Pole! I didn't need to do anything to create the magic this time - they did it on their own. Stories and theories swirled about how Santa could have gotten into our classroom without a chimney (maybe he came through the walls, maybe the janitor let him in, maybe he came through the mouse hole [er, the mouse hole?!?! It's now been filled.]). They talked about how fast Santa's sleigh must be and about how cold the North Pole is. And I sat back and watched, loving every minute.

It's been a while since I've been able to see Christmas in that magical child-like way. It has significance every year for me because of that very first gift that was given long long ago, of course. But there's another aspect of Christmas that I have not seen for a while, and that's the magic, the innocence, the wonder of it all. Impossibility made possible. Childlike faith in someone that can't be seen.

Or then again, maybe it's really been there all along. Maybe that's what Christmas is all about, even for us adults. Childlike faith in a gift too good good to be true, and yet! There He lies wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. God become man to dwell, to die, to deliver. Impossibility made possible. What a gift we've been given.

As a very wise elf said in her letter to one of my students, "Whoever believes in Christmas will always have magic."

How right she is!

Just to see 'em squirm

Last week I met some girlfriends in a park nearby my house to hang out, chat, and share a carton of gelato. Mmmm... Through a series of rather random events, my friend Rebecca and I ended up at a choir rehearsal in the community center next door singing the names of several cheeses in operatic voices with a couple of guys we met in the park.*

Yeah, I know. Welcome to my life.

Well I, being the music teacher I am, thought this song would be peeerfect for a few of my primary classes. I made mental note of the words, and Rebecca and I sung it to each other over the phone a few times over the weekend (I love my kooky friends!) and I was all set to teach it to my kids today.

Senooo-o-o-o-oooo-o-o-o-ooo-oore, senior-iii-iii-na
Mozzarella, parmigiana, pescatore, pizza pie,
Mozzarella, parmigiana, pescatore, pizza pie, buh-dum-boum

They had the tune. They had the words. But the emotion! Ah, it was sadly lacking. They were just a bunch of singing lumps on the carpet! I wanted them to get their voices and entire bodies to portray a deep feeling when they were singing this song (can we say, dramatic exercise?), so we talked about opera, and how it was intensely emotional.

"People aren't just happy," said I, pausing to smile weakly at them, "they're HAPPY!" I flung my head back, shot my arms in the air, arched my back, and raised myself up on my tippie-toes.

A little louder now, I told them, "People aren't just sad," as my eyes turned downward and I stuck out my lower lip ever so slightly, "they're SAD!" I rolled my shoulders forward and let my head drop. As my hands fell to my side, I let out a heavy sigh and let my face feel the weight of all the sorrow I was trying to convey.

Still louder, I continued. "People aren't just mad." I frowned at the class. "They're MAD!" And with that, I scowled my fiercest scowl, lunged at them, one foot forward and my fists up and ready to fight. A few of them squealed and scurried backwards on the carpet.

"And of course... do you remember what 'seniore' meant?"

"Sir!" "Mister!" They all called out variations on what I had told them.

"And 'seniorina?' "

"Mrs!" "Maam!"

"Ah Haaa! Well, In opera, we can't forget about one veeeery important emotion! People aren't just in love, they're IN LOOOOVE!" One hand on my heart, I threw my head back and raised the back of my hand to my forehead...

...at which point the entire class of eight year olds scrunched up their noses and cried, "EEEEWWWWWW!!!!!"

Some raised their shoulders to their ears in disgust, some covered their ears, and some physically turned around to avoid the horror of even thinking about those cootie-laden creatures of the opposite sex. One boy mimicked ramming his finger down his throat and made loud gagging noises.

I got them to show emotion all right!

Ah, how I love horrifying my students with my antics! Giggle giggle!

* ok, ok, so Rebecca knew them, but it just wouldn't sound as good if I had told you that, now would it? ;)

My feet are freezing!

Also known as "How slip on shoes and by-law enforcement officers are a bad combo."

Today was the last day to apply for summer school (my source of income for the summer months), and, as usual, it was down to the wire. I had left it till the last second to fill out and drop off my application. I was hastily filling out my application form and wasn't sure if I'd be able to get it in before the office closed at 4pm. As I was running out the front door of my school, I realized I'd left the address for a staff social back in my room. AK! No time! I called over to another teacher who was walking to her car and she rummaged around... she found it and off I went.

24 minutes till the office closes.

Key in ignition, and ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruuuuooooom. Uh, WHY is my NEW car having issues starting?!?! Oh yeah. The tank is empty. And I don't mean, oops, "I need to get gas soon" empty, I mean, "I reeeeally hope I can get it around the corner, let alone to a gas station cause I've been pushing the 'E' for two days now" empty. tick, tick tick... I decided against trying to push it all the way to the board office. Luckily I made it to a gas station. I pulled up, whipped out my card to pay at the pump, and ARG! I had picked the ONE pump out of ten that DIDN'T have pay-at-the-pump. Glug glug glug goes the gas. Great. There's a line up. I pay, and add a chocolate bar to my total. There's a reason I pay at the pump.

17 minutes to go.

Then I hit traffic. Broadway at 3:45 on a Friday. Brilliant. I kid you not when I say that I hit every single red light.

13 minutes to go. Uh. Slow drivers.
9 minutes to go. Dumb pedestrian! Hurry UP.
6 minutes to go. C'mon c'mon c'mon.
4 minutes to go. Sure, cut me off then turn left. It's ok. Go ahead. JACKASS.

I finally arrive at the board office. Parking is terrible in that area. TERRIBLE. All I'm doing is running in and out. The desk is right at the front door, no line up, nothing, just throw the application in a box. I pull up in front of a car parked at the last meter before a (very long) bus stop. The "no stopping" sign is at the middle of my car. On go the hazards and I bolt.

Now everybody knows that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, yes? So it would make sense to cut across the lawn/park in front of the office and not take the sidewalk, right? Well. This is no ordinary lawn. Grass, when paired with about 50 days of rain in the last 55 days is no longer grass, but a big muddy yet deceptively green bog. As I was sprinting across the grass, my shoes started to sink in a little, then a lot, then suddenly my stocking-ed foot went SQUISH into the mud. I was running, so there was no time to stop before my OTHER stocking foot SQUISHED down into the mud as well. It took a few steps through mud so deep it covered the tops of my feet before I could stop. Now I had to go back and get my shoes.

Mud, would you believe, has amazing powers of suction. It took some very strong yanking to free my shoes from the ooey gooey mess they had ensnared themselves in.

Shoes in hand, I continued on to the office, tippie-toed into the front door so as to leave as little mud on the floor as possible, practically THREW my forms at the lady, breathlessly mentioning something about the shoe-eating mud outside, then ran back to my car, totally laughing to myself at the absurdity of what just happened.

Before I saw her, I heard a voice saying, "I don't know why you stopped here, I'm gonna have to give you a ticket." I looked up through my rain-soaked glasses to see a metermaid's bright yellow jacket standing in front of my car. She had WATCHED me run through the mud, yank out my shoes, and run back to my car in my SOCKS. The show wasn't long. I figure about a minute and a half. No bus had come. No car had to wait cause I was parked where I was. I was half in a parking zone, and had been gone less than two minutes. I showed her my shoes and my muddy jeans and socks. No dice. I now owe the city $40. Special.

I now had to go home and change before the party. Halfway home, I realized I had a chiropractor appointment that started three minutes before. It was back near the school board. Great. And I didn’t even have my phone handy to call, cause I threw my purse in the trunk along with my socks and shoes.

And now, I'm late for the party. But hey, I've vented, and hopefully you'll find this story as unbelievable (and rather comical, minus the parking ticket) as I do.



What kind of day have YOU had?

Tuesday's tale of Christmas Past

I love warm fuzzy Christmas memories. I was at an event last night where the "icebreaker" activity was sharing your memories of a Christmas 'high' and a Christmas 'low.' I had lots of highs, but couldn't really think of many lows. I'm sure I had a few, but if they weren't coming to mind, I figured, why try to dig them up? I decided to post every Tuesday about a Christmas tradition or a Christmas memory that I have. I'd love to hear your stories, too! Either leave them in the comments, or write your own Tuesday Tale of Christmasses Past and notify me, and I'll link to you! Maybe we can get a lil' trend going!

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Santa is always messy when he comes to my parent's house. The grate in the fireplace gets knocked over, the decorative logs on the hearth are all spilled. Apparently the snack we leave for him isn't enough, so Santa has to meander over into the kitchen to have his fill. He invariably knock over dining room chairs and leaves a trail of paper towels, crumbs, etc as he goes. Mandarin orange wrappers are everywhere. This hasn't changed as my brother and sister and I have gotten older and moved out. Santa still comes. Santa still leaves a mess.

One year, when I was maybe eight or nine, Santa was particularly messy. So messy, in fact, that he got a few gifts stuck in the chimney.

Stockings were opened, all the gifts were unwrapped, and we were enjoying mom's candy cane loaf (bread stuffed with nuts and dried fruit that was shaped like a candy cane) for breakfast. All of a sudden, Dad's ears perked up: "Did you hear that? What was that sound? ... I think it was coming from the chimney!" He went to check it out, and came back amazed. "Santa got something stuck in the chimney. I'm going to go downstairs and get some tools to try to get it out. You stay here."

We were so excited! We stayed in the kitchen, which was - conveniently - around the corner from the living room, while dad went downstairs and got his tools. When he returned, the banging and clanging of a man trying to dislodge another one of Santa's treasures made us so excited we could hardly breathe. After what seemed like forever, we were allowed to round the corner and see what had been stuck. There in the middle of the living room was a brand new tricycle for my brother, who was maybe three at the time. We stood in amazement (all except my brother, who was already riding the trike around the living room.

"Now hang on a second, while I was getting this out, I think I saw something else up there, too. You go finish your breakfast, I'm going to go down and get some more tools." We tried to sneak a peek up the chimney before mom shooed us back into the kitchen, but alas! It was far too dark to see anything. More clanging, more banging, and when we got called back, there was another bike, this time for my sister!

Once more, dad saw something ELSE up the chimney. Once more he went to get just a few more tools. I of course knew what was up there this time around, but that didn't stop me from practically jumping up and down in the kitchen the entire time dad was trying to extract the gift.

Miraculously, dad had managed to dislodge three bicycles from our chimney that year. I loved that bike so much, partly because it was a beautiful pink Strawberry Shortcake bike with a banana seat, but partly because it was the gift we almost didn't get because Santa just didn't take the time to be neat and tidy!

I only have a fuzzy memory of that bike today, but I sure am grateful for a daddy who knew so much about getting bicycles out of chimneys!

Hillary and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Also known as, "Beastmobile: The end of an era?"

I woke up yesterday morning with a raging sore throat. I've been having problems with my voice lately (I'm an elementary school music teacher!) and some days are worse than others. I was gonig to call in sick today to give my battered and abused vocal cords a rest, but I had nothing, zip, zero, nada prepared, and it's just cruel and unusual punishment to call a TOC (teacher on call) into the chaos that is my day without having anything at all left for him/her, especially since I don't often get a sub who can read music. So I decided to head on in anyway, and just try to talk less/sing more quietly. Ha! Right.

The good news is that, because my throat woke me up earlier than I usually get up, I had plenty of time to get ready and head off to work. I hopped in the now not-so-hated Beastmobile.

[ Side note: I can't believe I haven't blogged about this yet, but my car is actually shifting into drive RIGHT AWAY now!!! No more 17 minutes of waiting or multiple engine revs to have it ka-CHUNK into gear with a violent lurch. My dad found a miracle goop-additive for transmissions called Bi-Tron. It actually brought MY BEASTMOBILE back from near death!!! It's no less than a miracle, let me tell you!!! So, I've actually been quite fond of my car these days. This is the first time since I've owned it (2.5 years) that I haven't had to wait or slam it into gear before I can drive! No kidding, there is at most a 2 second delay now between shifing and it clicking (not clunking!) into gear. I've been thinking that, "Quick! Now's the time to sell the beast while it's actually working, and before anythig else blows on it!" ]

Off I went on my trying-to-be-merry way. It was about 8am, and I was waiting to turn left at a major intersection. There was another car in front of me, also waiting to turn. Both of us were in the intersection. The light turned yellow, and one car went through, pushing the light. The light turned red. THe car in front of me turned, and me, grimacing at being in the intersection on such a red light, began to turn as well, when WHAM!

Some dopus (notice my restraint in my word choice there?) decided that he was just in TOO much of a hurry to stop for that RED light, so he ran it. Only problem was, I was in the intersection, trying to get out of the way of the very-soon-to-be oncoming traffic. I had started to turn, saw him coming and slammed on my brakes, but it was too late. We collided front driver's side to front driver's side.

The bumper was busted off, the front panel smashed in over the wheel, the lights and grill all punched in and broken... The crash was even enough to dislodge the signal light on the OTHER side of the car! I limped my car off to the side of the road, the sound of metal against the wheel and the bumper dragging on the ground making me cringe.

I walked back over to the other side of the street where the other driver was, watching the busy rush hour traffic drive over and obliterate pieces of my car still left in the intersection. Hands shaking like they've never shaken before, I exchanged information and asked a guy waiting for the bus to be a witness. The other driver said he was going through a yellow light. Yeah, I don't think so, buddy.

I called school to say I'd be late. Tow trucks came and towed away both cars. By the time I got to work and had dealt with ICBC (insurance comapny), I had missed my first 2 classes. Word sure travels fast! Two of my grade 5 students who were supposed to be in my first class saw me as I came in and asked if I had been in a car accident. Whaa?

Anyway, classes 3 and 4 I plopped in front of a video (hey! It was in French AND music-related, so I don't feel so bad about it!) while I wrote out a plan for a TOC for the afternoon. After I dismissed the kids, I ran around and got the VCR moved, picked a non-French movie for the afternoon classes, photocopied worksheets, picked up marking I was going to do at home, made sure someone was going to the union meeting I was supposed to go to, showed my TOC the three different rooms she had to go to in the afternoon, made sure she understood what she was doing, THEN, I went home. (For heaven's sake, why can't I just go, "Hey, I was in a car accident, and I wasn't even gonna come to work today cause I"m SICK, so I'm outta here!") By the way, as far as I can tell, physically I'm fine. I'm a little bit stiff, but I don't think that's anything major. Yes, I've seen a doctor, and I'm keeping a close eye on how I feel these next few days.

I'm still waiting to hear from ICBC about liability. It's dicy, cause I was turning left, and even though the guy ran a very red light, ICBC doesn't like to fault people driving straight over people turning left. Also, I'm betting that my car is going to be a write-off. I would be very surprised if they decided to fix it. I jsut hope I get something decent for it, cause I reeeally can't afford a new (or new-to-me) car right now. Nor can I afford the $250 "Crash responsibility charge" (what a crock that is) or the spike in my insurance rates if they find it to be my fault. *SIGH*

Today (the day after the accident), I got a ride to work with another teacher, and as we went through the intersection where the accident happened, there was my licence plate out on the road, crumpled and beat up from 24 hours worth of traffic rolling over it, totally unaware of how that discarded piece of metal represented the worst day I've had in a very, very long time.

Life is not all bad, though, cause once home and settled a bit, I lit some candles, put on some jazz, poured myself a glass of wine, and got some marking out of the way. My friend Dave came over later for dinner, a guitar "jam session" and some good conversation. It was just what I needed after that crazy day. I'm so grateful for a good friend like that.

My poor car. It's been broken into, stolen, hit and run'ed, and now smashed. I can't say it's had a very good day either. Yipes.

Brazen Thief!

I just got robbed!!!

I was baking cookies this morning, and had most of them put away, but the last four that didn't fit on the tray were cooling on my kitchen table. I was at the computer when I heard a sound in my kitchen. I looked, and couldn't believe my eyes! There was an intruder! I yelled and waved my arms around and scared him off, but I had seen him lurking around earlier in the morning, so I figured he'd be back. I grabbed my camera and moved to the couch to try and catch him in the act. Sure enough, a few minutes later he was back. He looked right at me, came inside, and made off with what he had been eyeing all morning!!! Right in broad daylight!











Unfortunately I didn't get a shot of the thief on top of my table with a giant chocolate chip cookie hanging out of his mouth. You'll just have to use your imagination!

What a little stinker!

Clunkermobile Adventures

Just another chapter in the ongoing saga of the clunkermobile! But first, if you haven't seen it already, you need to read this post to get somewhat aquainted with my beastmobile (it's a love/hate realtionship! :P )

OK, read it? Good... now we can continue! ;)

The Monday just after the retreat I had "one of those days." Slept in, got caught in a traffic jam, had wingy kids that wouldn't listen to anything, forgot my lunch, knocked over a huge stack of Safeway shopping baskets (which didn't just fall over, but spread out all accros the floor, stopped only by the display stand 8 or 10 feet away), had more wingy kids, sat through a long boring staff meeting, then went off to battle the crowds at Metrotown to buy a wedding shower gift for a friend. Metrotown parking is crazy, so I parked in the surface parking (much easier than in the multi-level parking garage!) and made careful note where my car was (I've lost it before!). I went in, bought my gift, and did a little bit of shopping for me (nothing fit - *sigh*).

Around 8:00, I was tired and hungry, and just wanted to go HOME! I followed my steps back to my car only to see another car pulling in to where my car had been. Ummm.... Oooookaaay. I wandered the lot, second guessing my sanity over and over again, but nope, I had definitely parked my car where I thought I did. And it was definitely not there.

Somebody had stolen my car!!! MY car. MY hunk-o-junk! :O

I called my parents to let them know, and told a mall security guard, who had someone come take all my info and then do a circle of the lot (I guess they have to make sure I just didn't forget where I parked it. Bah!). She circled around, and of course, no car. It IS fairly obvious with that piece of trim hanging off the back bumper! :P

Anyway, my dad was on his way (hip hip hooray for daddies! He came from Deep Cove to Metrowtown to drive me back to my house near Oakridge... for those of you who don't know Vancouver, none of those places are close to eachother), so I went over to the Red Robin to wait for him.

When he got there, we called the police to report is stolen, and then ICBC (insurance) and all that jazz. I hada full tank of gas in it, which got my dad and I thinking... good, they can get as far away as possible then maybe they'll drive it off a cliff and I'll be rid of the thing!!!

Is it bad to honestly pray your car gets totalled? ;)

Well, no such luck. They found it the next day at an Ice Rink in Coquitlam, basically intact. Boo hoo! Of course, then began the rigamaroll with the insurance company. Suffice it to say it was somewhat of a headache (although not as bas as I thought it would be). Though tell me, why have insurance when your car gets stolen and you still have to pay the $300 deductable?!?! ARG!

My one perk for the two weeks before getting it back, though, was the rental car! I got to drive a brand new silver Sunfire, wahoo! It was sure hard to go back to the clunkermobile afterwards, though! It's got me seriously contemplating a new car.

But alas, the beast is back, rumbling and smoking and squeaking and slamming into gear. I don't even want to know what the guys at the dealership thought when my car, after sitting for a week, took half an hour to stop belching out smoke (it leaks oil, and if it sits for a two days or so, there's enough oil burning off that it smokes). Go green or go home, I tell ya. Eek.

True to form

Click the button to visit "Camp Kawkawa Remembered"

Well, at least I'm consistent.

Once upon a time, many moons ago, little Hillary was up at Camp Kawkawa enjoying a fun filled week. She had been to camp before, and loved the canoeing activity option, so she signed up for it again. Out she went on the lake, dip dip and swing, dip dip and swing. She learned all kinds of new strokes, and even got to tip the canoe and learn how to do a boat-over-boat rescue. How fun! However, when she got back to the dock and went to get ready for dinner, she realized she was without one very important article... her GLASSES! She swore she had taken them off and left them wither her towel on the edge of the dock, but alas, they were nowhere to be found. She searched and she searched, frantic, but to no avail. She was just glad that it was sunny that week... maybe she could blame all the squinting on the sun. :P When she got home, her parents were very understanding (though I'm sure rather annoyed), and off they went to buy new glasses. They were sure to get the 2-for-1 deal this time... just in case.

Once upon another time, older and wiser Hillary was back up at Camp Kawkawa enjoying another great week. It was free time at the waterfront, and so she decided to go for a swim. Remembering the glasses incident a few years before, and determined not to make the same mistake twice, she had a great strategy: there was a covered shelf thingy out on the dock specifically for people to leave their valuables in while they went swimming. Out she went, reciting to herself, "Take your glasses off before you jump in the lake. Take your glasses off before you jump in the lake." She must have been so focused on her little chant that she forgot about the shelf, cause when she got to the edge of the dock she jumped right in. She felt the glasses come off her face and made a mad grab for them, but could only feel them slowly drifting down to the muddy bottom below. Frantic, and not wanting to have to tell her parents that he lost her glasses again, she went to the lifeguard and told him what had happened. After all the kids were out, he went diving for treasure. Her clear-lensed, black and dark brown tortoise shell glasses. He came and found her later that evening and handed over the glasses. YES! But wait... they weren't hers! Turns out another girl that week had done basically the same thing, but had been too embarrassed to admit it. Not Hillary, no siree... apparently she has no shame. So... take two for the staff member. Down he went again, and actually found Hillary's glasses this time! Man, was that ever a dumb move. She sure wouldn't do THAT again!

Or at least, she wouldn't do it again for a few years. Hillary was now a staff member at Kawkawa. Older, but apparently not wiser. She forgets the circumstances (blocked them from her memory, perhaps?) but into the lake she went, once again with her glasses on. And once again they were rescued from the murky depths. And I do mean depths. We're not talking about six feet of water here. It's more like 20 or 25. It's cold down there, and dark, and muddy.

We won't even speak of the time, also as a staff member, Hillary was getting cleaned up after a very muddy full contact game of bucketball and stepped on her glasses in the shower (there were no shelves anywhere, nowhere, not even a hook, to leave her glasses on. Silly washrooms.). Shattered the lenses. She ended up having to make an appointment for an eye exam in town and got a free pair of trial contacts to wear for the remainder of the summer. They were the wrong prescription. No wonder she was dizzy for two weeks.

Cut to this past weekend (and to a change in voice - I'm creeping myself out writing in third person!). I was now a guest at Kawkawa with my church. It was blazing hot on Saturday, and people were in and out of the lake all day. I noticed people diving up and down, up and down, with goggles on. Turns out a lady from our group had dropped her sunglasses in the lake. OH MAN! I could certainly empathize. I joined in the search (really, it was the least I could do!). I could see them, but they were too deep for me to get. Eventually a staff person got flippers and retrieved the glasses. Of course, that brought up all the (painful - *sniff*) memories. ;)

But apparently not for long.

A few hours later, after an afternoon spent hiking, kayaking, and swimming (during which time I hung my glasses on a hook on the swim board just before going onto the dock, I might add), I was on the dock talking to some friends. Dinner was soon, and I was pretty much dry, so I wasn't planning to go back in. However, the cool, sparkling water of the lake was just too tempting, so in a split second, "ah-why-not" moment, I dove in. The second I felt the refreshing sensation of the cool water surrounding me, I realized what I had done. Again.

Down floated my glasses once again, meeting up with their old friend, Kawkawa Mud. I came up out of the water shouting "craaaaap!" (and then realized the pastor was sitting right there on the dock, making me really glad I wasn't shouting some other word! :P ) But hey, at least I dove in at a DEEPER place than the woman earlier that day had done. (Do you sense my sarcasm?) Well it was too late to do anything now. I dove down a few times, but was too worn out from the afternoon to hold my breath for any length of time. I decided I'd ask the staff hero from earlier that day to try looking again tomorrow, and off I went, blind as a bat, for dinner. Of course, me not being able to keep my mouth shut, I told my friends on staff, who then proceeded to mock me relentlessly, knowing that this was not the first time I had done this. *Sigh* :P Thankfully I had brought my contacts with me!

So Sunday after lunch, I hauled a staff member away from his washroom-cleaning duties (kicking and screaming, I'm sure... I mean, who would want to jump in a nice cold lake on a blazing hot day when they could be cleaning toilets?? ;) and under the watch of about eight people, up and down he went trying to find my clear-lensed black wire rimmed glasses at the bottom of 25 feet of water. You could see the fluorescent flippers, and boy, was he a long way down. I was feeling bad for making him blow out his lungs and ears for the second time that weekend, and I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I was going to have to go glasses shopping this coming week, when up he came with my glasses in hand (to the cheers of all the folks on the dock, all women) !!! "Uh, excuse me, they're scratched!" said I, in my best rich-stuck-up-teeny-bopper voice. Heh heh.

Somebody get that boy a medal!

And somebody get me a brain!

Jesse, my hero!

Six years ago today

It was a Saturday, and I was working at the Capilano Suspension Bridge. I had to work Sundays, and so hadn't been gonig to church too often, and I was really missing it. The church I was going to at that time had a Saturday service, so I decided to go. By the time I got off work, changed, and took the bus there, I was a little bit late. I had changed, but I felt all icky form a long day of gardening and cleaning. I snuck in and sat off to the side near the back. Maybe 15 or 30 minutes into the service, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I think I was in the middle of singing or something, cause it startled me. I turned around and it was my dad! I thought maybe he had come to go to church with me, but then he motionned for me to come with him into the hall. Maybe he had something to tell me. As soon as we got into the hallway, my dad started crying. He blurted out, "Papa just died." I would find out later that he had had a huge stroke earlier that day. I don't really know what my thoughts were at that point. I was more concerened about my dad. He and Papa were so close. My dad was a mess. He told me later that he hadn't wanted to tell me that way, but when he opened his mouth, that was all that came out. I'm glad he told me that way. It was such a human moment.

As we prepared for his memorial service, every member of our family wrote something, and then the idea was to combine them into one tribute. But when my mom went to compile them all together, she realized that they were all too personal to just be edited into one. So we read them all. Nana and I had both written letters. I remember my mom saying how she read only the first word of Nana's letter and she was in tears.

Nana's letter began, "Dear." That's what she always called Papa. I imagine throughout their marriage it took on many different tones ranging from exhasperated to loving, but to her, he was "Dear." Her letter was full of memories, many from before they were even married. I cried as I saw Nana in a different light - as a teenager falling in love, then getting married. After over 50 years together, two children, three grandchildren, now her husband and best friend was gone.

It was, thankfully, not an entirely sad ceremony. Papa loved Jesus with all his heart. We knew that he was finally home and that we'll get to see him again. In the meanitme, though, there are days like today when I think about him, and miss him so much. He was such a loving, tender man. He was goofy, and always had a story or a joke to tell. It didn't matter that he told the same jokes over and over and over again. We loved the them not for their punchlines, but for the joy Papa got in telling them. He loved photography and nature, things which I, too, love. Two things in paricular remind me of Papa. I have always loved looking at how the mountains fade off into the horizon. Range upon range gets hazier and hazier as they get farther away. I mentionned that to my parents one time shortly after Papa died, and my dad told me that Papa always said the same thing. The other thing that reminds me of him are old barns. He loved to take pictures of old, dilapitated barns - where the roof sags, or they look like they're about to fall over. It sounds strange, I suppose, but he saw the beauty in them. Once sturdy, now left as a memory of days gone by. He has photo upon photo of these old barns that Nana put together in an album for my dad. I love those photos. Whenever I see an old barn or farmhouse, I'm reminded of Papa. (For examples, click here and here - these aren't his photos, but it gives you the idea).

More important than jokes and mountains and farmhouses, though, is the person Papa was and the legacy that he left. My dad grew up watching him an learning from him. The way Papa played, worked, worshipped, spoke, treated my Nana, treated my dad and my aunt, treated others: all this shaped who my dad is today. While I wish that Papa was still around and that now, as an adult, I could continue to get to know him, I can see so much of who he was in my dad, and for that I am so grateful.

On May 22, 1999, Papa finally

got to see his saviour face to face.

Just another day in the life...

So. Monday I had a flat tire, and didn't have time to fix it for a few days, so I was taking the bus to work. On Wednesday, I decided I would just stay at school till it was time to go to Bible Study, instead of spending the entire evening bussing all over the city. I had a backpack full of stuff (marking, marks books, etc) that I was packing around with me, cause I didn't have my car. Now Wednesday I had started to feel gross again - my sore throat/cold/cough combo coming back to haunt me again. By the beginning of Bible Study I had decided that I was feeling icky enough that I needed to stay home the next day. There was only one snag. I had the quizzes that I was going to be giving the kids with me, and not at school, and some of the quiz was hand-written, so I couldn't email it. I was going to have to get up early, bus to school for 7am or so, do my photocopying and lay everything out for my sub, and then come home. That was not a particularily attractive option, especially since I had been sleeping really poorly the last week - Tues night I only got about 2.5 hours of sleep. But, it had to be done.

"Why don't you just fax in your day plan and the quizzes?" said my friend Laura, whose house we have Bible Study at. I told her I didn't have a fax machine, so she offered to lend me hers. Woohoo! I would actually get to sleep on Thursday!

So, Bible Study ended, and off I went with two other friends for the bus - purse, giant backpack, and basket with fax machine in hand. Me and my load got off one bus and transferred to another. About two minutes into the trip on the second bus, a horrific realization dawned on me...

I HAD LEFT MY PURSE ON THE OTHER BUS!!!

Here it was, nearly 11:30 at night, not the best part of town (not the worst, but not the best), and my purse was quickly headed far far away from me. I ran up to the driver and asked what a person would do if they had left a purse on the bus. He told me he'd call dispatch and have them radio out to all the #99 drivers and have them check. I gave him my number and told him to have them call me at any time of the day or night if they found anything.

I was horrified. I had EVERYTHING in there. My house keys, car keys, work keys. My credit cards, my checkbook, all my ID. My cell phone. My PALM PILOT. I was beginning to feel sick. I could replace the cards, but the phone? Maybe. But never the Palm. It was a grad gift, and I just couldn't afford to replace it. Yes, life was going to carry on, but how could I have been so irresponsible???

I raced home, thankful that I keep a spare key hidden. Sick, waaay overtired, and now this. I quickly began calling to cancel all my cards and my phone. "What am I gonna DO?" I messaged a few friends who were up late and asked them to pray that someone honest finds my purse. I began to bawl. (keep in mind my super-duper overtiredness here :P). And I still had to write out the detailed plan for my sub the next day, too.

As I was dealing with business, it dawned on me more and more how much was actually in there. Birth Certificate. SIN card. Keys, with my address in my palm. I would have to have my locks changed. My parent's keys, and their address still on my driver's licence. Would they have to change their locks, too? Thoughts of identity theft went through my head, and of all the money I'd have to pay to replace all my cards. How would I get new ID if I didn't have any ID to prove who I was? And on and on it went. I kept PLEADING with God that someone honest found my bag.

Having cancelled everything I needed to cancel for the time being, I started to write out my sub plan. I didn't have it finished and faxed off untill 3:30 am. I asked God to give me peace about it, and felt something, but I didn't know what. Wishful thinking? I didn't want to get my hopes up. I fell into bed, only to have worry and a massive coughing fit wake me up at 6:30 again.

What am I gonna do? What am I gonna DO? At about 7:30, I called my parents to tell them what happened, mostly just to warn them that their address and house keys were floating around out there somewhere. My dad was wonderful. He even offered to drive over and give me some cash to get me by till I got my new cards (as I now no longer had any access to my money. It's amazing what a bizzarre feeling that was).

I thought I would try one last resort. I called transit info and told them what had happened, and asked for the number of the lost propery office. The lady suggested that I try calling the depot first, as any lost property goes there first. So I called, and asked weakly if there had been a purse turned in last night. I gave a quick description, and the lady went to check. It seemed like forever before she came back to the phone.

"Does it have an umbrella in it?"

"Uhhh..... maybe." Of all the things in there, the umbrella was not what I was thinking about!

"What about a book... by Gary Paulsen?"

"HATCHET!!! Yes!"

She looked for the title. "Yep, Hatchet."

"That's it!! That's my purse! Is there a fat brown wallet in there?"

(rummaging) "Yes, it appears so."

"And a cell phone?" I asked, a little more cautiously.

"Yes."

OK. Go for the gusto, I thought. "What about a Palm Pilot... It's in a black leather case?"

"Yeah, it's silver coloured?"

I couldn't believe it. "YEAH!!! Oh my goodness, everything's there!!! How do I come and pick it up?"

The lady gave me directions, and as soon as I had hear from my TOC, I was ready to go. But how to pay for the bus? All I was able to dig up was $0.80. I tried knocking on my landlord's door to sheepishly ask to borrow a toonie, but no answer. So off I went, hoping I had a sympathetic bus driver. Thankfully, I did, and he let me on (maybe it was cause I looked so pathetic with my spare key and 80 cents made up of nickels and dimes! :P)

Anyway, I got to the depot, and signed for my bag! Yahooooo!!! A quick check told me everything was, in fact, there.

THANK YOU GOD!!! (I really should have trusted that feeling I had when I asked God for peace!)

I spent the rest of my day getting a new bank card, getting my tire fixed (which they did for FREE!), having lunch with my dad, and then having a looooong nap.

What can I say, I'm so glad that there are honest people out there, and that I have a God who's looking out for me, even when I do dumb things!

Reunited!

Typical!

I went to Missions fest today. It was pretty good. I went to a session about being a Christian teacher in the public school system and one of the plenary sessions. Meh, it was alright. Ran into about a bazillion people I knew, many of whom I hadn't seen in a long time. Honestly, that's one of the best parts about Missionsfest! One person I ran into, however, stands out. 'Member the post about my secret identity on internet boy's forum? Well I ran into him today! I knew he might be down there this weekend, but honestly... among how many people and how many different venues?!?!? Of course, I suppose I forgot this is ME we're talking about here! Lil' Miss Run-into-Everybody! So we chatted for a bit, got caught up a bit on what's been gonig on, that kind of thing. But holy awkward, Batman, I already KNEW half the stuff whe was telling me from reading it on the forum!!! I thought about dropping a hint about Walking Cartoon, but then thought better of it. It would have been funny to have seen his face, though! On the other hand, maybe I would have just seen the back of his head as he ran away screaming. Really, I don't know why I even worry about it! GAH! I'm not crazy, I promise! :P

I did stop by at the Camp Kawkawa booth (ah, what a wonderful place!). I think I"m gonna go up for a week, maybe two this summer as a cabin counsellor. It's been two summers now that I haven't been up at all, and I miss it. It's such an amazing time every time I go. It's a place where I can jsut see God working so much clearer. He does AMAZING things in kids in that place. I love to be a part of it. Yay God!!!

Walking Cartoon says the jig is (almost!) up

Ah... cyberspace anonymity. It can be very fun. Though I'm debating revealing my identity. My only dilemma is that if I do, people may think I'm a creepy stalker lady... which I'm not, of course!!! Read on for the story...

Many moons ago (like in October) I was chatting with someone who I had met online. A few times he sent me a link to this website that he and a bunch of his friends are members of. It's kind of a forum/message board thing. He sent me the link to some jokes he posted, and I continued to browse the forum, just to see what was there, that kind of thing. We eventually stopped writing, but I checked the site every now and then, cause it was kinda interesting to see what people had to say, and also to read the daily jokes that my former pen-pal posts. Sooner or later, I got to thinking it would be fun to post a few replies myself, so I signed up as a member.

BUT, thinking it would be kinda strange for me to just appear on the site, I just made up a knickname (as many of the people on the site have) and kept my info fairly general. I posted here and there, not too often. What I didn't immediately realize, though, was that everybody knows everybody else on the site, so when I started posting, they were curious as to who I was (at first they thought I was someone they knew in disguise). I got a whole thread/topic devoted to "Who is this person?" Well, I couldn't just ignore it, but I also didn't want to use my real name, cause the guy would then know it was me! Aaaw-kward!

Now here is the point I should have just either left the forum or told who I was, but I didn't! I used my middle name (not that bad!) and told them I lived in Vancouver (which I do!). How did I find the site, they asked. Just by fluke I told them. What a lame-o answer. Actually, I said I was trying random URLs (insert your laughter at me here!). Lame lame lame! But that was that, and life continued on.

Now there's no particular reason that I need to divulge my identity. I don't know any of these people (well, except the guy), and I haven't given any info that might make the guy put two and two together. But the more time that passes, the more I feel weird about it! (In kind of a hilarious, what the heck have I gotten myself into kind of way! :D ) Twice now people have suggested that I go hang out with them some time, cause they think it'd be fun to meet me (well, I am a fun person to meet! ;) . They haven't been specific invitations, more like an idea put out there. So I have yet to respond to it. But you can see my dilemma! Oh, and I should mention here, too, that the guy and I met up for coffee once after work, so he would know me if he saw me. Imagine the scenario! "Hi, I'm ___" and the guy goes, "No you're not, you're Hillary! That was YOU?!?!" Like I say. Creepy stalker lady. Except I'm not! (actually, I have no interest in the guy at all! ummm, that sounds mean... he was a nice guy, but not a match for me, and I'm not looking for anything now anyway, simple as that!)

I hope that you are rolling on the floor laughing at me by now! It IS pretty funny. I suppose I could tell them that I'm moving to Iceland and so can't hang out with them. Or that I'm confined to bed because I have some infectious disease. But really... where does the web of lies stop? :P

Ah, the adventures in the world of Hillary! Hmmm... it occurs to me now that all this is because I jsut couldn't keep my mouth shut! I had to say something on the forum instead of just keeping quiet! hahahahahahaha!!! Typical me!

Put yourself in my shoes! What would you do? Anything?

And PS. If by some crazy fluke you are a member of this forum and are reading this going, "Oh my goodness, Oh my gooness, Oh my goodness!" Yup, you found me out! I'm all for hanging out if you're not totally scared of me now! Hee hee!

Phew! It feels good to get that all off my chest! :D