"All words are symbols that represent unspeakable realities. Which is also why words are magical." (Donald Miller tweet)
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts

Thursday, April 16, 2015

find your own door

From my Annoying Things file: Dove's #ChooseBeautiful campaign.

I haven't watched the video. I'm not gonna, and I'm not gonna link it either.

It's easy enough to search out, if you're interested.

The constantly repeating post in my Twitter feed irks me enough. The whole "which door would you walk through" thing is somehow supposed to demonstrate that most women don't feel beautiful, because so many of them choose to go through the door labelled "average" rather than the one labelled "beautiful". And that this is tragic, in an obviously self-evident kind of way.

First - you can't know WHY the women chose the door they did.


Unless you posed well-worded questions
in a controlled environment,
identical for each participant.

And accounted for the possibility
that the women may or may not tell you the truth,
since you kinda manipulated them into the whole situation
in the first place.




Second - you can't know that you sampled a group of women that actually represents the general population. At best, you got a representative sample of women who went to the mall that day, in that city.


Unless you went to the effort of ensuring
a statistically-correct representative sample.

And I doubt that very much.

That's right.
I learned something in that statistics class.



Third - in this effort to somehow empower women, build them up, blah, blah, blah, it's STILL based on their physical looks.

And as someone else pointed out,
the intent is to get women to #ChooseDove,
not #ChooseBeautiful.




Sigh.

How about a door marked "curious"?

Or ... "ambitious"?

Or ... "happily content with who I am"?

Or ... "authentic"?

Or ... here's a crazy one ... "not defined by a beauty product"??!!!

Last night my mom asked me which door I would walk through. I thought about it for a minute, and then said, "Neither. I think I'd walk away. They don't get to force me to pick one of their two definitions of me, and then analyze my self-esteem from it."

Hey.

You know what door I'd walk through in a heartbeat?




The one attached to an old wardrobe, labelled "Narnia".

#findyourowndoor 

Thursday, February 26, 2015

I am not Us. or Them.

You know what is REALLY bothering me this week?

Us and Them language. In which "We" are right and good, and "They" are wrong and evil.

All of Us.

ALL of Them.

A large, faceless, homogenous Us.

Standing in angry opposition to
a large, faceless, homogenous Them.

From all sides.

On all issues.

Truly, it makes me want to weep.

Though I've likely been guilty of it myself.

Listen -

I am a Gen-X-er (I think). Lots of Gen-X characteristics apply to me. Lots don't.

I never thought of myself as a feminist. But by lots of definitions, I absolutely am. By lots of other definitions - I absolutely am not.

I'm a Christian. And I'm fully aware that by saying that, all kinds of baggage and labels and descriptors and assumptions get applied to me. Many, if not most, are simply not accurate. They're definitely not as simplistic as they might seem.

I'm white ... Canadian ... a wife ... a north-ender ... a goody-two-shoes AND a rebel ... a student ... a gardener ... a (sometimes) runner ... a meat-eater ... a Dr. Who watcher ... a driver ... a walker. I'm pretty sure I've voted for all of the various political parties at one point or another.

But the thing is -

I am not exclusively, completely, only, any one of these labels.

I am not any large, faceless, homogenous Us.

And neither are You.

And neither are They.

They are made up of Ones.
Who are also all kinds of Other Things too.
Some of Their Other Things might be the same as some of Our Other Things.
Or Your Other Things.

In a book I'm working through, I see this quote. I'm going to leave out the identifiers, because I think you could likely plug just about any label in there.

"If you want to connect with a _____ person, you have to look at him or her as an individual. The preconceptions you may have about ______ need to be discarded from the beginning if you want to have a genuine relationship with a ______ person. There can be no more generalizations and blanket distinctions.... We need to go beyond "understanding" and "dialogue" and get down to a personal heart-to-heart level."

*stops writing*

*sadly walks away*

Monday, February 02, 2015

#LikeAGirl

I can't let this go by.

Because of a massive snowstorm last night, the event I was supposed to be running was cancelled.

Which meant I watched the Super Bowl. (Um, and by "watched" I mean I was down in the man-cave for the first half, ate some chips and candy, read a book at the same time, and cheered when Spike did.)

And THAT means I saw THIS.



This is an extended version, if you're interested.

And there's not a snowball's chance in aitch-ee-double-hockey-sticks
that I'm not jumping on THAT bandwagon.

And so ... I'd like to say something.

My grandma on one side could feed a crew of harvesters on a pound of ground beef, using a wood stove and a foot of counter space, in between looking after chickens and working a "garden" that city-dwellers would call a small farm. #FarmLikeAGirl 

My grandma on the other side, as a young single woman, simply up and moved to downtown Toronto to work, all by herself. I didn't even KNOW that until I mentioned that we had moved to that very same area, and she smiled and perfectly described the house she had lived in, only a few blocks away, half a century before. #MakeYourOwnWayLikeAGirl 

My niece holds her own with her brothers just fine, and is training to be a mechanic. #ChangeTheOilLikeAGirl

I have one cousin who's a carpenter. Another who's a mathematician-turned-California-business-consultant. Another who's an award-winning author. All girls. #BuildLikeAGirl #KickCorporateButtLikeAGirl #WriteLikeAGirl 

One of my very best friends, a pastor and leader for two decades, just shifted her entire life (along with her husband) to give the very best chance to their daughter, adopted from an Indian orphanage last year. #LeapIntoTheUnknownLikeAGirl

When, as a young woman, I went to my mom (who earned an income from the time she got married at 18 until the time she retired) agonizing over whether it was "right" for me to be a pastor, to not automatically stay home with (hypothetical) kids, she gasped in classy outrage and said, "How is it possible that we are still TALKING about this?? Ridiculous. You can do whatever you WANT to do." #DismissGenderRolesLikeAGirl #WearHeelsLikeAGirl 

My whole life, I've watched girls, including my sister, who became EXACTLY who they chose to be, not giving a flying fig what anyone else thought about it. I can't possibly mention them all. This post would never end. Some of them made choices that might look traditional, but I assure you - they'd have a few well-chosen words for me or anyone else who might dare to suggest that makes them weak. And rightly so. #LiveYourDreamLikeAGirl

So I'm a pastor and a leader, in a world where not everyone thinks I should be, and where there aren't too many of "me" out there. I didn't set out to be an example, but sometimes it happens by accident. Last year I hired an assistant pastor, and also welcomed a pastoral intern. They are both powerful, strong, accomplished and talented - and they happen to be girls. That's not why they're at my church. They're at my church because they're fantastic.

And here's what I'd like to say to them, and every girl who questions whether or not there's a place for her in Christian ministry ...

#PreachLikeAGirl

Friday, October 17, 2014

filler, with a hint of sarcasm

Sometimes, when I'm writing a paper, I use filler, just to get myself going.

This most recent one included the sentence, "This paper will argue something profound, with an impressive array of vocabulary."

Then I prayed intensely that I would remember to change that sentence into something ... else.

(Hmm, I wonder if I did?)

---

By the way, I saw this article the other day ... I liked it. And there was one sentence that I particularly  liked. It was this:


(Ready?)

(Hello, are you ready? ... Yes?)

(Ok then.) 

Here it is. 

"Maybe we need to buy less stuff,
so we have more (money) to give."

Well, isn't THAT just a ridiculous thought, CRAZY talk is what THAT is. "Buy less stuff...." .... What does that even MEAN? I mean, who DOES that?

(You can hear that I'm being mildly sarcastic right? You heard that?)

We (in Canada) just finished saying how thankful and blessed and contented we all are, as we stuffed ourselves with turkey and apple pie. Christmas is coming, that season when we all spend ourselves into oblivion. Apparently we aren't sooooo very thankful that we couldn't do with a liiiiiiiittle more stuff. 

(Again with the sarcasm.)

Anyway. It's just a thought, mostly self-directed. Happy Outrage-Free Friday. 

---

"In this space, I will bring this post to an end with something witty that ties the whole thing together."

Thursday, June 12, 2014

NO spikes

So... this has me furious. http://globalnews.ca/news/1385919/anti-homeless-spikes-efforts-to-deter-homeless-backfire/

First of all - they aren't "the homeless". Unless the rest of us are "the homed". They are PEOPLE who DON'T HAVE A HOME.

Imagine that, just for a second. 

Nowhere to retreat. No bed. No choice of food. No quiet or safe space. No place to ... stop.

And now... you can't sit down either. Or lie down. On public space that doesn't matter to anyone. Because someone put SPIKES there for the express purpose of denying you the comfort of sitting down on a concrete slab. You walked all day ... keep on walking. We don't need your kind here. You're not people... you're "the homeless".

Tell me, please, how this attitude is different, except in degree, to attitudes behind slavery, genocide and the like? "You aren't human enough to sit down in a public space."

And don't - DO NOT - tell me that it's their fault somehow. No one grows up dreaming of being without a place to live. Are there choices? Sure, sometimes. More obstacles in the way of making good choices than I've ever had to face? Almost always. Does "the system" work? Uh, no. At its best, it is short-term and dehumanizing. 

I don't rant often. And I can't solve it all. But I'll tell you this: there will be NO spikes installed around MY church. (Or my home, for that matter. If someone wants to sit on my front porch, they can.) One of my goals is to find an affordable bench or two to drill into the concrete around Crossfire, so there IS a place to rest.

And anyone will be welcome to it. They can also use the washroom. And have a bottle of water. 

Who's with me?

#NOspikes 

Friday, July 06, 2012

best left unsaid

I wrote a phenomenal little rant to be published this morning. It was all about banking and mortgage renewals.

Because there was an earth-shattering kaboom this week in my house when I opened the mail.




 And I was very angry. Very angry indeed.




But it's all fine now. And the tiny voice in my head says I should leave that little rant unpublished. So you're going to have to imagine it.

However, the moral of the story was:
Keep your original documents.
Use a broker.
And never, EVER open your mail.

---

In other news ... I've been watering my new front garden day and night. Turns out mulch makes all the difference in the world. The new plants were dying quickly in this heat. The water appeared to be just landing briefly and running away from them. Mulch makes it stay. Within a few hours, most of them had perked right up. Except one. There's one that is still in critical condition. I'm not sure it's going to make it. Maybe I can find tiny little plant paddles - "clear!"

My north end neighbours are the best. Not just the ones living near me - even the ones walking by - they stop to say how nice it all looks. How much nicer it will be when the desert-like part has new sod.

It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Rage subsiding.

Hooray for gardens and neighbours.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

irritated theory

Theory. Not a fan.

I like concrete, measurable ideas. I don't like abstract, non-testable philosophies. My brain gets lost in there. Even when taking a decade of piano lessons - give me scales and arpeggios any day of the week.


(My parents just burst out in derisive snorts at that claim. I'll admit I did more than my share of weeping, wailing and whining over scales and arpeggios.
Still, I'd rather play piano than study the theory of it.)

I know theory matters. (I even tell other aspiring pianists - theory matters.) Specifically, theory matters in my current studies, because it's a prerequisite for everything else. And ... it's not offered in the summer. And ... it's a two-semester course, which means that I will miss two weeks of it while I'm in Ukraine, because I have to take the course through the fall and winter semesters.

Bleah.

So I registered this morning, and then checked out the details. Now I'm irritated. Here's why.

1. The university is a world unto itself. Exams won't be scheduled, textbooks won't be specified, syllabi won't be published until the university is good and ready. A pox on the rest of your life! We don't care that you are a contributing member of society, with other plans that must be made! You shall be ruled by our inflexible bureaucracy! Even if we KNOW the answers, we won't tell you, because we think you don't need to know yet! Furthermore, we may not even tell you WHEN we plan to tell you, unless you manage to successfully navigate an impossibly dense and user-hateful website. Bwahaha.

(I'm ashamed to admit it took me a few tries to spell "bureaucracy" correctly,
in that previous paragraph.)

2. Professors can ... sometimes ... be a tad ... preemptively bossy. I know that non-professors can also be preemptively bossy, but in the rest of life, I have the right to challenge it, or at least engage in some kind of negotiation. It's weird to be a responsible, forward-thinking, paycheque-earning, mortgage-paying, people-leading adult who is often older than the professor, and yet be on the receiving end of preemptive bossiness. It feels condescending and rude.

The syllabus for this course is not yet available, naturally. But I managed to find last year's, and hopefully it will be similar. The good news is - no essays. The bad news is - last year's mid-term exam was November 15. This year, I get back from Ukraine on November 9.

This particular syllabus contains more than the usual amount of CAPITAL LETTERS and ITALICS and BOLD proclamations of what will NOT BE TOLERATED, FREQUENTLY UNDERLINED for extra emphasis. The entire thing radiates an assumptions that I'm looking for the easy way out of this whole educational experience, and that I'm not quite worth the prof's time.


Honestly, the 10 Commandments are less intimidating.

And, lest I dare to suggest that my work life might ALSO be important, the prof firmly states that tests and assignments will certainly not be moved for any reason, even travel due to full-time work. It is followed up with the suggestion that I should prioritize my life better. If the university was not a world unto itself, perhaps it would let me know important dates a little earlier, so that I COULD prioritize my life - and plane tickets - better.

*sigh*
I don't know why I'm so rant-y today.
Yes I do.
I rant each time I register for a new course.

But I checked out the prof on "Rate My Professor" and he's got pretty solid reviews. Which is encouraging.

So it will be fine, as long as that test doesn't land before before my plane does.

Now back to my regular cheery self.

Note to any of my previous profs:
The fact that you know where this blog is,
is evidence that this particular post is not about you.

Friday, April 13, 2012

let's hear it!

This week I got to be part of an event at my Alma Mater. For the record, I'm absolutely confident that I have never before blogged around the words "Alma Mater".

It. Was. Fantastic.

A half-day symposium for/about women in ministry. Ten of us been-there-doing-that types were invited to share our stories (good, bad or ugly) and overabundance of wisdom with students, both female and male. Each of us had 10-12 minutes, and I'll be honest with you, I practiced, I recorded myself repeatedly, I poured more work into this than I have poured into a public speaking project in a long time. And I still went overtime. But most of the others did too, so ... well, there it is. It's a rare occasion when we WIMs are offered a platform like that, and none of us wanted to forget anything.

I'm going to skip over the parts where I muse about the atmosphere of the college, which has changed significantly since I was there. I'm not going to mention the odd feeling of looking up at the residence window from which I watched the world go by in my first year.

Here's what I'm still thinking about, two days later.

Two or three times during the event, guys put up their hands and asked - "How can we support women in ministry when we get out there?" Of course my personal answer was along these lines. I have a few different speeches (rants) that I can roll out on demand, and that's one of them. Later, the Academic Dean made a point of mentioning the steady stream of male students that had already come to her with positive feedback about the event.

One woman told me on the side about the guy who is intentionally giving her space to learn and lead, because he had his eyes opened a few years ago about the things that women in ministry face, and he doesn't want to be "one of those guys". Another woman mused about the dour, Scottish-accented guy who pushed her years ago to get ordained when she thought it didn't matter. I, of course, was beyond delighted to give full acknowledgement to this guy, who has championed women in ministry for decades, and is one of my personal heroes. And then I thought about this guy, who gave me MY first job. I vaguely knew at the time that was a big deal, but almost 20 years later - I'm profoundly grateful that he acted as if it was normal for a female to be a pastor.

I thought about friends - one super-powerful business guy who gives me high-speed, pull-no-punches advice when I ask him. Another guy who now manages a staff "bigger than the town he grew up in" who helps me process ideas and policies with a lot of no-nonsense-common-sense. And others.

Of course, there's my own Dad - who told me I could do anything I set my mind to. Crazy. I believed him. Ridiculous. And Spike. He still thinks I'm "freakin' amazing," more than 20 years later. Poor deluded soul.

There is often talk about women-mentoring-women, but truthfully, I would be interested to find out how many other WIMs out there survived because of - rather than in spite of - one or more men.

And so, hats off to the other women who presented at this event. You were great.

But to the guys - those from decades past - and those who haven't yet graduated - to the guys who intentionally make room for women to lead in the church - you get an eternal standing ovation from me.

Let's hear it for the boys!

Thursday, July 14, 2011

communication tech

Oh no.

You're all signing up for Google+ aren't you? I've heard it in the news. I've seen it on Facebook. Once again, Google does an "invitation-only" rollout, and we all *must* have it. It's creating quite a buzz. Which, I'd like to point out, Google Buzz did not do.

Here's the thing. If you all become Google+ peeps, I have to as well. Because you will stop communicating via Facebook or text. Even now, many of you ignore my emails and phone calls all together, glancing askance at me when I mention it, as if I just suggested communicating through carrier pigeons.

So these days, if for example, the Worship Team needs to know that we're going to have a guest chimp on bongos on Sunday morning, I send a group email ... and an identical group Facebook message ... and then I text several people to say, "check your email" ... and one or two I have to personally collar with full eye contact in order to be assured the message has been received.

And then I am mocked for sending too many messages. "Sheesh Patti, we know about the chimp already."

And now you're all throwing Google+ into the mix.

Well that's just dandy.

PS I joined Gmail before anyone else I know, and I would like to inquire as to why I have not received an invitation to Google+. I can only assume it was lost in the mail during the recent Canada Post strike/lockout.
--
In other news, I just got notification that my Bell e-bill is ready, with a balance of ... are you ready for this ... $-16.32. That's right. A negative balance.

I definitely did NOT see that coming.

Thursday, June 09, 2011

Bell: A Love Story

I said I'd tell you the story. But it's long, which is why I've delayed. Here, for your pleasure, is the edited version of the documentation I kept from the whole process.  I've entitled it - "Bell: A Love Story"

First week of May-ish
Spike has started a new job. Needs a phone. Right now. He's sleep-deprived, on a huge learning curve (he calls it a learning wall), and using someone else's car. He heads to a T-Booth in the local mall, where a kid bopping to the music in his ears signs him up for 250 minutes + 50 bonus minutes with Bell.

May 21 - Got the bill. No bonus 50 minutes. Called Bell, who first get Spike to authorize me on his account. They've never heard of 50 minutes. There are no bonus minutes. Ever. Why would boy at their T-Booth lie? They don't know. If only I had the contract in front of me, they say. But I don't. I will get the contract from Spike's truck and call back. But not until 24th, because Bell is closed on Sunday and holiday Monday.

May 24 - Contract in hand, Spike on the road, called Bell. No 50 minutes, they don't care about the contract, and I'm not authorized, so they won't speak to me. OK, I say. How about I just ask you hypothetically about upgrades that might be possible, so that when Spike comes home, I can give him this information? No. You won't just tell me about your plans? No. They ask if there's anything else they can help me with. A few circuits in my brain pop. I inform them that they haven't done anything to help me yet, and this is why I left Bell over 12 or 15 years ago. Leave a strong message for the invisible "this call will be monitored for quality control people".

Phoned Spike and asked him to phone Bell and authorize me. He did.

May 24 - I call again. Got a trucker's daughter, who was very helpful. She suggested Spike not use Bell plan in US, because - it's lousy.  SIM card is better for US, if I buy a different phone, and then just switch SIM cards at the border. Easy as pie. (I should have suspected her there, because pie is not easy.) Sounded a little like Obama - YES I CAN change the plan! YES I CAN keep the same phone number in the US and Canada! And YES I CAN even ditch the new Bell phone number, and use Spike's original cell number. Really? YES.

She did repeat that there are no 50 bonus minutes. I said the guy under contract to Bell at the T-Booth lied then. She says that must be very frustrating. I ask, isn't there something they would like to do about that? Wouldn't Bell like to deal with this guy? Oh, she says. Sure. She takes down the information, very likely with an imaginary pen.

I leave another strong message for Big Brother listening for quality control. Brain circuits fray...

May 28 Spike spent the day with a friend, looking for the best phone for his purposes. Specifically an "unlocked" phone so that we can switch SIM cards, as recommended by Bell. Bought a shiny smart phone. Vendor took us to Wireless Wave booth which represents Bell - guy says Bell gave us a bad plan. Don't go with their recommendation. Starts speaking at high speed, using a highlighter to show us what we probably want, how simple the whole thing is, and don't call Customer Service, call Customer Loyalty. Both Spike and I start sweating. We have no idea what he's saying, except for the Customer Loyalty part.

May 29 Spike and another friend drive to Buffalo, NY to get a US SIM card. $15. Easy to hook up online or over the phone. Except when he gets home, it doesn't work. The number is invalid for porting. Bell, of course, is closed, because it's Sunday.

May 30 Bell says the number is not valid because the phone is not unlocked. It is, I say. It isn't, they say. It is, I say. It isn't, they say. Silence. It isn't, they say. It's impossible. No one sells unlocked phones. "They most certainly do," I say. "No they don't," they say. And furthermore, in order to unlock my phone, I have to pay them $75, and I can't do it until June 2. And no, I certainly cannot keep Spike's old phone number. They can't imagine why the last Bell person neglected to mention these last 3 points, as she was happily telling me to go out and buy another phone.

Many critically stressed brain circuits.

They suggest that I should call the vendor and ask why he lied to me about selling me an unlocked phone, when he couldn't have. Is there a Customer Loyalty department, I ask. Yes, they say. But they politely neglect to transfer me there. Pop.

May 30 Contacted vendor. Yes the phone IS unlocked, he did it himself, it IS ABSOLUTELY unlocked. But no, I can't keep the old phone number, nor can I have the same number in Canada and US. That's impossible.

May 30 Contacted friend who shopped for the phone with Spike. He graciously says vendor is right, phone IS unlocked, and no I can't have one number for two countries. Why, I ask, would Bell tell me that I can? He answers that question with a brief, impolite reference to their level of competence.

I quietly set all phone information on the table, and go outside to garden.

May 31 Called the US company and asked to sign up for new number. Certainly, they say, all cheery and friendly. They just need my ZIP code. But I'm in Canada. I don't have a ZIP code. I have a postal code. They try a number of things, never once losing their helpful demeanor. They are shocked to discover that their company will happily take my money and give me a plan, no matter where I live - but the ZIP code is indispensable to beginning the process. They are very sorry to tell me that I must return to Buffalo and get the dealer to help me. They wish me the happiest of days, despite it all. This call is the most pleasant part of the entire process thus far.

May 31 Called Bell for Round 2 of the "yes it is - no it isn't" unlocked phone debate. They assure me it is ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE that the phone is unlocked. But "just in case" - maybe switch the SIM card in it with a friend who has a Telus plan. If the phone works, than it IS unlocked. I feel a deadly calm settle over me, and quietly point out that they just said it's IMPOSSIBLE that the phone is unlocked, because NO ONE SELLS unlocked phones, so how is it POSSIBLE that maybe it is? They say they're ALMOST certain it's not unlocked. But maybe I should check. And yes - I will have to pay $75 to Bell, no matter what. Pop. Pop. Pop.

June 5 Back to Buffalo, after morning church service. Vendor has a "back in 30 minutes" sign on the door. We wait for 90 minutes. That's a whole story in itself, but the end is that just as I was pulling away from the curb, he returned. Set us up with his own ZIP code. All is well. Except the wait, combined with border lines, makes me completely late for the evening church service. In 17 years, I don't think that has ever happened before.

June 6 I call Bell, sweetly using the line you all told me to use. "I'm thinking of switching to another carrier. Would you like to pass me to Customer Loyalty now, or should I speak to you first?" She says I have to speak to her first. I tell her the whole story. Tell her what it seems to me that my plan should be. She says she can do better. A few moments later, she has reduced the plan to less than half the cost of the original contract, with services far-better suited to Spike's purposes. No extra fees. No extra costs. I make her go through our entire file to ensure that there will be NO EXTRA CHARGES of any kind added for this change. She assures me there are none. My next bill will be exactly what she has quoted me, plus tax. That's it. What about the $75, I ask. She says - get this - "Well, you had it unlocked by a third party, right?" "Yes," I say, calmly, quietly, dangerously. "Then," she responds, "Why on earth would you pay $75 to us to unlock a phone that is already unlocked? That's ridiculous."

That's when the last few circuits in my brain blew up.

She finished setting me up, and never had to send me to Customer Loyalty at all. Gave me her name and employee number for documenting purposes, and wished me a very nice day. I babbled incoherently and hung up.

What have I learned from this process?

Um ... honestly? OK.

I have learned that Canada's major cell phone carriers will not give a customer what they want unless that customer is willing to spend countless hours and emotional energy fighting them and learning magic phrases that somehow open possibilities that were previously impossible. In my world, that's abusive and deplorable.

But it's apparently the only option.

*small voice* "yay bell"

Monday, July 13, 2009

okely dokely then

Do you remember the Simpson's episode where Ned Flanders loses it, and the gibberish takes over? (Don't click there if you aren't a Simpson fan!)

A few weeks ago, you may remember that we had a little old-iddly flood. Just some sewer water flowing up through the random diddly toilet and pouring throughout the basement.

And then insurance came along and said they would fix it - which they are - happily-oodly - but we probably should get a plumber to check things out before things are replaced and repaired.

And so we got a diddly-iddly plumber who cleaned out some pipes and sent a camera down, and said, "Oh, wouldja look at that. Yep, you got an issue here that you need to take care of. You can leave it be, but someday something awful will happen, and insurance isn't gonna cover it."

And we twitched slightly and said, "Okely dokely then."

So the plumber came back with his assistant and they fixed that darn-tootin' iddly issue, and installed a real, well-positioned basement drain. We got some significant Canadian Tire points on our credit card, and all was well, the plumber said, "... except ..."

insert face twitch here

" ... well, ya gotta leak that seems to have shaken loose from all the stuff being done down here, and you're gonna wanna take care of that, because we had to turn off the valve, and now you don't have any cold water in your kitchen ... "

diddly

diddly fan-freakinoodly-tastic oddely

Later that night, we discovered mid-cycle that our washing machine also no longer had cold water. Insert further face twitching here.

So a wonderful-iddly friend came along, and he and Spike fixed the leak. Actually, they opened up the wall from whence the silly-iddly-oddely leak came, and the whole darn pipe fell off, yessirreebobeedily. Good thing the sewer backed up, so that we could put in a drain, and fix a problem, and discover a leak, and rip out a wall, BEFORE water poured out of that pipe into our undrained basement. Whew!

insert more twitching and random nervous sneezing

On the weekend, it rained. Really a lot. And while I smugly reflected on the knowledge that our basement problems were fixed (you may notice a pattern here, from a few weeks ago) the sound of rushing water caught my attention, as my brain registered the fact that I wasn't running any water anywhere.

I hurled myself down the stairs to see, well look at that, we got ourselves a beautiful-iddly lil old-iddly water-aterly-fall-iddly coming down the wall, and working towards the newly installed-iddly drain. Just a darndiddly moment of joy, that was.

That's when the twitching turned into a seizure of some kind, as I ran upstairs, downstairs, in a circle, forgot entirely how to send a text message to Spike, and then started throwing things everywhere in an attempt to find my jacket, before running outside into the deluge to try to ... I don't know ... move water away from our house.

Soon the sun came out, and the water stopped, and it wasn't so bad, but if you listened closely, you could hear my continual mutterings of "giggelyiddelyoodely water falling from the sky iddely doodely and into my sewerlybuddley basement diddlelyoodely."

Spike came home, and we started repositioning downspouts and eaves, which meant Spike had to go up on the roof, which is where he discovered a hole, right above where the water came in, and he had a little twitching and muttering of his own, which I won't quote in this family-friendly space.

And so tomorrow, our roof gets fixed, so that no water will pour in from the roof above, nor from the sewer below, and leaking, falling-off pipes have been capped, and drains are clear, and foundations are drying. And soon, someone will come and put walls and flooring back into our diddly-iddly basement.

And then, to my poor, unsuspecting, lovingly lurking uncle, who politely inquired recently if I was still running ... just watch for me.

I'll be the twitching, muttering, crazily giggling one, running in tiny circles in the rain.

Monday, July 21, 2008

all over the map

As I've probably mentioned before, I do enjoy getting the Saturday Spec. I don't care about the paper the rest of the week, but reading the Saturday paper always has a sense of ... luxury, I think. Not bad for less than $2.

Anyway - this story, right here - has me hopping mad. Wait, make that spitting mad. My toe is still a bit tender. Are these people Grade 5 boys, on the school playground, working out the pecking order of their little group? And what the heck is a Superior Court Judge doing, calling the POLICE CHIEF'S OFFICE instead of backing up his monster Cadillac like reasonable people do? How can a SCJ make a snide comment about a city worker using tax payers' money poorly - when that same SCJ - also paid by our taxes, I believe (is that right?) - used up the time of 3 police officers and a municipal supervisor for his petty little annoyance? How is it that the SCJ is actually still proud of his behaviour????

Gah. For the record, I'm sure there was attitude coming from both sides. But I definitely have an opinion on who was the bigger idiot. And I'm guessing that, since this wasn't actually "news" of the global kind, it made the front page of the Saturday Spec for the exact purpose of watching people like me blow up over it.

Which, I guess, is kind of funny. :)

----

On another note....

Last night, in our church service, I was deeply moved. And I'm having a hard time finding words for why, but I'm going to try.

Sunday nights are small, laid-back, relational, less-planned. Times for prayer. Almost anyone can come to the mic and contribute a thought, an encouragement, a Scripture, a prayer, whatever. Last night, someone who has never come up before, came up to talk about some of the struggles they've been facing. Quiet and honest.

And when they finished....we invited people to surround this person in support and prayer (as we so often do). As soon as that invitation was given, people jumped to respond. No one wanted to leave this person hanging out on their own - we all know what that's like - and within seconds, a group of us were there, supporting, praying, standing with them in their struggle.

It impacted me. I was already feeling so thankful for a church where people can be honest about their struggles. But when the response was so quick, so heartfelt, so determined to push back the isolation that sometimes comes in tough times - well - all I could think was, "this is what God looks like".

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

yes, brie please

I thought you'd like to see a picture of my foot.




It's hard to tell in the picture, but there is some serious colour happening in the area of my swollen, mishapen baby toe. I didn't want to say anything, because I don't want to appear whiny. But I'm gonna.


Last Friday night, all was going well, at 7:16 p.m. I was playing Boggle on the computer, just before pulling a cake out of the oven for company that would be arriving at 7:30 p.m. (That's right - I made a cake. What about it?)


At 7:17 p.m., the buzzer went off for the cake. I stood, turned, swung my left foot around to step towards the kitchen, and promptly went blind. This was due to the blinding pain in my baby toe as it connected with some unknown, immovable object, probably a piece of Spike's gear, that looks vaguely like this:



My baby toe is particularly vulnerable to stubbing, ever since I thoroughly dislocated it as a child. I'd be happy to tell you that story sometime. For now, let's get back to Friday's moment of blinding pain, shall we?

As gravity kicked in, I reached for the counter to stop my fall. Missed. Caught the counter with my chin instead. My fall came to an end, when my knee crash-landed on the metal transition that marks the spot where our kitchen floor drops a couple of inches to our dining room / computer room floor.

(Yes, it's a dining room / computer room. Why not?)

And then I hollered. Perhaps you heard me?

Spike came running, and while I was grateful for his desire to help, I threatened dire consequences if he so much as considered touching my baby toe. He felt it was in his best interest to comply, and ran for ice instead.

Then our company showed up, and I whined a little, and then sat for the rest of the night with a bag of ice on my toes while we visited.

Saturday, I really couldn't walk without a noticeable limp. Called Telehealth, called the on-call doctor, iced and Tylenol-ed myself, and pondered my incredible clutz factor.

Sunday started better, but as you know, Sundays require me to be on my feet, and by the end of the day, I was achin' a little. No whining though.

Monday was really not bad.

Tuesday was tolerable.

Wednesday - that's today - I went outside to water my 3 hanging plants that don't catch the rain. In my bare feet. And as I turned to come back inside, my evil cat (you can read more about him here, here and here, for starters) tried to dart out the door. I swerved to miss his furry little body, the screen door swung shut on my derriere, propelling me forward, and as my body gracefully flew through the doorway, the door frame made a solid connection with - you guessed it - that same toe.


No hollering this time. Just a deadly silence as I waited, once again, for my vision to return.


So yeah. I'm whinin'. And yes, I would like some cheese with that whine. Brie would be nice.


Friday, June 27, 2008

iPod woes

I know. Where have I been?

Moments of Note in The Last Week Or So:
  • Went to Preeya's birthday party - saw many old friends, including Preeya, of course - she just turned 50 - her first birthday party EVER!! Very, very enjoyable.
  • Spike's cast came off this morning. Which is good, since he has major gigs next week to play.
  • On Monday, I washed a week's worth of dishes, and we grocery shopped. Those two facts combined mean we are eating again, which is good.

Also - my iPod died. Without warning or symptoms, just went dead. "Dead, dead, dead." A guy in my old church used to wander around, chanting that phrase while shaking hands with new people. Isn't that the craziest thing?? :)

Then a very smart (younger, of course) friend brought it back to life. My iPod, that is. (Try to keep up.)

So it lives, but on its own terms. It has apparently quarrelled with my laptop, and they are giving each other the silent treatment. What does this mean for me, you might ask?

It means that 9 months after I got this gadget for my birthday, I finally realized it could do more than play songs. It could keep my contacts and appointments in its cute little silver casing, thus making me feel that I am on top of things.

Once I learned how to do this, and thus became reliant on this feature, it promptly shut that feature down, presumably due to the strained relationship with my laptop.

So I can plug it in, and it will charge. But my laptop will not acknowledge its existence, and my iPod will not accept any new information from my laptop. So all my old appointments are in there. But no new ones. You can imagine how helpful that is to me.

I tried mediating between the two, pleading with one, whining at the other, "Can't we all just get along???" To no avail.

Don't tell me to go to Apple support. It has a cheery little webpage, but no matter where you click, it goes nowhere. And online conversations with technogeeks would be helpful if I had the faintest clue what they were saying. But I don't.

Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to go to Future Shop, clutching my grudge-bearing, crusty little iPod. I'm going to be bold and friendly, smiling with just a hint of danger. And I'm going to say, "Oh, hi. This is what I have. This is what it does. I think it needs a new cable to help it communicate. Either that, or counselling. Do you sell either of these things?"

And if they say, "Well, yes, but it would just be better to get a NEW AND IMPROVED one," I am not to be held responsible for my subsequent actions.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

systems that don't work

Fractured wrist.

Food poisoning.

Flu-ish feeling.

These are part of my and Spike's world the last two weeks. Which is fine.

But what is annoying me today is social systems that sooooo do not work. Despite everyone's best intentions (see me giving the benefit of the doubt there?), people fall through the cracks. Which some days seem like the size of the Grand Canyon. And I am powerless to do anything about it.

I think, the bigger the system is, the less likely it is to work. That's my philosophy for today, with nothing to back it up except my own gut feeling. And therefore the government systems are regularly scammed by those inclined to do so; and then those same systems punish and refuse to help those that are really trying.

Statements of mass generalities from a frustrated pastor on a Thursday.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

mean people

Ugh. There seems to be an excess of mean people crossing my days this week.

Not mean TO me; I'm just hearing about, reading about, seeing MEAN PEOPLE all around me!!

What is that about??????!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why is everyone so crusty???!!!!!!!!!!!

It's the arguing that drives me crazy. Especially online, anonymous arguing, done by Christians, you know, the ones who feel it's their sole purpose in life to tell everyone else where they are ETERNALLY WRONG. They bash the living daylights out of someone who is so obviously baiting them, all in the name of "truth".

In my slogging through things this week, I have had to work through a few websites that are ENTIRELY DEVOTED to making lists of people and organizations that are wrong. With back-up articles to explain WHY they are wrong. Nowhere is there a single statement of, "Wow, here's something good that's happening."

And then there are the unreasonable people that you can't get away from, but you can't resolve anything with, because ... as I said ... they are not reasonable.

Ugh.

Again - none of it is AT me. But it's GETTING to me this week.

Help! Tell me some good stories! Remind me of what's good in the world!

Friday, March 16, 2007

unions in the world of church

Did you see the headline in the Spec on Thursday?
"Church Ministers Consider A Union". (Go to www.thespec.com and search "union" - you'll see the article there)

My first response was a Charlie Brown style "Oh good grief." A ministers' union? Thank you, no. I am not interested in paying union dues, nor do I care to start referring to complete strangers as "brother" and "sister".

My second response came as I actually read the article. A minister had done his job, reasonably successfully (in his opinion), and then was told he'd be best off to leave. "It just sucked the life right out of me," he said.

I have friends who have been there. Pastors reprimanded for not dressing up while playing basketball with the youth; pastors whose spouses found out they were hired as part of a 2-for-1 deal; pastors who quietly left their jobs after painful, unfair and ungodly treatment by their congregations.

It goes both ways - I remember hearing of a church member who told their pastor that the congregation needed a union! There's always a pastor somewhere who is heavy-handed, controlling, manipulative, unethical, and for some reason, still wildly successful, at least from outward appearances. Many people quietly leave their church families after painful, unfair and ungodly treatment by their pastor.

Maybe we should consider unions after all!

Except...wouldn't that be a sign that we've failed? Aren't we supposed to be recognizable as followers of Christ because we treat each other right? It seems to me that unions are formed when relationships fail. "We need a union," the Spec article says, "because the church has failed to show it can deal equitably with conflict."

And there's the clincher for me. There aren't enough unions in the world to make us act in a Godly manner. If I can't do my job in relationship with people...I think I'd rather not do it at all.

(My musing for this week's bulletin - thought I'd put it in this space too.)

Friday, February 02, 2007

it's GROUNDHOG DAY!!!!


That's right, my friends, and I almost missed it. Today is Groundhog Day!


Here are a few snippets of important info from the CBC webpage...


"The original Wiarton Willie died during hibernation during the winter of 1998-99. They discovered this, to their horror, just before Groundhog Day 1999. Willie's death made headlines around the world.


On Groundhog Day, they put Wiarton Willie face-up in a small pine casket, bright pennies over his eyes, paws clutching a raw carrot. But it was a fake! Turns out the real Wiarton Willie was so disgustingly decomposed he couldn't be put on display.


Why fake it?


'People needed closure,' someone explained."


Hmmm.


Just a bit more, again from the CBC webpage...


"The people of Wiarton insist their Willie was accurate 90 percent of the time, but what do you expect them to say when the Groundhog Festival attracts 20,000 free-spending tourists to the town every February? Scientific studies show groundhogs are accurate only 37 percent of the time, which means you'd do better flipping one of the pennies that covered ol' Wiarton Willie's eyes."



Let me just ask some questions, if I may.


WHO ARE THESE 20,000 PEOPLE THAT GATHER IN THE COLD TO WATCH A RODENT COME OUT OF HIS HOLE?


PEOPLE NEEDED CLOSURE???!!! SERIOUSLY????!!!


DID ANYONE WATCH THE MOVIE "GROUNDHOG DAY"?
(I fell asleep in the middle, and you couldn't pay me enough to sit through it a second time.) More importantly...
HOW DID THAT MOVIE MAKE IT INTO THE MOVIE HALL OF FAME, PRESERVED FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS TO HELP THEM UNDERSTAND WHO WE WERE? IS THIS REALLY WHO WE ARE???!!!


And one last question...what did the groundhog say this year? Early or late spring? Seriously, I need to know, but I tried to get on the website, and clearly the rest of the world is there, so I can't access it.