Monday, November 30, 2009

Are You Kidding Me?

4:50 PM

This post comes with a confession: if there is a book in front of me that looks even remotely interesting, I'll probably read it. It's like Americans in general are with food. If it's there, it's devoured. Sigh.

My weakness brought me to the point of reading yet another ridiculous romance novel. I was at work, things were slow, my co-worker was reading. What's a girl to do? There was a book there that I had passed over in stronger times, but I was approaching boredom, and I pride myself on not indulging in such things.

I read the book. I took it home to finish it. It turned out to be two short novels in one book. The first was wildly passionate, and wildly predictable. The second promised to be the same. However, as I read blithely along, nearing the end (as I could tell as much by the cookie-cutter plot development as by the number of pages left), I read this at the bottom of page 480:

"She held a gurgling Mac over her shoulder."

That made sense. I went to 481, to continue in my self-indulgence, and found this at the top of the page:

"for some safe topic."

It simply didn't make sense. I read it again. And again. I wrinkled my brow. I checked the page numbers. Everything seemed to be aligned, but IT WAS A DIFFERENT STORY FROM A DIFFERENT BOOK. Apparently Nora Roberts' books are printed in such haste that the mix-up went without notice. Her titles are at the top of the page, and 480's title was NOT the same as 481's title.

This is odd, and a little funny. It shouldn't be annoying, because I know exactly what's going to happen in the last twenty pages of this formulaic romance. HOWEVER. . . .

I know that she left in a classic huff, whirling away from him when he told her their worlds were just too different and they couldn't be together, holding herself erect until she had driven out of sight, then disintegrating in the solitude of her car. After her spending two weeks at her cousin's casino, of course someone will make contact, offer an olive branch, and they will live happily and passionately ever after. BUT WHO? WHAT IS THE CONTACT? HOW IS THE CONFLICT IN THEIR LIFESTYLES RESOLVED? HOW DOES HE APOLOGIZE?

It bothers me. I find it hard to believe that no one noticed this before it went to print. It is very bothersome, very bothersome indeed.

Mysterious Ways

4:40 PM

Funny story: Yesterday was our Primary Program. It's been a source of much discussion, planning, and practice for quite some time now. In addition to my other ties to the program, I also have been acting as the Primary pianist. I'm not very good. Usually it doesn't matter. The kids don't seem to complain much when I hit horribly wrong notes or when I get a little lost in things and barely maintain the melody as they sing. That's nice. However, with the program looming, I thought it would be a good idea to practice a bit, so practice I did.

The unfortunate part about my practicing is that I somehow got worse with each run-through. Even the easy songs sounded horrible. So much for practice making perfect. Rather, it seemed to be making horrendously imperfect, a regrettable switch. Needless to say, yesterday morning I offered a very sincere prayer before we left for church. I asked God to please bless my fingers, to help them to find the right notes, so that I could play well and not distract from the sweet spirit of the program. I left with only minor trepidation, mostly faith.

Not twenty minutes into our church meeting, the power went out. What does that matter, you may ask. Well, our only source of music is an electric keyboard. The power did not come back on. We sang the entire program a capella. Really, was I that far beyond help? I hate to admit, that it must be true. The kids were amazing, of course. I still have to laugh at how God works sometimes. I wonder if he thinks it's funny, too. I can only hope.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Truth Wealth, revisited

9:34 AM


My dad and my sister measure wealth in food. That is all well and good, and I definitely enjoy being on the receiving end of them sharing their food-wealth. However, I am learning that Wonderman and I have a different measurement of wealth: Chairs. We have two of them, which is generally fine, since there are two of us. It's perfect, right? If someone visits, they get the chairs, Wonderman and I sit on our bed. Recently one of our chairs broke and that left us with a single, solitary chair (see how good I am at word problems? I really should have been a math teacher). That made meal time a bit of an adventure, a bit of a hassle (and a bit of a challenge/battle between me and the ants - YUCK). During the time that we were without the chair, we discussed the possibility of stealing chairs from the pool, other apartments, or the beach. Thankfully, the chair was returned in better condition than ever and we avoided a life of crime (although we were discussing the other day the existence of jails in Dominica. No one has seen any evidence of them though they must exist, mustn't they? Wonderman proposed that perhaps this is a society of lashings, not jailings. Shiver. I'm glad we didn't steal).

Yesterday I overhead a friend talking about Thanksgiving plans, counting how many people they could invite by how many chairs they had. They have ten chairs. Another friend chipped in to tell me they had nine. Both of these friends are halves of couples sans childs. Just like us. Such excess. Sigh. I will know we have arrived at a place of status and wealth when we have more chairs.

*photo found on flickr

Monday, November 23, 2009

Making a House a Home

5:51 PM

Life here is kind of like being a hermit crab. I wasn't born to this place (the shell, see?), and I'll probably change it eventually for a new one (in about 12 months), but it's a lovely place to be for now, even if it doesn't always feel like a natural fit.