Welp, I am heading back to Japan this Thursday morning. Our entire team (minus Anna, who's flying from Germany) will meet in Atlanta, then fly to Tokyo. Blessing of blessings, we won't have to endure the interminable 6-7 hour drive from Tokyo/Narita to Yamomoto-cho at 55 mph in the dead of night with jetlag. Instead, we're flying from Tokyo to Sendai. Then the drive a half hour or so to the Nozomi center where we'll be staying.
A co-worker today asked me if I've started packing yet. I told her I'm more of a "start packing at midnight before the flight early the next morning" type of person. I have bought some things I'll need, though. I usually kind of end up picking a corner of my room, then for about a week ahead of time garnering articles of clothing, sunscreen, and the like into it--ready for the midnight-Wednesday packing. Actually, last year I started packing around 10pm, but then realized my flight out of Newark had probably been cancelled thanks to hurricane Irene, and spent an hour and a half figuring that out before I started packing again (only one airline thought it was cancelled--the other was under the impression it was not). Luckily, God decided he wanted me in Japan and arranged it so I managed to snag the VERY LAST SEAT on the plane from San Francisco to Tokyo. And two hours later than my original flight. This meant I got a whole four hours of sleep in that night before driving to Pittsburgh.
Well, I should probably go find something Japan-related and productive to do. Updates will continue.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The Results of Sleep Deprivation
Sunday night I went to bed at 2am because I was up late lesson planning, talking to my S.O., his brother, a friend of theirs (all different conversations), and a friend in Vietnam. This is important information for you to have because I had to get up at 6am Monday, which means I got 4 whole hours of sleep.
Anyway, I stumbled around the house doing useful things (I think I somehow even pretended to sweep and possibly mop the kitchen?--it's all sort of a blur now). I gathered up my messenger bag, ammo-bag purse, cell phone, tea mug, and lunch bag, slipped on my red heels, and headed for the kitchen door.
There is a large frosted window in this door through which you can peer down into the mudroom a few steps below. As I approached across the kitchen, I looked through this window and realized there was a puddle of pee on the mudroom floor. No, sorry, two puddles.
I opened the door and sighed. The cat was sitting on the windowsill directly to the right of the mudroom door leading outside.
"Really?" I said. "Really? You had to pee on the floor?" I then noticed a poop. "For reals?"
I walked down the steps and looked to the left, to the other side of the mudroom. The trashcan had been turned over and and contents dispersed over the floor, then surrounded neatly by several more urine deposits.
"The crap," I said to the cat. "What were you doing in here last night?"
I sighed. "Whatever," I said. "I can't deal with this right now; I've got to go."
I tipped precariously on heels under the weight of my burdens to the door and reached with my left hand to open it while at the same time I reached with my right hand (both hands still full of items) to give the cat an affectionate petting so she'd know I didn't hate her.
My hand was within an inch of the cat's face when some gear in my brain that had been rusted still with a lack of sleep suddenly ground its way free and I actually really saw the cat.
Anyway, I stumbled around the house doing useful things (I think I somehow even pretended to sweep and possibly mop the kitchen?--it's all sort of a blur now). I gathered up my messenger bag, ammo-bag purse, cell phone, tea mug, and lunch bag, slipped on my red heels, and headed for the kitchen door.
There is a large frosted window in this door through which you can peer down into the mudroom a few steps below. As I approached across the kitchen, I looked through this window and realized there was a puddle of pee on the mudroom floor. No, sorry, two puddles.
I opened the door and sighed. The cat was sitting on the windowsill directly to the right of the mudroom door leading outside.
"Really?" I said. "Really? You had to pee on the floor?" I then noticed a poop. "For reals?"
I walked down the steps and looked to the left, to the other side of the mudroom. The trashcan had been turned over and and contents dispersed over the floor, then surrounded neatly by several more urine deposits.
"The crap," I said to the cat. "What were you doing in here last night?"
I sighed. "Whatever," I said. "I can't deal with this right now; I've got to go."
I tipped precariously on heels under the weight of my burdens to the door and reached with my left hand to open it while at the same time I reached with my right hand (both hands still full of items) to give the cat an affectionate petting so she'd know I didn't hate her.
My hand was within an inch of the cat's face when some gear in my brain that had been rusted still with a lack of sleep suddenly ground its way free and I actually really saw the cat.
Guenevere our "cat"
Needless to say I said a bad word and jumped back on the steps to the kitchen door. The possum hunched down, but made no move to attack. I unloaded my burdens and took off my shoes (so I could escape quickly if our visitor decided he hated me). I then edged back to the door and opened it so the possum could escape. It was then that I remembered that possums are actually about as intelligent as a dirt-filled beer bottle; he refused to get down.
Freedom is clearly only a jump away. Instead I had to take five minutes and use a broom to try to push him off the ledge.
He only got more prickly about it, and determined not to move.
I finally got him dangling from that little bench, then dumped it over on him. He lay on his back for a moment before slowly rolling over and, purely by accident, ending up with his nose out of doors. As it was the way he was facing, he decided to move in that direction. He trundled slowly out onto the step and then into the grass.
Once his feet touched grass, the three neurons in his brain fired and he realized he was free. He took off across the lawn towards the red barn. He had to swerve a few times, though, because a small rock in the yard looked temping as shelter.
Basically, possums are idiots, but definitely cuter up close than they are dead in the road.
Monday, June 25, 2012
And also, for some reason, chocolate in the shape of body parts
Tonight at work a friendly co-worker called me over when she was putting bread in the oven.
"Hey Abby!" she said.
"What's up?" I asked, approaching.
"Some of us girls are going to go see a movie next week--want to join?"
"Ooh," I said. "Sounds cool--what movie?"
"Magic Mike," she said.
"What's that about?" I asked.
"Male strippers," she replied.
"Huh," I said. "How about you tell me when you guys go see a different movie, and I'd be totally game to hang out."
"Male strippers not really your thing?" she asked.
"Not so much," I said.
"Okay!" she said. We parted ways equably and went back to our respective jobs.
She's new; anybody else could've told her not to bother.
"Hey Abby!" she said.
"What's up?" I asked, approaching.
"Some of us girls are going to go see a movie next week--want to join?"
"Ooh," I said. "Sounds cool--what movie?"
"Magic Mike," she said.
"What's that about?" I asked.
"Male strippers," she replied.
"Huh," I said. "How about you tell me when you guys go see a different movie, and I'd be totally game to hang out."
"Male strippers not really your thing?" she asked.
"Not so much," I said.
"Okay!" she said. We parted ways equably and went back to our respective jobs.
She's new; anybody else could've told her not to bother.
This is much more attractive, for one thing.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Phone Adventures II and III
Thursday night I was chilling with my friend Christina at her house. We were drinking tea and talking Life.
Then we heard the sound of the Tardis materializing in the room. I checked, and I'd gotten a text from a random number: "Nice c-n u hope u home safe. Nite."
Not knowing who this person was, but willing to have some fun, I texted the person back with a greeting and said "How drunk are you?"
"Jimmy!!" the number replied. "does it matter?" (all typing left intact)
Then, "4get-it wild 1"
I said something about knowing they were drunk from the lack of English typing skills and Jimmy laughed.
"Lol," he said. "mis-d that class"
I offered that maybe he should stop drinking while he was ahead. This seemed to cheese him off.
"I stop all the other shit that made me money after my son. Aint stop-n anyting.!"
I realized this was getting personal too quickly, so I told him I was proud that he'd stopped that other shit for the sake of his son--that was a really great thing. Also, I was not the person he thought he was texting; "my name is Joe," I said. This name was supplied by Christina, who was in hysterics over the whole affair, and agreed we oughtn't to use real names.
"Haha sorry joe" our new friend, Jimmy, replied.
I then said something about it being no problem--I've gotten random texts from wrong numbers before, and I just think it's amusing.
"FknLOL" Jimmy agreed.
I couldn't let this go and replied in good humour with "ChknYEA" to encourage him.
Jimmy then called and left me a semi-incoherent and very alcohol-laden voicemail explaining that he didn't know what my text response had meant, but I should call him whenever I had the chance (somehow I guess my voicemail answering thingy hadn't alerted him to the fact that I was not in fact the Joe he thought he was talking to).
I then sent him a text, explaining what had happened and that I do not actually know any Jimmies, and then, for good measure, "Jesus saves." Because, as Christina said, "why not?"
Jimmy pondered this for a few moments before responding.
"K," he said. "its all good. Nite."
I thought that was the end of my weird phone adventures, but it was not.
An hour or so later Christina and I went to bed. At 3:15am my phone rang. I usually think that if someone is calling me at 3:15 in the morning, it's either going to be a really weird phone call, or an emergency phone call. Both are worth answering.
I picked up the phone. "'lo?" I said.
"Hey," said the young male voice on the other end of the line. "Do you have Tabasco?"
"No. No, I do not in fact have any Tobasco. I think you've got the wrong number."
A pause. "No. I definitely don't have the wrong number. Who are you?"
"Abby," I said, forgetting that we weren't using real names.
"Abby...?" he pushed for further information.
"Maarsch," I said, regretting it as soon as it came out.
"Don't we go to school together?" he asked.
"I don't think so," I said. He then told me his name was Dunlan or Dolan or Dexter or something like that.
"Nope," I said.
He then somehow pulled me into a two minute conversation about schools in the area and whether I'd been to SRU and when I told him I graduated from Grove City he said "Ooh. Grove City sucks."
I didn't really respond with more than a grunt of acknowledgement that he had said something, and he seemed disappointed.
"Okay," I said at last. "Well, it's late, and I'm really tired, so I'm going back to bed."
"Goodnight!" he said, and hung up.
I'm thinking it was probably a friend of Jimmy's, intent on revenge or a good time. It seemed as if everything he was saying was intended to elicit some sort of reaction from me, and I wasn't giving him any of the reactions he was expecting. Luckily this seemed only to amuse him, not anger him.
And thus ends another tale of me and my cell phone.
Then we heard the sound of the Tardis materializing in the room. I checked, and I'd gotten a text from a random number: "Nice c-n u hope u home safe. Nite."
Not knowing who this person was, but willing to have some fun, I texted the person back with a greeting and said "How drunk are you?"
"Jimmy!!" the number replied. "does it matter?" (all typing left intact)
Then, "4get-it wild 1"
I said something about knowing they were drunk from the lack of English typing skills and Jimmy laughed.
"Lol," he said. "mis-d that class"
I offered that maybe he should stop drinking while he was ahead. This seemed to cheese him off.
"I stop all the other shit that made me money after my son. Aint stop-n anyting.!"
I realized this was getting personal too quickly, so I told him I was proud that he'd stopped that other shit for the sake of his son--that was a really great thing. Also, I was not the person he thought he was texting; "my name is Joe," I said. This name was supplied by Christina, who was in hysterics over the whole affair, and agreed we oughtn't to use real names.
"Haha sorry joe" our new friend, Jimmy, replied.
I then said something about it being no problem--I've gotten random texts from wrong numbers before, and I just think it's amusing.
"FknLOL" Jimmy agreed.
I couldn't let this go and replied in good humour with "ChknYEA" to encourage him.
Jimmy then called and left me a semi-incoherent and very alcohol-laden voicemail explaining that he didn't know what my text response had meant, but I should call him whenever I had the chance (somehow I guess my voicemail answering thingy hadn't alerted him to the fact that I was not in fact the Joe he thought he was talking to).
I then sent him a text, explaining what had happened and that I do not actually know any Jimmies, and then, for good measure, "Jesus saves." Because, as Christina said, "why not?"
Jimmy pondered this for a few moments before responding.
"K," he said. "its all good. Nite."
I thought that was the end of my weird phone adventures, but it was not.
An hour or so later Christina and I went to bed. At 3:15am my phone rang. I usually think that if someone is calling me at 3:15 in the morning, it's either going to be a really weird phone call, or an emergency phone call. Both are worth answering.
I picked up the phone. "'lo?" I said.
"Hey," said the young male voice on the other end of the line. "Do you have Tabasco?"
"No. No, I do not in fact have any Tobasco. I think you've got the wrong number."
A pause. "No. I definitely don't have the wrong number. Who are you?"
"Abby," I said, forgetting that we weren't using real names.
"Abby...?" he pushed for further information.
"Maarsch," I said, regretting it as soon as it came out.
"Don't we go to school together?" he asked.
"I don't think so," I said. He then told me his name was Dunlan or Dolan or Dexter or something like that.
The next morning I couldn't remember the name he'd told me, and all that came to mind was "Dolan." Sad day.
"Nope," I said.
He then somehow pulled me into a two minute conversation about schools in the area and whether I'd been to SRU and when I told him I graduated from Grove City he said "Ooh. Grove City sucks."
I didn't really respond with more than a grunt of acknowledgement that he had said something, and he seemed disappointed.
"Okay," I said at last. "Well, it's late, and I'm really tired, so I'm going back to bed."
"Goodnight!" he said, and hung up.
I'm thinking it was probably a friend of Jimmy's, intent on revenge or a good time. It seemed as if everything he was saying was intended to elicit some sort of reaction from me, and I wasn't giving him any of the reactions he was expecting. Luckily this seemed only to amuse him, not anger him.
And thus ends another tale of me and my cell phone.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Horse pictures plus some ungulates. Nothing to see here.
Gage and Tomme
Tomme with his mane all down.
Ronni and I took Tomme out for a spin during one of the first warm days this spring.
Gage loves hugs.
He is shameless and sometimes makes a pest of himself and won't leave me alone because of his touchiness.
It's pretty cute, though.
Hayden, Isaac, and Gage/Gauge.
This is Yearling. She is obnoxious and ugly (half friesian and half gypsy). One day she will grow into herself and be lovely. Perhaps. We are still working on her letting me touch her without throwing pretend tantrums.
Molly when still very pregnant. Yearling being obnoxious.
Momma Molly. <3
I got to be the first person to find Molly's baby.
Unfortunately, Molly stopped producing milk for some unknown reason, and Ronni had to get a surrogate mare to feed him. But Baby Bubba got pretty skinny before that happened, hence why he's looking a little droopy. He's recovering quickly, though!
Nathan.
Nathan is some sort of African antelope thing. I forget what he's called.
Nathan was unimpressed with my S.O., but this deer liked him okay.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Grace
Sometimes we receive things we really don't deserve. Actually, for Christians, we live in a perpetual state of having received something we didn't deserve. That never really seems to hit home, though, because we so often tend to think we're pretty swell. And in a way we are; we have talents and people can do amazing things.
But we're also complete failures. We are often self-conscious and feel inadequate, but still our response to receiving something good is usually pleasure but not gratitude and when receiving something bad is dismay and anger and not understanding and acceptance.
That's because we have a pretty high view of ourselves and think we can somehow control our fates by our own actions (think Christian Karma).
I just had a real-life experience that showed me just how wrong this idea is and how works-oriented I actually am.
So I got that speeding ticket I mentioned in my last post. Well, a friend suggested I talk to somebody we know who's knowledgeable about this sort of thing to ask him what (if anything) I ought to do about it.
He was very kind and sympathetic, recognized the fault, but also the guilt I felt. He told me I ought to request a court date, but he'd also try in the meantime to get in touch with the officer who gave me the citation.
I accepted what he said without really realizing what he was implying. We finished our conversation and I left it somewhat encouraged (he thought at the court date I could talk down the fine, which was an obnoxious amount), but also steeled for action: I'd mail that sucker in and WORK that court date. Even if they didn't reduce my fine, I'd still have done everything in my power to make it happen. They'd be the jerks that refused to listen to extenuating circumstances (I was lost!).
I had only about twenty minutes of this tragi-heroic daydream hashed out when our friend called me up.
"Well," he said. "I talked to the officer who pulled you over and explained the situation to him. He was really nice and understanding and he'll take care of the citation: you can throw it away."
"What?" I said. I was not even aware that this was a thing that could happen. Getting a ticket from someone and then that same someone magically making it go away. Our friend explained some more about how Law Enforcement works and what happened, and I thanked him profusely.
"Looks like the Lord knew you needed that money for something else," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "Brake pads."
We laughed, and he hung up. I suddenly felt guilty. Regardless of what followed with the officer who pulled me over, I probably had been speeding (knowing me and the situation), so I did deserve to get a ticket. It didn't seem fair that I hadn't done anything to right my wrong, but it was as if it had never happened, and I will suffer no repercussions from it. Surely I have to do something to fix it. It's not that I WANTED to pay the fine or get points on my record, but I also didn't want to get handed a freebie.
It turns out, of course, that I do need the money--I took my car in to the mechanic today to get looked at (the brakes are in fact squealing) and I don't yet know what the results of that will be, and I randomly got invited by my SO's parents to take a week off to go to Florida (Orlando and the Everglades, I believe) with them. That's not costing me anything for the trip, but it will cost a week's worth of income.
Then, of course, there is the added guilt from that, that I'm getting to do something pleasant and somebody else is paying for it.
Nobody else had to pay for my speeding ticket for it to go away, but I did deserve to pay for it. Because I didn't have to, though, I am able to take advantage of someone else's generosity, give up a week's worth of work, and experience something else pleasant.
So it's a two-fer of me receiving things I don't deserve and didn't pay for, and it's not fair.
Why don't we ever feel the unfairness of our salvation this strongly?
Maybe this sort of pride is why so many people don't like the ideas of irresistible grace and limited atonement: that kind of makes more sense to me now.
We're wrong to think this way about grace, but now I understand how those people feel.
This, for instance.
Van Gogh: Undergrowth with Two Figures, 1890
But we're also complete failures. We are often self-conscious and feel inadequate, but still our response to receiving something good is usually pleasure but not gratitude and when receiving something bad is dismay and anger and not understanding and acceptance.
That's because we have a pretty high view of ourselves and think we can somehow control our fates by our own actions (think Christian Karma).
I just had a real-life experience that showed me just how wrong this idea is and how works-oriented I actually am.
So I got that speeding ticket I mentioned in my last post. Well, a friend suggested I talk to somebody we know who's knowledgeable about this sort of thing to ask him what (if anything) I ought to do about it.
He was very kind and sympathetic, recognized the fault, but also the guilt I felt. He told me I ought to request a court date, but he'd also try in the meantime to get in touch with the officer who gave me the citation.
I accepted what he said without really realizing what he was implying. We finished our conversation and I left it somewhat encouraged (he thought at the court date I could talk down the fine, which was an obnoxious amount), but also steeled for action: I'd mail that sucker in and WORK that court date. Even if they didn't reduce my fine, I'd still have done everything in my power to make it happen. They'd be the jerks that refused to listen to extenuating circumstances (I was lost!).
I had only about twenty minutes of this tragi-heroic daydream hashed out when our friend called me up.
"Well," he said. "I talked to the officer who pulled you over and explained the situation to him. He was really nice and understanding and he'll take care of the citation: you can throw it away."
"What?" I said. I was not even aware that this was a thing that could happen. Getting a ticket from someone and then that same someone magically making it go away. Our friend explained some more about how Law Enforcement works and what happened, and I thanked him profusely.
"Looks like the Lord knew you needed that money for something else," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "Brake pads."
We laughed, and he hung up. I suddenly felt guilty. Regardless of what followed with the officer who pulled me over, I probably had been speeding (knowing me and the situation), so I did deserve to get a ticket. It didn't seem fair that I hadn't done anything to right my wrong, but it was as if it had never happened, and I will suffer no repercussions from it. Surely I have to do something to fix it. It's not that I WANTED to pay the fine or get points on my record, but I also didn't want to get handed a freebie.
It turns out, of course, that I do need the money--I took my car in to the mechanic today to get looked at (the brakes are in fact squealing) and I don't yet know what the results of that will be, and I randomly got invited by my SO's parents to take a week off to go to Florida (Orlando and the Everglades, I believe) with them. That's not costing me anything for the trip, but it will cost a week's worth of income.
Then, of course, there is the added guilt from that, that I'm getting to do something pleasant and somebody else is paying for it.
Nobody else had to pay for my speeding ticket for it to go away, but I did deserve to pay for it. Because I didn't have to, though, I am able to take advantage of someone else's generosity, give up a week's worth of work, and experience something else pleasant.
So it's a two-fer of me receiving things I don't deserve and didn't pay for, and it's not fair.
Why don't we ever feel the unfairness of our salvation this strongly?
Maybe this sort of pride is why so many people don't like the ideas of irresistible grace and limited atonement: that kind of makes more sense to me now.
We're wrong to think this way about grace, but now I understand how those people feel.
Sunflowers, 1887
Friday, April 13, 2012
Japan, ho!
I might be returning to Japan again this summer for three weeks. To top it off, two of the girls I went with last year would be returning as well, so we could be on a team again.
Also, my significant other won't be around all summer anyways, so there's no guilt for abandoning him for almost a month to go to Japan. Interestingly enough, Anna's (one of the other girls from our team last year) husband was just deployed this past week for a year, so she's functionally single and also able to spend this amount of time in another country without leaving marital responsibilities. Funny how God sometimes works even unpleasant circumstances out so they're not quite as sad.
The main issue would be that I'll be losing three weeks of income to do this, but with some extra saving until that point, I should be fine. I just hope my employer doesn't hate me for taking that much time off.
Hopefully you can prepare yourself for more Japan posts, come July-August.
In other, belated news, I picked up a second job working for a Friesian horse breeder in the area.
Also, my significant other won't be around all summer anyways, so there's no guilt for abandoning him for almost a month to go to Japan. Interestingly enough, Anna's (one of the other girls from our team last year) husband was just deployed this past week for a year, so she's functionally single and also able to spend this amount of time in another country without leaving marital responsibilities. Funny how God sometimes works even unpleasant circumstances out so they're not quite as sad.
The main issue would be that I'll be losing three weeks of income to do this, but with some extra saving until that point, I should be fine. I just hope my employer doesn't hate me for taking that much time off.
Hopefully you can prepare yourself for more Japan posts, come July-August.
In other, belated news, I picked up a second job working for a Friesian horse breeder in the area.
Yes, they really look like this.
Yes, they are this epic.
And yes, they are complete lovers.
The owner wants me to help her feed, train, and ride her horses. So basically it's my ideal job--somebody pays me to sort of pretend his or her horses are my horses.
It's a really lovely establishment, the owner is great, and she has some wonderful horses--I'm excited to learn more about the place and finish training so I can work there more regularly (thus far it's sort of an on and off again, once-a-week thing).
In other news, I got a $159 speeding ticket yesterday because I was in unfamiliar territory, trying to read a friend's written directions, and gauging my speed by a car in front of me, since I didn't have extra brain energy to devote to reading speed signs (or, apparently, my speedometer). Unfortunately for me, the other car was speeding, but he, of course, did not get noticed by the cop. The thing that enraged me, though, is that I told the cop I had never been to this place before, and he kept acting like I should recognize street names and offices in the area. I asked three separate times for him to tell me where exactly I'd been speeding relative to my current position, and he refused to tell me and just changed the subject.
So I still have no idea where I was supposedly speeding, which makes me very unwilling to accept the ticket. Also, there's an illegible note he wrote on the bottom of the paper--who even knows what that's about. Something about "ruff" and "white lines." Anybody with experience with this know whether I should try to contest this ticket? I really don't need to be forking over a random $160 for something I'm not even sure I did because I don't know where I supposedly did it.
Any advice would be appreciated!
The end, for now.
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