Pakistan, Canadian Donations

Oh God, do something for these people.

Flood in Pakistan.

People like me, with nowhere to go.

They need everything.

I groan with them.

Oh God, do something for these people.

__________________________

Here's some of what BBC has to say about it:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-11105165

Here's what Mennonite Central Committee has going on:

http://mcc.org/stories/news/race-against-time-pakistan

In Canada, the federal government is matching private donations on behalf of Pakistan. Whoa. You can donate at the bottom of the page.

Trees, by [Alfred] Joyce Kilmer, 1914

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me;

But only God can make a tree.

Grand Ohio: A Narrative Tapering Into (surprise!) a List

I arrived in Ohio on August 12th, around 3am. I was so dazed, that as soon as the train was stopped, I proceeded to attempt to exit the train. I did not notice that we had not yet pulled into the station. The conductor man held my arm, keeping me from walking a good eighth of a mile on stones with two pieces of luggage, amusing as that might have been for him.

It was so good to see Ivana! We talked until six in the morning, naturally. Thursday was over before it began, and we never fully recovered from the all-nighter. (We discovered that we particularly have a need to sleep in the nighttime; day simply won't do.)

In the late afternoon, we met up with Kara and Rick, a 3/5 STEP team reunion! At Kara and Rick's wedding last summer, Rick called us his STEP team-in-law: precious. We had such lovely conversation Thursday evening. Every time I see these girls, I feel as though our bond has grown deeper, as we see each other in new environs. We talked about changes, God, education. I played with their miniature dachshund.

On Friday morning, Ivana took Philip and I through a workout at a nearby gym. I was sore until yesterday. Also, I had the chance twice in five days to sport my summer-camp-special knowledge of the Hoedown Throwdown, to undeserved applause.

Afterward, Ivana, her mom, Dawn, and I toured Harry London's chocolate factory. Chocolate. Chocolate...

We then met Ivana's childhood friend/brother at the airport where he works. It was tearful and difficult, as he had removed himself from them two years before and Ivana had missed any chance of seeing him in recent history by being out of the country. We left with a promise from him that he would visit soon: breakfast, if he was able to wake up for it.

Quickly recovering equanimity, we went to see the last three quarters of the movie Ramona and Beezus at a $1.50 theater. The best part was the man who had come alone, sitting behind us, laughing hysterically at the funny parts, and repeating his favorite lines throughout. As a movie-talker myself, I sympathized deeply, enjoying the experience all the more for the joy in stereo quality.

And so Friday ended with games and fun at the DuBose house, and a late night of talking, I am pretty sure.

Saturday contained a DuBose family reunion. How lovely to see them with family! And a lovely family, at that. We stayed in the kitchen for hours, talking and feasting. In the evening, Ivana pulled out canvases and paints and we set to work on being creative!

On Sunday we attended church. The pastor spoke on I Corinthians xiii, substituting “Love” for “Jesus.” “Jesus is patient, Jesus is kind. Jesus does not envy, he does not boast...”

We made enchiladas for lunch and ate together. The DuBose manner of table conversation goes like this:

Person 1: Did you guys see Linda at church today?

Person 2: Who's Linda?

Person 3: She's the lady with the loud dog!

P2: Oh! You mean the lady who carries the huge red purse?

P3: No, that's Mrs. Simmons. Linda's the lady with the curly hair who lives on Grant.

P4: Amy Grant was on TV last night with P. Diddy. They were singing together!

P2: You lie!

P3: [Insert Amy Grant impression].

[Laughter, all.]

P1: [quietly, unheard] I have Linda's bowl from the church picnic still.

Monday. Ivana and I agreed that my stay had not been long enough. We still had not completed all the requisite activities that Canton had to offer, including passing by the football hall of fame (not even going inside, really; and merely because it exists, not because I have any care for football), going shopping,...other stuff. We visited the Warther's museum. What can't a person do who doesn't watch television!?!

In the evening, we attended the O'Jays' (they sing “Love Train”) scholarship banquet. A reception took place in the Football Hall of Fame, then we moved outside into a tent for the meal and the speakers. The food was lame. But we looked good! And we had a good time talking with the people at the table. The speaker was some guy from CNN. When we got back home, we were exhausted. I was pensive and ready for sleep. But we stayed up til 3 am to wait for the train.

Booklist

Hey everyone, if you have any of these books, and you'd like to give them to me, I'll reimburse you for postage! Also, this is what is in store for me for the next semester, holla!

21st Century Skills (Trilling)

Doing School (Pope)

On Being a Teacher: Human Dimension (Kottler)

What Every Teacher Should Know About Classroom Management (Levin)

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (Diaz)

Herzog (Bellow)

Hours (Cunningham)

Let the Great World Spin (McCann)

Mrs. Dalloway (Woolf)

Nine Stories (Salinger)

On the Road (Kerouac)

Returning to the Earth (Harrison)

Song of Solomon (Morrison)

Surfacing (Atwood)

Differentiation (Wormeli)

Bridging English (Milner)

Birthday Freedom

Back in the city.
22 years old.
On the move.
I missed the transformative sunrise.
I did not create anything new.
I did not, in fact, even try to find a way to celebrate.

Do you know why?

At 22 years, one should feel free from expectations like that.

If I want to create a ritual, well, I may.

But if I want to sleep on a mattress in the middle of someone else's floor,

and wake up at eight am to do laundry

to pack a bag full of clothes ruined by camp

so I can catch a day-long train to Ohio to visit some friends, well, I'll do it.

Suppose that were my birthday ritual?

That'd be weird.

How Shelby and I Met: A True Story

Shelby's grandmother is beset with Schloppinger's disease, a debilitating, strange disease, which has caused her to lose the use of both arms. Her greatest joy amidst her biplegic life is calling in to win radio contests. Of course, she can't dial, so she has a caretaker make the calls for her. Her whole family scoffed at her silly hobby until she won two tickets to visit Northern Ireland. She was delighted to invite Shelby, who had dialed many a call-in radio program for her. What's more, one of her good friends lived there, whom she had not seen in ages: a Mr. Rochester.

Meanwhile, I was studying in Northern Ireland for my doctoral thesis on bedflies, also known as noctororum scoliorum. I was hiking with my handicapped friend, also a sufferer of Schloppinger's. We were headed to Mussenden Temple to explore the ruins of the burnt castle which an older, insecure bishop had built for his young, beautiful wife. The ruins of the castle are surrounded by a large ditch which had possibly served as a moat in the past.

While exploring, I began to need a bathroom urgently. The only thing to use was the moat. I looked about for a person on patrol who might deter the necessary act. The only thing my eyes lit upon was a battered sign that read: BEWARE, SHEEP GRAZING. I knew, just as I'm sure you do, that certain breed of sheep can spell peril to those who are so unfortunate as to be caught staring upward into their eyes. Looking down upon a sheep means little, however, for they assume you to be their superior. Due to my weighted bladder, I meant to risk it, whatever the cost.

Just as I emerged from the wide ditch, there was a girl of about my age, staring in disbelief at my impertinence. She assumed, quite correctly, that I had used the moat as a bathroom. "Didn't you see the sign?!" She pointed, eyes wide. I tensed immediately, on guard for the sheep attack. She saw my look of panic and assumed a fighting stance as well, believing me to have seen some raucous sheep activity headed in our direction.

Seeing nothing, she saw the root of our misunderstanding, and pointed to the sign of which she had meant to accuse me. Directly beside me was a sign which read: ABSOLUTELY NO PEEING IN THE MOAT. We both laughed, eased by our mistake, and made introductions. We were mutually impressed by our immediate fighting reactions, but our conversation was cut short by the needs of our handicapped companions.

Some days later, we were destined to meet again! While studying, I was staying at the home of a friend named Jane. She told me of her admiration of her employer, a man named Mr. Rochester; indeed, the very same Rochester with whom Shelby's grandmother was so closely acquainted. So it fell that at a dinner party hosted by Rochester, Jane and I were to be in attendance. Who else should grace the table but Shelby and her biplegic grandmother!

While taking a tour of the large Rochester mansion, a castle, to be sure, Shelby and I finished the conversation from the moat days earlier. So deep in our thoughts were we that we became dreadfully lost in the place. We headed eastward in the mansion, toward voices which we supposed to belong to our friends. How wrong we were!

We trod up a staircase, much worn and quite small, believing it to be the servants' entrance to the hallway near the dining room. We heard laughter: at times faint, then quite loud, then a good deal of talking. But as we approached, all seemed to be coming from one voice, and that not of our friends at all. We assumed our sheep-fighting stances, and tried the door, only to find it locked.

At this, disappointed and relieved, we decided upon an alternate route which finally brought us to our friends who had hardly noticed our disappearance. Rochester was the exception, for he seemed to note our pale faces and breathless entrance. He kept a close eye on us for the rest of the evening, fidgeting more than before, and ushered us out long before the appropriate time of departure for family friends.

With these two singular experiences behind us, Shelby and I were forced to part once more. She and her grandmother were headed back to Pennsylvania, while I stayed in the area for some months more. When I returned to Pennsylvania, Shelby and I met up again at Millersville University: I with my doctorate, naturally, and with a slightly redder haircolor, a common effect of working with bedflies, the notable result of my research.

Wouldn't you know it! We read in the paper just days after meeting again that our friends, Jane and Mr. Rochester had been in love. But those strange voices we had heard in the night had belonged to MRS. Rochester! Mr. Rochester had married a crazed woman many years ago, and had kept her in the far east tower all that time!

Now, just as we told our group of nine middle-schoolers on camp-out night, if you google "Jane and Rochester," you're sure to find the newspaper articles which we found to be so disturbing. For our part, Shelby and I are still divided as to the appropriateness of the relationship which Mr. Rochester had allowed to ensue despite his lawful marital status.

Two Lists

Things that are the same:

God is good.

My head is full.

Things that are different:

My heart is not worried, just broken.

My cabin is so diverse! I know that we will be working through lots of difficulties this week. I'm exhilarated by the possibilities.

Camp is quickly coming to an end.

I'm headed to Ohio on my birthday!

Squirrels make me downright uncomfortable.

I am super emotional. This is rare. Normally my emotions are a few levels down. Just look at me wrong and I might cry.