Thursday, November 04, 2010
My husband does not do this...at least not with naked people. He looks at pictures of airplanes. We affectionatly call it pilot porn. Sometimes, he'll be at his computer and I'll walk by and notice that he's rapidly closed a window.
"What are you looking at?" I'll ask, already knowing the answer.
"Nothing!" as if it's a secret.
I think pilots are born, not made. You either love planes or know little about them. You can learn the aerodynamics or the mechanics but pilots are born with an innate awe and wonder about planes. Nick's dad is a pilot too. His mom once told me that she knew exactly how she was going to die. She'd be riding in the car with his dad who would hear a plane overhead. He'd be craning his neck to watch it when suddenly... well, you get the idea. I'm pretty sure that's how I'll go too.
It's not uncommon for Nick to spot planes that are invisible to the untrained eye. He even used to take me on dates to the airport to watch planes land. (Um, how romantic.) We've been chasing his dream for years (all the way to Korea!).
Lately, I've noticed somethig disturbing. Iris seems to have this uncanny ability and affection for planes too. She shouts in her almost two voice "eh pane!" and points up to the sky. I follow her finger and see nothing but sky and then, I hear it, but can't see it. She continues to shout until I acknowledge the plane's presence. Yes--airplane. Then, all is right with the world, until another one flies overhead and we start over.
I'm not sure yet if I'm worried about this. She hasn't yet become the traveler that Ivy was at her age and until we're once again employed by an airline, I don't see that happening. But the early warning signs are there...
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Now, all of these shoes are perfectly acceptable to wear to work, which I do often. I get several remarks of "cute shoes" from the ladies and "how do you walk in those" from the gents. People that know me are not alarmed.
It's those who don't know me that I'm writing about today...
As a woman, I often find that men in particular talk to my chest. I don't think they intend to...well, some of them do. I find my self stooping down on occasion to get them to look me in the eye. Hello? Eyes up here! I can't help the size of my chest. It's not small (not HUGE, but not small). It is what it is and I can't do anything about it. I don't flaunt my chest or wear revealing clothing to accentuate them or draw attention to them.
Now, however, it seems that I get more stares at my feet. I was walking into Costco last week wearing a modest pair of to the knee shorts, a v-nect top with a camisol underneath and the most adorable strappy brown platform sandals with buckles and a zipper up the back. I got more stares and doubletakes than I'd care to count! What's the deal people? They're just shoes! More of my foot is covered than were I wearing a flip flop (which I only wear when I'm out for a pedicure). You'd think I had breasts on my feet or something!
Still, I'd rather people stared at my feet than my chest.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I remember buying it thinking "wow--10 days and I'll have something worth writing". Well, I've learned a lesson all right. Nothing happened after 10 days and nothing will. The whole premise of this book was that in order to free yourself and get over the blank page--for whatever reason--was to...get ready. This is gonna be good.
Write with your other hand.
Yep--put the pen in my LEFT hand and give it a try! Um, that's stupid.
It was full of these questions, written exactly the same way twice, where you answer it once with your dominant hand and once with your non dominant hand. To say I was skeptical was an understatement, but I figured, what the heck, and gave it a try.
Dominant Hand: What's your biggest reason for not writing right now? I have two small children who demand most of my attention.
Non dominant Hand: What's your biggest reason for not writing right now? I have two small children who demand most of my attention.
Uh, yeah--that's the same exact answer no matter what hand I used. Of course, the author got different reasons using different hands. I'm sorry, that's crap. About halfway through the book I realized I wasn't getting anywhere with this and decided that the best use for this book was to fill my recycle bin. So, that's where it is. I even threw it in twice--once with each hand. It landed in there both times.
Friday, September 17, 2010
It got me thinking about miracles.
Max was talking about how any one of us could have been written about in the Bible. Some of the stuff people said about Jesus could have just as easily been said about us. Some of the stuff Jesus did (going to a wedding, working as a handyman) could be replaced easily by the things we do. Sure. I get it. But those miracles were stop you in your tracks miracles. People knew they were witnessing something of God. I don't think I can say that of the miracles in my life.
Sure, we all have them--the birth of children, amazing sunsets, miracle healings. But those miracles aren't very...miraculous. They sort of happen every day. The sun floods my car and blinds me on my way to work EVERY DAY. Sure, it's pretty amazing how one minute, a baby is inside of a pregnant woman and then, pop! It's out and she's a mother. Wow! But ask my sister-in-law, the midwife how many babies she delivers in a day? I'll bet it's more than one.
Wouldn't you love to see a miracle? A sight that makes you get down on your knees because you KNOW you're face to face with God? I sure would. Not that sunsets and babies aren't great--they are. I love my girls. And without the miracle in a sunset, I woudn't have my husband. But I want to see the bush on fire! I want God to split the ocean down the middle, take me by the hand and say "let's go for a stroll"! Turn my morning coffee into wine (OK, leave my coffee--maybe my Diet Coke). Fill my bread box with just two pieces and feed me for months on food that falls from the sky! Wow! Now, those were miracles!
The every day miracles are amazing when you think about what's behind them. But I want to see something that will dare me NOT to believe it. I want God to show me what He can do.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
First, imagine your shower. It might have a curtain or a door, but it's enclosed in some way. Now, add your toilet, sink, towell rack--everything else in the bahroom. That's right, put it IN the shower. Now, take away that enclosure. Poof! You have a Korean bathroom. Why? Why not close it in? Why not give it it's own floor so that you're not walking around in the bathroom in the evening when everything is still wet from your morning shower.
Like any other Asian country that I know of, shoes aren't worn indoors. There's always a ledge or something to keep your shoes on when you walk inside (even in resturants!). In the bathroom, however, you're expected to wear shoes. Why? Because the floor is wet! You bring your flip flops or use those provided by the hotel--whichever you prefer.
There are no floor mats--why have those? They'd just get wet. We had to hang our towells outside of the bathroom, thus leaving the nice, warm, steamy bathroom to get dry. Logic seems to have escaped this culture when it comes to the design of bathrooms. For whatever reason, they see no problem with this. We were told that when Koreans visit the U.S., they don't even think to close the shower curtain, not giving it much thought. Of course, the entire hotel bathroom gets soaked. I wonder what hotel cleaning staff think when they enter a room and see the entire bathroom soaked.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
I have experienced more in these last three days than perhaps the last year. I've tried new foods, stayed in weird hotels, met amazing people and seen a place that I hadn't known existed. I've felt the stares of the locals and heard their whispering as I walk by. I've never really felt like a minority before, but here, I most certainly am.
Everyone knows we're not from around here. They can tell by looking at us. And they try to help. We were nearly stranded in a subway station without our luggage. We were immediately helped. We almost got on the wrong bus--twice. We were kindly redirected by the driver who spoke no English at all.
I'm amazed by the people here. They do not understand us, but they still seem to be glad that we are here. I don't know why. They know nothing about us and we know even less about them. As I struggle to learn the language and look forward to the day when I'm living here too and can do so comfortably, I press on, one day at t time.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Sure, I can carry a tune—if you hand it to me in a bucket, but really, I shouldn't. Not unless there's a crowd also singing that can drown me out. I don't really like to sing. In my car maybe, but that's it. It's the one part of church I really don't like—well, that and the part where I have to shake hands with people I don't know.
It's supposed to be a time of worship. I get that. Singing to God… Rapture practice, one of my pastors used to call it. 'Cause that's what we're going to spend eternity doing, right?' Praise and worship. But does it have to be singing? I really hope not.
I don't feel particularly close to God when I'm singing. Sometimes, maybe, but it isn't the song. It's Him. Something He's telling me or something we're doing together and there just happens to be music playing. Don't get me wrong—I LOVE music. I mean, I really love it. It gets into my soul and I can listen to the same song over and over and over and drown in it. But I'd rather leave the making of it to those who do it best. The Stephen Curtis Chapman's, the Bruce Hornsby's and the Usher's of the world. They can sing—let's let them do it.
I'm pretty sure God knows how I feel about singing. He knows it's not something I enjoy and he knows what's going on with me when I'm in church and the music isn't moving me. Someone else picked those songs and decided that everyone would sing them. It's hard to worship—really worship—on command.
Maybe singing really does move most people and they really do feel like they're worshiping when they sing. I don't. I feel like I'm being forced to do something I'd really rather not do. Like when you're just going about your business and some random stranger says "smile—it's not that bad." Really? Do you KNOW how bad it is? Do you KNOW why I've chosen at this moment NOT to smile? No—you don't. So mind your own business—I'm smile when I'm happy. I'll sing when I'm feeling musical.
Worship is personal, though not necessarily private. To worship is to express love and adoration to God. It has nothing to do with singing. It's not about talent or showing off—it's doing whatever it is I do to tell God what song lyrics never seem to get right for me. When I can't focus on anything but Him, He looks into my heart and knows what no words can say. When I can look to Him and we connect and He knows what I can't express in words. When I can be in a room with Him and nothing else matters. When I can feel what I feel and know that He understands. That's worship. That's more than I love you. That's more than you mean everything to me and I can't live—and don't want to try to live—without Him. That's how I feel about God. That's how Jesus and I get to know each other. That's how the Holy Spirit dwells within me. I can be in a crowded room, I can be lying in bed, I can be doing the laundry or any number of mundane or profound things. I can be singing! Or not…
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I went to see a new doctor on Monday. I called several weeks in advance to make my 3pm appointment. I even supplied my insurance information prior so that I wouldn't have to do that in the office.
I arrived about ten minutes early. Walking into the office, I saw four employees standing around behind the counter. One was on the phone. There were no other people in the waiting room.
"I have an appointment," I said. to the three people who didn't seem to be doing anything.
One of them motioned to the person on the phone. "She'll get you checked in."
Because you're so busy. I sat down and waited. Finally the person on the phone hung up and gave me the paperwork I had to sign. I was told I'd be called in a few minutes. I waited.
At 3:20 I was finally called. I walked past several empty rooms wondering why we were going all the way to the back of the office and why one of these rooms wasn't perfectly suitable and why it had been so long.
In the room, the nurse took about five minutes to ask me general questions--this was my first appointment with this doctor and they needed my history. Several extreamly personal questions later, I was told to undress and assured that the doctor would be there soon.
At 3:45, I was still waiting. What was going on? What was taking so long? I thought about opening up the door and asking, but I was in a gown. Is that the plan? Do they keep you naked and trapped for some dark purpose?
Just as I was formulating rude comments to accompany my rant out of the office, the doctor finally came in. No appology for the wait, just getting down to business. Five minutes later, I was getting dressed.
I waited 45 mintes for 5 minutes of time. WHY? Why is it that doctors can never seem to keep appointments? If the office had been busy, I could at least understand but there was NO ONE ELSE THERE! Why is my time so much less important and worse yet, why does every doctor seem to do this? Why do we as patients put up with it?
Because we're stuck. We have no other option and none of us are bold enough to make those rude statemtns we're all thinking about. Next time, I'm going to call and rather than make an appointment, I'm going to ask when I'll actually be seen--that's what I'll show up for.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
We live in Phoenix, not Los Angeles. And still no work visa.
Less than one week before his expected start date, we're told that we should have a visa number by the end of the week. Then, we need to visit the Korean Consulate...in Los Angeles. We have to convert the visa number to a real visa (whatever that means). At this point, we're contemplating our options. Do we drive to Los Angeles, spend a few days, drop Nick off at the airport and the girls and I drive back (six hours in the car with two little girls...not my idea of a good time); Have Nick fly there and back in a day (on Friday) and fly out again on Sunday to catch his flight to Seoul; or chuck the whole thing and go back to normal life (not really an option). But we can't really decide anything because we still don't have the visa number...and it's Thursday.
Finally, we have news: still no visa number. We should have it later today which means we can contact the consulate and ask if there's any way we can get the visa in one day (not likely). Or, we can delay the start date and change the flight to Korea (extremely expensive and, in the words of our contact "the most painful"). Finally, we can book a return trip with every intention of cancelling it so that he can go on a tourist visa and plan to visit the Korean Consulate in Japan or China.
This is what confuses me most. He's not going to Japan or China. He's going to Korea. Why would we need to visit Japan or China to get a Korean visa? In any case, this is the option we're now pursuing. I have no idea what will happen next but it's sure to be exciting.
Anyo hashimnika! (Ok, so that's actually hello and not good bye or anything that might seem logical to end a post, but not much has been logical at this point and it's really all I know how to say...other than turtle, car and banana.)