apologies

to my faithful few adoring fans: I am in the left side of the middle of nowhere braving saber-tooth horseflies and guiding little people through the dangers of a camp with 'no running' policies and air conditionings that are apparently set too high (oh the woes of camp in the modern age).

I promise I will one day return to the blogging world, however today is not that day.

But please keep me and my team in your prayers. We have had several high ups and low downs, including girls getting saved and staff members suffering sudden painful injuries (myself not included so far, praise the Lord).

Updates and pictures to come, I hope. :-)

~Princess Ouch~

On the road again

It never ceases to amaze me the culture shock I go through upon entering Ohio. Not neccessarily a bad thing, just the preffered general lifestyles of the areas that I visit is somehow always different from whatever area I currently call 'home' at the time of the visit.

A very trivial example is that both my roommates are from India, so we drink tea almost as much if not more so than water. But not just tossing a teabag into some hot water and calling it tea, there is a method of making tea. And they (and our other Indian guests) can tell a difference when the tea is not properly made. The water must be heated, a teabag (or two usually, and always BLACK tea that is not flavored) inserted into the water and allowed to boil for about a minute. Sugar and milk are then mixed in and kept just below a boil so that the milk 'cooks' a little and fully mixes with the tea and the sugar dissolves entirely into the brew.

However, I have reentered the land of Coffee drinkers. Actually that would have happened had I simply stepped outside my doorstep. BUT since I'm in the South (or the boarder of the South or whatever we're calling it) there is always some kind of black tea on hand for sweetened Ice Tea (of which there is also a method for correct brewing) as well as milk and sugar somewhere near so if I must I can scrounge and make tea to my preferences.

BUT here there is skim milk and flavored cream for the coffee. Not bad for what it is bought for (cereal and coffee) but absolutally NOT going to cut it for the correct methods of making real tea.

*sigh* So I'm back to coffee. Not that I mind terribly, I like coffee (incredibly doctored up coffee, that is :-D) but still am adjusting. The thing is, I can tell when I've had too much coffee and so try to limit my consumption, however I can drink as much tea as I want and its fine. In fact, its high in antioxidants, so the more the better. So a positive spin on it is that I'm getting another excercise in self restraint in not drinking three to five cups of coffee like I can with tea.

*sniffle*

Its funny how we get into routines that we don't even realize are there until they are interrupted. I read of a missionary once who was fine traveling anywhere as long as he had wriggley's gum with him. He had grown up chewing on it, and that was what gave him a sense of normalicy. I've noticed that when I'm able to do funny little routines it makes my crazy hither-thither-and-yon travelings feel a little less stressful.
Anyhoo. For those of you going through crazy life seasons or traveling, just thought I'd share for your consideration.

My grandma and I were talking the other day about life seasons. My cousin is also in college and was apparently bemoaning the fact that she was in a four-year long season of transition, didn't really have a HOME to go home to. It was just 'visiting the parents.'
I've been trying to figure out the balance of that same life season. Its a fine balance between declaring and maintaining independance and not falling into self-focused unreliable singleness. Yet telling the difference between the two is not all that easy.
On the one hand, I thought a few months ago I was entering into an entirely different life season. However, whilst talking with my Grandma, I grinned and said, "Isn't it awesome though that we aren't tied down to any one particular place at this age though? I wouldn't want to stay this way forever, but I'm really enjoying being able to be nomadic when I want and stationary when I want and figuring out how to communicate well when I decide to do either." My grandma laughed (she is apparently not in the life season where such lifestyle seems adventureous and attractive) and said yes, it is nice while it lasts and we should enjoy it while we're in that season.

So am heading out west tomorrow. Not entirely sure what to expect as we didn't have an itinerary when last I checked. I know it will involve hard work on the house that is being rebuilt and three and a half opinionated men who have all done this kind of work on houses many times before now. (the 'half' is my brother who has not quite completed the rites of passage into manhood, nor has had as much experience on this work) Looking forward to seeing everyone but am once again wishing that they lived closer so that when I went out there it wasn't like a return from a distant galaxy. Leaving often seems like stepping through a wormhole to travel across space and time, and what makes it worse is the next time of visitation is known to be out there, somewhere, but details and timing of it are as mysterious as the life on the distant planet I'm heading to.

But regardless of that, it will be nice to see everyone.
~Princess Ouch~

The bird

(above picture is not the bird in the following story)

I like birds. Always have. My grandpa used to raise canaries to sell at pet-stores, and my great-aunt had two cockteils that she used to let me carry around on my shoulder and play with the few times we were able to make it to her home in Wisconsin to visit.
So I know a little about birds, but not a lot.
Last week going back to my apartment I saw a bird in the grass along the sidewalk. It was a little odd because usually birds hop away when that close to humans. Being in a bad mood, I made sudden movements, seeing how much guts the bird really had and if it would fly away. It didn't. Instead, it ruffled its feathers and gave a very odd chirruping scream. Intrigued, I walked towards it. The thing ruffled its feathers even more and screamed faster. So I got down onto my haunches and apparently I wasn't as huge and terrifying because it quickly calmed down.
There was a large tree right above us and I saw some birds flying around in it like there was a nest, and upon closer inspection of the bird in the grass I noticed that while it was getting the smooth, glossy feathers of an adult, it still had the fluffy downy feathers of a chick.
I poked it with a seedy piece of grass and the bird nipped at it, trying to get at the seeds.
Got some water and oatmeal which the bird nibbled at and then sort of let it fall out of its mouth and I determined when it looked at me (with its head at an angle) through one eye that it liked oatmeal even less than I do.
For all intents and purposes, it seemed fine, it just wouldn't move. It did sort of hop away at one point, but not very far. So I tried scooping it up with a plastic lid I had brought back to feet the oatmeal on it and tossing it not very high into the air. The bird would flap but only enough to keep from falling, not really flying. It couldn't get a stable grip on the lid. I found a stick and amazingly the bird very cooperatively climbed onto it. I then stood up. Its legs started shaking a little and I let it catch its balance. It started squawking again as if to say, "This is a very bad idea!" I slowly started moving around in a wide circle to create a sort of wind, which had the desired effect: Bird started flapping, fell off the stick, and landed gracefully back on the grass, and let out a rebellious chirping scream. Back onto the stick it went and again we started spinning. This time the bird seemed to understand what the point was and after it started flapping it let go of the stick, tucked its legs under, and flew away into the trees.
A few minutes later I heard a bird flying around give a call very much like the chirruping scream the bird had given on the ground.
I turned around and saw a Seminary Wife staring at me. I did look a little odd: stick in hand, oatmeal box on the ground, water bottle a little far away, staring at a bunch of birds. I smiled and waved, she nodded a greeting back and went on her way.

I suppose I should have done the normal thing and left the bird alone or called animal control. But the lawnmowers have been out in full force, and I didn't want the thing to get run over. And I didn't know Animal Control's phone number, and besides where's the fun in that?

But mostly I think I identified with that bird a little too much. Trying to learn how to fly but for whatever reason have become grounded, and not really sure how to jump back up into the air and start flying again. But God had brought people who have poked and prodded and tossed me up into the air. While I certainly don't feel at all like I'm flying again, I don't feel left alone terrified in the grass anymore waiting for a lawnmower to run over me or a cat to come nab me.

The trouble is I have flown before and I love it, but recently I feel as though I've made some running jumps and become airborne for a few moments, but ultimately end up back on the ground. Plenty of people have reassured me that I will fly again, which I know and have known and have never doubted for a moment through this last year. It hasn't been the future at all that I'm worried about. Quite the contrary; I'm excited about it. Its the present that I'm frustrated with.

~Princess Ouch~