Twenty-one o' clock

I have no particular reason for using the 24-hour clock, except that I enjoy it.

I sit down at the computer to look up one thing. Three hours (and at least one suggestion from my husband that we get a second computer) later, and I am more informed (and consequently more depressed) than I was, but no closer to a solution. The internet is a great tool. Why is it that when I've finished what I'm doing, I find it harder to part with the internet than say, a hammer I would use to drive a nail? Once the picture is on the wall, I have no need to carry around the hammer, just in case there is another nail lurking somewhere I can pound into another wall. Yet the internet compells me to move from one topic to another, despite the fact I have researched my original subject throughly. And this is a malady that affects millions, to judge from the number of blogs on this service alone.

Anyway. Time to get ready for bed.

The greatest spectacle in... blogging?

Yeah, so I'm listening to the Indy 500 right now. I don't intend to do so all afternoon, but for now I'm chilling and enjoying the commentary. Well, the commentary about what is actually happening. The conjecture and trips down memory lane I could do without. Anyway, my favourites this time around are Dan Wheldon, Danica Patrick and Marco Andretti, so I'm just keeping an ear open for them. As it turns out, these three must be everyone's favourites because they are coming up for discussion a lot. That's something new, for my opinion to go along with everyone else's.

There's a happy little song, called "Lines on the Road," that only a few people know. It's been in my head intermittently all morning because Keely and I were talking about it yesterday, while hanging out in her empty house. They left this morning. (Aaron, pity you weren't here last night! The three of us had to hang out without you. But only for a few minutes, before Keely scurried off to finish packing.)

In related news, the World Cup starts June 9! I'm so looking forward to it. Last time, we were in California for the entire run, so I missed most of it (although it turned out that one of Chad's uncles was following it very closely, and he kept me updated). This time around, we will be in CA for the beginning, but we'll be back in time for me to catch plenty of it. Okay, so that wasn't related at all.

Riding in cars with birds

Sometimes I feel like I'm in a movie by, what's-his-name, anyway, the movie with the birds. You know, the one entitled, The Birds. Why? Well, birds seem to follow me around more than they do any normal people.

I haven't been chased by ducks in a couple of weeks; apparently they decided they have heaped enough humiliation on me for a while. I did, however, help a co-worker remove a baby bird from the bumper of her car this afternoon. It had apparently decided this was a good place to hang out, but she wanted to leave, sans bird. So I tried shooing it away, thought about picking it up (I got gloves from the medical staff for that very purpose) and then decided there was no good way to pick it up without it biting me. So I tried reasoning with it. (I am not joking.) I knelt down to look at it, and said, "We really need you to go away." And-- this is the good part-- it flew away. I don't know if it was from sheer terror at this person talking to it, or (as another girl at the office said) if I have some Doctor Doolittle qualities. Whatever it was, it flew away, directly into one of the rafters of our covered parking area. And when I say it "flew into" a rafter, I mean in the same way that I walk into stationary objects like walls. It hit the rafter, then fell down. This caused me some distress, but the bird was still moving around, so I left it alone lest I cause the poor bird further trauma. And when I came out to leave 30 minutes later, it was gone. I hope it left of its own accord.

On a sadder note, this Sunday I will say good-bye to a good friend, one that's been with me for a while and who I will miss terribly. This friend, of course, is The West Wing. Okay, so I exaggerate a bit. It is, without a doubt, my favourite television show, but then I only watch about three shows with any regularity at all, so it's like my most favourite of my three favourites. These last couple of seasons have been kind of up and down in terms of quality, right enough. But I am still sad to see it go; this is one fantastic group of actors, and it almost seems a crime to separate them when they work so well together.

Okay, I'm done being sentimental about a TV show. I watched a movie called Hope and Glory the other day, and as a result, the song Land of Hope and Glory has been in my head ever since. If you're not familiar with the title, and you're an American, then it's the song that was (most likely) played at your high school graduation. It's technically only a part of Pomp and Circumstance, but for some reason we just skip directly to the main title, possibly because a name like Land of Hope and Glory might tip us all off that this song is British in origin. The song actually has good lyrics, especially for a British patriotic song, but it is a bit incongruous with an American high school graduation.

Rainy days and laundry

Yesterday we rode our bikes in the rain. Well, to call it rain is a bit much. At most I would say it was a very heavy fog-- so heavy that my glasses were coated with water droplets. After drying my glasses twice, I gave up and rode the last mile without them, much to the alarm of Chad, who is convinced that I am as blind as a bat without them. However, it did me no good whatsoever to be able to see everything clearly, when all I could see clearly were the raindrops. Better to see slightly blurry cars than not see them at all, I say.

I was, in fact, delighted with the weather yesterday-- it was such a Scottish day. If I could have just convinced all the cars going by to drive on the left, my joy would have been complete. But they didn't. I read a blog from one of the AIM students currently in Scotland yesterday, in which she said that the temperature was over 60 degrees one day last week, and so she was able to wear a T-shirt outdoors for the the first time since her arrival one year ago. I'm presuming that last summer she was not acclimated enough to the weather to go out in short sleeves, because they always get at least a few nice days. Anyway, apparently Scots were bringng out the shorts and sandals for the 60-degree weather, to which I say: I remember those days. I used to lie in bed listening to the radio in the morning, waiting for the weather report to see if it was more that 15 degrees outside (translation: 15 C= approx. 60 F). If so, I was excited.

(This next thought may turn you all off from every reading this blog again, but I'm going to say it anyway, so you have been warned.) I'm puzzled a bit this week with the American need (possibly obsession) to continually be doing laundry. For instance, the clothes that I have on right now will be worn for 4 hours, tops. Presuming I don't spill anything on myself at lunchtime, when I get home, I will take them off and hang them back in my closet. Yet there are many people who would be horrified at such an action. Why? All I'm going to do in them is sit in church, and possibly have lunch. I do the same with my work clothes-- all I do is sit in them at my desk. Unless they get actual dirt on them at some point during the first wearing, I wear them all twice before washing. Saves water, soap, time, energy, and electricity. None of which would I so lightly throw away on anything else. So there's my thought on doing the laundry.

Coming to the end

We just got back from our last Bible Bowl-- last one of this year, and last one ever for us, at least at South Plains. We'll be moving to Austin before they start again next spring, so we are hanging up our flannelgraph and moving on. We may help with the senior Bible Bowl team until we go, should one be organised, but that will be the full extent of our involvement. We had a really fun day today, with only two girls to look after. One of them was quite teary at a couple of points, which led to me dramatically climbing over a pew to try to comfort her (okay, it wasn't that dramatic, and it didn't really help, anyway), and the other one kept dropping her answer cube. But we made it to the end alive, and we really are done. I suppose someday if we have children who want to do this sort of thing we'll do it again. Anyway, here's a picture from our last competition:



Not our biggest group ever, but these are some great kids.