Caffeinated.

I got through four weeks of summer school without caffeine.

Judging by the number of coffee cups I've seen walk in with my classmates, not to mention the assessment of Smart Guy, who sits next to me, I'd say I'm way behind everyone else in the caffeine department.

The anxiety of turning in my second paper, then being nervous about our group project, then wishing our group project had gone better, ruined three nights of sleep in a row. So, in lieu of sleep I turned to my tea kettle and PG Tips to get me through the day, and a new gum-chewing strategy to keep me awake in class. Both worked, but caffeine takes an unpleasant toll on my body, including (but not limited to) keeping me awake again the following night.

By Wednesday night I was tired of this unamusing cycle, so I went to bed on time and set my alarm for 5:30 AM. On Thursday morning I had to promise myself the whole world with sugar on top to get out of bed, but I made it up by 5:40 and went out to run two miles.

It's amazing how many benefits come from running in the morning, not the least of which is the wave of energy that comes over me by class time. No caffeine required. I imagine that had I gotten up on time on Tuesday and gone running before our group project, my day would have been much better: It's impossible to maintain butterflies in the stomach while running. And I would have turned up in a much better frame of mind for my day.

Lesson learned, I suppose: I will certainly keep up the AM running throughout the fall semester.

Still Does Not Work & Play Well With Others.

First me, now Chad: The scowling never ends in our house.

(Actually, this is my husband's head shot when he tried out for Wolverine in X-Men.)

Picking up where we left off: In addition to me feeling that our presentation was short on analysis, which is really what had me leaving class ready to cry, the great world of technology also failed us. Apparently, the IT department at UT stripped Adobe Flash player from the building's computers overnight, so our smooth-sailing rehearsal on Monday did not at all have us prepared for the it-doesn't-work nightmare that awaited us on Tuesday.

We did get praise from the instructor for remaining calm and smoothing things over as best as possible (seriously, this instructor was sent to me by God; the whole planet should be more like her) while Goofy quickly found a replacement for the first part of the video, played it, and did a quick talk about it. I was not so lucky; I had to explain my part the video and analyze it; either from pity or because I do a fabulous Stephen Colbert impression, the class laughed at all the right bits anyway.

It was my fault that the video didn't work; I was responsible for checking that when I got to campus that morning, and I arrived 45 minutes early to get it done, only to find the other group practising their presentation. No problem... except they used the following 40 minutes to do it, and in my last-five-minute rush to get our powerpoint cued up and ready to go, I forgot to check the video. I don't blame the other group for my own scatterbrainedness, but I was really quite frustrated at their lack of courtesy to shut the entire class out of the room until 5 minutes before class time--including those of us who were scheduled to present ahead of them.

We also had an accompanying paper, which we worked on after class the same day. In this area, at least, my classmates have more confidence that I know what I'm talking about, so it was much easier to finish with no headache, and we still have a chance to salvage our grade for that part of the project, anyway.

Regardless of my despair, it's done. And that was our intention in choosing to go first.

Does Not Work and Play Well With Others. Part 1.

Some people should come with a warning label, and one of those people is me.

Note: Scowling Su.

I knew when I first saw the syllabus for my rhetoric class that we had a group project at the end of the term. And the brain cells that control happy thoughts trampled one another in their race for the exits when they received this dismal news.

I hate group projects. I hate it when I'm clueless and I feel like I'm letting the group down (pretty frequent in elementary & middle school), and I hate it even more when I know what I'm talking about but can't convince the rest of the group to listen to me (college). The only group project that I have ever enjoyed was my speech class at South Plains College, when the instructor divided us into groups according our course grade and appointed the "A" student in each group as the project manager. You know, kind of like what really happens in the workforce. My group was spectacular; they had lots of ideas and worked hard, and consequently we all had lots of fun with it.

Unfortunately, there are those who have not gotten the memo that fun is the result of a job well done, and a job does not magically get to be well done by goofing off as much as possible along the way. Our group had one of those in it. Ugh. And for his supporting role in the hit movie, Making Su's Life Frustrating, he gets a nickname: Acts Really Goofy. (It's only "acts" because I have glimpsed a more-serious side of him, but he tends to keep it hidden.)

Rhetorical analysis is hard. And even at our basic level, it's especially hard on the first try. But it's impossible to get if you don't try it at all. We were analyzing the humourous media's coverage of the oil spill, and Goofy thought that meant we should crack jokes during our presentation. Including, but not limited to, adding a random photo of Richard Simmons to our powerpoint to get a laugh.

The class did not laugh.

I left class on Monday ready to cry and desperately wanting a large cup of caffeine. Preferably with some chocolate on the side. Come back tomorrow to hear the rest.

Mr. Obama Comes from Washington

So, the president stopped by UT on his trip to Texas.

Let me say at the beginning: No matter what their policies, I am in favour of officeholders-- and office seekers-- visiting universities. It's a great way to get younger people interested in the political process, and might just turn the non-voting demographic into a voting demographic. Fabulous.

Plus, the closest I've ever been to getting a glimpse of any president in person was a class trip to D.C. in '92 when the presidential motorcade came by. I (and several of my fellow students) took a picture, then we were harangued for several minutes by one of the parent sponsors about how you're not allowed to point anything at the president, including a camera. Yeah, I guess that's why hordes of Secret Service agents completely failed to arrest us all. Dummy.

Anyway, I did not get a ticket to hear his speech because 1) The line formed at 10 PM on Friday to get a ticket at 8 AM Saturday, and I am so not cool with that sort of plan, and 2) It was during my class time, anyway. I did plan to join in the crowd standing outdoors, in case he came out and waved or something.

Now, the president visiting campus is cool, but also a bloody nuisance; I still don't know my way around, so I use the same route every day. Except Monday, when my route was extremely blocked off. And then I had to go between classes... Let me just say, I don't know why I brought my bike on Monday, 'cause I didn't use it much.

So, when the motorcade arrived on campus, I was among those standing near Gregory Gym, where speechifying took place. And we stood and waited, and watched the Secret Service drive cars around in a circle for a few minutes, before I gave it up and went to work on a group project.

I've since read a transcript of the speech. But before that, as I was leaving, I saw a group of students who had obviously just come from the event. One of them said, "That's a great idea, but how are we going to pay for it?"

Smart girl.

Geez.

This past Saturday, a new AIM class started their adventure.

It doesn't feel that long ago that it was me, until I start doing the math (fourteen years ago today); then I just feel old. I remember finding out that day that one does not generally wear shorts inside Sunset. (I say "one," because that was a custom I never really picked up on-- the building has never fallen down from me walking inside it wearing shorts.)

We got to Sunset, followed the very handy signs telling us which way to go, and got our first look at the AIM classroom. I got as far as about three steps into the room and stopped, because I already had sensory overload from all the stuff that was happening. And I might still be standing there frozen, if not for the amazing Angie, who pried me away from the door and escorted me to the correct check-in spot.

The rest of the day is a blur; I know there was an orientation about the housing, and I know there were tons of people who helped us move in. I also know my father didn't trust my ability to get directions, because I remember telling him, "We turn at the 7-11." He said, "So if I get to the 7-11, have I gone too far?" And I was totally confused, because we were supposed to turn there; wherever the dang street next to 7-11 was, that's where we turned. Who cared what side the 7-11 was on?? Of course, now I understand; he was stressed and was grieving.

And here's my prize story from the day: I've told this a few times, and I think I may have given a couple of different versions, but here goes. At the dinner that evening, there was a Q&A time for parents. Someone asked if Lubbock has a curbside recycling programme. I think that someone may have been my father, and if it was not my father, he certainly looked around to find the questioner, probably while muttering, "That's a good question."

Yeah. No one else thought it was a good question, including the then-aim director, who seemed nonplussed when he answered that he didn't think so. (And by golly, he was correct; Lubbock could stand some improvement in that area.)

My roommate stayed up that night to unpack. I went to bed late (for me)-- like around 10:30 or 11. But the excitement of the day, my roommate unpacking, and the people below us hanging up something in their ceiling kept me awake far longer. I think that was the beginning of me having a reputation for getting more sleep than anyone else, but hey, I am here to say it can be done.

So I hope the new class enjoys their adventure. They will never be the same.

Many thanks to my classmate Alex for letting me use her picture!

What should I call it?

I called my feelings during our move "culture shock" because I don't know any other words for them. Four weeks later, and I am in some doubt as to whether or not it is truly culture shock, or just the normal unpleasantness of moving.

But then I have moments when I know I'm in a different place, with different people, and there is no part of me that knows what the heck I'm supposed to be doing. Which all fit into the realm of culture shock (although my good friend Wikipedia, having gotten over its huffiness at me, tells me that culture shock is one form of the broader "transition shock", which may be a better term for how I'm feeling).

The most persistent symptom, apart from not knowing where anything hides in the grocery store, is my tea-drinking habit. When everything in my life is well and good, I have 2-3 cups of decaf tea per day; two in the morning, and possibly a third in the evening. Or I might leave out my second morning cup and just have one in the morning and one in the evening.

These past couple of weeks I've been going through cups of tea at a remarkable speed, having at least one in the morning, another one or two in the afternoon, and two or three in the evening. And I'm craving tea all day when I'm in class. One day last week, I finally gave it up and went to the coffee shop attached to the campus library. When the guy behind the counter asked what size I wanted, I told him, "The biggest one you have."

Now, if it's a choice between comfort eating and comfort drinking, I choose comfort drinking. Much less dangerous. But I didn't realise what a gauge of my mental state that tea could be.

And I'd like to get back to normal as soon as possible.

I could be having THIS conversation...

So, all that to say... I'm going to orientation even though it isn't required. Yipee!

And, unlike my 18-year-old peers, I'm not bringing the whole family with me.

I can picture it now; we'd be walking along, I'd be trying to navigate the construction sites on campus to tell them what they were looking at, they'd have questions of all sorts... It would be fabulous.

Kinda.

I: And there's the clock tower. It chimes every 15 minutes.

Kids: Can we go up in it?

I: No, it's closed for repairs right now.

Chad: Do you want to find your classes?

I: Yeah. Denise was figuring out where they are.

Denise: We need to go this way (points & starts walking in the correct direction).

Dad: I want to go up in the tower.

Kids: Can I see the map now?

I: (Handing over a map) You can't; it's closed right now because they are fixing the A/C.

Mum: Do you need to go take care of your financial aid?

Chad: No, let me see the map! (Takes it from the kids.)

I: No, Chad & I already did that.

Dad: Like hell it is! I'm paying for you to go to school here! I'm going to go see it.

I: No, you aren't.

Dad: What?

Chad: We're paying for her to go to school here.

Dad: Oh, yeah.

Mum: Well, do your dad & I need to go talk to them?

I: To whom?

Mum: The financial aid people.

I: No, it's taken care of.

Mum: Do you need to give them our information?

I: No, I'm too old to need that.

Billy: Where's the beer?

I: There isn't any on campus. Moving right along... over here is the--

Billy: What?

Jennie: Half the students are underage! They can't sell beer.

Mum: Are you sure? I brought our financial information along in case you would need it.

I: I'm over 24, and they only need parental information for people under 24. So it's okay.

Grandma: Susan, let your mom help you!

Dad: Isn't that the tower where that guy shot all those people in the '60s?

I: Yes, Dad, well remembered. Grandma, it's not me, it's the federal government.

Grandma: I don't want you to go to school here if people get shot all the time!

I: No, Grandma, it was just that one time. They have better security now.

Mum: So you don't need us to do anything.

I: You can buy lunch.

Dad: I'm going in to tell them I'm going up to see the tower. (Marches off.)

Mum: Should we wait around to see if he gets arrested?

I: Nope.

Jennie: Where's Denise?

(Denise is already at the building she started walking toward five minutes ago.)

I: There she is.

Should you think I am exaggerating, please remember that it took this family four hours to decide to have a Memorial Day picnic. Yeah, that's what it would be like.

Maybe the whole tour can finish up here & we can pose for a picture, after we have a good argument about who will hold the camera.

It only took four weeks!

The day finally came... one of my classmates asked me the all-important question: "So... how old are you?"

Dun dun DUN.

No, I can't avoid the question forever. (I don't try to avoid it at all, actually, but I don't wear a button that says "I'm older than you!" either.) Yes, I wear a wedding ring. And write things on my peer reviews like, "No calls after 9:30, please." I have visible fine lines and grey hairs. (Although a nice byproduct of our self-absorbed culture is that most people don't notice those.) So it's always only a matter of time before someone asks.

I chuckled a bit and said, "Thirty-two."

Silence. (I wasn't looking at their faces when I told them this, but this was a serious silence. So there's no telling what the expressions on their faces were like.)

Then, "Wow, really? I was thinking, maybe 27."

Awww, how sweet. I like these guys better already. (Although not as much as I would like them if they thought I was 21.)

But, at least I'm not a First-Year Student

Yesterday I mentioned those fresh-faced baby geniuses that I'm about to share my campus with.

(How do I know they are geniuses? Well, I don't, but since this fresh-faced baby (no, not me; the other one) is one of their contemporaries, they they had better be pretty dang smart.)

And as I've seen the new first-year students around campus these past couple of weeks, I've heard bits of their conversations. With each other, with their orientation leaders, and with their parents. Ah, conversations with the parents. I remember those days.

But being older now, I don't just hear the frustration in the student's voices. I don't just see in their body language that they are eager to lose these old people and get their life started. I do see the flashes of terror that occasionally cross their faces at the thought of this major life change. I see them being overawed at the size of this campus.

Mostly though, at this point in my life, I see the parents. I haven't been on that side of the college experience (and won't be for a very long time), but I've seen my own parents do it three times. I've seen aim parents do it. I've especially seen dear friends these past few years have to step back as their firstborn flies from the nest and into a huge world. I ache for them, even as I want them to get out of my way because I'd like to get into the library. This is an even bigger change for them than it is for their kiddos.

Signs have changed: In more ways than one.

(I don't think that anyone who failed to notice the signs changing will be suddenly convinced by the appearance of a new sign.)

Orient Me, Please

I signed up for fall orientation the other day. It will happen in that blessedly-free week between summer school and fall semester. (I say "blessedly free", but reality is that I'll be bored out of my mind & start reading ahead in my textbooks.)

I am under no obligation to attend orientation; I've already begun classes and am enrolled for fall. I'm going because I want to learn the local lingo, meet more people in my college (and, I hope, in my department), and get the tour of the campus.

Ah, yes, the campus tour. I've seen many a first-year student (and frequently, their parents. And sometimes the entire extended family. And I think a few of them brought their whole small town with them) taking the tour during the past couple of weeks. And I've realised that these fresh-faced baby geniuses will come to campus in three weeks' time knowing more about it than I, even though I will have five weeks of school behind me already.

So, I intend to learn about these places I so innocently took pictures of a couple of years ago:

Actually, I don't need any help with this one. I have location and use of these babies all under control. I just wish the university would assign me one for my personal use to keep those sneaky freshmen away from it.

I do know where this is; the Rhetoric & Writing department is practically in its shadow. I'll probably zone out for this part of the tour.

No, Chad is not still up there. I don't know where on campus these sculptures are, but I'm pretty sure their location has very little bearing on my life. However, I may get to see them on the tour; who knows?

I really hope this turns out to be somewhere people go to relax. But I bet it's just an engineering student thing.

I have seen this sometime in the last three weeks! I just don't remember where.

I know this building is on campus. Beyond that-- where? Why? Will I ever seen the inside of it?-- I don't know. And that's why I need a tour.

Old People On Campus: 10 Reasons I love being Non-Traditional

Clearly, someone has been taking pictures of me on campus.

Anyway! Expect me to add to this list once the fall semester starts. But for now, here ya go:

1. Traditional students hate us.

That's right, non-trads are the scary people who ask lots of questions, take class really seriously, and get good grades, thus annoying those traditionals who are a bit less intense about their education. Which means some of them will go to great lengths to avoid me altogether.

2. Except the ones who love us.

The traditional students who are also serious about their education like it when non-trads take the brunt of the traditional students' ire; it makes their lives easier. Also, your serious traditional student knows who he/she wants to buddy up with when it's group project time.

3. And either way, their remarks just bounce off.

Call me all the names you want, annoyed traditional student; I'll have already forgotten you by the time I get to the library to do my research. Or you might be lucky enough to get your own nickname, like Annoying Guy; then I'll just use you as blog fodder.

4. I get tired at 9 PM.

I must do my homework early in the day, because I can't possibly pull an all-nighter. And then I can show up in class the next day feeling refreshed because I went to bed at an old person's bedtime.

5. There is no boy/girl drama for me.

I'm pretty sure this is true for most unmarried non-trads, too, but I can only speak from my married experience. Who's dating whom? Does he like her? Will there be a cute boy in my English class? All questions that I don't have to answer.

6. Or any sororities, either.

I'm sure they have their place for people who are out on their own for the first time and like the idea of having a group of friends all ready & waiting for them to join. But I'm not and I don't, and besides, all the stuff they do costs money. No, thanks.

7. The instructors tend to like us.

This would be a by-product of that "serious student" thing in #1. Don't worry, serious traditionals; the instructors will like you, too. It's the "serious" in this case, not the age, that brings the end result.

8. If I get pregnant while at university, it's a blessing and not a curse.

Yep, I just warn my instructors in one semester about morning sickness and make arrangements for giving birth in the next semester. That's not to say it won't be hard, but rather that I have a plan already in place that doesn't include the words, "Hey, Mum & Dad, I'm moving back in. How do you feel about babysitting?"

9. I can't live in on-campus housing.

Halelujah!

10. But I can make my own food, and need not spend piles of money feeding myself.

No long lines at on-campus or nearby restaurants for me; I brought a sandwich! And some chips! And a water bottle! And a piece of fruit for afters! So I can get some studying done during lunch, and possibly have my evening free.

Yep, I expect this list to grow as time goes on.

Start Shuffling

I'm trying to remember why I thought of this song the other day. I don't know if someone mentioned it, or if I heard it somewhere... either way, it began a train of thought that is now pulling into the station; that is to say, I'm writing it down for you.

When I was in kindergarten, my mum's younger brother used to come pick me up for school. (And I only realise now what a sacrifice that was-- he was around 22ish when I was five, and the early-20s crowd are not renowned for their early-rising skills.) This song had just been released, and my uncle had it on 8-track or cassette or whatever he had in his car. Or perhaps it was just on the radio a lot. Whatever the source, I know Every. Single. Word. to this song, from repeated exposure at an early age.

My uncle has been gone for many years now, so this song brings both nostalgia as well as a longing for what we have lost. And for that reason, this song makes me happy.

I must admit, though, that on the rare occasions I've been able to separate the song from the man who loved me enough to get up early on dark, freezing Indiana mornings to drive me to school, I can't imagine why anyone would want to listen to this song every day. (Perhaps he was listening to it to stay awake.) I watched this video before deciding to add it to my blog, and joked to Chad, "My uncle was on drugs." (He was not. I would never ever ever really think that he could have been. But he did have strange taste in music.)

Even that offhand comment turned sad quickly, though, because Chad asked, "Which uncle?" and I told him, "The only one who was. All the rest of them are still 'is'."

And none of them are exposing me to their taste in music.

Speedwork in Disguise

"Hills are speedwork in disguise."

This nice little saying is one that runners know well. Running on hills can magically make you faster when running on level surfaces, because the extra work your muscles have to do to lift you against gravity makes the muscles stronger, and the payoff comes when you realise that without intending to, you are suddenly running faster on the level bits.

I had no idea that same principle applied to cycling, too.

I've done more cycling than running in the past couple of weeks, and let me tell you, going up and down the Austin hills has given my leg muscles a run (ha!) for their money; I haven't cycled on hills since before I got a driver licence. And something magical happened: I've suddenly starting going faster on the level bits. And going uphill isn't as hard as it was at first. Who knew?

Now all I need is for this little truism to kick in again for my running, and I'll be all kinds of happy.

A New Meaning to Rhetorical Questions

My first assignment as a rhetoric major is finished, and my next one is already assigned. Cool.

The instructor, as I understand it, chooses a broad topic every semester to be the basis of the papers; this semester it's the oil spill. (What else?) My assignment for the first paper was to choose an aspect of the oil spill and write two editorials, one from each side of the issue. It was a lot of fun.

My next assignment is to rhetorically analyze an article about the oil spill. Since it's not me doing the creation part, I imagine this will be a bit less fun than the first one, but I'm still looking forward to it.

Assignment #3 is a group project. I doubt that will be fun at all.

I hope that my writing everywhere, including my blogging, will improve through this process. I don't suppose that it would get worse, of course; if it did, that would be an awful waste of money. So it should be cool to watch the process, since I'm recording the whole thing for posterity. (My own posterity, that is; I'm not sure that anyone else is going to be that interested in 100 years' time.)

Expect to see more yammering about writing. If you are continuing to read, I can only presume that you enjoy this topic, too. ;)

Words: You're That Person to Someone

I close out July by dusting off this series that I got sidetracked from a few weeks ago.

These words of wisdom were bestowed upon me many years ago by my coordinator in Scotland. I don't remember the complaint that sparked the conversation, although there is no doubt that I complained about something. And he said, "Just remember, you're that person to someone."

I think about this truth a lot. Especially in the light of Annoying Guy, this week, and pretty much every other annoying person in my life the rest of the time. And with my personality, there tend to be a lot of annoying people in my life, so I feel pretty confident that there are an equal number of people who sigh and possibly vacate the premises when they see me coming. (Then there's that friendly coworker who said, "I'll miss you even though you're rude". I think she finds me annoying.)

Unfortunately, this is more in the nature of a last resort thought for me than a first instinct. In moments of irritation, I tend to forget that I'm that person to someone.

Where's My Car?

I've hesitated before blogging about our new transportation, but it's not like it is going to be a secret forever, so here goes:

(This is not what our car looked like. I just think it's fun.)

We're car-free again. We didn't plan on this; when we first looked into apartments in Austin, we thought we would have a car here. But when we considered the money we would have to spend to get the car fixed and keep it running, we opted instead to pass the car along to someone who needed it more than we.

So Chad's coworker took the car off our hands, with the plan that once repaired, it will be her daughter's first car. (I don't know what she's done with the running and Scotland stickers we left on the car.) When I think back to my first car, which by all rights should have had its own zip code, I think the young lady in question is quite lucky indeed.

So our car drove off a couple of days before we left Lubbock. And so far, we've seen Austin by bus. And foot. And, a little bit, bicycle.

Thus far, the massive upswing in our fitness and downswing in our weight that we were hoping for has not happened, but we've only been here for three weeks.

Sit Down While Going up Mountains

There's a sign at the front of every bus I've ever been in that reads something like, "No Standing Forward of Yellow Line While Bus Is In Motion."

Sometimes it's a white line.

The Austin buses have yellow lines, though, and the sign reminds me of a happy little story that I shall share with you now. It could be titled: "Little Susan Rides the Bus."

I didn't ride the bus in kindergarten, and the story of my coming & going from school as a five-year-old is certainly worth telling, but not in today's blog. So there I was, the first day of first grade, new school implements safely packed into a new backpack, waiting for the Big. Scary. Bus. And scary it was; when it pulled up, I seriously hesitated before I could pep talk myself into getting on board.

The bus driver (who has known me since I was born, by the way; she lives pretty close to my parents), smiled and was very encouraging, and assigned me to a seat next to a very, very kind sixth-grader who reassured me that first grade was going to be wonderful. (She was wrong, actually, but no point in ruining a good story.)

It was about a 20-minute ride to school, in the course of which I tried to take everything in. And "everything" included that mysterious sign up front. I could already read going into the first grade; I had the basics of phonics and had learned to "sound it out". My reading was at the Little House on the Prairie level (seriously-- I read it the summer before I started first grade), which, I have since learned, has no hard words. Except maybe "massacre".

So, very slowly and carefully, I read every word on the sign, until I got to the strange word "motion". Obviously, sounding it out was not going to work. (And while I'm sure I will tell my children the same thing, "sound it out" is dumb advice for English speakers.) But I was too timid to ask even the nice sixth-grader next to me, and it was getting louder on the bus as more kids got on, and I was not about to draw attention to myself. So I took a couple of stabs at it, and decided that it said "mountain."

I have a vivid imagination, and even more so did the six-year-old me think vividly, so I immediately had a mental picture of the bus going up the side of one of those mountains we saw every summer in Kentucky. I could imagine that it would be a very bad idea indeed to stand in front of the yellow line, or even to stand up at all, while the bus went up such a steep slope; you'd fall backwards!

And I got all the way through first grade satisfied with that explanation. And it's still the first thing I think of when I see the sign.

Meet My Classmate

There's an annoying guy in my astronomy class; in a burst of originality and wit, I've decided to hereafter refer to him as "Annoying Guy".

I don't technically mind people who are annoying that much (at college, that is-- at work it's another story); they are in my life for a few weeks and then gone, never to be seen again; thanks be to the almighty Dean of Students. But Annoying Guy is pervasive. I see him walking around campus. I hear him yammering on his blasted phone with the all-the-more-annoying-for-being-attached-to-his-head earpiece. I put on my iPod so I don't have to hear his word choices while he is sitting six tables away (yeah, I should call him Loud Annoying Guy), only to retreat to a more defensible position when I realise my choice is between listening to him or deafening myself.

Annoying Guy has gotten under my skin. And I want him out.

Truthfully, what annoys me the most-- even more than his obnoxious, under-the-breath comments in class, or his eye rolls that are huge so that we can all see his disgust when the lecturer is cracking a lame joke, or his loud phone conversations that he really should take somewhere more private-- what annoys me the most is this: He is a good student.

I wish he were a horrible student, so I could at least rest in the knowledge that he is bringing his own ignorance upon himself. But no, he has to go and understand it all just as well as I do.

Sometimes, it would be nice if people would fail a course for my sake.

I get to WRITE!!

Sometimes, I get one of those uber-reassuring moments that I really have make the correct decision about something.

I chose Rhetoric & Writing as my major because it has the word "Writing" in it. Okay, that's not the real reason, but it's a close enough approximation. Anyone who has been reading this blog must have spotted my love of words. And punctuation. And grammar. And the fun of mixing all those things up into an intelligible piece of writing. It is one of my longest-lasting hobbies (seriously-- only reading beats it. And only by about five years). Even though my blogging isn't as regular as I'd like it to be, I am still so happy that I was introduced to this medium.

Okay, tangent over. I am taking my first class in my major-- Principles of Rhetoric-- this summer. (Is that supposed to be italicised? Well, it is now.) Our first paper was assigned last Thursday. I've spent from last Thursday until yesterday being completely terrified of this assignment, even while churning ideas over in my head.

Yesterday, I went to discuss it with my instructor and we hashed out some ideas, she approved my topic, and even said I had a "cool" way of approaching it. Happiness abounds. And then it got better-- she told me, "You seem to have a good handle on this already. (Really? Sure didn't feel like it!) So, what is your next step?"

My well-drilled, well-trained, late-'90s high school writing education stepped up, flexed its muscles, and bellowed "RESEARCH!!" in my ear. Out loud I said, "Well, I should probably do some research, but what I will actually do is start writing."

And this is where my meeting took a dramatic upturn; my instructor smiled widely and said, "I was prepared to be disappointed if you said 'research', because that's what everyone else has said. You should absolutely start writing first."

Me: "Really? That's great, because I would much rather write than research." In my head, however, the "yay, we're doing this right" party was already starting.

"Well," she said, "how do you know what to research if you don't start writing and see what direction you want to go?"

And that's what I've always thought. I am so, so happy that academia has finally come around to this idea (according to this instructor, they've only made this shift to "write first, then research" in the past 10-ish years). And even happier that I put off university until it happened.

Aaah! I've gone picture-free!

Yep, I have all these posts with no pics again. And after resolving to do better about the decorations around here, too.

Some days, I read other blogs and realise what a lousy writer I really am. (No need to comment to make me feel better about this; it's not like I'm going to stop writing.) (Also no need to comment to agree.) And I read one such blog this morning, and have added it to my blogroll, and I now share it with you:

Emdashes. If you are at all of the literary or pop-culture persuasion, go read it. And if you are wondering what an emdash is, I went and asked our nice friends at Wikipedia, and they said, "If your readers all went to school, they should know what an em dash is. And it has a space, you moron!"

So I said, "Thanks for clearing that up, Wikipedia, but you are being a bit unfair. After all, most of my friends and I went to public school. Besides, we are getting old and can't be expected to remember everything that we once knew."

And then Wikipedia grudgingly gave me this definition: "A dash is a punctuation mark. It is similar in appearance to a hyphen, but a dash is longer and it is used differently. The most common versions of the dash are the en dash (–) and the em dash (—)."

After which I said, "Thank you, Wikipedia; was that so hard?"

Then Wikipedia went off in a huff and isn't speaking to me until I ask it a really hard question.

An Epic Trip to a Big Box

Yeah, that's how I feel about Wal-Mart right now. It's just a big box.

Normally, a trip to WM would not merit its own blog post, but I'm pretty well taking a break from"normally" for a while, until my life begins to feel normal again. Given the state of my brain, this may be a while.

Since we found our apartment online and only saw it after we arrived, we did not know in advance of our coming that our bedrooms have no ceiling lights. Or, indeed, any other lights. This made for an amusing couple of days as we tried to work in rooms with no light, but obviously we had to get some lamps.

Among our greatly-appreciated going-away gifts was a gift card to Wal-Mart. So, we decided to purchase a couple of floor lamps and some other odds and ends at WM. But first, we had to get there, and that was our adventure for our first Friday in Austin.

The Austin bus system has a fabulous trip planner, into which I put our address and where we want to go, and it gives us a few possible itineraries. Apparently, there are three WMs in Austin within easy reach of the public transport system, but none of them generated friendly itineraries; we finally chose the closest one, which still had us travelling for an hour with two transfers each direction. (BTW: This trip would be about 4 minutes if we were driving, Google Maps tells me.) But, we are relatively easygoing, and besides, it's not like we had much of an option. Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to Wal-Mart we go.

We are still learning the bus system, so some of the transfers being really long was partly our own fault because they could have been shorter if we had been more aware of the bus operating schedule. The longest wait was the last one, as fate would have it; in the end, it may have been faster for us to just walk home instead of standing around for 40 minutes for a 10-minute bus ride.

All told, we left the house at 3 PM and returned at 8 PM. And that is why this day shall henceforth be called: The Epic Trip to A Big Box.

All was not wasted time, of course; we got to talk to some of the drivers, and met a neighbour who lives up the street and has two really cute kids. But I hope future shopping trips will be shorter.

Getting a Green Card

Our local library is two stops before ours on the bus route, which my astute husband noticed on Wednesday as we returned from a productive day in the land of UT. So, we got off there and strolled in.

At the desk, we met a very loud (seriously! Bring it down a few decibels, dude; you're in a library!) man who gave us the form to fill out, as well as voter registration cards. Cool, we can check that one off the list. Then he asked for photo IDs and proof of address. Dang. We didn't have proof of address with us.

We went back on Thursday, on our way home from the grocery store, because we had just picked up our mail on the way out and therefore had proof of address. Unfortunately, when we pulled out our wallets, they were devoid of photo IDs, because I had gotten our driver licences out earlier in the day to change our address online. Dang, again.

The library was closed on Friday, and we contemplated going to the next closest branch (a few more stops up the way on the bus), but as we completed a 5-hour trek to Wal-Mart on Friday, we decided that we could wait one more day to try the library again.

On Saturday, before heading out to the library, we both double-checked my backpack for photo IDs, proof of address and our completed forms to give to the nice library staff. Who, upon our arrival, duly checked us in and issued cards. Yay! It only took three tries!

The library cards in Austin are a nice green colour, with a stylized picture of the city on the front. When I admired their prettiness aloud, the woman assisting us shared this story:

When the libraries changed their card colour a few years ago, they ran a few PSAs to announce the change to the general public, and were at once flooded with calls and visits from people looking for a Legal Resident card. So, the PSAs were changed from "the library now has green cards" to "the library cards are now green", thus prompting a flood of questions like, "Oh, are the cards made of recycled plastic?"

Apparently, they gave up on educating the public after that and allowed people to discover for themselves what colour the library cards are.

The Education Habit

We didn't have internet in the apartment when we first moved in (hence the blogging-free week last week), so in order to use such fantastic tools as the trip planner from our local bus system, I was having to drag myself & my laptop out onto our humid porch to use the community internet. Which I did, late Tuesday night, when I was so tired I could have fallen asleep while sitting on the porch. But I had a meeting with my advisor on Wednesday morning and I didn't want to be late, so we had to find out which buses were the correct ones to get from our apartment to my advisor's office.

Except I didn't have a meeting. After our first, blessedly uneventful, ride on the Capital Metro service, we got to the office to discover I wasn't on the calendar. After a couple minutes of the receptionist searching, and then telling me that I must go to orientation, I made the statement that turned out to be the tipping point: I'm here to go to summer school. This got the attention of my advisor in the next room, and she came around and asked me to come back in half an hour.

I was about ready to cry with frustration, the more so because I made this appointment well ahead of time to avoid this such event. So, I took a walk down the hall to get a drink, then went outside to phone my mum & tell her about our morning thus far. Then I went back inside to find Chad looking for me.

So, problem solved; my advisor gave me all the stuff I need to register for summer school and the fall semester. And it turns out that in a perfect world (one without full classes and university requirements about how many hours one must take from them), I could probably finish my degree in a year. Well done, South Plains College! Unfortunately, I don't live in a perfect world, and UT will not grant me a degree until I take 60 hours here. Good thing I have a second major, then.

So, after that little bit of aggravation, the rest of the day was smooth sailing; I convinced the admissions office that they have all my transcripts, explained to financial aid that I am only taking one summer session, and got a student ID. And on Friday, I registered for my two summer classes. My education habit has indeed resumed.

We have arrived!

Apparently there's a joke that "La Quinta" is Spanish for "Next to Denny's". I have heard that joke many, many times, but always thought it was strange; after all, I've spent the past five years working in a doctor's office that is next to La Quinta, and the nearest Denny's was a couple of miles away.

Not so this week; the La Quinta we stopped at in Abilene was, in fact, next to Denny's. So that's where we had dinner. And then we had a nice sleep, because we were up late Sunday and up early Monday, so we were plenty tired. Chad was considerably more tired than myself, of course, since he did the majority of the loading, unloading and reloading of our U-Hauls.

Tuesday morning we got up & had a nice breakfast before heading out for the second half of our journey to Austin. A friend in Lubbock had organised some help for us to unload with some friends of hers in Austin, and I'm pretty sure we forgot to mention that our new apartment was on the third floor. Oops.

We got here, had the usual rigmarole over lease signing, here's the pool, let us know if anything was broken, etc. And then the fun began, because while we don't have a lot of stuff, some of the stuff we do have is plenty heavy. In particular, the washing machine. After the men managed to get it all the way up, one of them said to me, "When you move, buy a new washing machine."

They could only stay for about an hour, but they were immensely helpful. Do I remember their names? Of course, I do not. We made a quick trip to our bank, then moved a few boxes into their correct rooms before the arrival of Paul & Teri, who helped get the last few things up the stairs & invited us to come with them to church on Wednesday.

So, it wasn't pretty, and it still isn't all put away, but we are Austin residents.

Day One: Oh, crap.

For those not keeping score at home, today was my first day of summer school, and my first day getting any kind of formal education since I graduated from South Plains College five years ago. There are posts that are coming about moving in and meeting my advisor and so on, but this post gets to skip the queue.

So, I got up late. Yeah, this is already bad. I think I either slept through the alarm or hit snooze in my sleep, but either way, I got up 20 minutes later than I intended. I momentarily contemplated skipping the shower (yeah, yeah, get all grossed out if you must), then remembered that I live in Austin now and there has certainly been sweating for me since my last shower.

Got in, got out, got dressed (I'm so thankful that I'm not that fussy about clothes), grabbed up all the stuff I would need. Ate about three bites of breakfast. Skipped my morning tea (and I already know a day is going to be wonky that starts with no tea). Couldn't find my shoes.

I finally got out the door and was headed out to the street, only to hear the sound of the bus going by. Crap! I went out and waited for the next one since I didn't have much choice, but the nerves, they were jangling.

The next bus had a slightly different route, so I wasn't sure about my planned transfer. Instead of trying to catch a campus shuttle, I decided to stay on the bus until it got downtown, then walk the rest of the way. Fortunately, I am a speed walker; unfortunately, I don't know my way around downtown, the campus, any of the buildings-- basically, I aimed for the Bell Tower, since I knew my destination was near there, and hoped for the best. "The best" does not work out so well when I'm behind a tall building and can't see my target, though.

I found the building, went up to the first floor, realised my mistake, turned around and went back down to the basement. Yep, my class is in the basement. Yay. I zoomed into the classroom with about 30 seconds to spare (seriously-- the lecturer was right behind me), covered in sweat and already exhausted. Fortunately, the Stepford Student in me took over and immediately began writing down everything the lecturer said.

Unfortunately, the perfectionist in me panicked a bit more the further we went along-- I have to do what? Read how much? The tests are what percent of my grade? Methinks that I waited too long between my associate and my bachelor's degrees. Ugh.

Anyway, it all capped off beautifully when she gave a massive reading assignment due tomorrow. From the textbook I don't yet have, because I ordered it online and didn't want to pay extra for overnight shipping. I tried to be resourceful and go to the library.

Oh yay, another adventure. Before I could do that, I had to find a library. I went to an information booth Chad & I stopped by one day last week in the Tower, got a map, then read nearly the entire list of buildings before I found the words "Main Library". (It has another name, so I really did have to read the whole list to find it.) Then I had to work out where I was (I should seriously get a hand-held GPS), and after that the library was easy enough to find.

Not so the entrance to the library; I walked the entire way around the daft building to find a way in. And once I was in, I had no earthly idea where to go to find a textbook. Result: A clearly-marked information desk!

Librarian: Hello!

I: Hi! I'm new here.

L: (chuckles) Okay, welcome! How can I help you?

I: I need to do a reading assignment from a textbook I don't yet have and I was hoping the library would have it so I can read it here.

L: Okay, great! What's the book called?

I: (dig out syllabus, read the textbook & author's name)

L: (tries to look it up-- she really did try, I was watching) I'm sorry, we don't seem to have it.

I: (fighting the panic attack that wants to take over): Okay, then, I guess I'll go talk to the instructor. Thanks.

After a short walk to clear my head and talk myself out of withdrawing from uni altogether, I went to my instructor's office, explained the situation, and she found a book that I could borrow. Result! And now I'm taking a blogging break from said massive reading assignment.

My second class, Astronomy, was much better; it's a lower-level class and is designed for non-science majors. All I need to do is pay attention and all should be well for me in that class. Although, the university bookstore has totally ripped me off in my book for Astronomy, so I guess I've learned to never buy from them again.

And now, back to work as I prepare for day 2. Buckle up; it's going to be a fun ride.

More Error than Comedy

If you take in nothing else from today's post, please remember this: I got all the way through church on our last Sunday before I started crying. Ta-daa!

Lots of good-byes, lots of well wishes, and then we were off to pick up a U-Haul. And then we went for lunch at another friend's house (people were so kind in their feeding of us these past couple of weeks), and finally back home to finish up packing.

I'm sure that for everyone who moves, the whole thing turns into a comedy of errors. And if everyone else is like us, it gets progressively less comedic as one goes along. Ugh. Chad started loading up the U-Haul, only to stop at 2 AM when I convinced him that we needed some sleep. Then, at about 8 AM Monday morning, we decided that our U-Haul was too small, so we called & arranged a larger truck, which meant Chad, ably assisted by Mike, had to unload everything that was already loaded, then drive across town, then back again.

Meanwhile, I was frantically wrapping our dishes in newspaper and finding them spots in boxes. Fortunately, we had many willing volunteers to help with this process; otherwise, we may never have finished.

So, the new truck arrived and Chad, Mike and the gentlemen from the previously-mentioned SpyPros were most efficient in loading up all our worldly possessions in a couple of hours. (The ladies were in attendance as well, but once we got all the kitchen boxed up we mostly watched the men work.) Ruth and I went to United to get some ice, and while there we picked up some very yummy and still-warm United cookies; we miss those already!

We decided sometime on Saturday afternoon to get a hotel in Abilene for Monday night, so we would only have half the drive to Austin to undertake on Tuesday. This was unanimously voted as a good choice by those loading the truck, although it came as a bit of a surprise to our friend Tricia, who in "real life" also manages the fabulous apartments we moved out of, and was not expecting to do a final walk-through of our apartment on Monday afternoon.

We got the final odds & ends on the truck, and rolled out of Lubbock at about 2:30 Monday afternoon. It's been fun.

They are finished building now, actually.

A few years passed between us meeting the former Bible bowl teachers and the time we made their Bible class our Bible class.

(As a side note, it's amazing what timing will do for you; if we had waited another year or two to come to South Plains, or to be interested in Bible bowl, we would have met an almost-completely different group of people, who may or may not have befriended us so quickly & easily because of their own life circumstances. Kind of wild, when you think about it.)

I don't remember what prompted us to walk into Family Builders one Sunday morning. I do know we had been teaching children's classes for about six months and had pretty much lost touch with our previous Bible class, so we decided to make a change. It was also toward the end of a teaching cycle with the adult Bible classes, so I know we didn't intend to stick around in Family Builders more than a week or two.

I was surprised to discover that there were people in Family Builders that we didn't know; we thought we had met all of that particular gang. I was not surprised that those unknown people were just as kind and welcoming as the ones we already knew.

I was surprised at the insistence of some that we should just stick around when we mentioned that this was a brief stopover on our way somewhere else.

So, stick around we did. And we've learned to love them all even more than we already had done (and I think I finally learned everyone's names (this class has about 80 people) the week before we moved). But it's the measure of love that has been returned to us that is especially humbling...

The week before we left, one of the class chairmen (and one of the first people we met at the long-ago Bible bowl meeting) said some nice things about us. Really, really nice things. Such nice things that I was in tears when he was done. And then he messed it all up by telling everyone that they should give me a hug before we left-- apparently, he never got the "no-hug zone" memo.

All was well, though-- last week, I was giving out hugs for free.

How we met the Family

Today, class, we shall discuss the Family Builders. (Yes, a couple of them are named Bob. Please do have a small chuckle.)

A long, long time ago, back in 2002, a couple of newly-married twentysomethings turned up at South Plains. They joined the college group, since one of them was still in college, but the other one of them wanted to be involved in childrens ministry, since that was what she had done since the dawn of time.

And then behold, there came to my searching eyes a notice in the bulletin: Bible bowl interest meeting today at 5 PM in the Bible bowl room. Contact yadda yadda yadda, etc.

So, I went that day at 4:45 PM to South Plains, where I wandered around a bit until I found an adult class and went in to ask the one person I knew where the Bible bowl room was. She handed me off to someone else, and we had this amusing conversation:

I: Where is the Bible bowl room?

He: (didn't understand the question): Are you looking for a Bible class?

I: No, there's a meeting in the Bible bowl room I want to go to.

He: (determined to finish his line of questioning): The class you go to depends on how old you are. Are you in middle school or high school?

I: (shocked silence while I try to remember the last time I was mistaken for a middle schooler)

He: (still waiting for an answer)

I: (pull myself together) I'm an adult, actually, and there's a meeting for people interested in helping with Bible bowl in the Bible bowl room. But I don't know where that is.

He: Oh! I'm so sorry. Here-- (stops a woman who was destined to become one of my best friends) Rebecca knows where it is.

Rebecca: What are you looking for?

I: (sighing to myself) I want to go to the Bible bowl meeting, but I don't know where the Bible bowl room is.

R: Okay, just come with me. I'm going there, after I get (etc.; I stopped listening because I was so happy to be on the right track at last)...

So, I followed Rebecca to the Bible bowl room, met all the then-teachers of Bible bowl, and was on my way to becoming friends with some of my favourite people on the planet. It wasn't until much, much later that I discovered that they all had been friends since college (or since I was in primary school, as I enjoy reminding them) and are still all in the same Sunday morning Bible class.

But here's how great that meeting was: Chad & I stuck around for six years of Bible bowl, thus opening the door for other people who didn't have kids in the program to likewise be teachers. (I don't say that to brag; it had just never been done before we turned up and we are tenacious.) And the even more amazing part is that of all the people we had over for dinner in these past few weeks before leaving Lubbock, four families were people that we met that very evening at a fun-filled Bible bowl meeting.

They aren't really professional spies. I think.

The afore-mentioned post about the SpyPros is upon us.

As my title suggests, they are not spies, at least not as their day jobs. They are also variously known as the twentysomethings and the Young Professionals, the latter being the preferred title these days since several of them are turning 30 this year. And not before time, either.

This is the gang we first met at South Plains, being as most of them were in the college group at the time. And so were we, by virtue of Chad being in college.

And so, to say good-bye to our longest (I started to type "oldest", but they aren't) friends at South Plains, we had a Saturday night bash complete with a white elephant gift exchange. Yep, those aren't just for Christmas; they work just fine for late-June parties involving a sincere desire to get rid of some stuff.

This party just happened to be on the same day that the US were eliminated from the World Cup, so there was a fair amount of

sorrow, weeping and gnashing of teeth at the beginning, followed by a lively discussion about who was now supporting whom with our collective top pick being out. (Since I support A.B.E., my team has since won.) (And I was going to link A.B.E. to something, but I can't say that I'm happy with the message of the pages I came across. Suffice it to say that A.B.E. = Anybody but England.)

So after much eating, talking and gift exchanging, I issued our one and only gift-exchange rule: whatever you got had to go at least as far as the dumpster.

We will miss them a lot, but I do take heart from one thing: Of all the people we must say good-bye to, these are the ones most likely to come visit.

Racing in the rain

Ya know how I said I was going to space out my sappy posts? Yeah, I renounce that stance now. I have a lot of sap and not much else to talk about. So, this blog would best be avoided by those who are prone to cavities, gagging, emotional outbursts, and strong dislike of sappy writing.

By my count, that should leave me with 2.4 readers. Here goes.

Our first race with the West Texas Running Club (and my first running race since middle school) was in September 2007. We had just joined the club that summer, and had signed up for the two mile. I didn't know anything about pre-race procedure, race courses, how I would know where the turnaround was, or whether I would be the last to finish. On top of that was the nagging problem of what we would do with our car keys while we ran. I arrived as one huge bundle of nerves.

Now, the nerves seem so silly; the bib number pick-up at WTRC races is well-marked and well-run; we've all done it bunches of times and anyone can assist nervous newbies. The turnaround is marked by a giant orange cone in the road, carefully watched by two volunteers, and one runs around behind it to turn back to the start (I missed this key detail on my first race, giving the race volunteers quite a laugh). I've only once been the last to finish, and I didn't die of embarrassment. And it turns out that running shorts have small pockets, into which keys fit neatly.

So, after learning all this at my very first race, and practising this hard-won knowledge once a month for the past three years, today's race was very much smooth sailing as usual. With emphasis on the "sailing"...

It's been raining for a couple of days. Part of the park where the race is held is flooded, so the 3-mile course had to be rerouted, and about a mile beyond the 3-mile turnaround (or 2.5 miles from the start), there was a dip in the road that had 2ish feet of water in it. We don't cancel races for rain, but we do alter courses for flooding, which meant the 10 mile race which I had signed up for was cancelled. Everyone ran 3 miles today.

There is some fun in the whole group running the same distance, since it so rarely happens. And there is lots of fun in running in the rain. There is considerably less fun in standing around afterwards, getting pelted by rain and chilled by wind. But we do that anyway, because if we were already crazy enough to come out in this weather, then we were crazy enough to find out if we got a medal for our trouble. I did; Chad did not.

We will miss these monthly races. We will miss the friends we've made over the past three years. We will miss the chance of earning a medal at every single race, even though we are confirmed back-of-the-packers.

For the first time in three years, I have no race to train for. But that won't stop me from getting up tomorrow and running anyway.

Almost done

So, I'm having an entertaining last couple of weeks at work. People say strange things at the best of times, but leaving them forever doesn't help.

Coworker: I'm going to miss you, even though you're rude.

I (thinking, You should know about being rude after that!): Okay.

--

Various coworkers: Are you getting excited?

I: No, I've been excited for about six months.

--

Various coworkers: So, do you have everything packed?

I: No, we still have to live in our house.

VCs: Oh, yeah.

--

Coworker: Are you getting excited?

I (sighing): Yes.

C: Are you going to miss everybody?

I: Mehhhh...

C: You're supposed to say yes!

I: I don't do a lot of things I'm supposed to do. (thinking, Why ask if you already knew the answer you wanted to hear?)

--

Coworker: What are we going to do without you?

I: You'll live.

C: We might not!

I: Then you'll have a funeral.

--

Coworker: I'm going to cry on your last day.

I: Oh, that's really sweet! I'm not going to cry.

Another coworker: Why not?

I: confused stare

AC: You aren't going to cry on your last day?

I: No. (still confused)

AC: Aren't you going to miss us?

I: Yeah, but you aren't dying.

--

So, the end of the story is, my coworkers will probably be better off without their daily dose of snark. But I bet it's lot more boring.

It's okay to stop watching. Now.

So, the World Cup is going on, in case you missed it.

Which means once again, we must endure the yammering from sportswriters who are of the American football-and-basketball persuasion. I grow weary of hearing the same complaints every four years about how boring soccer is to Americans and what a waste of ESPN broadcasting it is.

And then the other side gets annoyed and comes back with smug comments about the stupidity of people who don't understand what football is all about.

So, as is my custom, I think truth probably resides in the middle. So, if you enjoy the World Cup, great. I'll be at your house on Saturday to watch. If you don't, fine. Change the channel.

The reason the whole argument annoys me is this: It once again shows that human beings, and especially, it seems, the ones who live here, feel threatened by an opposing viewpoint. So, we have to come out swinging instead of acknowledging that other people feel differently about something.

There are so many sports available to choose. In this country, you can probably find people who enjoy the same thing that you do in most places. I know for sure in Lubbock that we have people who play cricket, lacrosse, field hockey, plus the whole spectrum of "normal" sports. In a place with this much diversity in lifestyle, interests and hobbies, and an argument like "Your sport is boring!" "No it isn't!" has no place. It's not like you don't have another option.

So, I shall enjoy the World Cup. And Wimbledon, and the Tour de France, plus any other soccer, tennis or cycling I can find on TV. And sooner or later, American football will return to the sports channels, and I'll do what I always do.

I'll change the channel.

Still sad, but not too disappointed...

Wow, my blog got a mention and a link on the Bible class email. Guess I better say something profound, like... um... Family Builders rock!!

Well, they do, as it happens, but I'm trying to put some normal stuff between my sappy posts. So, I'll put that one off for a few days. Besides, the SpyPros do get top billing, so Family Builders will have to wait. No one actually said that this blog was interesting.

Yeah. So, the US is out of the World Cup. Which is a real bummer, because two of our three games in the group stage were fantastic and I was hoping for more of the same in the knockout stage. Sigh.

But, my hopes were only to get out of the group stage, so I guess next time I'll set my sights higher.

Watching the final game of the group stage was fun; I had it on the computer next to mine (with permission!) and was watching while working. As the game progressed and I knew we needed to win in order to advance, I was getting more and more tense. So when we finally scored, in minute 92, for goodness' sake, I jumped up & down like I'd done it myself, although I did remember that I was in a doctor's office and that screaming of any sort was a bad plan. My coworkers assured me that my face went all red (nothing new for me) and that I had one very large grin on my face.

The US v Ghana game was less pleasing, of course. Toward the end, when we once again needed a goal to stay alive, one chance after another brought "Oh"s of disappointment and one high-pitched shriek (me) from the crowd gathered at Market Street.

Chad was not sympathetic to the loss, but fortunately we do have soccer- and World Cup-loving friends who shared my mourning.

And then England lost today, which helps ease the pain considerably, since I am a member of Team Anybody But England.

So, I'm going to be like everyone else and default to Brasil as the team I want to win (since Mexico has likewise passed into the night). And change the paint on my face to St. Andrew's cross, in support of Andy Murray at Wimbledon.

Why yes, I did race in June, thanks for asking!

Alert (and OCD) readers will note that I have not yet posted about a June race. And there is a good reason for that: Not my finest hour.

Not my finest hour+, actually; it is my favourite race distance and I sure did set a new PR-- for my slowest time ever. I knew I was moving slowly; didn't know how slowly until I saw the clock at the end. Yikes!

Anyway... the June race is held in the aptly-named Levelland, and it begins & ends on the campus of my former college. (Go, ... um ... forgotten mascot!) I've been really lax about my running as of late, so much so that on Friday before the race, I kept forgetting the race distance. ("What am I running tomorrow? A five mile, maybe... no, could it be a 10 mile? No, wait! 10K, that's it, 10K!")

So it was hot, because we reach the 100+ days early in this part of the country, and the 8 AM start does not do much for making it cooler. And the wind was blowing; unfortunately, the direction meant we were against the wind on the way back instead of the way out. Ugh, not good.

I dumped a couple of cups of water on my head, as is my usual practise, but I forgot to put a baggie over my iPod that morning. So, here is the procedure: Get cup, slow to a walk, switch hands, unclip iPod so that I'm holding it in my upwind hand, sip water, sip again, spit it out because I took too big of a sip, hold iPod waaaay out from my body, pour water over my head. Drop cup. Run a few steps while blinking sunscreen-logged water from my eyes. Decide it is safe to clip iPod back on, try it, change my mind. Run a few steps more, managing to transfer as much water from my previously-dry hand to the iPod as possible. Finally stop dripping and reclip iPod.

Yep. I did that twice.

So, I finished, no medal, had a laugh with a few friends, and assured some questioners that yes, we will be at the July race. And then drove home to watch USA v England.

Don't expect me to blog about that.

Another "last" is in the books.

Let me tell you about it.

I mentioned before that there is never any telling which kids at church will like us & which will not. I guess this is true for any adults who get to be around kids a lot-- it's always a surprise which ones respond best to which adults. And of course, it's fun for us regardless-- but much easier when the kids like us enough to pay attention when we tell them things.

So, it was out of the question for us to have a gathering with all the South Plains kids, but there are a few Journeylanders who make it a point to stop & say hello to us when they see us, and two little sisters in particular seem to appreciate our presence. So, we invited them over for an evening.

We made and decorated (and ate! It's a good thing we're leaving-- their parents would never let them come over again!) two dozen cookies. We painted our nails. I put hair wraps on both of them (and these girls have some loooooong hair, so it took a while). We watched some Disney channel. Chad wound them up by stealing the remote control. :)

And at the end of the evening, they paid us the ultimate compliment by being reluctant to go.

We're going to miss these kiddos. (Cookie pics to come, once I get them off my camera.)

"I can't believe you guys are leaving."

If I had a dollar for every time I'd heard that in the past couple of months, we wouldn't have to worry about jobs any time soon. Although a friend on Sunday put it as well as I've heard anyone do: "It isn't really real to me that you are leaving."

It isn't real to me, either. I've planned this, hoped for it and dreamed about it for years, but the knowledge that it shall come to pass in less than two weeks is giving me some trouble. Even packing up our stuff and sending more things to Goodwill hasn't done it for me. Cleaning out my desk at work today didn't really inscribe "reality" on my brain as expected. I'm beginning to think that I'll have to have all the boxes unpacked and be sitting at my desk with a stack of books in our new apartment before the reality that an era has indeed ended for us will set in.

Although, I did come a touch closer to it just a few minutes ago: I looked up driving directions from here to there online just for my own entertainment. The map directs us around the loop and down Highway 84 toward Post; I've done that trip dozens of times as an aim student, with Bible bowl, and most recently on our marathon trips to Austin. But while looking at the map just now and wondering about the best places to stop, I suddenly realised: We aren't coming back up that road.

Oh, we might come for a visit or two; perhaps a wedding or an aim event will bring us this way again. But we'll be visitors, not residents returning home. Never again will I see the lights of Lubbock ahead of me and think delightedly of my own bed awaiting me there.

Highway 84 won't be the road home for me any longer; it will be the first stage of the journey back.

These little bits of reality make the next 11 days seem very short indeed. I can't believe it, either.

Saving the Planet

Apparently, trips to Indiana aren't that interesting. Fine, fine.

I had jury duty the Monday we were back, so I dutifully loaded myself into the Citibus for the trek downtown. Where I found out I wasn't needed. Cool. But I had already missed the next bus back to the office, so I had to content myself with hanging around the terminus for an hour. Ugh. I'm so glad I remembered my iPod.

And then, the fun part: I finally got to ride on one of the new hybrid buses! I was so excited when it pulled up; it looked so modern, so earth-friendly, so... exactly like every other Citibus. Except that it's actually a teensy bit smaller inside. But, I was still quite chuffed over finally getting to board that thing.

And then back to work, where there was a stack of questions waiting for me. And where reality seems to have set into my coworkers about my imminent departure. Oh, how I hate coming back after vacation.

Is leaving town the only way to get any attention around here?

After the aforementioned slumber party, we've moved into the realm of having adults in our house.

(Okay, adults and their children. We haven't barred the door to teens, or anything.)

Chad says I'm trying to spend time with every person I know in Lubbock before we go, which is kind of silly; South Plains alone has something like 1000 members; we can't possibly have all of them in our house!

So, we had a few people over last week. And a few more this week. And one final round next week. Just to be sure everyone knows that we appreciate them before we go, because after all, there is no guarantee of when or where (or if!) we will see them again, something I learned all too well when I left Glasgow. And, as it happens, people are more willing to make time for you when the time you have to spend together is short. (Geez, I make it sound like we're dying.)

Plus, having people over means I can make all my favourite foods that are generally too much fuss to make for two people. Result!