What does one do when one isn't very good at face-to-face interaction with others? You end up feeling like the real "you" isn't visable, and if one wants to learn how to become more real with others, it is ANNOYING.
I was talking to W.C. the other day and upon agreeing that we were both kettles, we proceeded to call each other black (check out the comments on his post titled At Long Last).
Words, of course, did nothing to remedy the sad state of matters. So I must admit when he just yesterday produced a good dose of steel wool for his kettle (*sigh*), my pride and I were consequentially left scrambling about under the sink looking for our own bit of steel wool. After bumping our heads a couple times on the ceiling of the cupboard, all we came out with was a pathetic excuse for steel wool. A blooming wad of rejected plastic shreds.* Grrr.
Ah me. I suppose I wouldn't want to take away from someone else's chance to shine, so I shall make do with what I have.
There's got to be a few great, moral, and life-changing lessons in this. So...
It's healthy to admit you have a problem. It's even better when you do something beyond talking about it. Even if the remedy comes in the terribly painful form of steel wool, believe me, it's worth it. And... You never know who else you might inspire to follow your lead. All you have to do now is pray that that unfortunate who followed your lead finds a remedy that works just as well as yours did, and not something that seems as good, but the results produced are only half as good. (plastic vs steel)
Ok people. If you recall my recent post titled "Why?", I'd like to add an update.
I got excited about something!
The mattress on my bed is very... firm. It is usable, but I'm not thrilled about waking up a little sore in the morning. :-P So, this past Wednesday, Katie and I were out on the town (out to town? in town? at town?) and we stopped at Mart of the Wal type. As I dashed about the store, I remembered the attitude of my mattress (bad). So I bought myself a cushy mattress pad!
As we drove home, I sat in the car thinking about how comfortable my bed was going to be. I turned to Katie and said: "I'm so excited about using this!"
So there you have it, the breaking news today is that Rachel got excited.
I have a tale I must tell. It came to pass while I was in Israel. (sorry, I just had to do that)
The day was hot, the sun was strong, and people wilted under its gaze. There was no shade to be had, except for this, where you see the shadow ending across my forearms: One reason for choosing such self-inflicted torture was Dr. Pfann (pronounced faun like the baby deer), the esteemed professor of the University of the Holy Land, a post-graduate school. He was leading a class of students out on a field trip, and I, and my friend Sarah, chose to tag along. The story opens on this scene:
(This one is worth clicking for a larger view.)
Qumran, an area within sight of the Dead Sea, is overwhelmed by heat and rocks and high, high cliffs. And, here and there, a few noted caves. If you recall the Dead Sea scrolls, this is where they were discovered. These caves and a few nearby ruins were our destination.
Before I continue, however, I must note that in the midst of this seemingly barren desert, there are sometimes bits of life, clinging to life. This was about the size of my fingertip: As the students made their way up that previously pictured cliff, Sarah and I sat at the base, waiting for their return. Yes, ... I mean, no, we were not being lazy. We both had very good reasons for not climbing. I digress.
One thing that catches your attention soon after entering this wilderness are the bones. Many bones. Large bones. Mostly camel bones. And a few other unidentified types mixed in to add variety. All animal bones, of course.
So, when a student, while high up that cliff, spotted a few small bones, no one was surprised. At first. But then, these were slightly different than the rest of the other bones. Four small bones together, about the length of, say, your palm. Aye, palm-sized. Yes, it WAS a palm! Human. No fingers, just the palm bones held together with, um... are the squeamish people still reading?... with the dried tissue and ligaments.
Understandably enough, the responses among the students were mixed. But, much to their relief, or to some, their dismay, there was no sign of the rest of the body. Just a palm, all by itself, high on a barren, baked cliff.
Conveniently, one of the students was also a forensic scientist. He told us that it was most likely a year or so old. Interesting, I didn't know it took so long for the tissues to, er... go the way of all things. Discussion ensued as to its origin. A murder? Maybe a grave exhumed by marauding jackels, and the hand carried off for later... as a snack? Others wondered about a tradition among the Bedouin tribes of a hand being cut off as punishment for theivery.
Someone pulled out a zip-lock baggie, and the palm was put away for the time being. You can't exactly leave it behind...
Later, once we had returned home, it was pulled out and I got a close-up look. Fascinating. Quite. But weeeird at the same time.
Before you being to think we were treating it carelessly, because it was part of somebody once, we kept it carefully tucked away until someone delivered it to the police the following day. I never heard what, if anything, happened about it after that.