Confession

Last Thursday, I wore another new shirt without washing it. But don't despair. Even though I don't heed my own advice, I do have the capacity to learn. I sniffed the armpits before I put it on.

Last night I saw a TV news clip about how people should always wash new garments because some of them have been treated with the chemical formaldehyde. Formaldehyde is connected with increased risk of cancer. Shoot.

In non-grubbiness-related news, I spotted some Canada geese hanging out on the river today. Even though they terrify me, Canada geese are a hopeful indicator of spring. Beside the geese there was a flock of smaller birds sleeping on the ice. At first I thought they were ducks and I was super pumped. However, upon closer inspection they turned out to be seagulls...which are not associated with spring but are just a sign of near-by dumpsters.

Open Letter 2

Dear Person Who Tried on My Shirt Before I Bought It,
Even without meeting you, I know we share some things in common. We both shop at Ricki's and we were both drawn to the fun bright-green work shirt. We both tried on the shirt but for some reason, you didn't buy it. Too big? Too green? Too awesome?

Unlike you, I decided to buy the shirt and take it home. Today is St. Patrick's Day. I wanted to get into the spirit of the day by wearing my new green shirt. Unfortunately, I hadn't taken the time to wash it. I know I should have washed it. I know I am gross.

As I was putting on the shirt, I thought about the creepy factory chemicals and dyes that would be riding around on my skin all day. What I didn't think about was the other thing that we now have in common - smelling of your body odour.

At work, when I lifted my elbow to pour my cup of coffee, I caught a whiff of B. O. I quickly looked around to spot the offender. Little did I know, the offender was not in the room. A few smelly wafts later, I figured out that the smell was coming from me. I was confused, as I distinctly remembered applying antiperspirant only an hour earlier.

After some covert underarm investigation, I realized that the offending odour was not emanating from my armpits but from my shirt. My awesome new green shirt. Ugh! All day I have walked around smelling of your B.O.. I spent my working hours holding my arms close to my body to prevent your essence from ascending into the nostrils of my coworkers.

Person Who Tried on My Shirt Before I Bought It, you made me keenly aware of the value of lesson I learned as a young child. I should always, ALWAYS wash my clothes before wearing them.

The Lady

I celebrated my birthday last week. I turned 28 and had a lovely day. Kyle and I went out for dinner at La Chaumiere, a french restaurant on 17th ave. I have trouble with high-class dining experiences. My trouble is that I am not very classy and consequently, quite awkward.

Awkward moment number one:
We enter the restaurant and are greeted by the Parisian maitre d'. Let's call him Jacques. Jacques consistently addresses me as "the lady".
Jacques reaches for my coat but I quickly wriggle out of it by my own power. Not missing a beat, Jacques extends his right hand to receive my coat and give me my coat check ticket. Not understanding what's going on, I reach for the coat hanger in Jacques' left hand. After an awkward tussle, I realize that a lady lets a gentleman hang her coat for her.

Awkward moment number two:
Jacques leads us into the dining room. He pulls out Kyle's chair for him. Seeing an opportunity to avoid having my chair managed for me, I quickly pull mine out and poise myself to sit down. Jacques panics (in a very calm, classy way). He abandons Kyle mid-sit and quickly turns to my chair, pushing it into my legs as I flop down. Our timing is poor and my chair is about 12 inches away from the table. Without standing up, I shuffle my chair toward my plate. A lady does not stand up to move her own chair.

Awkward moment number three:
Before we see our menus, Jacques asks if we would like an "aperitif".
I request a glass of wine. Does that even count as an aperitif? He asks me what kind of wine I would like. Flustered, I ask, "Do you have a house red?". I know they probably don't, but I can't remember the names of any wines. I'm buying time. Jacques asks, "What type of grapes do you like?". I'm tempted to say, "red ones" but hold myself back. A lady does not engage in smart-assery. I flash him a plebian smile and ask him to choose for me.

Awkward moment number four:
The meal consists of a beautiful blue cheese/strawberry salad and beef tenderloin. We finish with a gorgeous creme brulee. As we exit the restaurant, I find my coat ticket and hand it to Jacques. This round, I know what's coming. The lady is prepared. I have always hated having a man hold my coat open for me but Jacques and his fine manners have won me over. Jacques holds out my coat. I twist my head behind me so that I can find my coat sleeves without groping Jacques. After a few misses, I successfully guide my arms through the arm holes and exit the building, biding Jacques a good night.

Some final Christmas cheer

Merry Christmas

I am in an Advent state of mind. I'm in a season of waiting, a season of longing, a season of wondering when Jesus will show up. One of my most loved Christmas songs has always been "O Come O Come Emmanuel" and I have been resonating with it these past weeks.

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

I feel alone as I mourn my old faith - a faith that was more certain, more well-defined, more at home in the church. I feel captive to my uncertainty as I wait on my new faith to take shape and grow roots. I have been waiting for Jesus and looking for him, fearing that he might never appear in the ways he used to.

At the entrance to my work, there is an agency sign sheltered by a tall peaked wooden structure. To decorate for Christmas, a large star was placed on top of the shelter, making it reminiscent of a manger. Over the past month, I have been mindful of this symbol every morning when I drive into work - pointing me to where Jesus can be found. The God of the broken-hearted is with the struggling kids I work with. When I join with them, I find Jesus.

In places and situations that cause me to wonder where God is, I am privileged to be able to make him apparent as I bring my own compassion, humour and help. I've found that God feels nearer when I am thankful. I have many things to be thankful for.

My hope for myself and for you is that this will be a season in which we can hold the tension between longing and expectant rejoicing. A season in which we can hope for something greater, take delight in the good in our lives, and bring blessing to the lives of others.

re⋅joice

1.	to be glad; take delight (often fol. by in): to rejoice in another's happiness.

2.	to make joyful; gladden: a song to rejoice the heart.

Fifiths and Fourths

I've been tagged by Avey to put up the fifth photo in my fifth folder. Here it is:















This photo was taken on my 26th birthday. Kyle and I were attending the wedding reception of one of my co-workers. It was the most expensive event I have ever attended. The wedding was held on four different levels of an art gallery. We started at the top level with drinks and hors d'oeuvres, third for dinner, and second for cappuccino and chocolate fountain. It was one of those events where I'm unsure as to which fork I should use at what time. Thankfully, the people we sat with were funny and laid back Newfies. When served a lime sorbet to cleanse our palates between courses, Newfie Man complained that his ice cream was just a "limey ice ball".

Just for fun, here is the fourth photo in our fourth folder. It's pretty out of focus:














This was taken two Christmases ago in Florida. There was a lizard hiding behind the washing machine in our condo. Kent's girlfriend and I chased it out, trapped it in an ice bucket and put it outside. This photo was taken as we were trying to build a sort of gateway to force him into the bucket. I loved him.

If they'll play along, I'm tagging my sisters Amisha and Heather.

For those hard to reach places

After a long hiatus in blogging I often feel like I need something spectacular to share. I don't have any crazy adventures to write of but I did recently receive a very quirky gift.

When I was in England, my friend told me about pope-soap-on-a-rope. From the moment I learned of the product, I wished for one. A couple of weeks ago, Karen and Greg left their dog Lhotse (or as Kyle calls her, Bleeder) with us again for a weekend. When they returned from Seattle, they brought me this hand-shaped soap-on-a-rope.























Awesome.