- Fast moving clouds, carried by winds
- the sound of wind moving the leaves
- wearing one of my favorite scarves
- home-made hamburgers for dinner
- a new app for cataloging my library - soon to be the subject of a post, I'm sure, simply because it's brilliant and I love it.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Daily 5 - Year 2, Day 344
Today's Daily 5:
You Ask, I Answer, Take 13
By popular demand, today's edition of "You Ask, I Answer" will address the "ping-pong ball" story that I referenced in Thursday's edition.
As I mentioned on Thursday, because I am nearsighted in one eye and farsighted in the other, and because my left eye is lazy, my brain primarily processes signals from only my right eye. This leads to a significant lack of depth perception, and to a great number of embarrassing stories and moments. The story that continues to hold the place of honor in family lore involves a public school, seventh grade, junior high school physical education class, a ping-pong table, and some visiting missionaries.
Besides my impaired vision, you should also know that I have extremely pale skin, which has been diagnosed as being hypersensitive. What that means is that anything leaves a mark. In seventh grade, the hypersensitivity was at it's peak, and if I simply scratched my skin, even lightly, it would raise a bright red welt for all the world to see.
Someone, somewhere along the way, at the junior high school I attended, decided that since they had ping-pong tables, ping-pong would be the perfect activity to pair with the wrestling unit for their physical education classes. On a given day, half of the class would be wrestling, while the other half would play ping-pong.
One spring day, the phys ed period fell near the end of my school day, and I was assigned to play ping-pong. I'd never played before, but thankfully the friend I was assigned to rally with had a bit more experience than I did. It seemed to be going well. I wasn't missing too many (for me anyway!), which seemed a small miracle in light of the challenges that my limited depth perception provides for hand/eye coordination. And then it happened. She returned the ball, hard, and I missed. It connected solidly with the left side of my neck, stinging painfully, and immediately raising a bright red, perfectly round welt.
The school day ended, and I walked home, bursting into the house, nursing my wound, and expecting that my parents would be home and ready to offer sympathy. Instead, what I encountered was my parents, sitting at the dining room table, chatting with long-time friends of theirs, a missionary couple visiting from Ukraine. Missionaries who tended to be conservative, but also loved to tease.
I displayed my wounded neck, expecting the usual mixture of laughter over my unique misfortunes, and sympathy over the large and still painful welt. Instead, before my mom could express sympathy, one of the missionaries piped up, "It looks like a hickey! Lisa's got a hickey!" The table exploded into laughter.
I was a naive seventh grader, only recently exposed to the vagaries of public school after years of being taught at home, and was embarrassed to have to ask what a hickey was. Once it was explained, my mortification was complete, since kissing was not something that had ever crossed my radar, and since I took myself a bit too seriously in that pre-teen manner, and was sure that these people's teasing would be taken seriously by someone.
The welt lasted for several days, brusising slightly. I wore higher collared shirts, hoodies and did whatever I could to conceal my injury for the next several days, certain that if a missionary could think it looked like hickey, then the junior high students who loved to bully and torment me could also make that inference. I was nothing short of horrified at the particular turn this had taken and couldn't imagine that there would ever be a day I'd find this spectacular occurence of my clumsyness to be humorous.
A decade and a half or so later, I chuckle good-naturedly every time one of my brothers brings it up. It comes up shockingly often, given that in the last sixteen years, I haven't gotten any less clumsy, or any less likely to be hit in the head or face by flying objects of any shape and form. I still blame my depth perception, and my brothers will take every opportunity to share some of the more spectacular incidents of my injuries, including the ping-pong ball! I feel sympathy for the sheltered and mortified pre-teen that I was, but mostly I'm just amused by the incident, and even by my own embarrassment! I've even been known to tell the story myself, when the moment calls for some levity, or for proof that my lack of decent depth perception really can have some hilariously disastrous results!
As I mentioned on Thursday, because I am nearsighted in one eye and farsighted in the other, and because my left eye is lazy, my brain primarily processes signals from only my right eye. This leads to a significant lack of depth perception, and to a great number of embarrassing stories and moments. The story that continues to hold the place of honor in family lore involves a public school, seventh grade, junior high school physical education class, a ping-pong table, and some visiting missionaries.
Besides my impaired vision, you should also know that I have extremely pale skin, which has been diagnosed as being hypersensitive. What that means is that anything leaves a mark. In seventh grade, the hypersensitivity was at it's peak, and if I simply scratched my skin, even lightly, it would raise a bright red welt for all the world to see.
Someone, somewhere along the way, at the junior high school I attended, decided that since they had ping-pong tables, ping-pong would be the perfect activity to pair with the wrestling unit for their physical education classes. On a given day, half of the class would be wrestling, while the other half would play ping-pong.
One spring day, the phys ed period fell near the end of my school day, and I was assigned to play ping-pong. I'd never played before, but thankfully the friend I was assigned to rally with had a bit more experience than I did. It seemed to be going well. I wasn't missing too many (for me anyway!), which seemed a small miracle in light of the challenges that my limited depth perception provides for hand/eye coordination. And then it happened. She returned the ball, hard, and I missed. It connected solidly with the left side of my neck, stinging painfully, and immediately raising a bright red, perfectly round welt.
The school day ended, and I walked home, bursting into the house, nursing my wound, and expecting that my parents would be home and ready to offer sympathy. Instead, what I encountered was my parents, sitting at the dining room table, chatting with long-time friends of theirs, a missionary couple visiting from Ukraine. Missionaries who tended to be conservative, but also loved to tease.
I displayed my wounded neck, expecting the usual mixture of laughter over my unique misfortunes, and sympathy over the large and still painful welt. Instead, before my mom could express sympathy, one of the missionaries piped up, "It looks like a hickey! Lisa's got a hickey!" The table exploded into laughter.
I was a naive seventh grader, only recently exposed to the vagaries of public school after years of being taught at home, and was embarrassed to have to ask what a hickey was. Once it was explained, my mortification was complete, since kissing was not something that had ever crossed my radar, and since I took myself a bit too seriously in that pre-teen manner, and was sure that these people's teasing would be taken seriously by someone.
The welt lasted for several days, brusising slightly. I wore higher collared shirts, hoodies and did whatever I could to conceal my injury for the next several days, certain that if a missionary could think it looked like hickey, then the junior high students who loved to bully and torment me could also make that inference. I was nothing short of horrified at the particular turn this had taken and couldn't imagine that there would ever be a day I'd find this spectacular occurence of my clumsyness to be humorous.
A decade and a half or so later, I chuckle good-naturedly every time one of my brothers brings it up. It comes up shockingly often, given that in the last sixteen years, I haven't gotten any less clumsy, or any less likely to be hit in the head or face by flying objects of any shape and form. I still blame my depth perception, and my brothers will take every opportunity to share some of the more spectacular incidents of my injuries, including the ping-pong ball! I feel sympathy for the sheltered and mortified pre-teen that I was, but mostly I'm just amused by the incident, and even by my own embarrassment! I've even been known to tell the story myself, when the moment calls for some levity, or for proof that my lack of decent depth perception really can have some hilariously disastrous results!
Monday, July 25, 2011
Daily 5 - Year 2, Day 343
Today's Daily 5:
- Monday, Monday
- Getting to be the smiling face all day
- a compliment on the new sweater I was wearing
- iced tea infusions
- pink and brown
- subway for dinner
- bachelorette night
- rearranging furniture to make it more homey and functional
- starting a new book
- listening to a fascinating audio book
Monday, Monday
I arrived at work this morning with "Monday, Monday" by the Mamas and the Papas firmly entrenched in my brain. As far as I know, I didn't hear it playing anywhere this morning, it was just that someone made some sort of "monday, monday!" reference in conversation, and that was all it took. This is the hazard of being raised by a father who loved 1970's folk music. I know quite a bit more music from my father's era than my own!
My plans for a quiet bus ride to work, listening to one of Anne Lamott's novels in audiobook form (as an aside, I'm loving this one, "Imperfect Birds"), were interrupted as soon as I boarded and spotted a gentleman who I knew was a new employee at the firm I'm temping for last week and this week. As it turns out, today was his first day, and he'd never taken that particular bus route before. If I'm honest, the last thing I really wanted to do on a Monday morning transit commute was spend it making small talk with a stranger, but I'm learning to be sensitive to situations and to God's promptings, and more so, to be willing to sacrifice my own insistence on "ME" for the sake of others. So, we chatted for a while. He's new to Calgary, so I told him a few little things about the city. We talked about transit, and previous jobs a. It wasn't so bad after all.
And, even as I think about that, I'm thinking about the fact that sitting at a reception desk on a Monday morning, I might be the first, or only smiling and welcoming face that someone sees today. I don't always see it this way, but today that feels like a gift. Like a chance to exist in my own skin, and love Jesus, and let his love for and joy in others exist in my smile, and in my conversations with people, and in the way I say hello to each person who crosses through my lobby. And I can see each smile and greeting offered to me as a gift.
Like I said, I don't always feel that way. I didn't feel that way even a couple of hours ago, when I woke too early from a very disturbing dream. The introvert in me would rather not be the one to deal with people all day, the one who has to paste on a smile and be welcoming when what I really want is to just hide away. But somehow, my day has shifted, and I'm choosing joy and peace. I'm processing the dream, but choosing to not let it ruin my day.
It's nice to be in that space, to be able to choose that. A gift really!
And hey, it's Monday! Monday means I'll pick up take-out on my way home and head home to catch The Bachelorette live from the east coast online, enjoying a couple of hours of entertainment. It means an evening of quietly enjoying myself, and doing things I love. It's a little bit of sabbath for me. And, as for that audio book, there's always the bus trip home. I'll probably read the book book that I brought with me on my breaks today, sitting in the sun. So, it's Monday, Monday, and that's okay with me.
My plans for a quiet bus ride to work, listening to one of Anne Lamott's novels in audiobook form (as an aside, I'm loving this one, "Imperfect Birds"), were interrupted as soon as I boarded and spotted a gentleman who I knew was a new employee at the firm I'm temping for last week and this week. As it turns out, today was his first day, and he'd never taken that particular bus route before. If I'm honest, the last thing I really wanted to do on a Monday morning transit commute was spend it making small talk with a stranger, but I'm learning to be sensitive to situations and to God's promptings, and more so, to be willing to sacrifice my own insistence on "ME" for the sake of others. So, we chatted for a while. He's new to Calgary, so I told him a few little things about the city. We talked about transit, and previous jobs a. It wasn't so bad after all.
And, even as I think about that, I'm thinking about the fact that sitting at a reception desk on a Monday morning, I might be the first, or only smiling and welcoming face that someone sees today. I don't always see it this way, but today that feels like a gift. Like a chance to exist in my own skin, and love Jesus, and let his love for and joy in others exist in my smile, and in my conversations with people, and in the way I say hello to each person who crosses through my lobby. And I can see each smile and greeting offered to me as a gift.
Like I said, I don't always feel that way. I didn't feel that way even a couple of hours ago, when I woke too early from a very disturbing dream. The introvert in me would rather not be the one to deal with people all day, the one who has to paste on a smile and be welcoming when what I really want is to just hide away. But somehow, my day has shifted, and I'm choosing joy and peace. I'm processing the dream, but choosing to not let it ruin my day.
It's nice to be in that space, to be able to choose that. A gift really!
And hey, it's Monday! Monday means I'll pick up take-out on my way home and head home to catch The Bachelorette live from the east coast online, enjoying a couple of hours of entertainment. It means an evening of quietly enjoying myself, and doing things I love. It's a little bit of sabbath for me. And, as for that audio book, there's always the bus trip home. I'll probably read the book book that I brought with me on my breaks today, sitting in the sun. So, it's Monday, Monday, and that's okay with me.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Daily 5 - Year 2, Day 342
Today's Daily 5:
- Sleeping late
- curly hair after sleeping in braids
- a quiet afternoon
- banana with peanut butter
- catching up on television online
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
