I reached up to pull the cord above the window, and then rose to my feet as the bus swung around the corner. Lurching like a drunk, I made it to the front of the bus and leaned against the pole while the driver pulled up to the curb. As the doors hissed open, he said, “You have a nice day.” I stepped down, replying, “Thanks, you too,” and then I was out on the sidewalk and the bus was pulling away again.
I ride the same bus every morning to work and every evening home again. The morning bus driver is a lady who greets us with a smile. The evening bus driver is a man who often has a passenger sitting up in the front corner chatting with him as he goes about his route, and usually says “Have a nice day” as people step off the bus.
As I walked the block to my apartment, I thought about the bus driver’s courtesy. I had seen him earlier in the day, as I was walking downtown on an errand at lunch. He had been waiting at one of the bus stops, and hopped into the bus as I walked past. I wondered how many times he had driven his route before I got on the bus at 4:30, or how many more times he would drive that route after I got off the bus.
I realized how often we take people like the bus drivers for granted. When I’m in my truck, the bus is a nuisance – it stops and blocks traffic and goes slow. Yet since I’ve moved into the city and started taking the bus to work, I’ve appreciated not having to deal with traffic or bad roads. I can hop on the bus and open my book or just stare out the window. All because the bus driver is there, faithfully driving his route.
Yet even if he is driving, he need not be polite. He could be an absolute grouch and not talk to anyone on his route. I was impressed at the bus driver’s courtesy to all of his passengers. Most of the drivers I have ridden with are more than helpful and kind. One bus driver even pulled up to a stop and then called to the back of the bus, “Who wanted to catch the #3 here?” The fellow was sleeping in the back corner of the bus, and so we woke him up and the bus driver told him where to catch the other bus that he wanted.
I thought of the many other people who do little things in our lives… the security guard at the office keeping the building safe, the cleaning lady emptying my office garbage every night, the landscaping lady at the university keeping the grounds beautiful, the snowplow drivers clearing the streets at 2 am after it snows. Here’s to all the people behind the scenes, doing their work cheerfully and well.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Tell Me a Story
I spent the weekend hanging out at Breakforth Canada. The conference started for me on Friday with a writers' workshop led by Steven James. He began his workshop by picking up a stack of handouts and tossing them into the air above our heads. We laughed and ducked and tried to catch a handout - sixteen stapled pages weigh quite a lot when hitting you on the head.
He told stories and we played games. He made us laugh. We kept up a good American-Canadian camraderie as he taught us about writing. We got to know the other writers there. At the end of the day, we walked out with a few pages of scribbled notes and brains brimming with ideas and the urge to write some stories.
The conference continued on Saturday as my fiance and I attended various marriage and young adult sessions. On Sunday we had two more sessions and then the last main assembly. Josh McDowell spoke in one session about a new book he's published. It's a novel written for Muslims, answering questions they're asking about Christianity. He's reaching them by telling a story rather than by preaching. The idea intrigued me - the power of a story to reach out to people who otherwise would not listen to what he had to say.
As Christians, we are called to be storytellers, to tell the greatest story of all... that of Jesus Christ and what He did on the cross. Yet so often we throw this story at our audience as Steven threw his handouts at us. The story hits them on the head and they are left ducking, dodging, trying to avoid it. No wonder they aren't interested in listening to us! Jesus Himself came telling stories, as Steven pointed out to us again and again. When He wanted to teach His audience something, He put it into a story - stories so packed with messages that pastors are still preaching on them two thousand years later, stories that every child who's been through Sunday School still remembers.
Throughout the weekend, conference presenters used stories to teach us. Steven told stories to illustrate the writing tips he was giving us. Another presenter told stories to demonstrate what he was telling us about marriage. McDowell told stories to convey his message about the importance of relationships. When I think back on the conference, the first thing I remember is the stories I heard. And because of that, I also remember what the stories were meant to teach.
He told stories and we played games. He made us laugh. We kept up a good American-Canadian camraderie as he taught us about writing. We got to know the other writers there. At the end of the day, we walked out with a few pages of scribbled notes and brains brimming with ideas and the urge to write some stories.
The conference continued on Saturday as my fiance and I attended various marriage and young adult sessions. On Sunday we had two more sessions and then the last main assembly. Josh McDowell spoke in one session about a new book he's published. It's a novel written for Muslims, answering questions they're asking about Christianity. He's reaching them by telling a story rather than by preaching. The idea intrigued me - the power of a story to reach out to people who otherwise would not listen to what he had to say.
As Christians, we are called to be storytellers, to tell the greatest story of all... that of Jesus Christ and what He did on the cross. Yet so often we throw this story at our audience as Steven threw his handouts at us. The story hits them on the head and they are left ducking, dodging, trying to avoid it. No wonder they aren't interested in listening to us! Jesus Himself came telling stories, as Steven pointed out to us again and again. When He wanted to teach His audience something, He put it into a story - stories so packed with messages that pastors are still preaching on them two thousand years later, stories that every child who's been through Sunday School still remembers.
Throughout the weekend, conference presenters used stories to teach us. Steven told stories to illustrate the writing tips he was giving us. Another presenter told stories to demonstrate what he was telling us about marriage. McDowell told stories to convey his message about the importance of relationships. When I think back on the conference, the first thing I remember is the stories I heard. And because of that, I also remember what the stories were meant to teach.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The Big Picture
I spend most days at work sitting in my cubicle, occasionally glancing out the window at the opposite office buildings or wandering down to the coffee room to refill my mug. Some days, I may only say “good morning” and “have a good day” to my coworker in the cubicle next to mine. Some weeks, I may not even see my supervisor. I sit there, hunched over my desk, reading and editing documents.
Yesterday was our branch staff meeting, so I escaped from my cubicle for the morning. One of the managers got up to discuss a project she is working on. My work over the last few months has been editing a document that is part of her project. Listening to her, I understood how I fit into the project and glimpsed how my work was important. Hearing from other managers and talking to other staff at that meeting also helped me to see the big picture.
It's easy to get caught up in my work in my little cubicle, and come and go and put in my hours, and see only the document that I am working on. It's good to get out of my cubicle, to hear what others are working on, to see how my work fits in with everyone else’s work. It makes my work seem more worthwhile.
I’ve been thinking that life can be like that too. It’s easy for me to get caught up in the little things like cleaning my apartment, baking cookies for RCIA, getting wedding details planned, working on the newsletter that I edit, etc. I end up rushing from one thing to another, working away at my to-do list that never gets shorter. Somewhere in there, I forget the big picture.
That’s when it’s good to show up at the “branch staff meetings” on a Sunday morning, to get together with other Christians and spend some time reflecting on God’s Word and what His plan is. That’s when I need to take my Bible off the shelf and read for a few minutes before dashing off to work in the mornings. That’s when I should make sure that I take the time to pray and talk to God before I fall asleep at night. Because I’m not just a little isolated part of God’s creation, sitting in my own little cubicle and existing by myself. I’m part of His bigger creation, part of what He is doing in history, part of eternity. It’s an awesome thought. A big picture.
Yesterday was our branch staff meeting, so I escaped from my cubicle for the morning. One of the managers got up to discuss a project she is working on. My work over the last few months has been editing a document that is part of her project. Listening to her, I understood how I fit into the project and glimpsed how my work was important. Hearing from other managers and talking to other staff at that meeting also helped me to see the big picture.
It's easy to get caught up in my work in my little cubicle, and come and go and put in my hours, and see only the document that I am working on. It's good to get out of my cubicle, to hear what others are working on, to see how my work fits in with everyone else’s work. It makes my work seem more worthwhile.
I’ve been thinking that life can be like that too. It’s easy for me to get caught up in the little things like cleaning my apartment, baking cookies for RCIA, getting wedding details planned, working on the newsletter that I edit, etc. I end up rushing from one thing to another, working away at my to-do list that never gets shorter. Somewhere in there, I forget the big picture.
That’s when it’s good to show up at the “branch staff meetings” on a Sunday morning, to get together with other Christians and spend some time reflecting on God’s Word and what His plan is. That’s when I need to take my Bible off the shelf and read for a few minutes before dashing off to work in the mornings. That’s when I should make sure that I take the time to pray and talk to God before I fall asleep at night. Because I’m not just a little isolated part of God’s creation, sitting in my own little cubicle and existing by myself. I’m part of His bigger creation, part of what He is doing in history, part of eternity. It’s an awesome thought. A big picture.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The Man From Snowy River
Recently, I watched The Man From Snowy River and its sequel, Return To Snowy River. Watching those movies was a leftover from my to-do list when I was in Australia last summer. That was where I first heard of the movies, as The Man From Snowy River was a major player in the Australian film industry. It’s based on a famous poem by Banjo Patterson, the Robert Service of Aussie poets.
I decided while I was in Australia to learn as much as I could about the country and the culture. Australia shares similar roots to Canada and the US (settled by European immigrants, part of the British empire, etc.) and has been heavily influenced by North America. Finding the core of the country was not as easy as traveling to a place like Thailand, completely different from Canada, where everything about the country shouts at you that you are in a different country. I could have traveled around Australia like a Bill Bryson, taking a cursory glimpse of everything and judging the Aussies for their “strange” ways and differences from North Americans. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to get to know the Australians.
So I stayed at a tiny hostel outside Sydney for a couple of weeks, working for the Australian hosts and learning from them. We swapped stories of our countries and tidbits of information. They recommended Australian authors like Henry Lawson and Tim Winton. We watched the wallabies playing on the lawn and the kookaburras fighting in the trees.
I went to Tamworth to spend a couple weeks learning how to be a jillaroo (Aussie cowgirl). We learned to ride horses in the high country of Australia, to muster the cattle, to crack a cattle whip, to shovel cottonseed. We listened to music by Australian singers like Slim Dusty and John Williamson. We heard stories of other cattle stations from the old Aussie jackeroos (cowboys).
I worked briefly on a cattle station in Alice Springs, where I saw how huge the cattle stations are, how flat the land is, and met some local Aboriginals. Then I worked for a month at a small historical museum there, and talked to the local Aboriginal tour guide—descended from John Ross, one of the early European explorers in Australia—who was full of stories about his growing up, the residential schools, the telegraph station.
Watching The Man From Snowy River brought back memories. I’ve seen a horse go down a hill like Jim Craig does in the movie and I’ve mustered cattle as he musters horses. I’ve heard the Aussie accents, the way they talk and call each other “mate.” I didn’t make it to the Snowy Mountains, but I saw other parts of Australia that were similar.
I did not see all of the country, nor can I claim that I really know the Australians. But in my time there, I tried to see as much as I could, not only the big things like Uluru and the Sydney Harbour Bridge, but also the smaller things, like the people and their heroes. You cannot get to know a country in three and a half months, but I tried.
I decided while I was in Australia to learn as much as I could about the country and the culture. Australia shares similar roots to Canada and the US (settled by European immigrants, part of the British empire, etc.) and has been heavily influenced by North America. Finding the core of the country was not as easy as traveling to a place like Thailand, completely different from Canada, where everything about the country shouts at you that you are in a different country. I could have traveled around Australia like a Bill Bryson, taking a cursory glimpse of everything and judging the Aussies for their “strange” ways and differences from North Americans. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to get to know the Australians.
So I stayed at a tiny hostel outside Sydney for a couple of weeks, working for the Australian hosts and learning from them. We swapped stories of our countries and tidbits of information. They recommended Australian authors like Henry Lawson and Tim Winton. We watched the wallabies playing on the lawn and the kookaburras fighting in the trees.
I went to Tamworth to spend a couple weeks learning how to be a jillaroo (Aussie cowgirl). We learned to ride horses in the high country of Australia, to muster the cattle, to crack a cattle whip, to shovel cottonseed. We listened to music by Australian singers like Slim Dusty and John Williamson. We heard stories of other cattle stations from the old Aussie jackeroos (cowboys).
I worked briefly on a cattle station in Alice Springs, where I saw how huge the cattle stations are, how flat the land is, and met some local Aboriginals. Then I worked for a month at a small historical museum there, and talked to the local Aboriginal tour guide—descended from John Ross, one of the early European explorers in Australia—who was full of stories about his growing up, the residential schools, the telegraph station.
Watching The Man From Snowy River brought back memories. I’ve seen a horse go down a hill like Jim Craig does in the movie and I’ve mustered cattle as he musters horses. I’ve heard the Aussie accents, the way they talk and call each other “mate.” I didn’t make it to the Snowy Mountains, but I saw other parts of Australia that were similar.
I did not see all of the country, nor can I claim that I really know the Australians. But in my time there, I tried to see as much as I could, not only the big things like Uluru and the Sydney Harbour Bridge, but also the smaller things, like the people and their heroes. You cannot get to know a country in three and a half months, but I tried.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Feeling Blue
I walked into the university cafeteria one day just before my class, looking about as bad as I felt. I found two friends sitting at a table by the far door. One of them took one look at me and jumped up, saying, “You need a hug.” She gave me a quick hug before we sat down together. The other friend gave me a questioning look. I was usually the one laughing and talking, and here I was as blue as could be. What was wrong, they wanted to know. I shrugged.
They tried talking and cheering me up, but it didn’t work. I went off to class a few minutes later, still depressed, but knowing that I had a friend thinking of me and praying for me.
I’m feeling that way today, but today I’m at work, and nobody here knows me well enough to look at me and say, “You need a hug.” So I’m talking to the only person I can: Jesus. It’s nice to know that I don’t have to struggle to find the words to explain to Him how I’m feeling, because He knows, probably better than I do. And He’s there for me right now, when I need Him, just as He always is.
They tried talking and cheering me up, but it didn’t work. I went off to class a few minutes later, still depressed, but knowing that I had a friend thinking of me and praying for me.
I’m feeling that way today, but today I’m at work, and nobody here knows me well enough to look at me and say, “You need a hug.” So I’m talking to the only person I can: Jesus. It’s nice to know that I don’t have to struggle to find the words to explain to Him how I’m feeling, because He knows, probably better than I do. And He’s there for me right now, when I need Him, just as He always is.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Praying to Mary
One of my friends has been emailing me lately with questions and confusion as she tries to decide whether to date a Catholic friend of hers. Her comments have brought back memories of when I was facing the same decision just over a year ago. We both grew up in Protestant churches; I was Lutheran, she is Calvinist. We attended the same Lutheran college, studied together for our classes, and debated theology occasionally with each other and with the friend whom I ended up dating and am now engaged to.
She’s getting a similar reaction from her parents that I got from my parents a year ago when I told them that I wanted to date my Catholic friend. Her dad has muttered comments about getting her to talk to their pastor. My mom told me not to date a Catholic, because she disagreed with their theology. We both decided to give the guys a chance anyways. We aren’t trying to be disrespectful to our parents, but I guess I didn’t see that many differences between Lutherans and Catholics. We’re all Christians, aren’t we? So I was willing to investigate his faith, to ask questions, and to consider dating – and marrying – him.
One of the questions that my friend asked me was about Catholics praying to Mary. I sent her back a quick reply, because just mentioning that will get my fiancé going for an hour. One little preposition has caused huge misconceptions among Protestants for years. It’s more accurate to say that Catholics pray with Mary. Just as I would ask my friends to pray for me when I’m going through tough times, I can ask Mary to pray for me. My friend found a great website explaining this, by a Catholic trying to bridge some of the gaps between Catholics and Protestants.
My friend says she won’t convert to Catholicism, and I’m okay with that. I’m just happy that right now, we can talk about our faith, including the differences. I’m glad to have someone to share my faith journey with – someone who now understands some of what I went through, even if she isn’t making the same choices that I did. And I’m glad that, even if she doesn’t become Catholic, she can understand some of what the Catholic Church teaches. Because in the end, we are all Christians, and we should at least be able to understand each other. Maybe we won’t agree with each other’s theology. Maybe we won’t all pray with Mary. But we can talk about our faith, accept our differences, and understand each other.
She’s getting a similar reaction from her parents that I got from my parents a year ago when I told them that I wanted to date my Catholic friend. Her dad has muttered comments about getting her to talk to their pastor. My mom told me not to date a Catholic, because she disagreed with their theology. We both decided to give the guys a chance anyways. We aren’t trying to be disrespectful to our parents, but I guess I didn’t see that many differences between Lutherans and Catholics. We’re all Christians, aren’t we? So I was willing to investigate his faith, to ask questions, and to consider dating – and marrying – him.
One of the questions that my friend asked me was about Catholics praying to Mary. I sent her back a quick reply, because just mentioning that will get my fiancé going for an hour. One little preposition has caused huge misconceptions among Protestants for years. It’s more accurate to say that Catholics pray with Mary. Just as I would ask my friends to pray for me when I’m going through tough times, I can ask Mary to pray for me. My friend found a great website explaining this, by a Catholic trying to bridge some of the gaps between Catholics and Protestants.
My friend says she won’t convert to Catholicism, and I’m okay with that. I’m just happy that right now, we can talk about our faith, including the differences. I’m glad to have someone to share my faith journey with – someone who now understands some of what I went through, even if she isn’t making the same choices that I did. And I’m glad that, even if she doesn’t become Catholic, she can understand some of what the Catholic Church teaches. Because in the end, we are all Christians, and we should at least be able to understand each other. Maybe we won’t agree with each other’s theology. Maybe we won’t all pray with Mary. But we can talk about our faith, accept our differences, and understand each other.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Green Thumb
28 Days is a movie about a girl who goes into rehab for her drinking problem. During the program, one of the participants asks when, after they get out of rehab, can they start dating. The instructor tells them, “Get a plant. If it is still alive in a year, get a pet. If that is still alive in a year, then you can start a relationship with someone.” My fiancé looked at me and went, “Uh oh.”
A few months after we started dating, he bought me a lovely little potted red rose. I put it in my bedroom window and dutifully watered it. It slowly faded away and dried up and died. The next plant he got me was a tiger lily, and as soon as the weather got warm enough, I planted it outside with my other lilies. It bloomed for the rest of the summer and then went dormant for the winter. I’m waiting to see if it comes up in the spring.
Just after I started my new job, he gave me a begonia. I carried it to work and put it on my desk, where it garnered compliments from all of my coworkers. It was covered in orange blossoms, but as the weeks passed, those blossoms slowly died and disappeared. I tried watering it every day, then watering it every second or third day. I tried watering it in the morning, or just watering it whenever. I moved it from beside the wall to beside the window to beside my computer. So far, it is still alive, with one lone, orange blossom on it, but it’s a sad little plant.
The other day I got back to my apartment after work, dumped my purse on the floor, went into my room to get something, and discovered that two pieces of shrubbery had appeared on my dresser. They look like miniature Christmas trees, about four inches high. I laughed and smiled, and turned them around, and then went into the living room. There was a potted flower sitting on my desk and another one over on the computer. My fiancé had been saying the place needed some plants. Apparently he’d gotten more than groceries when he’d gone to the store. He likes surprising me with little things like that.
I suppose the rehab instructor’s advice had something to do with the fact that if you can care for a plant or a pet, and figure out what they need, then you’ll probably be better at taking care of your date or partner. Like my fiancé knowing what I want without me having to tell him or ask for it. Hopefully I know him well enough to do that as well, even if I can barely keep the plants alive. Since our relationship has lasted longer than the plants, I’m pretty sure that my lack of a green thumb has nothing to do with my ability to date someone. Although if he keeps expressing his love with plants and shrubbery, maybe sooner or later I'll develop a green thumb. :)
A few months after we started dating, he bought me a lovely little potted red rose. I put it in my bedroom window and dutifully watered it. It slowly faded away and dried up and died. The next plant he got me was a tiger lily, and as soon as the weather got warm enough, I planted it outside with my other lilies. It bloomed for the rest of the summer and then went dormant for the winter. I’m waiting to see if it comes up in the spring.
Just after I started my new job, he gave me a begonia. I carried it to work and put it on my desk, where it garnered compliments from all of my coworkers. It was covered in orange blossoms, but as the weeks passed, those blossoms slowly died and disappeared. I tried watering it every day, then watering it every second or third day. I tried watering it in the morning, or just watering it whenever. I moved it from beside the wall to beside the window to beside my computer. So far, it is still alive, with one lone, orange blossom on it, but it’s a sad little plant.
The other day I got back to my apartment after work, dumped my purse on the floor, went into my room to get something, and discovered that two pieces of shrubbery had appeared on my dresser. They look like miniature Christmas trees, about four inches high. I laughed and smiled, and turned them around, and then went into the living room. There was a potted flower sitting on my desk and another one over on the computer. My fiancé had been saying the place needed some plants. Apparently he’d gotten more than groceries when he’d gone to the store. He likes surprising me with little things like that.
I suppose the rehab instructor’s advice had something to do with the fact that if you can care for a plant or a pet, and figure out what they need, then you’ll probably be better at taking care of your date or partner. Like my fiancé knowing what I want without me having to tell him or ask for it. Hopefully I know him well enough to do that as well, even if I can barely keep the plants alive. Since our relationship has lasted longer than the plants, I’m pretty sure that my lack of a green thumb has nothing to do with my ability to date someone. Although if he keeps expressing his love with plants and shrubbery, maybe sooner or later I'll develop a green thumb. :)
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Christmas Memories
Family. Friends. Food. Fun.
That was how I spent Christmas. Hanging out with family and friends, eating lots of food and having lots of fun. We visited with my fiancé’s family and with my family, played cards, talked, ate turkey, opened gifts, watched movies, ate turkey, talked, drove back and forth, went to Mass, opened gifts, talked…
My fiancé and I were able to catch up with some friends whom we haven’t seen since last Christmas or longer. I also met a few of his friends whom I hadn’t met before (he’s promised that they are the last few friends that I haven’t met yet, but I’m dubious about that). One friend is a wedding planner who got very excited about our upcoming wedding and offered his help. The other friend complimented my fiancé on finding a “pretty girl” – apparently he’d thought I might be ugly. That friend’s sister spent the evening telling me that my fiancé is a very good man, and I kept assuring her that I knew that (that’s why I’m marrying him!).
My family’s Christmas tradition is to have a Chinese gift exchange. We each buy one present (which hopefully will be much desired by several people in the group so that it gets fought over). Each person gets a card with a number on it. The first person picks a present and opens it. The second person can either steal that present or take a new present, and so on. Obviously, the best position to be in is the last number – this year, the jack. I managed to steal a nice DVD set of Ben-Hur, and my fiancé acquired a coffee machine that luckily nobody stole. Overall, much laughter and teasing ensued during the present opening.
We finished Christmas week off by spending a day in Lake Louise skiing and snowboarding with my fiancé’s brother and his girlfriend. His brother is a snowboard pro and so was able to give him some tips. The snow was awesome and we had a blast chasing each other down the hill. It was great to spend that time with them and get to know them better. After lunch, they took off for the black diamond slopes while my fiancé and I stayed on the blue hills. Less sore muscles this trip from less falls on the hill – must be getting better! :)
Finally, we were back home for a couple days of work before hitting the road again for a friend’s wedding. More visiting, food, traveling… and then once again home with a day to relax before the work routine resumes. The Christmas holidays are over and a new year has begun. Happy 2007!
That was how I spent Christmas. Hanging out with family and friends, eating lots of food and having lots of fun. We visited with my fiancé’s family and with my family, played cards, talked, ate turkey, opened gifts, watched movies, ate turkey, talked, drove back and forth, went to Mass, opened gifts, talked…
My fiancé and I were able to catch up with some friends whom we haven’t seen since last Christmas or longer. I also met a few of his friends whom I hadn’t met before (he’s promised that they are the last few friends that I haven’t met yet, but I’m dubious about that). One friend is a wedding planner who got very excited about our upcoming wedding and offered his help. The other friend complimented my fiancé on finding a “pretty girl” – apparently he’d thought I might be ugly. That friend’s sister spent the evening telling me that my fiancé is a very good man, and I kept assuring her that I knew that (that’s why I’m marrying him!).
My family’s Christmas tradition is to have a Chinese gift exchange. We each buy one present (which hopefully will be much desired by several people in the group so that it gets fought over). Each person gets a card with a number on it. The first person picks a present and opens it. The second person can either steal that present or take a new present, and so on. Obviously, the best position to be in is the last number – this year, the jack. I managed to steal a nice DVD set of Ben-Hur, and my fiancé acquired a coffee machine that luckily nobody stole. Overall, much laughter and teasing ensued during the present opening.
We finished Christmas week off by spending a day in Lake Louise skiing and snowboarding with my fiancé’s brother and his girlfriend. His brother is a snowboard pro and so was able to give him some tips. The snow was awesome and we had a blast chasing each other down the hill. It was great to spend that time with them and get to know them better. After lunch, they took off for the black diamond slopes while my fiancé and I stayed on the blue hills. Less sore muscles this trip from less falls on the hill – must be getting better! :)
Finally, we were back home for a couple days of work before hitting the road again for a friend’s wedding. More visiting, food, traveling… and then once again home with a day to relax before the work routine resumes. The Christmas holidays are over and a new year has begun. Happy 2007!
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