Dumpster diving is a unique sport...actually it's a lifestyle in 3rd world countries...
Really it can be considered strange, disgusting or even degrading or on the other hand: life-giving, necessary and essential.
All I need to know about dumpster diving I learned from my dad. It's a gift, my friends. I was the first born...usually people go all out on sterilized NEW furniture for their precious first baby...but not my parents! My dad hunted the streets for pieces of wood and old furniture. (Granted he did pay for some secondhand pieces too.) My nursery would have caused some moms to faint...it was clean and neat though...which is all that mattered. I didn't have a crib, instead I had a rocking cradle bed that my dad built...as I grew up it became a bed for stuffed animals and one day we dumped it during a military move. A part of me regrets that we did.
Today we have some stools, a rocking chair and a couple of hutches that my dad collected from the side of the road and refurbished. It's amazing what a new weave will do for a rocking chair...or paint for a stool...or a new block-counter my dad created and installed on one of the hutches. My parents are frugal...I'm working on it...
There were many other items dad brought home that left when we would move (that's military life for you...can't take it all to Hawaii...) the rest we outgrew. Most notable was the paddle- not one for boats- this was for spanking. I can't BELIEVE my dad jumped into a dumpster to bring home that awful piece of trash. Who would want a paddle?! I bet it was thrown away for a reason by the previous owner...probably by the kid who was spanked with it. My sisters and I were NOT pleased and I do remember trying to hide it on several occasions.
All of this is to explain how life is today. When I see something on the side of the road on "trash night" I get excited. I have to get a closer look. So naturally, this past Tuesday as I was cruising home and spotted something it was a sure bet I was coming back for it. First I needed some muscle.
"Dad, guess what I saw on the side of road just now?!" I exclaimed as I entered the house. "What?" he asked. "An exercise bike!" I stated with a smile and watched as his eyes sparked with interest.
"Will you come and look at it with me?" I asked...pretty sure it'd be a yes. "Lets get a flashlight." he said. It was on. Dumpster diving...doesn't necessarily have to be inside a dumpster you know...
My dad is a teacher at heart. He loves to explain the back-story of everything and share knowledge. He got excited when we parked the car and got the flashlight on the label of the bike: Schwinn. "Oh these are made to last!" he said. Trying it out he turned the knob that controls the amount of pressure you need to turn the wheel. It still worked. However, he was a little disappointed about the small computer part not turning on. "We should leave it, Sweetie." he said. After a little bit of pleading I gave up and we headed home.
Once there I began to describe it to my sister and mom. "It's FREE and I could use a pedometer to track myself on it!" I stated. "But where would you put it?" my mom asked. Then my sister had the brilliant thought: "You could put it in one of your alcoves in your room." she said. I have two small alcoves with windows that are only about 3.5 feet wide. They are VERY hard to decorate and I was still trying to figure out what to put in my 2nd one. This solved the problem! "Come get it with me!" I said- as dad had already gone to bed. "WHAT?! We'll look like criminals!" she exclaimed. Obviously only a few of us get the genetic urge to hunt for things and take what's cast aside... "Oh it will be fine!" I said. "It's dark and it doesn't weigh that much. Let's hurry." Muttering and thinking of outrageous ways that this could go wrong she slid into the car.
"Can they see us??" she asked. "No and the lights are out. Come on, we're already here." I replied. Opening the trunk we examined the bike a moment and then lifted it...or attempted to. I had the "light" end. "Oh it's not that heavy!" I said. Unfortunately, she had the end with the wheel. "Ooof!" she strained to lift it. "It is too heavy!" she exclaimed...and then looked over her shoulder should anyone be watching us. "Switch with me" I said- I was determined to have that bike. And I'm pretty stubborn.
Hoisting the bike into the trunk we realized that a part of it was sticking out. "It'll just have to stay like that. Hurry!" my sister said. We jumped into the car and drove home. Lugging the thing up the stairs we set it near my room. Amazingly the computer had turned on! Thrilled I pushed every button figuring out how to navigate from calorie counting to distance and speed! I have decided that it is probably one of the best trophies I've ever had while dumpster diving...at least so far.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Ultimate Frisbee- The last trip to the ER...in College Station...
Actually, technically that isn't quite true...
A) I think my last post about the ER (which also involved ultimate frisbee) came after this one...
B) My last semester I spent over an hour in the waiting room of the ER...but that was for a classmate.
Regardless:
Spring 2009
Frisbee, one of the highlights of my week, was in session...and maybe it shouldn't have been.
It was chilly, we were in between rain storms, and the field was MUDDY.
Deterrent to college students who've been in the library all day? Of course not! (Not that I was in the library all day, mind you...but some diligent students had been, I'm sure...)
Mud and cold were only inspiration to keep moving, play harder...and NOT fall.
Unfortunately, several falls and splashes occurred but that game was wonderful!
The cold/wet was so intense that my numb foot couldn't feel the pain.
That night, I knew I'd done something to my foot...it hurt REALLY bad. But hoping it would go away, I ignored the pain and went through the weekend. On Sunday I had a hard time finding comfortable shoes...but I solved the problem by only wearing them from the car to a seat in the church and then kicked them off during the service (something I do normally anyway...but it was necessary that day, I assure you!)
Once Monday hit and classes resumed, I realized that this pain was pretty annoying. Hoping it would get better I developed a knack for riding the A&M bus system and found more opportunities to park as close as possible to my classrooms. I admit- I also *ahem* skipped some classes that I just didn't have the energy to walk to.
Adapting to the pain I made it to Thursday night. After the weekly meeting with The Navigators, called affectionately "NavNite," there was an opportunity to play volleyball at our "Rec" (school gym). Unable to turn down this chance to be with people and play a sport I opted to go. Why not? Sure my foot was killing me, but in volleyball you can stand mostly still...
HA!
Two hours later I barely had the willpower to drive myself back to my apartment off campus. I crawled up the stairs unable to put any weight on my foot. It hated me, that much was obvious.
The next morning I considered going to class...
As I crawled down the stairs my roommate said "You should go to the emergency room, Hannah. If you can't walk on it, it's probably broken."
By this time I was in so much pain I had no arguments. I managed to crawl into my truck and drive to the Scott & White Clinic. Slowly hobbling from my car to the front desk I asked the ladies:
"I think I broke my foot. Where is the emergency room?"
Why I said it like that, I don't know! You should've seen the doubt in their faces as they pointed in the right direction.
Unfortunately it was almost 100 yards away. I wanted to cry thinking about how many steps that would be, but I was a big girl. I winced all the way.
When I was finally called back to have my vitals checked I barely made it from my chair to the back room. Thankfully, it was pronounced necessary for me to be placed in a wheelchair. I was immediately wheeled back through the ER and down the long hallway, past the gaping front desk ladies (I think they believed me now), and to the other end of the large clinic.
Once the X-rays were taken, I was wheeled back to the other end of the clinic and left in the middle of the ER with my foot up and wrapped. I had the honor of being the only one with a "visible" injury and thus was the object of speculation and some whispering.
At last I was wheeled in to see a doctor. He pointed out the broken area in my foot. I was torn between yelling "I knew it!" and crying.
My FAVORITE part of our conversation:
Sure he gave me a boot to wear for the broken foot and told me how long to wear it, etc. But he was REALLY focused on something else.
I apparently have extra bones in my feet, near my ankles.
He pointed that out several times:
"You know, that's unusual!" He claimed, "I could remove them for you if you like!"
"Um...that's ok."
"Seriously, we could fix that." he said.
"If I've had 'em my whole life, I don't see the point. I can't afford to be off my feet right now."
"Ok, well if you change your mind...here's my card." Boy did he ever sound disappointed.
I showed up to frisbee that afternoon...but I was in a boot (I wanted to shock most of my friends. :) Why not?
I became a devoted frisbee cheerleader for the next several weeks!
A) I think my last post about the ER (which also involved ultimate frisbee) came after this one...
B) My last semester I spent over an hour in the waiting room of the ER...but that was for a classmate.
Regardless:
Spring 2009
Frisbee, one of the highlights of my week, was in session...and maybe it shouldn't have been.
It was chilly, we were in between rain storms, and the field was MUDDY.
Deterrent to college students who've been in the library all day? Of course not! (Not that I was in the library all day, mind you...but some diligent students had been, I'm sure...)
Mud and cold were only inspiration to keep moving, play harder...and NOT fall.
Unfortunately, several falls and splashes occurred but that game was wonderful!
The cold/wet was so intense that my numb foot couldn't feel the pain.
That night, I knew I'd done something to my foot...it hurt REALLY bad. But hoping it would go away, I ignored the pain and went through the weekend. On Sunday I had a hard time finding comfortable shoes...but I solved the problem by only wearing them from the car to a seat in the church and then kicked them off during the service (something I do normally anyway...but it was necessary that day, I assure you!)
Once Monday hit and classes resumed, I realized that this pain was pretty annoying. Hoping it would get better I developed a knack for riding the A&M bus system and found more opportunities to park as close as possible to my classrooms. I admit- I also *ahem* skipped some classes that I just didn't have the energy to walk to.
Adapting to the pain I made it to Thursday night. After the weekly meeting with The Navigators, called affectionately "NavNite," there was an opportunity to play volleyball at our "Rec" (school gym). Unable to turn down this chance to be with people and play a sport I opted to go. Why not? Sure my foot was killing me, but in volleyball you can stand mostly still...
HA!
Two hours later I barely had the willpower to drive myself back to my apartment off campus. I crawled up the stairs unable to put any weight on my foot. It hated me, that much was obvious.
The next morning I considered going to class...
As I crawled down the stairs my roommate said "You should go to the emergency room, Hannah. If you can't walk on it, it's probably broken."
By this time I was in so much pain I had no arguments. I managed to crawl into my truck and drive to the Scott & White Clinic. Slowly hobbling from my car to the front desk I asked the ladies:
"I think I broke my foot. Where is the emergency room?"
Why I said it like that, I don't know! You should've seen the doubt in their faces as they pointed in the right direction.
Unfortunately it was almost 100 yards away. I wanted to cry thinking about how many steps that would be, but I was a big girl. I winced all the way.
When I was finally called back to have my vitals checked I barely made it from my chair to the back room. Thankfully, it was pronounced necessary for me to be placed in a wheelchair. I was immediately wheeled back through the ER and down the long hallway, past the gaping front desk ladies (I think they believed me now), and to the other end of the large clinic.
Once the X-rays were taken, I was wheeled back to the other end of the clinic and left in the middle of the ER with my foot up and wrapped. I had the honor of being the only one with a "visible" injury and thus was the object of speculation and some whispering.
At last I was wheeled in to see a doctor. He pointed out the broken area in my foot. I was torn between yelling "I knew it!" and crying.
My FAVORITE part of our conversation:
Sure he gave me a boot to wear for the broken foot and told me how long to wear it, etc. But he was REALLY focused on something else.
I apparently have extra bones in my feet, near my ankles.
He pointed that out several times:
"You know, that's unusual!" He claimed, "I could remove them for you if you like!"
"Um...that's ok."
"Seriously, we could fix that." he said.
"If I've had 'em my whole life, I don't see the point. I can't afford to be off my feet right now."
"Ok, well if you change your mind...here's my card." Boy did he ever sound disappointed.
I showed up to frisbee that afternoon...but I was in a boot (I wanted to shock most of my friends. :) Why not?
I became a devoted frisbee cheerleader for the next several weeks!
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Elevated Thinking
Driving to work this afternoon (on my way back from a lunch break), I had the radio playing.
I wasn't paying attention to the music- mostly I was focused on the traffic on the road and the fender-bender to one side with no fewer than 7 tow trucks waiting to "flip the coin" and see who got to take the cars.
As I rounded the underpass I noticed a white truck in front of me. It was some sort of utility vehicle and on the back stenciled in black letters were the words "Elevated Thinking."
Just then I heard the lyrics to the song on the radio:
"And I'm always thinking of you, take a look around you, I'm spelling it out one by one..." More- Matthew West
Those are supposed to be God's words to us in that song. Coincidence that I spotted words telling me to think upwards and heard words at the same time that God thinks about me? I think not.
God sure knows how to get my attention and make me smile! :)
I wasn't paying attention to the music- mostly I was focused on the traffic on the road and the fender-bender to one side with no fewer than 7 tow trucks waiting to "flip the coin" and see who got to take the cars.
As I rounded the underpass I noticed a white truck in front of me. It was some sort of utility vehicle and on the back stenciled in black letters were the words "Elevated Thinking."
Just then I heard the lyrics to the song on the radio:
"And I'm always thinking of you, take a look around you, I'm spelling it out one by one..." More- Matthew West
Those are supposed to be God's words to us in that song. Coincidence that I spotted words telling me to think upwards and heard words at the same time that God thinks about me? I think not.
God sure knows how to get my attention and make me smile! :)
Monday, August 1, 2011
Plum Enchiladas
"It is beyond my imagination." (More than I could have imagined, unbelieveable, etc.) This came from the newest addition to our house (expected stay uncertain- I'll explain in a moment). I watched doubtfully as he used chopsticks to eat his bowl of ice cream...piled high with pork salt!
Encouraging him to eat some leftovers had been unsuccessful and if I didn't cook something, he would. I made a batch of pancakes for him, a sister and myself.
Meet Jimmy, a computer science student from China...who has introduced my sisters to the x-box, loves to win any boardgame we play and is addicted to cooking and experimenting in the kitchen. He recently lost his passport and took a bus from Arkansas to Houston to visit the Chinese embassy about the problem. Our cousin in AR had learned he'd be coming to Houston and asked my family to meet him at the bus stop (at 6am) and take him to the embassy which didn't open until 8 or 9am. There was also the hint that he'd probably need to spend the night.
No big deal. We've helped people out before, hospitality is just a part of life.
However, it became apparent that it would not be one night. The embassy mentioned that it needed even more paperwork than Jimmy had brought and that this whole process could take up to 2 or even 3 months!!! Jimmy was given one of my sister's bedrooms and is still with us.
When I walked into the house for lunch on Friday (my Aunt was leaving town and I wanted a last meal with her!) I found the tv on with an aerobic kick-boxing video and Jimmy and one of my sisters were kicking along to the video. Poor Jimmy- he is surrounded by women- even the people in the video were ALL women.
Yesterday, we had a wedding to attend for a family friend. Jimmy had accompanied us to church and we invited him to come to the wedding ceremony (one of us would skip the reception since it was an rsvp dinner-style wedding, and take Jimmy home). He declined going to the wedding and I skipped the reception so that he would not be alone. However, as he was asleep, I hid in my room with a book. I was still shy around him and didn't know what to talk about- plus, I wouldn't have normally had much interaction in a house alone with any of my other guy friends...it seemed a little improper and very awkward.
Soon, after I became really interested in my book, there was a knock at my door.
"Come in" I called before thinking.
The door opened and Jimmy poked his head in the room, "Do you want to eat something?" he asked.
"Oh, I am not very hungry, but you go ahead! There are plenty of leftovers in the fridge!"
He nodded and left and after a moment of wondering if he was going to be ok, I went back to my book.
I could hear his x-box music down in the living room and relaxed.
But 30 minutes later he was back at my door, "Don't you want to eat?"
I realized that it was about 6pm and my stomach had been talking ever since his last knock on my door.
"Sure I'll come and eat something!" And I followed him to the kitchen.
It was unavoidable, he was going to cook for me. Jimmy had cooked my entire family dinner on Friday, but I had had a meeting and missed it. I was extremely nervous about what he would make (my sisters had had to keep him from buying fish with the heads still on and other things that NEVER entered our house when they took him to Chinatown on Friday afternoon.)
"What are you going to eat?" he asked me.
"Well it's Sunday, and usually my family eats leftovers for dinner. I think I'd like an enchilada."
I pulled out several containers of food and offered them to him. "There's plenty to eat!"
He told me that he didn't know how to fix up an enchilada and I showed them to him and explained "You just re-heat and add salsa or more cheese."
Frustrated he said "No, I want to cook for you...I will take the enchilada and cook it here (he indicated the wok pan we happen to own) and add spicey to it!"
(The concept of leftovers seems to be something he doesn't understand. The beauty of them is the mess-free meal they give: "re-heat and eat!")
"Oh. I don't like very spicey food, though...it hurts my mouth." I said.
"Not spicey food- I want to add spice (and here he indicated our spice rack) to give it flavor and add vegetables."
"Oh!" (I was perfectly satisfied with my Mom's chicken enchilada...but I didn't want to be rude and snub his gift of cooking for me. Obviously it was important to him since he had waited 30 minutes to get me down here and hadn't really eaten himself. And vegetables are fine...I mean anything will go with chicken.)
"Sure, go ahead!" I paced the kitchen for a bit as he dragged out all sorts of foods and turned on the stove-top.
Nixing the parsley he had lain on the counter, I went outside to water my flowers.
Hearing the phone ring, I ignored it- I don't like to answer the home phone. However, suddenly Jimmy was bursting out the back door mumbling something and handing me the phone (which had answered itself when he picked it up).
"Hi Hannah!" my Aunt's voice came over the phone. (She had been visiting us the past week and had been the one (along with a sister) to pick Jimmy up from the bus stop.) "I was going to ask if Jimmy's still there but I guess so!" and she laughed.
"Yes, he is. He's inside cooking for me." We laughed at my unenthusiastic tone- I eat a lot of things and try not to be too picky- but eating "mystery dishes" can put me in a panic.
I finished my conversation with her and went back to watering the plants, filling the dog's water bowl, and giving the turtles' bucket a cleaning. (We relocated some turtles for a dear family friend who took them in when they were the size of quarters...now they were the size of my hand.) I was going to take them to the pond that evening and decided that would be my next chore if my food wasn't ready yet. The waiting was killing me! :)
As I was finishing up, out popped Jimmy with two gallon plastic bags- one with purple cabbage, the other with eggplant. I nixed the eggplant.
"You breaka mah heart" Jimmy said, but I did not change my mind.
Shaking his head, he hurried back inside to his creations...
Unable to stand it any longer I caught the turtles (who were exploring the back porch), placed them in their bucket and headed through the house.
"I'm going to run see my neighbors, I'll be back soon!" I told Jimmy.
Stopping me he asked where the 'floor' was. Eventually we understood one another and I showed him the flour container.
Stepping outside I breathed deeply in the 90+ degree Texas heat. I stopped at my neighbors' house and showed them the turtles- pictures were snapped (the turtles were very clean and had beautiful markings on their skin and shells)- then it was off to the pond.
I ignored the scolding ducks and found a shallow "cove" on the edge of the pond. The grasses had the reflections of sunlit water skidding across them and a group of fish watched me as I gently set the turtles in the pond. The green one (having once been a wild turtle for the first week of it's life) had great instincts and immediately hid herself by the edge. The little black one had been bred in captivity. It had chased and eaten live fish, plants, and bugs before- but never overnight. She was happy with the warm water and drifted in it for about 10 minutes before copying her friend the green turtle. Their names were Yoshi and Donatello (my favorite ninja turtle)...we didn't know they were girls until they were much older.
Content I poured the water out of the bucket, turned it over, and sat on it- watching the turtles, fish, and enjoying the sounds of kids at the pool nearby. How peaceful! A duck with her five ducklings watched me curiously and brought her little brood within a couple feet of me to see if I had brought them a snack. Our neighborhood spoils our ducks and turtles...they get fed several times a week.
Realizing that the sunlight was moving across the water and it was now blinding me, I suddenly remembered Jimmy!
Oh no! He's going to think I can't stand his cooking and I haven't even tried it yet!
Grabbing the bucket I scared the ducks in my dash for home.
Jimmy was not happy I'd been gone so long- 40 minutes! He told me so.
The food had to be reheated.
"I added one of these" he stated and pointed to the plate of plums!
"You put a plum in the enchilada?" I asked, shocked and tickled at the same time.
"Yes, I mean, it will be ok." he said nonchalantly.
I washed up, took my enchilada out of the toaster oven, and sat at the table.
Knowing that he was a little nervous about what I would say and hoping that it would taste good, I dug in.
I was very pleasantly surprised! It tasted delicious! The plum added a sweetness, the cabbage added a nice color and texture, and I don't know what all of the spices he used were but I think he used one of our Lipton tea bags...
So all of this is to let you know that plum enchiladas are divine and I am learning a lot about how to interact with guys when you live with them (never had a brother before...) and how to translate "axe" into eggs and "floor" into flour. If you think of us, pray that Jimmy will be able to find a way to get home to China soon!
Life is NEVER dull.
Encouraging him to eat some leftovers had been unsuccessful and if I didn't cook something, he would. I made a batch of pancakes for him, a sister and myself.
Meet Jimmy, a computer science student from China...who has introduced my sisters to the x-box, loves to win any boardgame we play and is addicted to cooking and experimenting in the kitchen. He recently lost his passport and took a bus from Arkansas to Houston to visit the Chinese embassy about the problem. Our cousin in AR had learned he'd be coming to Houston and asked my family to meet him at the bus stop (at 6am) and take him to the embassy which didn't open until 8 or 9am. There was also the hint that he'd probably need to spend the night.
No big deal. We've helped people out before, hospitality is just a part of life.
However, it became apparent that it would not be one night. The embassy mentioned that it needed even more paperwork than Jimmy had brought and that this whole process could take up to 2 or even 3 months!!! Jimmy was given one of my sister's bedrooms and is still with us.
When I walked into the house for lunch on Friday (my Aunt was leaving town and I wanted a last meal with her!) I found the tv on with an aerobic kick-boxing video and Jimmy and one of my sisters were kicking along to the video. Poor Jimmy- he is surrounded by women- even the people in the video were ALL women.
Yesterday, we had a wedding to attend for a family friend. Jimmy had accompanied us to church and we invited him to come to the wedding ceremony (one of us would skip the reception since it was an rsvp dinner-style wedding, and take Jimmy home). He declined going to the wedding and I skipped the reception so that he would not be alone. However, as he was asleep, I hid in my room with a book. I was still shy around him and didn't know what to talk about- plus, I wouldn't have normally had much interaction in a house alone with any of my other guy friends...it seemed a little improper and very awkward.
Soon, after I became really interested in my book, there was a knock at my door.
"Come in" I called before thinking.
The door opened and Jimmy poked his head in the room, "Do you want to eat something?" he asked.
"Oh, I am not very hungry, but you go ahead! There are plenty of leftovers in the fridge!"
He nodded and left and after a moment of wondering if he was going to be ok, I went back to my book.
I could hear his x-box music down in the living room and relaxed.
But 30 minutes later he was back at my door, "Don't you want to eat?"
I realized that it was about 6pm and my stomach had been talking ever since his last knock on my door.
"Sure I'll come and eat something!" And I followed him to the kitchen.
It was unavoidable, he was going to cook for me. Jimmy had cooked my entire family dinner on Friday, but I had had a meeting and missed it. I was extremely nervous about what he would make (my sisters had had to keep him from buying fish with the heads still on and other things that NEVER entered our house when they took him to Chinatown on Friday afternoon.)
"What are you going to eat?" he asked me.
"Well it's Sunday, and usually my family eats leftovers for dinner. I think I'd like an enchilada."
I pulled out several containers of food and offered them to him. "There's plenty to eat!"
He told me that he didn't know how to fix up an enchilada and I showed them to him and explained "You just re-heat and add salsa or more cheese."
Frustrated he said "No, I want to cook for you...I will take the enchilada and cook it here (he indicated the wok pan we happen to own) and add spicey to it!"
(The concept of leftovers seems to be something he doesn't understand. The beauty of them is the mess-free meal they give: "re-heat and eat!")
"Oh. I don't like very spicey food, though...it hurts my mouth." I said.
"Not spicey food- I want to add spice (and here he indicated our spice rack) to give it flavor and add vegetables."
"Oh!" (I was perfectly satisfied with my Mom's chicken enchilada...but I didn't want to be rude and snub his gift of cooking for me. Obviously it was important to him since he had waited 30 minutes to get me down here and hadn't really eaten himself. And vegetables are fine...I mean anything will go with chicken.)
"Sure, go ahead!" I paced the kitchen for a bit as he dragged out all sorts of foods and turned on the stove-top.
Nixing the parsley he had lain on the counter, I went outside to water my flowers.
Hearing the phone ring, I ignored it- I don't like to answer the home phone. However, suddenly Jimmy was bursting out the back door mumbling something and handing me the phone (which had answered itself when he picked it up).
"Hi Hannah!" my Aunt's voice came over the phone. (She had been visiting us the past week and had been the one (along with a sister) to pick Jimmy up from the bus stop.) "I was going to ask if Jimmy's still there but I guess so!" and she laughed.
"Yes, he is. He's inside cooking for me." We laughed at my unenthusiastic tone- I eat a lot of things and try not to be too picky- but eating "mystery dishes" can put me in a panic.
I finished my conversation with her and went back to watering the plants, filling the dog's water bowl, and giving the turtles' bucket a cleaning. (We relocated some turtles for a dear family friend who took them in when they were the size of quarters...now they were the size of my hand.) I was going to take them to the pond that evening and decided that would be my next chore if my food wasn't ready yet. The waiting was killing me! :)
As I was finishing up, out popped Jimmy with two gallon plastic bags- one with purple cabbage, the other with eggplant. I nixed the eggplant.
"You breaka mah heart" Jimmy said, but I did not change my mind.
Shaking his head, he hurried back inside to his creations...
Unable to stand it any longer I caught the turtles (who were exploring the back porch), placed them in their bucket and headed through the house.
"I'm going to run see my neighbors, I'll be back soon!" I told Jimmy.
Stopping me he asked where the 'floor' was. Eventually we understood one another and I showed him the flour container.
Stepping outside I breathed deeply in the 90+ degree Texas heat. I stopped at my neighbors' house and showed them the turtles- pictures were snapped (the turtles were very clean and had beautiful markings on their skin and shells)- then it was off to the pond.
I ignored the scolding ducks and found a shallow "cove" on the edge of the pond. The grasses had the reflections of sunlit water skidding across them and a group of fish watched me as I gently set the turtles in the pond. The green one (having once been a wild turtle for the first week of it's life) had great instincts and immediately hid herself by the edge. The little black one had been bred in captivity. It had chased and eaten live fish, plants, and bugs before- but never overnight. She was happy with the warm water and drifted in it for about 10 minutes before copying her friend the green turtle. Their names were Yoshi and Donatello (my favorite ninja turtle)...we didn't know they were girls until they were much older.
Content I poured the water out of the bucket, turned it over, and sat on it- watching the turtles, fish, and enjoying the sounds of kids at the pool nearby. How peaceful! A duck with her five ducklings watched me curiously and brought her little brood within a couple feet of me to see if I had brought them a snack. Our neighborhood spoils our ducks and turtles...they get fed several times a week.
Realizing that the sunlight was moving across the water and it was now blinding me, I suddenly remembered Jimmy!
Oh no! He's going to think I can't stand his cooking and I haven't even tried it yet!
Grabbing the bucket I scared the ducks in my dash for home.
Jimmy was not happy I'd been gone so long- 40 minutes! He told me so.
The food had to be reheated.
"I added one of these" he stated and pointed to the plate of plums!
"You put a plum in the enchilada?" I asked, shocked and tickled at the same time.
"Yes, I mean, it will be ok." he said nonchalantly.
I washed up, took my enchilada out of the toaster oven, and sat at the table.
Knowing that he was a little nervous about what I would say and hoping that it would taste good, I dug in.
I was very pleasantly surprised! It tasted delicious! The plum added a sweetness, the cabbage added a nice color and texture, and I don't know what all of the spices he used were but I think he used one of our Lipton tea bags...
So all of this is to let you know that plum enchiladas are divine and I am learning a lot about how to interact with guys when you live with them (never had a brother before...) and how to translate "axe" into eggs and "floor" into flour. If you think of us, pray that Jimmy will be able to find a way to get home to China soon!
Life is NEVER dull.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Jury Duty
Oh the fateful summons.
People complain so much about jury duty...present company not excluded. It seems like such a waste of time and NEVER comes at a "good time". :) I've been summoned twice before but never been selected.
This year I was not "picked" they instead call it "not being marked off the list". Joy. Make me feel even better about it.
On Monday I wanted to drive myself down instead of riding the city Metro bus (as I had the previous two times I'd been summoned), but in a quick change of mind I swung through the Park n' Ride. However, as no buses were in sight and no schedule was posted...I drove.
In doing so, I did not notice the speeding motorcycle cop. As I turned on my signal and pulled to the right to avoid construction there was a sudden blaring of sirens...right next to me. Shaken I whipped my car back into the other lane and watched as the motorcycle cop sped on his way disappearing in a minute! I have decided that policemen might not have horns...only sirens.
I made it to the downtown parking garage and hurried to the court building. Settling down into a chair in one of the large waiting rooms (they separate you with juror numbers) I opened my book and relaxed. Waiting was just going to become a normal part of life for the next several hours and I knew it. At last they made us watch the obligatory video about what an honor it is to serve on a jury and I facetiously paid attention...really I would have loved to comment on the droll voice of the narrator or the obviously staged photos with someone...but I didn't want to show any disrespect.
After some technical difficulties with the film (the sound stopped working for a couple of slides) and an obnoxious man who played dumb about parking and complained that he wasn't dressed properly for duty (um, you are told what is proper on the handout they mail you with your summons...) we finally got down to business.
I realized as I listened to that complainer and several people around me how selfish they sounded...and how selfish I was feeling. It IS a good thing to have an honest jury- I would want one if I ever got dragged to court for something! And really, along with voting, it's my duty as an American to serve in that way...it isn't as awful as it seems. After these realizations my attitude was adjusted properly and I went back to my book.
They began to put numbers up on the screen and send groups of jurors with police officers to their various courts for the "de-selection" process. I am not sure how I missed my number being called...I think that maybe (even though I printed my summons out fresh that morning) my number was changed. As I was reading I heard a lady suddenly ask:
"Is there a Hannah (I omit the rest of my name in case you don't know it :) in here?"
I whipped my head up and timidly raised my hand. I HATE being the center of attention in a large crowd and there were a couple hundred people in that room.
To make matters worse, when she saw my hand she said:
"Ah, you belong to this gentleman."
And standing behind her was an enormous policeman.
I wanted to die on the spot. What a way to phrase it!
"I wish I belonged to someone" a person near me muttered loud enough for several people to overhear and laugh.
I did the walk of shame out the door to my group of 24 other potential jurors.
Head held high I slid into the middle of the group hoping to pretend nothing had happened. We went through the underground tunnels (I love that about Houston) and up to the 9th floor of another building in the city.
We were then filed into a freezing courtroom and given an hour lecture on what it meant to be a juror and the type of case we would be hearing about- possession of marijuana. (I am so excited that I can FINALLY talk about it! Keeping the secret for 24 hours was VERY difficult. :)
After another hour of listening to the attorneys discuss some key points with us they began the questions (so they would know who they wanted to cut.) As I was juror number 6, I knew that my chances of not being picked were slim. They start with numbers 1-6 and if they don't eliminate any of them, those are the selected jury members...unless I got eliminated I was a shoo-in. Internally I wrestled with curiosity over actually serving as a jury member and dread at having to listen to a dull case and miss work another day or two...or horrors! several more days!
I listened to more selfish people make up reasons on why they shouldn't be selected and prayed for patience and peace. Because I was in the front row and center I couldn't see the faces of those around me. I kept up a good poker face and just waited. Finally they selected 6 of us: 5 women and 1 man. We were ushered up to the juror's stand and sworn in then marched to a back room for some additional information.
We put on badges that said "Juror" in huge letters and had the judge's name listed underneath and were told we must wear these the next day. Our judge stated that the case should only take one day, and court was adjourned since it was nearing 5pm.
Freed we hurried home.
This morning, on my way to the court from the parking garage (I decided to just drive again since we didn't know how long it would take to finish the case) I watched a policeman on horseback deal with a man who was loitering and slipped by some men in handcuffs and dozens of people waiting outside of the large skyscraper where my courtroom was. I went through the detection process (shoes off and placed along with my bag on the conveyor belt to check for weapons). I normally keep a large pocket knife in my purse (I'm not really sure why or if I would ever use it) but I had had the presence of mind to remove it the day before.
All day we were treated like royalty. Everyone must rise any time the six of us jurors entered or exited the courtroom (which happened SEVERAL times). We are not to ask or answer any questions of the witnesses, lawyers or the defendant (there was no plaintiff) during the trial. We are simply observers and ONLY information heard from the witnesses while on the stand or evidence approved by the judge can be considered during our final judgement. We also were not allowed to talk to each other about the case ALL day (other than comments about how loud the judge was or how much we (I) began to hate the word "objection!")
We were treated to lunch and walked downtown a few blocks to a place called Treebeard's...all gumbo and similar spicy foods...my mouth hated me after lunch. We listened to arguments back and forth and truthfully I wanted to just be allowed to make my decision right away.
The facts:
Policeman out doing his duty as a "Traffic Violations" officer passes a car with a crack that runs vertically almost the entire length of the windshield.
Deciding to check out that crack and let the driver know that it is a hazard he pulls him over - this is NOT uncommon. Daily routine.
Officer approaches car to talk to the driver and is hit with the scent of marijuana from the open window.
Naturally all thought of a cracked windshield is put on a back burner.
Officer asks driver to step out of the car and asks him if he is in possession of marijuana (he can see stems and seeds that look like it on the driver's side.)
Driver admits "yes in the middle console".
Driver is cuffed and taken to jail- this should be settled out of court, he already owned to having the marijuana.
But NO.
Someone (him, his mother, who knows) decided that they could question the policeman's motive in pulling him over. Saying it was illegal and could put our freedom and liberty at stake.
So I and 5 other people missed work today to listen to the defensive attorney bicker at a poor policeman who was only doing his job. He didn't go to work that day intending to arrest anyone...it's not his fault the young man decided to have marijuana in his car.
We had to view pictures of the windshield as the defense attorney tried to keep us from ever hearing the part about the marijuana. (I am sick of looking at cars' windshields.) All day we listened to arguments, were told to recess so the lawyers could have private arguments with the judge, re-entered for 10-15 minutes, only to be told to recess again. (You know, recess was a LOT more fun when I was 8...)
At last, we finally had reached the time where we were allowed to go and talk to each other about the case and make our decision. Yes! I thought. It's easy. They proved that the police officer had "probable cause" and was justified in pulling the car over and the possession of marijuana is undeniable- they passed the actual evidence bag through our 6 pairs of hands. No doubt in my mind, the young man was guilty- end of discussion.
4 of the other jurors were right there with me...BUT it was down to one girl. She refused to believe the officer had "probable cause". Frustrated we spent over an hour debating, arguing and reasoning with her.
This Norman Rockwell painting: The Jury Holdout is a good depiction (only ignore the smoke and make only one of the members a man...)
She finally was persuaded about the probable cause, we all agreed on the possession issue, and I got to push the special button! (They have a small button that you push 1 time if you have a question (ex. need to reread part of the testimony to refresh a memory or want to read a law being discussed, etc.) OR you push it 2 times if you have made your final decision.) The button sticks a bit so after my first push there were a couple of seconds before the second push and I'm sure sitting inside the courtroom the defendant must have been in a turmoil. I had avoided looking at him most of the case because I didn't want to show pity or have any emotions about the case. The only person I truly felt sorry for was his mother.
The judge decided we would stay to hear the punishment (much to the dismay of his lawyer who made a small scene about it...one of many scenes she'd made that day) and we listened in astonishment as they read aloud that the same young man had been a part of a major crime not two years ago. He was told that he would be going straight to jail and I couldn't bring myself to look at his mother.
We were then told to recess a final time and waited behind the scenes for the judge. He was a very jolly Texan man (who cracked several jokes throughout our two days) and made it fun...I almost wanted to ask him to autograph my summons, ha! :)
He told us we could stay and answer questions from the lawyers and witnesses if we wanted and the six of us practically stampeded for the elevators!
People complain so much about jury duty...present company not excluded. It seems like such a waste of time and NEVER comes at a "good time". :) I've been summoned twice before but never been selected.
This year I was not "picked" they instead call it "not being marked off the list". Joy. Make me feel even better about it.
On Monday I wanted to drive myself down instead of riding the city Metro bus (as I had the previous two times I'd been summoned), but in a quick change of mind I swung through the Park n' Ride. However, as no buses were in sight and no schedule was posted...I drove.
In doing so, I did not notice the speeding motorcycle cop. As I turned on my signal and pulled to the right to avoid construction there was a sudden blaring of sirens...right next to me. Shaken I whipped my car back into the other lane and watched as the motorcycle cop sped on his way disappearing in a minute! I have decided that policemen might not have horns...only sirens.
I made it to the downtown parking garage and hurried to the court building. Settling down into a chair in one of the large waiting rooms (they separate you with juror numbers) I opened my book and relaxed. Waiting was just going to become a normal part of life for the next several hours and I knew it. At last they made us watch the obligatory video about what an honor it is to serve on a jury and I facetiously paid attention...really I would have loved to comment on the droll voice of the narrator or the obviously staged photos with someone...but I didn't want to show any disrespect.
After some technical difficulties with the film (the sound stopped working for a couple of slides) and an obnoxious man who played dumb about parking and complained that he wasn't dressed properly for duty (um, you are told what is proper on the handout they mail you with your summons...) we finally got down to business.
I realized as I listened to that complainer and several people around me how selfish they sounded...and how selfish I was feeling. It IS a good thing to have an honest jury- I would want one if I ever got dragged to court for something! And really, along with voting, it's my duty as an American to serve in that way...it isn't as awful as it seems. After these realizations my attitude was adjusted properly and I went back to my book.
They began to put numbers up on the screen and send groups of jurors with police officers to their various courts for the "de-selection" process. I am not sure how I missed my number being called...I think that maybe (even though I printed my summons out fresh that morning) my number was changed. As I was reading I heard a lady suddenly ask:
"Is there a Hannah (I omit the rest of my name in case you don't know it :) in here?"
I whipped my head up and timidly raised my hand. I HATE being the center of attention in a large crowd and there were a couple hundred people in that room.
To make matters worse, when she saw my hand she said:
"Ah, you belong to this gentleman."
And standing behind her was an enormous policeman.
I wanted to die on the spot. What a way to phrase it!
"I wish I belonged to someone" a person near me muttered loud enough for several people to overhear and laugh.
I did the walk of shame out the door to my group of 24 other potential jurors.
Head held high I slid into the middle of the group hoping to pretend nothing had happened. We went through the underground tunnels (I love that about Houston) and up to the 9th floor of another building in the city.
We were then filed into a freezing courtroom and given an hour lecture on what it meant to be a juror and the type of case we would be hearing about- possession of marijuana. (I am so excited that I can FINALLY talk about it! Keeping the secret for 24 hours was VERY difficult. :)
After another hour of listening to the attorneys discuss some key points with us they began the questions (so they would know who they wanted to cut.) As I was juror number 6, I knew that my chances of not being picked were slim. They start with numbers 1-6 and if they don't eliminate any of them, those are the selected jury members...unless I got eliminated I was a shoo-in. Internally I wrestled with curiosity over actually serving as a jury member and dread at having to listen to a dull case and miss work another day or two...or horrors! several more days!
I listened to more selfish people make up reasons on why they shouldn't be selected and prayed for patience and peace. Because I was in the front row and center I couldn't see the faces of those around me. I kept up a good poker face and just waited. Finally they selected 6 of us: 5 women and 1 man. We were ushered up to the juror's stand and sworn in then marched to a back room for some additional information.
We put on badges that said "Juror" in huge letters and had the judge's name listed underneath and were told we must wear these the next day. Our judge stated that the case should only take one day, and court was adjourned since it was nearing 5pm.
Freed we hurried home.
This morning, on my way to the court from the parking garage (I decided to just drive again since we didn't know how long it would take to finish the case) I watched a policeman on horseback deal with a man who was loitering and slipped by some men in handcuffs and dozens of people waiting outside of the large skyscraper where my courtroom was. I went through the detection process (shoes off and placed along with my bag on the conveyor belt to check for weapons). I normally keep a large pocket knife in my purse (I'm not really sure why or if I would ever use it) but I had had the presence of mind to remove it the day before.
All day we were treated like royalty. Everyone must rise any time the six of us jurors entered or exited the courtroom (which happened SEVERAL times). We are not to ask or answer any questions of the witnesses, lawyers or the defendant (there was no plaintiff) during the trial. We are simply observers and ONLY information heard from the witnesses while on the stand or evidence approved by the judge can be considered during our final judgement. We also were not allowed to talk to each other about the case ALL day (other than comments about how loud the judge was or how much we (I) began to hate the word "objection!")
We were treated to lunch and walked downtown a few blocks to a place called Treebeard's...all gumbo and similar spicy foods...my mouth hated me after lunch. We listened to arguments back and forth and truthfully I wanted to just be allowed to make my decision right away.
The facts:
Policeman out doing his duty as a "Traffic Violations" officer passes a car with a crack that runs vertically almost the entire length of the windshield.
Deciding to check out that crack and let the driver know that it is a hazard he pulls him over - this is NOT uncommon. Daily routine.
Officer approaches car to talk to the driver and is hit with the scent of marijuana from the open window.
Naturally all thought of a cracked windshield is put on a back burner.
Officer asks driver to step out of the car and asks him if he is in possession of marijuana (he can see stems and seeds that look like it on the driver's side.)
Driver admits "yes in the middle console".
Driver is cuffed and taken to jail- this should be settled out of court, he already owned to having the marijuana.
But NO.
Someone (him, his mother, who knows) decided that they could question the policeman's motive in pulling him over. Saying it was illegal and could put our freedom and liberty at stake.
So I and 5 other people missed work today to listen to the defensive attorney bicker at a poor policeman who was only doing his job. He didn't go to work that day intending to arrest anyone...it's not his fault the young man decided to have marijuana in his car.
We had to view pictures of the windshield as the defense attorney tried to keep us from ever hearing the part about the marijuana. (I am sick of looking at cars' windshields.) All day we listened to arguments, were told to recess so the lawyers could have private arguments with the judge, re-entered for 10-15 minutes, only to be told to recess again. (You know, recess was a LOT more fun when I was 8...)
At last, we finally had reached the time where we were allowed to go and talk to each other about the case and make our decision. Yes! I thought. It's easy. They proved that the police officer had "probable cause" and was justified in pulling the car over and the possession of marijuana is undeniable- they passed the actual evidence bag through our 6 pairs of hands. No doubt in my mind, the young man was guilty- end of discussion.
4 of the other jurors were right there with me...BUT it was down to one girl. She refused to believe the officer had "probable cause". Frustrated we spent over an hour debating, arguing and reasoning with her.
This Norman Rockwell painting: The Jury Holdout is a good depiction (only ignore the smoke and make only one of the members a man...)
She finally was persuaded about the probable cause, we all agreed on the possession issue, and I got to push the special button! (They have a small button that you push 1 time if you have a question (ex. need to reread part of the testimony to refresh a memory or want to read a law being discussed, etc.) OR you push it 2 times if you have made your final decision.) The button sticks a bit so after my first push there were a couple of seconds before the second push and I'm sure sitting inside the courtroom the defendant must have been in a turmoil. I had avoided looking at him most of the case because I didn't want to show pity or have any emotions about the case. The only person I truly felt sorry for was his mother.
The judge decided we would stay to hear the punishment (much to the dismay of his lawyer who made a small scene about it...one of many scenes she'd made that day) and we listened in astonishment as they read aloud that the same young man had been a part of a major crime not two years ago. He was told that he would be going straight to jail and I couldn't bring myself to look at his mother.
We were then told to recess a final time and waited behind the scenes for the judge. He was a very jolly Texan man (who cracked several jokes throughout our two days) and made it fun...I almost wanted to ask him to autograph my summons, ha! :)
He told us we could stay and answer questions from the lawyers and witnesses if we wanted and the six of us practically stampeded for the elevators!
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