Shower Intruder

**Names have been changed to protect the innocent.**

Someone was hiding in the shower. Not something, someONE. I could feel it, I could sense it. Without a shadow of a doubt I knew it, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood. My worst childhood nightmare was coming true.

Did you have any childhood fears? Maybe walking in the dark, going into the basement, spiders or snakes, getting lost, perhaps a neighbourhood bully? Although I had my share of fears, some more substantial or founded than others, the fear that was on my childish mind the most was that someone was hiding behind the shower curtain. I’m not certain where this fear came from. Perhaps my brother jumped out one time and scared me forever? Honestly I don’t remember. But every time I had to use the restroom, that fear came to haunt me. Sitting on the toilet and imagining a strange and scary person standing behind the shower curtain literally right next to me was a horrifying thought for my childish self, for my adult self too I suppose. So as a child, I made a habit of ripping back the shower curtain with no forewarning for a quick check before every toilet sit down. I don’t know if I fully ever processed what I would do if I happened to actually find someone behind the shower curtain, but not checking and being horribly surprised while ‘trapped’ on the toilet was definitely the worse option.

Well one day I did find out what I would do if someone was hiding in the shower.

Tippy Canoe and the Lifesaver

The mild spring breeze kissed our cheeks as we sat on the beach, feet slightly submerged in the still chilly lake. Laughter erupted occasionally, but sometimes we just lay back on the warm pebbles in contented silence, enjoying the peace and calm and sunshine of a perfect Sabbath afternoon. We were on a weekend campout at a nearby lake, Seton, with a whole group from the high-school that I work at. We had just canoed about 4 kilometres (2.5 miles) from our remote campsite called “Long Beach” across part of the lake to an outcropping we called “Sandy Point.” Now we were relaxing and appreciating the company and the sunshine.

As the sun slowly sank westward, we all figured it was time to head back. Climbing into our canoe, and laying our life jackets on our seats for comfort, my friend Alexandra and I attempted to paddle in a direct line across the little “bay” to the campsite. But as we paddled, the sky darkened as clouds began to cover the sun that had once shone so brightly. And the air that had been so warm quickly cooled as wind began to pick up. The glassy lake surface was now choppy as gusts of wind whipped up the waves. We were about a third of the way back when one of the school’s speedboats headed towards our group of canoers, “Start paddling towards the edge of the lake,” the driver yelled. “Looks like a big storm is blowing in and it’s not safe to be canoeing out here in the open water with all these waves.” He sped off leaving us a wake of waves to bounce over. The lake edge was parallel to us across the inlet and not exactly in the direction we were paddling. “But if we head straight towards the shore, that will put our canoe parallel to the waves,” I pointed out. And anyone who knows anything about canoeing knows that’s a sure way to flip. Well we’d just have to slowly angle our way towards shore instead. The wind and competency of the canoers had separated our group and Alexandra and I were not near any others. As we gradually worked on angling towards shore, our canoe was no longer plowing directly into the waves. Unexpectedly a rogue wave caught our canoe, driving it parallel to the waves. And in an instant, without even a second to react, I was plunged into the frigid waters.

Adventures in Europe: The Frid Apartment

We'd arrived in Vienna, Austria earlier that day to attend (the most welcoming ever) church, but before we headed out sightseeing we needed to find our airbnb apartment; the owner was waiting for us there. However when we went to punch in the address on our GPS, we realized we didn’t have a house number, only the street name. Although we had the apartment owner’s phone number, we had no way to contact her. Navigating our way to the correct street, we found it long and filled with large apartment buildings. What to do? Alex(andra) and I noticed that at the main door of each building there was a list of apartment numbers and last names of all the occupants. This of course led to the brilliant idea of Alex and I looking for our apartment owner’s last name (Frid) on all the building tenant lists. I headed down one side of the street and Alex the other, beginning the laborious process of scanning each occupant roster and then traversing down to the next tall building. “I found a Frid, I found a Frid!” Alex soon elatedly exclaimed. 

It's Not About the Beauty

Lying on the fluffy hotel bed, it almost enveloped me with its softness, encouraging me to drift off into dreamland. But no, I had work emails in my inbox waiting for responses. As I typed up an email, I glanced over at my friend lying on her own bed only a few feet away. "I'm leaving in about half an hour to go out with some friends," I reminded her. She smiled and nodded in response, her sleek blonde pony tail lay smoothly against her back. And all of sudden all the old feelings came flooding back with a sickening rush.

A friend I didn't know very well had invited me to go eat and hang out with a group of them that evening. I only somewhat knew a few people from the group and now these old feelings had resurfaced.

What if they don't like me?
What if I can't think of anything to say?
What if they think I'm boring?
What if I say something dumb?

Merry Christmas!

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The Case of the Lost Austrian Passport

Several of the student custodial workers rushed into my office this morning. “Look!” they shouted, holding out a dark red passport from Republik Osterreich, “Do you know this guy?” I opened it. A 29 year old male with long “fluffy” hair stared back at me – Vladimir C. – no one I knew. But how did we have his passport? How was it here on the Fountainview Academy campus? How long had we had the passport? Where had it come from?

Apparently the custodial girls had been getting ready to send our leftover lost and found items to ADRA and started looking through a black messenger bag before getting rid of it. Inside were packs of gum, shampoo, dirty socks, an empty cigarette carton – and the passport. 

Jesus and the iPhone Zombie

I was with a friend the other day when I began telling her a really important update in my life. I'd finished the "punch-line" and was moving on to the this-is-going-to-change-all-my-future-plans stage when I noticed her eyes had turned to her iPhone. Was she just checking the time? Was she looking at the latest and greatest on Facebook? Had she just gotten an email? How much of her attention did I still hold? 90%? Should I keep talking? Was it worth it for how much she might be hearing? Maybe she was only at 70%. I let my train-of-thought trail off.

I love fireworks - the rush of the crowd, the excitement of the moment, the splendor of fire exploding in the sky! The last time I was at fireworks with friends, my friend was beside me busily snapping pictures. "These are fantastic!" She'd exclaim. I glanced over at her staring up into the sky through her tiny viewfinder that made the sky 1/50th of the live show I was viewing. All for what? Having hundreds of fireworks pictures that would get archived onto a hard-drive and never viewed again? For getting that fantastic, clear shot that she probably wouldn't even upload on facebook for her 800+ friends to enjoy?

Hand-Raising Humiliation

So I'm sitting in this meeting, let's just say it's a sort of important meeting with sort of important people, and leave it at that. I'm in charge of taking the minutes so I'm sitting there with my laptop, diligently typing the discussions when the temptation of facebook became too much. Naughtily I scroll down the newsfeed: a million pictures of a friend's baby at the park, a dog doing something funny, assorted statuses, and a too-close-up shot of someone's face. And then there was this one picture. It was a photo of a guy, but he was holding his hand in a really odd position in the picture.
Now before I finish this story I'll have to admit that I'm a little strange. I'm a hands-on kind of person. I have to try things myself to learn or figure them out. If someone says a word that I think sounds interesting or strange I sometimes say it quietly under my breath a time or two just to try out how it sounds. So I'm trying to figure out how his hand is in this position and without even realizing it, I attempt to place my hand in the same position, just to see how it was done. And then I notice a bit of a lull in the talking around the table in the middle of an earnest discussion. Glancing up I realize half the table is looking at me.