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.

Miracle of the Applesauce

Ellen and I decided to make applesauce...lots of it. So last night we ran in to town and bought 60 one quart canning jars and today we started the process. We got four large boxes of apples from the campus fruit barn and set about canning.  For those who know about making applesauce...well it's not necessary for me to explain all the steps; and for those who don't...I'm not going to take the time, but know--it is a bit of a process! About halfway through we wondered if we should get more apples, but I was too lazy and told Ellen we should just keep going with what we had. But towards the end, it seemed now we wouldn't have enough jars and I began wondering where we could get more jars from. As I worked on funneling the remains of the last pan of applesauce into the last 4 jars, I tried to estimate how this would end - I'd either have too few, or too many jars. But as I cleaned out the final pan with a spatula and and directed the last few drops of applesauce into the very last jar, it was filled perfectly. And by perfectly, I mean perfectly - not a drop too much, and not a drop too little. I mean seriously, what are the chances that we randomly got exactly the precise amount of apples to exactly fill the 60 jars we had?
Mind blown.

Guest Room Embarrassment

Yesterday evening I hurried through the cafeteria when I came upon a distraught Bethany (guest room manager), “The guests who were staying in guest room #6 that left for a few days ago are returning tonight, and I heard that the maintenance crew were in their room working and it might be a mess. I've been trying to get a hold of my mother to ask her to check, but I can’t find her and I have to run to orchestra practice right now!”  
“Don’t worry,” I soothed, “I’ll go check out the room and make sure it's okay.” Hopping on my dirt bike I navigate down the dark road without a headlight towards the guest rooms. Pulling right up in front of the door to guest room #6, I jumped off my bike and yanked the door open. Imagine my surprise and horror to find a woman standing there in the room staring back at me; her husband was lying in the bed. In shock I just quickly shut the door. Apparently the guests had returned earlier than expected. But then I stood outside the closed door thinking they were probably wondering what I had been doing. I'd better tell them I decided. But in my flustered state, instead of knocking first, I just opened the door right up again. Apologetically I explained the situation to the nice lady and tried to make a hasty departure. But then my dirt bike was having trouble starting, it was too cold for it, and I’m sure they could hear me trying over and over to start it. Finally with a sigh of relief I made my escape.