caffeinated shyness

I was commending Andrea last night, over a fifth (maybe sixth) cookie and a cup of coffee, about how well-organized and highly involved our volunteer force is at the church and how well-organized the church is in general.

She laughed.

"You think so?" she asked, a little unsure.

"Andrea, for most churches, 'advanced planning' is maybe a week in advance. Mostly, they call each other up that morning and say 'hey! How 'bout we do this tonight or tomorrow night?' And then they do it. This? (I gestured around the house we were in, which was full to bursting with people who had just finished caroling and delivering cookies around town at the homes of people in the church who are ill) This wouldn't happen. This kind of planning just doesn't happen in most small churches in small towns like Laramie."

Andrea smiled.

"And we have a HUGE volunteer force!" I continued. "There are chances for anybody to be involved, on whatever scale they like. I can serve Jesus by serving coffee, and that makes me happy."

She beamed. Andrea's our volunteer coordinator. And then she told me that she thinks I'd be a good greeter, which made me laugh.

"I'd hide behind the bulletins ... 'don't look at me!'" I said, still laughing.

She laughed again, then told me I need to grow out of that.

She might be right.

In the meantime, I make some pretty good coffee.

Mugs Musing

I have noticed -- I am hardly ashamed to admit this -- that my favorite dishes tend to be my mugs. For those of you who know me (and if you're reading this, I hope you do ...), this is hardly surprising. Coffee, and its many vessels, is very nearly the love of my life. Tea is a close runner-up, and since it is similarly drunk from a mug, I embrace it with enthusiasm.

My latest favorite mug stands as evidence that mothers -- though they claim to love every painting and drawing, every hand imprint or pottery project that their child may ever bring home -- really can't wait for the day that Little Johnny moves out ... because they can then sell or throw away all the art projects that have been collecting since kindergarten.

I was clueless at first to the origins of my new beverage-holder. I found it during my last trip to Gillette, when I generously decided to unburden my parents' storage shed of some (more) of my many, many books. There, on a shelf, with a 25-cent garage sale sticker still stuck to it, sat a beautiful earthenware mug, with a large, graspable handle, the whole mug consisting of varying shades of brown.

It was love at first sight. I could immediately picture our future together -- a love that would grow over time, over coffee, over tea.

I love this mug.

I told my mother that I was adopting the mug, and I took the blank look on her face to mean that she had completely forgotten about it (I was horrified that this could happen). Not to mention that there was no space in her cupboards for this homeless mug. I was only too happy to toss it in my car, take it home, clean it up and christen it as soon as possible with a cup of coffee.

I love this mug.

It was while I was washing it the second tme that I saw it -- with a toothpick or a very fine-tipped tool, my beloved mug's maker had marked this work of art: "Scott Richins, 4/14/83."

And Little Scotty's mother had sold what was likely a Mother's Day gift for 25 cents at a garage sale.

Poor mug.

It has a home now -- it nests in my Quaker Oatmeal bowls -- and it seems quite content. We both are. As I write this, it's serving me large quantities of soy chai latte ...

I love this mug.

Guess I Should Write Something Musing

June 7, 2007

It's snowing. I'm not kidding. I don't need to make up stuff like this when the stuff is coming down in big, fluffy, furious flakes that are now coating the cars outside my office window. It's June 7, and it's snowing. Reminds me of two years ago ... snow. Lots of it. Exploding transformers at 5 a.m. The National Guard called in to clean up the tree branches out of the streets. The fire alarm backup in my building beeping every three seconds, all day long ... I hope this craziness stops before we get to that point again.

I have existed for 28 years today, but I don't feel any wiser. I DID, however, find two gray hairs this morning, oh joy. Happy birthday to me ...

The Wedding

I will have a lot more to say about the wedding, I hope, at a later time, when my thoughts are coherent and I'm not tired.

It was a beautiful wedding -- absolutely gorgeous, even when it was pouring down rain during our outdoor photo shoot. Molly was beautiful, Matt was handsome, there were relatives and friends galore ... a very nearly perfect day. I have lots o' photos at www.flickr.com/photos/wyosarah203.

Caffeine-resistant fatigue??

No matter how much coffee I've had this week, I still want to crawl off somewhere and sleep for a few hours straight ... seems to increase the more I'm at work. I think I could fit under my desk, but considering the dedication of our cleaning crew, I'm not quite sure that the floor under my desk has been vacuumed since the carpeting was installed over a year ago, so I guess nap time under the desk is out. Ick.

To Chris

Here's my toast to Chris, whose plans did not come to fruition and whose life is not taking a turn that he had anticipated, but who is taking it like more of an adult that I think I would under the circumstances. Cheers to Chris.

Fishing with Ray

I get to go fishing next weekend with Ray, a man I've never met but who gives me endless grief about having not held a fishing pole since I was 17. To remedy this, he's taking me out to catch a slimy fish ... I made him promise that I wouldn't have to handle any worms ... ick.

Jessi!!!

And I get to see Jessi this weekend when I go to Sheridan. Our friend Sara is getting married, and since I haven't seen Jessi since late last July, this will be a much-needed catch-up time with a dear friend. Hurray for Jessi!

And my parents have notified me that one of the rooms will be empty on Sunday, so I can actually stay at my own home for the one night that I'm in Gillette. Small thankfuls. :0) Sadly, it is NOT the creepy firebug who is moving out. And even if it was, I'm not sure that I would want to sleep in that bed ...

Have a fabulous day, everyone. I hope it's not snowing where you are. You should pity me.

Oh Happy Day Musing

Starbuck's now offers a sugar-free version of the Cinnamon Dolce latte. I have yet to try it -- it was pointed out to me by my barista (yes, MY barista) today while I waited in anticipation of my first caffeiene of the day ... if only I could read. It was right there, double-underlined, in front of my face. What can I say -- I don't function 'til I've got some umph in me ....

Cheerio

Tryptophan Hangover Musing

I love Thanksgiving. I really do. It's the gateway to The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. What I don't like about Thanksgiving is having to work on that day. Like I did this year.

Determined to not have the pathetically self-pitying Thanksgiving that I had two years ago when I had to work the holiday, I set out to enjoy the offerings of one of the local churches that was sponsoring a community Thanksgiving dinner. It was delicious. I had hot & spicy fried turkey, a fruit stuffing, and all the other trimmings ... including a tryptophan hangover that showed up right around the time that I was supposed to show up for work. I tugged on the jeans and sweatshirt (traditional post-gluttony clothing) and dragged myself to work, where the promise of another holiday treat is holding me over through my I-hate-working-holidays grinchiness ...

And that treat is peppermint-flavored coffee. Did you know there was such a thing? God bless America, land of the free and home of brave food developers. That peppermint-flavored coffee made it out of the experimental lab and into the bulk coffee bins at my local Wal-Mart is likely no small miracle. That it is now mingling with Coffeemate in the mug on my desk makes working the holidays a little less bah-humbug-ish. Scrooge, you can make me work every major holiday this year, but you can't take away my coffee.

God bless us, every one!

On Today's Starbucks Cup Musing

"The way I see it ...
A child's mind isn't a blank slate; it's more of a jungle. Each time a parent helps a toddler read, the child is walked through this jungle from one side to the other. Trip after trip, a seemigly impossible passage becomes a well-worn path. Children sent to kindergarten skipping merrily along this path to literacy fare far better than those sent to school with machetes."
-- Keith Mastrion, "Reading Man" and 1998 National Teacher of the Year.