Now you see her…

This is my last day of work, people.

I’m going now.

::whpppp:: Out the door.





Well, perhaps not that suddenly. The truth is that I will be dropping off the face of the (Indiana) earth tomorrow as me and the family trek down to Texas for The (literal) Last Hurrah. Of course, to a certain peoples this will actually be us falling back on to the face of the earth. All depends on if you’re a euchre player or an armadillo, I guess. Anywho, we’ll be visiting the loverly folk back home until the 27th, methinks (which bumerously means that I can’t go to any CYA events during that time – oh crumbs). I miiiight get a post in, but no promises while there’s Blue Bell Ice Cream to distract me. :P

The other news for Hoosiers and such is that I believe our church Sycamore RPC is having a special sending service for us (nice alliteration for all you English geeks!) on the evening of Sunday July 2 at 6 p.m.

If you are anywhere in the vicinity of Kokomo/Indianapolis/ Lafayette/Elkhart/Seattle WA you need to come to this service to say goodbye.

There will be no pardons for missers, non-travelers, summer-class-takingers, or I’m-snowed-out-in-Massachusettsers – everyone needs to be there!

You have been warned.

Tickling my fancy

When one comes in stressed and plans to post, sometimes the best thing to do is just get a tickle. You can go to tickle.com and take personality tests ranging from the spiffy to the absurd and in general learn things about yourself that neither you nor anyone else on the planet knew (what kind of rug you would make, for instance). I found this first test particularly enlightening:

Al Einstine, Spending Time with Loved Ones renews your spirit

They say love conquers all — including stress. So when you're feeling zapped, what better way to lift your spirits than by surrounding yourself with those near and dear to you? A little R&R with the ones you love can make all the difference for a caring and loving soul like you.

Generous and kindhearted, you're probably always there for other people. So when you need a lift, why not pick up the phone? Reaching out to friends and family is the best way for a sweetie like you to feed your soul and refresh your outlook on life. Sounds good to us!

And then, of course, everyone has to see what they used to be...

Discover Your Past Life

Al Einstine, you're a Monkey!

Don't go bananas — in your former life you were a tiny monkey named Oompa. Here's what we know about you: Adorably sweet demeanor and sharp as a tack, you found success working with a street performer named Juan, who worshipped you and treated you like his own child. He bought you a gold satin jumpsuit with royal blue ruffles, a matching top hat, and a sequined bag for donations. He would play your favorite disco tunes on his accordion, prompting you to dance around and flirt with the crowd while you collected spare change and picked pockets. Everybody loved you. And you loved everybody. You and Juan took your gig around the country and raked in the riches. You were one happy little monkey.

Whoh, boy, have I missed my calling!!!

Watching the deep

I feel like a sailor on a long voyage who has discovered a curious fact. Though the journey as a whole is aiming toward one end, each leg of the voyage, each little seasonal wind, has a quality all its own. An inexperienced swabby like me not only has to guard against the dangers of each period, like falling asleep during the doldrums or collapsing under a gail, but they have trouble just adjusting to the seasons of the journey. I find that when a storm blows up, I often persist in working the details of the kitchen; or when a two week gail is finally past, I still cling to the main sail instead of walking about in the sun!

It’s been a little over a month since I stopped school and after a couple of weeks of break I realized this – there is life after homework!! It wasn’t just that the world had bloomed at last or that I could go to bed at 10:30 at last (heh), but there are relationships, there are crossroads, there is life outside of completing projects dawn to dusk. Being the uncompromising efficiency machine that I am, it has taken me these past several weeks to start living life outside the textbook again, and I see that it is a sweet and precious thing.

And now that I’ve started to discover this, we’re going to go away.

Ouch.

So if the previous leg of the voyage was full of furious work within the ship, and this next course in Scotland is a launch into uncharted waters, what about these few weeks in between? Well, quite simply, there has been a lot of looking out to sea.

You’ll catch me doing it when I’m alone in the gallery with a sad song on the speakers. It’s a weighing of life, a treasuring and a sadness over the past, a watching of the future. It’s looking out to sea.

You’ll find me and Mom doing it as we walk all around our house division, Forest Park. We go often to Big Ben and visit our favorite barista because our time here is short. We stop what we’re doing to muse or admire or visit because we are both looking out to sea.

I even hear it wailed over the guitar as Ben makes it come alive at night. He plays that song just one extra round, or he goes with the guys to the Y and makes sure to stop by Speedway for one more drink. You count your blessings and look out to sea.

I hear Amy making plans to visit Katie (sp?) again, or hop over to Meijer or Old Navy with Lidz. She gives Brian a hard time on Sundays and she smiles at Joy, but with Bailey in her arms who could help but look out to sea?

Dad has been amazing and with ministry/work/cars/insurance/boxes/checkbags/tickets on his mind, he still makes special time for other things. He invites the guys over for a burger, just one more burger, and then he gets them the special pepper cheese. I can tell he’s counting the hours as well, he’s treasuring the talks and laughter, looking out to sea.

We all wonder, When shall I ever do this again? How often shall I get to hug her again? Will we be miserable out there? Will it be glorious? Can't the sunset stay just a minute longer so that I can look into the horizon?

Looking out to sea

Lunch at the gallery

Ok, so Jims has inspired me with her story of ginormous bald men to tell you what the *real* work world is all about. While she's off in latte land, some of us baristas of the art world are slaving away twice a week to deliver modern Mona Lisas to Kokomo. And let me tell you, the workplace isn't ultimately about serving the customers, or working with grace and efficiency (such things as the Jims spends her time doing). Work in a real man's environment is about sacrifice.

So let me tell you of the T-day lunch hour in the IUK Art Gallery.

11:55 a.m. - Cabby has been working like a dog - lifting up finger after finger at the computer.

::sigh:: Such stress!

12:10 p.m. As her morning project comes to a close, the Cabby begins to eye her lunch quota, (attractively thrown into a Kroger sack 0.2 minutes before leaving the house). She knows that there are luscious dainties waiting inside! Often there was a microwavable Chef Boyardee lasagna bowl (you wouldn't believe the smell of canned sauce after it's been nuked!), another time it was summer sausage and cheese, all comfortably room temperature. But the best of all was when the cabbage absentmindedly packed a bowl of cold tuna that could fill the office with its fragrance... and there we pick up the story.

12:15 Cabby has run down to the cafeteria to get the one critical condiment that she must have with every meal: sweet pickle relish! Ah yes, it goes with everything. Now she relaxes in her chair and unpacks the motley of little baggies and tupperware which make up lunch. She's going to enjoy sinking her teeth into those squished chips...

But what is that sound? A footstep in the art gallery?!

Cabby looks up just in time to see a patron jump with embarrassment and surprise, it is an art lover in her early 50's who has just caught sight of the curator waving her tuna-y fingers over a little warzone of a desk. Was this the right entrance to get into the university gallery?!, thinks the woman. To hide her disgust she suddenly becomes very interested in a painting of Mary Joe’s smirking little brother Billy (complements of the high school exhibit).

Meanwhile, Cabby abashedly hides her pool of tuna and tries to look professional without showing any of the relish in her teeth – a difficult undertaking, you do the math.

And thus begins the curator’s lunch. During the 2 hours that she was on duty before, not a soul was seen in the gallery, not a toenail entered. But now that pickle water and mayonnaise are drying on her fingers, there is an art lover here getting engrossed in the show. Tuna becomes warmer, crackers become soggier, and the minutes tick by while Cabby meditates on the career impact of sack lunches. She also wonders how the art public knew when to suddenly appear at the moment of the curator’s first bite.

It’s all coincidence of course, we shan’t indulge in any base suspicions.