Time

 

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When I am sick,

I measure time differently

When I finish this cup of tea,

I will go to bed,

When I stop coughing,

I will sleep

When this show is over

I’ll take a break

 

When my friends are married,

When I’m watching their children,

When I no longer

Celebrate my birthday,

Then I’ll know I’m middle-aged

 

When there are wrinkles in my hands,

When my hairs turn gray,

When the bags under my eyes

Can carry groceries,

Then I am old

 

How can time be measured?

What substantial thing can be done

To not tip the fragile figure of time

Over to her demise?

 

What is time anyway?

A concept?  An idea?

Two babies born simultaneously

At different times

At different places in the world…

 

Does the same instance

Count as the same time

If the two simultaneous occurrences

Are categorized differently?

 

What is time but a way to keep track

Of a life that passes so quickly?

 

What do I use this precious gift for

That makes it all

Worthwhile?

 

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Dear Social Media

Media Men1

Dear Social Media,

I love you
I hate you
I think about you way more than I should
I remember when we first met
You put your transparent arms around
My thirteen-year-old frame
And took me off into
A digital world of wonderment

We are friends
We are worst enemies
You trapped me, but I let you stay

Why are the most joyous times
Also the most wasted
When I spend them with you?

You showed me a new world,
But a world still it is,
With boundaries and limitations,
A world with its own set of rules
And regulations
A world so closely tied to
The one where I live,
I confuse them for each other

You’re addicting
You are full of lies and misconceptions
You carry tidbits of the truth
You let me see what I want to see in others
And let me show others
What I want them to see

I get lost in your scrolling
And pulled away by your notifications,
Grabbed from the moment I’m in

You’re so demanding, but I listen to you
You say you are free,
But living with you comes at a high cost

You annoy me
You distract me…
Someone liked my post
*Checks Facebook*

Deep Inside

Today on Tuna’s Cafe is a poem by my wise older brother Michael:

Deep Inside

Come with me you say
I’ll take you on the path
Show you the way

It gets darker the further in you go
But when the lights come on
It’s a brilliant show

There’s always hope,
Even deep inside
That’s where the truth resides

Sometimes what you find is ugly
But there’s nothing that
I can’t transform
Because as soon as my light
Has touched it,
It begins to take on a new form

“But you won’t like this journey,” I say
“Nonsense,” I’ll go anyway
Who are you to question me?
I’m the great hiker of life’s journey

I’ve been with people

You’d never imaging
People you never could fathom
So many people you’d be questioning
Yes, even the least of these

The people who journey
The closest to me
Are the people nobody
Wants to be

“That man who is
Shoe-less and homeless?”
Yes, he is one that I walk with
In fact, all of those people you see,
When you show love to them
You’re really showing love to me

That’s how I want you to be
My child, be free
Walk with me

The Button

I have a fast-forward button.  I use it to pass through the boring times in life, like waiting in line at the grocery store.  I tap the button and hold it down as long as I’d like to be unconscious so I don’t feel the time pass.  It’s great for waiting in doctor’s offices and when I experience things I don’t want to remember.  I just fast forward.  Push the button. That’s what I’ve done for the past 36 years. Except I don’t remember it all.

Every second I held down that button is a second not remembered.  A second forgotten. A moment when I felt nothing and the time just went past me.  Not feeling time is a luxury or a curse.  In my case, it is the latter.

I collected the button from my father and he taught me how to use it well.  Skipping time here and there is how I spent my life.  I went on a run one Tuesday afternoon like I always did.  I fell; I slipped and fell.  The button was in my pocket like it always was and hit a rock on the way down.  That’s the last thing I remember.  I was 27.

I got up evidently, since I would have needed to get up.  My friends showed me pictures of places I’ve been that I don’t remember.  I was fast forwarding my life without trying to. The button pressed down in my pocket, even when I got up.  I went to school as usual, graduate school.  I was studying to be a psychologist.  I have my doctorate mounted on my wall, but I don’t remember receiving it.  I have a wife and 3 kids, but I don’t know them.

It was this past Christmas Day when my younger sister noticed a hole in my pocket and offered to fix it.  She reached in and noticed the button was jammed, realizing that I wasn’t even there.  When you fast forward, you can function just fine, you just don’t feel anything.  That’s the curse.

My sister un-jammed the button and then I came to, in a shock.  I didn’t realize where I’ve been for the past 36 years.  I don’t have anything anymore because I thought time was a nuisance.  Time is a luxury.   Every time I skipped and was completely bored, is time I don’t have now.  And time spent that I never had is the reality of my life.  Now the only thing I have is people whom I don’t know and things that I did that I don’t care about.  The only thing I want to know is why I ever used that stupid button.

Living a Creative Lifestyle with The Bluemoon Thinker

Hello there, my name is The Bluemoon Thinker ~AKA~ Mandy Perfetto.  I’m a homeschooling mom, and newbie in all the following:

Writer

Illustrator

Photographer

Artist

Random blogger

And generalized re-discoverer of doing cool things in my life.

I was asked by a Very Creative friend of mine…the Tuna inspired proprietor of this Online Café of sorts, to write something about living a creative lifestyle for her blog.

Her request made me think a bit…a very scary place to be for me.  Anyhoo, it brought me to an interesting pattern of thought.  Do I live a creative lifestyle?  What does that creative lifestyle look like to other people?

I’m going to meander here for a bit, so please forgive me…for those of you who know me, it was to be expected.

I’ve been binge-listening to Twenty One Pilots.  If you don’t know who they are, I suggest you find out and do so quickly.  😉  Anyhoo, the lead singer for the group explained a bit of his writing process for their most recent album, Blurryface.  He explained that he thought about all the insecurities, fears, thoughts, what-ifs, and other things that hold him back in life and keep him from moving forward in the things he wants to do and holds him back from being the person he would like to be.  If he could give those things a persona and sit down across the table from him, what would that person look like?

So, that brought me to this thought… What does my Creative Me look like?

Okay, a bit of backstory.  My mom gave me some old pictures of me when I was little.  I look through them every so often because the Randomkiddos and the Hubster like to see all the cutesy pics my mom took of me as a Randomkiddo.

Back to topic, I was thinking about those pics and it hit me like a ton of bricks…That is My Creative Me.  The Five-something year old in me that never grew up who lives in my heart and soul.  She’s the Me that God created me to be.  The one who likes to laugh and be silly, enjoys watching cartoons and old movies, likes pig tails and fountain heads, loves over-acting and just acting weird in general… She’s My Creative Me and She’s the reason that I’ll never see myself as old.

So, on that note I…well the Creative Me… will answer these wonderful questions that Kristina asked me.

Here’s the Extremely abridged version that Tuna messaged me:

Can you write something about living a creative lifestyle? I have some questions…some random things I was thinking about, but you could write about more or less than that too if you want.

 

1. How do you continually generate new ideas?

I have been gifted with Aspergers & ADD so I have a TON of ideas flying around in this crazy daze head of mine. 😉  If anything there are almost too Many ideas, so I’m always working on something new.  But that’s cool, cause I lose steam on what I’m working on and usually need to let it sit and simmer for a bit.  Usually while I’m working on another project I’ll have an idea for that project that I left to sit and simmer smack me in the head like, “Eureka!”  So then I can go back to that old project with a new and inspired take on it.  A lot of my friends don’t understand how I can do that, but for me it’s very natural.

*insert smilie shrug emoji of your choosing

 

2.  How are deadlines a help or a burden?

I don’t have any deadlines currently and if I can help it, will never have any. Rofls.  I do try to give myself goals though.  Goals aren’t quite as scary to me as deadlines…but I guess tomatoe/tomato? ;)-

 

3.  What do you do about writer’s block?

To quote Twenty One Pilots, “I don’t have writer’s block, my writer just hates the clock.”

Like I said a question or two above, I have a lot of creative outlets to work on, so if I’m stuck on one project I move to another one that is simmering.  I do my own illustrations, photos, arrangements, designs, etc.  So, if I’m tired of writing then I move on to drawing, photography, or layouts.  So I guess writer’s block is not really an issue that keeps me from moving forward.

If I have a definitive goal in mind for myself and I’m Really trying to get a project done, l am practicing a new thing.  Instead of wandering around wondering what to do and aggravating myself, I ask the Lord for wisdom. He always shows me something I didn’t see before or points me in a direction to locate my answer. The answers seem to differ depending on the situation.

Sometimes it will be a suggestion to have a brainstorming session with my Randomkids.  Other times He tells me to go for a walk in the park to clear my mind and the answer will come to me once I’m relaxed and not stressing about all the things I need to do before supper.

One time just recently I was stuck on an art project that I was completing for a friend.  It was finished and had been for months, but I was completely stumped on how to frame it.  All the things that I tried just didn’t seem to fit it the pic.  I finally got myself quiet enough to sit down and Really be able to listen to what the Lord was telling me… a Very difficult process for me, but I’m workin’ on it.

He reminded me about a re-purposed mini-cabinet door turned Jewelry organizer that I had recently picked up at our local thrift store.  I immediately retrieved it from my treasured trove of finds to give away at a later date, and looked at it with an artist’s eye view.  It was a Perfect fit for my painting!  😮

I removed the screening the re-purposer had tacked on it to hang your jewelry from, cleaned it with lemon and salt, rubbed it down with a bit of olive oil, and wiped it down really well.  The Randomkids couldn’t believe it was the same piece when it was finished.  In fact because of the little handle on the bottom of the frame and the intact hinges on the top, they commented on how they could almost imagine opening the little door up to take a closer look at the animal I had on the painting. Lols

I wouldn’t have Ever thought of doing that with that jewelry organizer if I hadn’t asked the Lord for wisdom.  He’s way coolio with bringing the awesomely rockin’ answers.  Maybe I should start writing His name on my projects instead of mine. XD

 

4.  Are you self-critical? If so, how do you move past it?

Why yes.  Yes, I am.  I joined a support group for it recently, SCPA…Self Critical People’s Anonymous…Not to be confused with the better known Acronym SPCA…j/k   ;)-

I have always been a bit of a perfectionist.  Whatever I do in life, I want to do it to the best of my ability.  I also want the peeps who are involved in what I do to really enjoy themselves.  I want them to really like what they are reading, hearing, seeing, whatevs.

In order to stop the self-critical rants and pre-recorded tape playing, I do everything I can to embrace My Creative Me.

I surround myself with people who build me up and I can build up in return.  I post verses, funny comics, and witty sayings on my Facebook and Pinterest pages or just watch various things that remind me that it’s okay to Just be Me.  I also don’t put a lot of stock in what everybody says or thinks.

These things help me to jump off of the self-criticizing band wagon.  The only individual I’m most concerned about listening to is the Lord…and he Definitely sets me straight if I need it. Lols

 

5.  What everyday things do you do to keep ideas coming?

I read a lot of books from the library and when I’m going about my daily routine I’m always looking at things with an artist’s eye view.  For instance, when I go hiking with friends, I’m constantly taking pictures of things that strike me as a story in the making or could be an inspiration for a piece of art.  Sometimes just occurrences in life give me a thought for a story.

In one case, I was having a problem with something eating my tomatoes, but I couldn’t figure out what in the world it was.  A few days later I spied a fat squirrel sitting on my deck railing pulling cherry tomatoes off the vine and munching away merrily on them. Well, now he is written into an animal adventure story that I was working on.

Another time I was at a yard sale where the people were selling a bunch of different umbrellas and one was open and sitting on the lawn.  A weird thought popped into my mind about umbrellas floating downstream, which triggered another thought of umbrellas flying through the sky, and with that another idea for a children’s picture book was born.

So, I guess I don’t have to keep the ideas coming as much as the ideas come to me. Lols

 

6.  How does the position of your furniture affect the state of your mind?

Well, for me I need a lot of outside light.  When I’m painting or drawing or working on an art piece of some kind I Have to be at the kitchen table where I can see outside through our bay window.  If I’m typing up a story, I like to sit in a comfy chair with my headphones in and music blaring in my ears.

I really do better creatively if I can experience nature, light, music, and be comfy.  So I like my furniture arrangement to reflect a comfortable, bright, and homey feeling.

 

7.  What colors are you drawn to?

Well, once upon a time I only liked Black, Brown, and Dark Blue…but Now that I’m out of my Emo phase, I LOVE Bright and Exciting colors.  I actually love All colors and try to use Many Different colors in my art, what I wear, and even in decorating my house inside and out.  I am a Totally eclectic type of person, in fact now when I tell people I know about my Emo phase, they don’t believe me. Ha!

 

8.  Do you sporadically write, or are you a planned writer?

Absolutely Sporadic, unless I have a Planned mojo vibe going on…which does not happen often.  I meet with a group of writers every week in a group called Scribes Oasis.  One of the ladies comes early in the day and we write pretty much all day till we meet the other Scribes members in the evening.  This is my one so called planned day of writing a week. 😀

Sometimes I also participate in Awesome Sauce Writer’s Retreats.  For instance, our Scribes group had a Writers Up All Night Party.  That was Waaay fun.  And a friend invited me and another writer I know to a Writer’s Retreat with a group of writers…Also Totes fun.  Anyhoo, otherwise at home when I’m with the fam it’s Absolutely and Totally sporadic.

 

8a. Answer Part Deux?

As I was Attempting to edit this piece…by edit I mean Not correcting my grammar. He-He-He.  I realized that maybe Tuna was asking if I am a Pantser or a Plotter.  A lot of my more sage writer friends were using this terminology a bunch when I first got into writing…I had No idea what they were talking about. Lols

Later, it was explained to me that a Pantser literally writes by the seat of their pants.  They sit and just type as the story plays out in their head.  When they are finished they go back and fill out parts that are too thin or don’t make any sense or bring depth to characters that need it or erase characters and parts that don’t need to be there at all.

A Plotter plans out their story from beginning to end.  They use various writing methods and organizational layouts to achieve this.  They work on the characters before writing them, giving them depth and meaning…first name, middle name, last name, mother’s maiden name, blood type, allergies etc…

I am Most Definitely a Pantser…Plotting makes this little ADD mind go insane.  I do use some Plotting tips because the Aspie part of my brain likes organization.  But usually I am more of a Pantser because the ADD part of my brain loves the high speed connectivity of the Pantser style writing.

 

9.  How do you maintain priorities?

Priorities??  What’s that? Rofls

Actually, because I still am homeschooling my youngest, school comes before my writing, and of course things like Fam Time, chores like: making dinner, doing laundry and dishes, etc… all come before my writing and art.  The biggest issue I have is figuring out what I should focus on first when I do have the time to sit down and be creative. 😀

I’ve been contemplating scheduling out my creative times…but that will probs never get any further than just the contemplation phase. Lol

 

10. Does eating food help you write?

Well it depends on What kind of “food” we are talking about…Chocolate?  Oh definitely!  Peppermint patties are a must-have go-to writing snack-ism.

In winter I need to have my Snoopy mug full of cocoa sitting next to my laptop in order to function properly… In fact, last winter I accidentally spilled cocoa on my laptop.  😮  It still works wonderfully well, but has a lovely faint chocolate scent to it.

In summer I need to have some Frozen Peppermint Patties waiting for me to find in the freezer…I hide them on myself so it’s sort of like a fun in between writing treasure hunt to get my mind on something else. ;)-

 

11.  Do you set a time limit to write?

Nope, I usually don’t have a Ton of time to write, so I just write as long as I can, when I can.  XD

The same goes for my art and photography.  I make use of opportunities to take pictures when on hikes with friends, visiting people’s houses, going to the park with the Randomkiddos, or even when we are on field trips for school. 😀

When I’m cooking and I’m stuck in the kitchen babysitting the food anyhoo, I will snatch that as an opportunity to paint and draw.  I have to grab my opportunities as they come, because they don’t come around often enough.

 

Well, that is the end of Kristina’s questions, so I suppose I am Fin.

Thank you Tuna for the opportunity to do my First Writer Type Questionnaire. 😀

It was Extremely fun and gave me a TON to think about…again a scary place for me to visit…my brain. Lols

Please come over and visit me sometime on one of my many Random Bloggie sites:

https://randomthoughtsunderabluemoon.wordpress.com/

–  Comments, Remarks, Observations, Statements, Reflections, and other Blabbery

 

https://randomstoriesunderabluemoon.wordpress.com/

– Random Imaginings, Tales, Lore, Yarns, and Other Anecdotal Narratives

 

https://randomplacesunderabluemoon.wordpress.com/

– The Random Places in My Mind Expressed Thru Art & Photography

TTFN,

The Bluemoon Thinker 🙂

~AKA~

Mandy Perfetto 🙂

P.S.- Happy Creative Lifestylin’ 😀

 

I Jumped

Hole Jump (2)

 

“Just through that hole,” he told me.  It will feel like you’re falling. You will fall. But you gotta get to the other side.”

I woke up in a ball of sweat as I remembered his words. I tried, again and again. Until that day I decided to do it.

I started the engine and flew. I felt alone in the dark, navigating things I couldn’t see very well. I found the place. The peak which defined my individuality. And I jumped.

And I fell. I broke my shoulder. I cried. I kept falling even though I already hit the ground. I fell through the ground which I didn’t know was possible.

I got stuck. I got out again. And I walked. I walked until my legs couldn’t carry me. And then I slid. I slid all the way down even though I thought I was already all the way down. But once you are already all the way down, there’s only one direction you can go.

So I went up. I walked as steeply as I could until I was there. Then I knew I was ready to go through the hole. So I jumped.

Metaphor Mashup

Today on Tuna’s Cafe is Metaphor Mashup!  Metaphor Mashup is exactly how it sounds: a conglomeration of various metaphors my two friends and I created over the past year.  I founded what I like to call the How’s Yo Soul Project where instead of asking how someone is, you inquire about the well-being of their soul.  It’s much deeper and the answers are interesting.  I even designed a t-shirt to go with the expression:

How's Yo Soul T

The idea didn’t take off like I dreamed it would, but my mini squad and I continue to ask each other how our souls are in the form of metaphors.  So without further ado, I present to you the vast expressions of our souls in the form of a Metaphor Mashup.  Enjoy.

 

My soul is like a flamingo.  It’s filled with a lot of pink and personality.  Sometimes I feel like I’m balancing on just one foot.  I could make it easier on myself and use both feet, but I forget that sometimes.  But most importantly a flamingo is extroverted.  Always with her pink flamingo besties. 😀

My soul feels like a wall that just had some of the old wallpaper torn off and at first it hurt, but that was before the wall realized that the pain had to happen in order to receive the beautiful new paint that makes it feel so good and better now!

My soul feels like a lamp because sometimes the light is turned on and bright and it draws other people to be in the room where the light is, but other times my bulb burns out and it’s dark and sad.

My soul is like hair dye because people expect it to look exactly like it does on the box in real life, but it doesn’t always come out that way.

My soul is like a cardboard box because I box up my emotions and put a, “Fragile, This Way Up,” sticker on it, but not everyone reads it because it’s in really small print.  And so the box will get tumbled around and this little antique vase is inside and not everyone one can tell that.  Then when the cardboard box package reaches its destination, the guy opens it up and there’s like a million tiny pieces of this vase in the cardboard box and then it gets swept away into the trash and is burned in the fire.  Because there’s fire.

My soul is like a donut because it is so sweet sometimes and looks wonderfully glazed and sprinkle-icously colorful, but then you bite into it and it’s all bland and stale.  But then I have to focus on the sprinkles and the glaze and not worry about the fact that I didn’t get a cream filled one.

My soul is Styrofoam.  It is a trademarked brand of closed-cell extruded polystyrene foam currently made for thermal insulation and craft applications because you can poke things into it so easily…in a good way.  Whatever touches my soul has a way of staying there, and if it should ever leave, there would be a hole in my soul.

My soul is like a grape because sometimes when it gets really hot it weathers up into a raisin and lies miserably on the pavement in a pile of sweat and tears.  Other times it is very juicy and crunchy when you bite into it and full of good tasting stuff.

My soul is like a pinecone because it could be pretty sometimes, I guess, but it is also pokey and inside is a bunch of stuff that you wouldn’t see unless you broke past the pokes.

My soul is like a birdhouse because birdhouses attract a lot of birds if you know what I mean and um….And there really isn’t that much room on the inside.

My soul is a blue plastic container.  As much as I want my life to be a bigger container…It’s not the size of the container that matters, but how much food you can stuff inside it.

My soul right now is tired but reflective.  So my mood is a cantaloupe because you have to throw it on the ground to open up the goodness inside.  I’m sleepy, so you might need to throw me on the ground to wake me up and get a half-decent metaphor out of my brain.  The end.

My soul is like a toothbrush because I’m constantly going in circles trying to clean things up.

My soul is like a clothes hanger because there are bumpy pokey parts and smooth parts, and it is just bare ugly metal, but when you take the time to put ribbon on and make it pretty, then people will pay a lot more and consider it worth something.

My soul is a laundry basket.  It brings up clean clothes for me to wear, but the further I go without washing them, it only plies up with more dirty laundry.  But the beauty is, I can always take that dirty laundry to the washer.  It makes my clothes clean again.  And they are bleached white as snow.

My soul is like a ladybug because a ladybug is always assumed to be happy go lucky, but you never know what may be up with the ladybug.  I mean, how do you know that the ladybug’s whole family didn’t just die and she/he broke his/her leg and she/he’s crying, but you assume because of the happy looking red and black spots that the ladybug is happy.  That’s how my soul feels.

My soul and a ladybug are alike in that my soul wants to fly away from what seems to be never ending homework. Also, beetles are not always looked upon with much favor and lady bugs are often misunderstood because people might always think they are ladies when in fact they can also be a man.  So my soul may contain something other than what people expect it to be.

My soul is a ladybug because I love polka dots.  Also they bridge the gap between creepy bug and pure cuteness…Idk what that’s supposed to mean….

 

So there you have it!  Metaphor Mashup.  If you need a better way to ask someone how they really are, just ask them how their soul is.  They will tell you.  And then you can make up a random metaphor about ladybugs.  It’ll be great 😉

 

BONUS QUOTES:

If my hand was a car seat, my legs would be plastic like a credit card.

I feel like my body got hit with an over-sized spatula.

 

 

Window Shopping

Screenshot_20160723-163152

The other side of the glass
Just window shopping
Convenient, I am far away
No need to go in

I walk by numerous stores
Each so appealing
I take a moment just to gaze

Too many shops
For my short attention
Span across for miles

I see a shirt I like
I pull on the door
But it is locked
I do not persist

No need to invest
When I have no money
I am only window shopping

Why should I be
Prepared to give
When I have no
Means to receive?

Walking with
An empty hand
Wishing for a bag to hold
But there is no bag
Of clothes to hold
When I am only
Window shopping

Loving everything I see
Leaving it in the store
No need to bring it
Home with me
I am only window shopping

Disappointed when I leave
But there is not that
Much to leave
When all I do is window shop
In my relationships

John 7

Hey wonderful people of the Internet! I’m still alive! I know I haven’t posted in forever, but I thought the three of you who follow this blog would understand:) (Be on the look for my new blog about missions :D)

I’m reading through the book of John with a friend right now.  When I got to chapter 7, I wondered what it would be like to be Jesus’ next door neighbor. I have the advantage of living 2,000 + years later, but what would it be like to know Jesus as a person? Would I believe that easily seeing Him day to day? Here is my creative understanding of John 7, from the viewpoint of his neighbor:

 

I’m a little confused; I think everyone is. Jesus and I grew up together. I’m his neighbor, or at least I was. He’s wandering around from village to village now. I stay at home to watch the sheep.

Yesterday I went into town to trade wool with Samuel son of Isaac for some figs. And there was Jesus, teaching the people in the temple courts. It’s the time of the Festival of Tabernacles. I don’t normally go to such events, but Jesus’ voice carried over to the open market.

Then Jesus said, “I am with you for only a short time, and then I am going to the one who sent me, but you will not find me and where I am going, you cannot come.”

I stood there thinking, “‘Cannot find you’? I know where you live!” I wished I could go over there and tell him that myself. Someone else must have been thinking the same thing because they said to their neighbor,
“What did he mean when he said ‘you will look for me, but you will not find me,’ and, ‘where I am you cannot come,’?”

I sat down by the Papyrus plants for a while and stroked my beard. I’m not really sure what Jesus meant. I used to be so close to him. We played hide and seek as kids, but somehow Jesus always knew where I was. And that got me thinking, what if Jesus is more than just my neighbor? It’s hard to view someone as any more than ordinary when you see them in everyday activities. And interact with them in the normalcy of life. And eat meals together and skip stones across the lake.

Then I remembered what Jesus said earlier that day:
“Yes, you know me, and you know where I am from. I am not here on my own authority, but he who sent me is true. You do not know him,  but I know him because I am from him and he sent me.”

I don’t understand how Jesus is sent. That’s why I’m a little confused. I thought about it all day, and the only conclusion I have is that he really is sent from God…somehow. That tangles my mind like knotty sheep’s wool, but from where else could Jesus be sent?

Parallel Universes and Fires

In case you haven’t heard, they took Doctor Who off Netflix.  I was so upset.  Still quite upset, actually.  Doctor Who is the longest running television show in the world.  It started airing on BBC in the 1960’s as a child’s education program, but turned into an epic science-fiction show.  I only know this because I gave my final speech on Doctor Who for my college speech class.  (Don’t judge).  But now it’s off Netflix and there is no way I’m paying $20 for half of a season at Walmart.  That’s ridiculous.

dr. who

Without having Doctor Who to watch anymore I’ve been exploring the unknown sci-fi section of Netflix.  This one movie I came across called Parallel is a very suspenseful movie about a brother and sister who try to find their dad.  Instead of waiting outside the building like their father asked, they go INSIDE the building and then the building takes them to a parallel universe and a guy tries to blow it up because he hates their father because *spoilers*.  The building jumps to different parallel universes every 36 hours.  It’s amazing.  Sometimes the characters run into the parallel version of themselves.

That got me thinking that maybe out there somewhere there’s a Tina with a blog that has a thousand followers and recorded an album with all these awesome original songs and lives in a parallel version of Europe with her cat…a cat in yellow pajamas with tiny bananas on them.  Maybe, just maybe.  And that got me thinking about all the possible possibilities there are for my life and that, my friends, is quite exciting.  Maybe the cat will have blue pajamas instead.

Speaking of exciting life possibilities, I recently got a second job.  I wasn’t planning on it, it just happened.  I got a phone call on a Saturday morning just as I was waking up at the wee hour of 10am when the phone vibrated.  Apparently I am good at cleaning so I was offered a cleaning job.  And apparently I’m also good with customers so I was promoted to sales and services in my first job.  I am very grateful for both.  I bought myself a French Vanilla coffee in celebration.

*Yesterday (actually not yesterday) was my first day at my second job after I worked at my first job from 8-5.  By the time I got started on my second job it was 8pm.  So I worked from 8-5 then 8 to midnight.  On the way home is when I bought the celebration coffee.  I needed it.

I should probably mention that my first job is actually a ministry from my church, Emmanuel’s House.  We fix appliances and I clean them and sell them and sometimes help deliver them.  I used to brag about how I could lift a fridge up three flights of stairs, but then I got tendonitis.  I still go on deliveries; I’m just more careful and less ambitious.

It’s quite the unique opportunity for us to be able to go into people’s homes and deliver an appliance and pray for them if they want.  I was on a delivery the other day and we delivered a washer into a basement some college age ladies were living in.  I work with my brother.  I should probably also mention that.  He’s the assistant manager now so I have to be on good behavior 24/7.

So there the two of us were: in a basement with the broken washer we were removing and the new one we were installing.  I look around the walls and saw sayings like, “Believe in yourself,” and “Stay Focused,” chalked on the wall.  “Eat well,” gave us both a laugh.  It was the most encouraging basement I’ve ever been in, really.

The encouraging basement was quite the drastic difference from what I felt testing alarms the other week.  Whenever they need me, I help test fire alarms.  I’m usually cleaning the offices where I was recently hired, but sometimes I’m needed elsewhere.

So I went near Philadelphia to help test fire alarms in an apartment complex.  Testing audibles is extremely loud and people freak out because most think it is a real fire because they didn’t read the notice.  Meanwhile, I’m running back and forth between apartments smacking my ear to the door so I can hear the apartment alarms amidst all the chaos.  Then out pops this women in a towel, “Is there a fire?!” “Nooo, ma’am it’s okay.  You don’t have to leave.”  I assured her as she went back inside and hopefully got fully dressed.  It was quite the experience.

Fire Distinguisher

 

In the same apartment building there was a strange guy from Scandinavia who somehow knew my name and really creeped me out.  He would just stand in the hallway and be like,” Hi Kristina…”  I never met him so the fact that he knew my name was extremely creepy.  I stayed near the guys I was working with and they were like, “We’ll protect you!”  Although none of them actually said that.  I could just tell that’s what they meant.

Sometimes when I’m cleaning I feel like Clark Kent doing an undercover mundane job until they need me for something life threatening like testing fire alarms and then I’m Super Women and save a bunch of children from a burning building.  Of course that doesn’t actually happen except for in my concerning amount of imagination.

Thankfully I don’t have to imagine much to find some excitement.  On another delivery with my brother last week we delivered a dryer.  This was our second attempt to deliver it because the last time it was scheduled she was away at a conference for people who are training to work in morgues.  I never met anyone who worked in a morgue before, so I thought this could be very interesting.

It was.  At first Rosie (actually not her name) was very short and impatient, making sure we did everything right.  She kept reminding us of the birthday party her five year old son was attending at 6pm so we should hurry even though it was only 3pm.  To be honest, I thought her son was a girl.  His hair was so long it looked feminine.

We went in their house to measure the doorway to make sure we could get the appliances in and out.  We noted it would be a tight squeeze, but we were determined.  “I’ve already been here twice, I’m not coming back again,” is how determined my brother was.

The dryer we were delivering didn’t have the right cord which usually isn’t a problem because they’re easy to change on the truck.  My brother asked me to change the cord while he took off the door to the house since that would give another inch or so to bring in the dryer.  So he quickly showed me how to do it.

Then Rosie came out and asked me, “Have you done this before?” and I of course had to say no which made me look really bad and then she got all upset about it being a possible fire hazard for her son.  We always make sure we do the job right so I assured her if I didn’t know yet it would be double checked and everyone would be safe and no fire.  But if there was a fire, I could also check their fire alarm to make sure that works but I didn’t offer that service.

Rosie still seemed upset, so I got off the truck and we started talking about what she does.  She said when her grandmother passed away in 2011 is when she decided she wanted to be a funeral director.  Apparently she worked really closely with her grandmother’s funeral director.  Before that she was a cosmetologist.  I said that must take a lot of strength to be around grieving people all the time.  She said it does.  After that she was nicer to us.

I met her little boy, Sammy who has a type of down-syndrome.  Apparently his doctor said that if his hair is cut it may traumatize him.  So Rosie just lets it grow.  I was impressed with how smart the little guy is and he started speaking Russian.  Rosie said he goes on YouTube by himself and learns different languages.  He also likes instruments and Rosie is in a band and plays an electric guitar which she showed me.  I love guitars.

It was really neat to see how Rosie opened up after she knew we were there to help.  It would have been easy for me to stay upset at her for not being very welcoming, but eventually I was able to see that she was just concerned for Sammy’s safety.  Maybe she’s used to people taking advantage of her since she is a single mom.  She had to separate from Sammy’s father because of his drug problem.

I did all this talking while my brother was busy putting the door back on after we installed the dryer.  At the end we prayed together.  It was soo peaceful, a HUGE difference from when we first arrived.  I was touched by how I was able to be used by Jesus and all I was doing was being myself and I didn’t do no fancy dance or nothin’.  Things like that have been happening with me more often.  It excites me to see how I am being prepared to be a missionary in Germany.  Sometimes I forget that I am a missionary already.  And I don’t have to be in an imaginary parallel universe for that.

If you have gotten this far, thanks for reading!  You may or may not have noticed I totally haven’t been posting every week…..so I decided to post updates like this once a month under the category What’s Up and New.  In the meantime, I’ll post some poems and stuff that pops into my brain under Poems and Stuff.  Have a fabulous week!  Until next time.

– Tuna S.