Dialogue in Sophomore Small Group:
Polly: If God were to brag on Haley, what would He say about her?
Sophomore Girl: She has good hair.
Polly: Hmmm, lets go a little deeper...
Sophomore Girl: She has good hair roots...?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Conquoring fears, one by one
Today was a milestone day for me.
For a few days now, our garbage disposal has made a horrible sound when turned on. All of my roommates have successfully ignored the symphony of metal on metal every time it's used.
Today, it was my turn to ignore it. As I washed out a bowl and flipped that friendly little switch that usually washes away all the nastiness, I was greeted with the familiar screeching I've heard all week long.
I've always had a fear of garbage disposals.
I don't like to look down them. I don't like to smell them. I don't like to hear them. And I sure as heck would never reach down one. That was until today...
My first step towards victory was taking a look into it.... Nothing. It was too dark.
So I got my cell phone to provide some light.
I'm sure I was the epitome of a modern women as I stood above the hole with my cell phone held out in hopes of catching a glimpse of the culprit making all the noise.
Nothing.
I had a choice. Do I walk away and wait for the next person to figure out what is down there?
Not this time...
It took all the estrogen my system to conjure up the matriarchal duty I was about perform. But I did it. I put my hand down the garbage disposal. And not only that, but I had to feel around. A lot. I felt the 4 little blades that serve us oh-so-well throughout the week. And then I found it. A loose piece. I pulled it out to discover it was half of a corn-on-the-cob holder. You know those things you put on the end of the cobs to give you a handle? Well I found half of one. That meant I had to go back in for the second half.
So I stuck my hand down the garbage disposal. Again.
Found it.
Thinking my ordeal was over, I flipped the switch hoping to hear the sound of blades hitting nothing but air. Nope. More clatter.
I went in again. Found another half. Which meant, I had to go in one more time.
Four times! I stuck my hand down that thing, 4 times.
Victory.
Drover-1
Garbage Disposal-0
For a few days now, our garbage disposal has made a horrible sound when turned on. All of my roommates have successfully ignored the symphony of metal on metal every time it's used.
Today, it was my turn to ignore it. As I washed out a bowl and flipped that friendly little switch that usually washes away all the nastiness, I was greeted with the familiar screeching I've heard all week long.
I've always had a fear of garbage disposals.
I don't like to look down them. I don't like to smell them. I don't like to hear them. And I sure as heck would never reach down one. That was until today...
My first step towards victory was taking a look into it.... Nothing. It was too dark.
So I got my cell phone to provide some light.
I'm sure I was the epitome of a modern women as I stood above the hole with my cell phone held out in hopes of catching a glimpse of the culprit making all the noise.
Nothing.
I had a choice. Do I walk away and wait for the next person to figure out what is down there?
Not this time...
It took all the estrogen my system to conjure up the matriarchal duty I was about perform. But I did it. I put my hand down the garbage disposal. And not only that, but I had to feel around. A lot. I felt the 4 little blades that serve us oh-so-well throughout the week. And then I found it. A loose piece. I pulled it out to discover it was half of a corn-on-the-cob holder. You know those things you put on the end of the cobs to give you a handle? Well I found half of one. That meant I had to go back in for the second half.
So I stuck my hand down the garbage disposal. Again.
Found it.
Thinking my ordeal was over, I flipped the switch hoping to hear the sound of blades hitting nothing but air. Nope. More clatter.
I went in again. Found another half. Which meant, I had to go in one more time.
Four times! I stuck my hand down that thing, 4 times.
Victory.
Drover-1
Garbage Disposal-0
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
"Biffing"
I recently returned from a fabulous Colorado backpacking trip. We took 26 people (21 high school students and 5 leaders) into the mountains of this great state. Considering that Colorado is my #1 state and I love the outdoors, I am surprised that I have never taken part of a backpacking trip before. As expected, I loved every minute of it. Well, that's a lie. There were about 2 minutes every day that I did not particularly enjoy.
When were were told that we were not allowed toilet paper on the trip, I saw the eyes of the high school girls widen with fear. To be honest, I was with them. As I considered the alternatives, my mind wondered back to the incident on the MKT trial in which I wiped with poison ivy. Not fun. Seriously. Not fun.
Despite the hesitations, we headed in to the back country, toilet paperless. We learned fast that going #1 was easy. However, our guides complicated the process of going #2- or should we call it "biffing." See, Colorado has a "Leave No Trace" policy. With this in mind, if you had to biff, you had to dig a hole 6-8 inches deep with the "biff shovel" and then do your thing. Biffing became an everyday topic of conversation among our group. It was quite hilarious when someone would grab the biff shovel and head off into the woods. After enduring some awkward laughs and heckling, the person would return and was required to give a biff rating. The biff rating system consisted of a 6 star score. Here is how it broke down.
ONE STAR: if you found a good place to sit/squat. (log, rock, tree to hold on to, etc)
TWO STARS: if you had a good view while biffing
THREE STARS: precision of your aim at the hole you dug for your biff
FOUR STARS: was the biff successful? System cleaned out?
FIVE STARS: if you saw wild life while taking a biff
SIX STARS: if you saw wildlife taking a biff, WHILE you are taking a biff
I won't go as far to say the scores I tallied up, but the rating system did add some humor and enjoyment to the whole process. After returning to civilization, I have never- and I really mean never- been so thankful for those beautiful thin rolled tissues called toilet paper.
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