There has been much discussion as to the identity of a possible ‘Mr. Darcy’ in my life. I have heard suggested from various unique sources that he will be from Zambia, Scotland, England, Mexico and any other place I mention no matter how casual the reference. (The original Mr. Darcy never made an appearance while at Chatsworth. Be still my beating heart.)
Mr. T is constantly bringing him up (see previous comments on this blog:P). At work I have coworkers/my boss who update me on any new arrival to my place of work who is male. Age, availability, compatibility and belief systems are duly ignored. Today I was informed that a specific dealer is “single, Angelina”.
A dear, close friend pulled me aside at church the other week and enthusiastically whispered a name in my ear and then looked at me with raised eyebrows. Older ladies inform me after they travel where I need to travel (there was this boy…).
Various ones have informed me that they are praying for me in my hour of need (do I look desperate?!).
Sometimes I get royally ticked. Sometimes I roll my eyes. Sometimes I get up on my soap box. Most often I laugh and thank God people love me enough to care.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
"Change Your Life"
My blog was starting to remind me of new housing developments in most North American cities. Row after row of stucco houses in various muted hues with no distinctive features, nothing that speaks of the owners, nothing to give identity. To combat this cultural phenomena I purposed to change my blog layout. A small and insignificant act that in reality poses no real threat to the aforementioned crisis, however I will do my part! Due to my very limited knowledge of HTML I was restricted in my crusade by only being able to add a picture to my header.
I took this picture at the Imperial War Museum in London. It’s a piece of the Berlin wall that was salvaged during the knocking down of the same. “Change your life.” I thought a lot about the person who wrote this: What was their life like? What did they want to see changed? Freedom? Peace? All revolutions take place first in individuals. So how does an individual change? How do I change? How do I become a better person?
I look through history and religion and try to find someone who shows me how to do this. Someone who not only gives me moral laws but also the strength and desire to follow them. For laws only teach me that I am a failure, a sinner.
Jesus. I see a man who made claims, claims so great the Jewish people wanted Him dead. If any other man made claims such as He did they would simply be labeled a lunatic and ignored. So why is Jesus not ignored? What makes Him special? He healed, controlled the elements, loved, gave life, fulfilled Jewish old testament prophesy, turned the world upside down… And He is ALIVE!
I have found a man, my Saviour, my God who is the perfect example of perfection, I have found the one who gives me strength.
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Jesus. (Matthew 11:28-30 ESV)
I took this picture at the Imperial War Museum in London. It’s a piece of the Berlin wall that was salvaged during the knocking down of the same. “Change your life.” I thought a lot about the person who wrote this: What was their life like? What did they want to see changed? Freedom? Peace? All revolutions take place first in individuals. So how does an individual change? How do I change? How do I become a better person?
I look through history and religion and try to find someone who shows me how to do this. Someone who not only gives me moral laws but also the strength and desire to follow them. For laws only teach me that I am a failure, a sinner.
Jesus. I see a man who made claims, claims so great the Jewish people wanted Him dead. If any other man made claims such as He did they would simply be labeled a lunatic and ignored. So why is Jesus not ignored? What makes Him special? He healed, controlled the elements, loved, gave life, fulfilled Jewish old testament prophesy, turned the world upside down… And He is ALIVE!
I have found a man, my Saviour, my God who is the perfect example of perfection, I have found the one who gives me strength.
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Jesus. (Matthew 11:28-30 ESV)
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
musings from the pavement
I noted in my last posting that usually a Spanish speaker is paired with a non Spanish speaker. On the last day of delivering there was evidently some confusion higher up in the ranks as I was teamed with my baby sister, Shawna, whom I share an apartment with and whom knows the same amount of Spanish as I do. None.
You ask, “How do you communicate with a happened upon Spanish person when you know squat in the same language?” My old standby method is to use as many wild hand gestures and wacked out facial expressions as I can dream up. Either this method worked extraordinarily well or it was assumed that we were escapees from an insane asylum and they were just nodding in agreement hoping they could escape our terrible clutches.
Another finely honed skill I have acquired, due to my extensive experience walking the beat in Mexico, is ears with a highly attuned sense of hearing. I can pick up any sort of a noise that could possibly be attributed to that of a roving wild beast (commonly called: ‘dog’). This fine, balmy morning my ears were in action: Dogs to my left down by Shawna’s end of the street. I finished my end and walked jauntily down towards her on the sidewalk. I felt so beautiful! I had actually done my hair that morning plus I was wearing my contacts which allowed me to don (for the very first time) a pair of Christmas present new, large white rimmed sunglasses. Perfecto! I reached Shawna in the midst of contemplating these things (along with many other deep thoughts of much consequence).
”RRRRGGGGGGG, RUFF, GROOOOOWWLLL.” Suddenly, loudly, and in chorus three beasts charge towards me. I panic. My limbs develop a mind of their own, my arms whip up and over the back of my head and my feet surge backwards. My feet miss the sidewalk and land not so squarely on a 45 degree angled curb. I tip. My body is rushing backwards ready to come to an unfortunate end, but with my one pack ab I deftly jerk my body forward so I end up on my knees and knuckles and just nearly kissing the road. One eye is still looking through mirrored sunglasses, the other is very definitely peering above. Even with my mismatched vision I make out my attackers: All three glaring at me from a short distance away.
Behind a firmly shut and locked gate.
I start pondering my living arrangements: Should I inquire at insane asylums??
You ask, “How do you communicate with a happened upon Spanish person when you know squat in the same language?” My old standby method is to use as many wild hand gestures and wacked out facial expressions as I can dream up. Either this method worked extraordinarily well or it was assumed that we were escapees from an insane asylum and they were just nodding in agreement hoping they could escape our terrible clutches.
Another finely honed skill I have acquired, due to my extensive experience walking the beat in Mexico, is ears with a highly attuned sense of hearing. I can pick up any sort of a noise that could possibly be attributed to that of a roving wild beast (commonly called: ‘dog’). This fine, balmy morning my ears were in action: Dogs to my left down by Shawna’s end of the street. I finished my end and walked jauntily down towards her on the sidewalk. I felt so beautiful! I had actually done my hair that morning plus I was wearing my contacts which allowed me to don (for the very first time) a pair of Christmas present new, large white rimmed sunglasses. Perfecto! I reached Shawna in the midst of contemplating these things (along with many other deep thoughts of much consequence).
”RRRRGGGGGGG, RUFF, GROOOOOWWLLL.” Suddenly, loudly, and in chorus three beasts charge towards me. I panic. My limbs develop a mind of their own, my arms whip up and over the back of my head and my feet surge backwards. My feet miss the sidewalk and land not so squarely on a 45 degree angled curb. I tip. My body is rushing backwards ready to come to an unfortunate end, but with my one pack ab I deftly jerk my body forward so I end up on my knees and knuckles and just nearly kissing the road. One eye is still looking through mirrored sunglasses, the other is very definitely peering above. Even with my mismatched vision I make out my attackers: All three glaring at me from a short distance away.
Behind a firmly shut and locked gate.
I start pondering my living arrangements: Should I inquire at insane asylums??
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Mexico and Materialism
A small crew of us just traveled to Guadalajara, Mexico to join 140 others from Canada, the US, Mexico, El Salvador and Venezuela to distribute John 3:16 Seedsowers (www.seedsowersonline.com) text to over 100,000 homes.
Each day all available walkers are split into vans and given a box of packets that include the bible verse and an invitation to gospel meetings. The driver is given a map of his area and his goal is to spread his walkers around in such a way that each home in his area is given a packet in the most efficient way possible.
For the walkers this experience varies greatly depending on who your driver is, who your walking companion is, and which area you have been assigned to. Generally the organizers try to pair a girl with a guy (protection?) and a Spanish speaker with a non Spanish speaker (communication!).
On Wednesday I was paired with an older Mexican gentleman. We were dropped off at the base of a steep hill that had the beginnings of a road up it’s side. The road morphed into a path strewn with rocks and garbage that had no direct heading. The higher we climbed the more humble the dwellings. These homes were shacks made from whatever materials their owners had somehow salvaged: tarps, steel sheeting, rotten plywood, old blankets… Any of them would be able to fit into my apartment kitchen. There was no evidence of electricity, a sewage system or running water.
Near the top of the hill I had to wait while Sergio delivered to a shack a bit out of the way. To my left two little girls in dirt caked party dresses were perched on an old mattress. Each held a female doll of some form and between them lay a Ken doll that was obviously the cause for much consternation! Who would get the Ken for their Barbie? It was interesting watching a scene that I had been party to played out in such surroundings. People are the same no matter what their life circumstances. Each of us have a soul.
When we crested the top of the summit (!?) there was stretched before our eyes an horizon full of shacks. Each containing families and lives of which there is no duplicate. It made us pause.
I’ve been able to see from a distance what poverty is: here at home, in Zambia and in Mexico. It brings into focus what has meaning and what is really important for our existence. It begs me to ask, “Why am I blessed? What is my purpose?” Material goods will not guarantee me a fulfilled life. My life best lived is using what God has blessed me with to bring glory to Him.
Each day all available walkers are split into vans and given a box of packets that include the bible verse and an invitation to gospel meetings. The driver is given a map of his area and his goal is to spread his walkers around in such a way that each home in his area is given a packet in the most efficient way possible.
For the walkers this experience varies greatly depending on who your driver is, who your walking companion is, and which area you have been assigned to. Generally the organizers try to pair a girl with a guy (protection?) and a Spanish speaker with a non Spanish speaker (communication!).
On Wednesday I was paired with an older Mexican gentleman. We were dropped off at the base of a steep hill that had the beginnings of a road up it’s side. The road morphed into a path strewn with rocks and garbage that had no direct heading. The higher we climbed the more humble the dwellings. These homes were shacks made from whatever materials their owners had somehow salvaged: tarps, steel sheeting, rotten plywood, old blankets… Any of them would be able to fit into my apartment kitchen. There was no evidence of electricity, a sewage system or running water.
Near the top of the hill I had to wait while Sergio delivered to a shack a bit out of the way. To my left two little girls in dirt caked party dresses were perched on an old mattress. Each held a female doll of some form and between them lay a Ken doll that was obviously the cause for much consternation! Who would get the Ken for their Barbie? It was interesting watching a scene that I had been party to played out in such surroundings. People are the same no matter what their life circumstances. Each of us have a soul.
When we crested the top of the summit (!?) there was stretched before our eyes an horizon full of shacks. Each containing families and lives of which there is no duplicate. It made us pause.
I’ve been able to see from a distance what poverty is: here at home, in Zambia and in Mexico. It brings into focus what has meaning and what is really important for our existence. It begs me to ask, “Why am I blessed? What is my purpose?” Material goods will not guarantee me a fulfilled life. My life best lived is using what God has blessed me with to bring glory to Him.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Sault Ste. Marie
36 hours of driving and I only have 4 days off work. This is when one wonders at the lack of sence within oneself.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
opium
A few blogger diehards (one may also call them addicts although they would take exception to that label) have been at me to write more, stooping so low as to compliment me on my exceptional writing skills. This, of course, inflated my under inflated ego to such inflatedness that has not been seen since my grade 9 English teacher went into rapture about my poems and any other written material I presented her. (Under careful reflection I must admit that this may have been due to my large and varied vocabulary which starkly contrasted with the 4 letter word vocabulary that my compatriots used as I was in a ‘special’ program that was used either by home scholars or high school dropouts.) Therefore, (“Finally.” you say?!) I have taken fingers to keys again.
This last Monday was Canada Day, and to celebrate it corporate Canada shuts down. This is delightful as it translated to little old me getting a long weekend. It has become a long standing tradition for various friends and I to head out to the backwoods in search of serious adventure.
“Backwoods?” you ask. What this constitutes is borrowing tenting gear from whomever is willing to lend it, air mattresses, much food, a camp site complete with running water toilets and showers, and a nearby beach for soaking in the rays. When you’ve been born in bred in the city anything more backwoods then this is just a tad overwhelming.
Saturday Day: Walked through sand dunes! The sky was slightly overcast and it was low 20’s. Perfect day for a hike. Each of the members of my group minus myself uses English as a second language. So very frequently conversations would take place in French or Frenglish. This required either immediate interpretation or waiting till the person they were commenting on walked by so they could interpret without being rude.
Saturday Night: I overindulged in water, tea, s’mores and all else yummy. For some reason sleep was slow in coming. Eventually I dozed off. Midway through the night my bladder hit full, I was frozen solid and one of my neighbors was snoring. My solution for these problems: I tried not to think about my bladder, I curled in a little ball with only my nose touching the cold air and I alternated attempting to awake the offending member with nice, gentle nudges and holding my thoroughly damp pillow around my ears.
Sunday Day: Went on this 36 km hike- at least part of it. Walked about 13.5km through gorgeous rolling hills covered in grass and spruce forest. Birds chirping, the creek bubbling, and the sun blazing. Then we discovered the ticks. Gaby had the good fortune of finding the first one. She was ecstatic! By the time we finished our hike we each had collected hordes of the bugs under, on and in our shoes. It was the best part of our day.
Sunday Night: Our campsite was lovely, we were surrounded by a bunch of families who were really quite. UNTILL now. Two cars filled with 17 year old boys pulled up and invaded the campsite next to us. Never before has someone imitating my laugh made me feel like a loser. They stayed up late and got up early. ‘We’ had many conversations about them when they could totally hear us- in French.
This night was christened ‘burn the rest of the newspaper night’. This constituted the best, biggest, hottest and roaringest fire we created all weekend. Apparently we need to take fire building skills 101.
Monday Day: We packed up, sat at the beach for thirty minutes and the rest of the girls left. After this I was able to spend 2 hours laying on the beach reading ‘Christianity: Opium or Truth’. The title is a play on a quote by Karl Marx, “Religion is the opium of the people.” The basic conclusion being (or at least what I’ve gotten so far) that being a follower of Christ is not a religion but a relationship. Jesus is a man so completely unique in all of history that His claims make Him either a lunatic or the Son of God, one can not just brush Him off as a ‘good man’. So what do you think of Christ?
“...that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time...” 1 Corinthians 15:3b-6a.
This last Monday was Canada Day, and to celebrate it corporate Canada shuts down. This is delightful as it translated to little old me getting a long weekend. It has become a long standing tradition for various friends and I to head out to the backwoods in search of serious adventure.
“Backwoods?” you ask. What this constitutes is borrowing tenting gear from whomever is willing to lend it, air mattresses, much food, a camp site complete with running water toilets and showers, and a nearby beach for soaking in the rays. When you’ve been born in bred in the city anything more backwoods then this is just a tad overwhelming.
Saturday Day: Walked through sand dunes! The sky was slightly overcast and it was low 20’s. Perfect day for a hike. Each of the members of my group minus myself uses English as a second language. So very frequently conversations would take place in French or Frenglish. This required either immediate interpretation or waiting till the person they were commenting on walked by so they could interpret without being rude.
Saturday Night: I overindulged in water, tea, s’mores and all else yummy. For some reason sleep was slow in coming. Eventually I dozed off. Midway through the night my bladder hit full, I was frozen solid and one of my neighbors was snoring. My solution for these problems: I tried not to think about my bladder, I curled in a little ball with only my nose touching the cold air and I alternated attempting to awake the offending member with nice, gentle nudges and holding my thoroughly damp pillow around my ears.
Sunday Day: Went on this 36 km hike- at least part of it. Walked about 13.5km through gorgeous rolling hills covered in grass and spruce forest. Birds chirping, the creek bubbling, and the sun blazing. Then we discovered the ticks. Gaby had the good fortune of finding the first one. She was ecstatic! By the time we finished our hike we each had collected hordes of the bugs under, on and in our shoes. It was the best part of our day.
Sunday Night: Our campsite was lovely, we were surrounded by a bunch of families who were really quite. UNTILL now. Two cars filled with 17 year old boys pulled up and invaded the campsite next to us. Never before has someone imitating my laugh made me feel like a loser. They stayed up late and got up early. ‘We’ had many conversations about them when they could totally hear us- in French.
This night was christened ‘burn the rest of the newspaper night’. This constituted the best, biggest, hottest and roaringest fire we created all weekend. Apparently we need to take fire building skills 101.
Monday Day: We packed up, sat at the beach for thirty minutes and the rest of the girls left. After this I was able to spend 2 hours laying on the beach reading ‘Christianity: Opium or Truth’. The title is a play on a quote by Karl Marx, “Religion is the opium of the people.” The basic conclusion being (or at least what I’ve gotten so far) that being a follower of Christ is not a religion but a relationship. Jesus is a man so completely unique in all of history that His claims make Him either a lunatic or the Son of God, one can not just brush Him off as a ‘good man’. So what do you think of Christ?
“...that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time...” 1 Corinthians 15:3b-6a.
Monday, May 28, 2007
...and she lived happily ever after
I am safely at home. Sitting in my blue carpeted living room starring out the picture window which faces a train yard and, believe it or not, parked trains. Settling in to life with my new, amazingly wonderful (see if she even reads my blog!) roommate. Her name is Jessica and she works in the pharmaceutical industry. She makes me think. People who make me think are in my ‘I like book’.
So, our new house. You come in the front door and are greeted by white and country blue. This is our great room. I have three favorite items in this room: First a 24”x24” fake oil painted of a large pink flower. Second my display of fake stainless objects on the counter. Namely my spice rack, loose tea from London and my two spice rubs. Third my elephant motif. Brownie points to anyone who knows the ‘real’ meaning of ‘motif’. Laundry, two bedrooms, bathroom and (this is the best part!) a linen closet!!!
I am situated 2.3 kms from work so I’m trying to walk it everyday. Not exactly wonderful walking through an industrial park in the early morning (gravel flying at you every time a car zooms by you and curious glances from all the drivers hurrying to work at their various plants). However I can make the walk shorter by crawling under the train parked beside my house, and walking through mid calf length grass. I’ve christened these trail blazings the ‘ANGELINA ADVENTURES’.
I am quickly running out of content that anyone besides myself and my dearest friends (wait you’re the only ones who read this anyway!) would find even a little interesting so to quote Looney Toons, “Ththththats all folks!”
Angelina
So, our new house. You come in the front door and are greeted by white and country blue. This is our great room. I have three favorite items in this room: First a 24”x24” fake oil painted of a large pink flower. Second my display of fake stainless objects on the counter. Namely my spice rack, loose tea from London and my two spice rubs. Third my elephant motif. Brownie points to anyone who knows the ‘real’ meaning of ‘motif’. Laundry, two bedrooms, bathroom and (this is the best part!) a linen closet!!!
I am situated 2.3 kms from work so I’m trying to walk it everyday. Not exactly wonderful walking through an industrial park in the early morning (gravel flying at you every time a car zooms by you and curious glances from all the drivers hurrying to work at their various plants). However I can make the walk shorter by crawling under the train parked beside my house, and walking through mid calf length grass. I’ve christened these trail blazings the ‘ANGELINA ADVENTURES’.
I am quickly running out of content that anyone besides myself and my dearest friends (wait you’re the only ones who read this anyway!) would find even a little interesting so to quote Looney Toons, “Ththththats all folks!”
Angelina
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
run and worry
When leaving Canada I had a big grin on my face. Coming home Wednesday my grin was even more ginormous. The first sight of my family (minus the two members who had to work) brought tears to my eyes.
Now to the knuckle whitening, nail biting adventure at the Toronto Airport.
Tuesday night before leaving the UK I finally got around to composing a list of all my purchases. Throughout my trip I had used three different currency’s and I hadn’t been keeping a running total of the combined damage. Upon conversion into CND I was shocked at the amount. My mouth dropped open even further when I discovered I was over my personal exemption amount. Another issue was my dried seed pods, numerous wooden articles, 3 knifes and 2 swords.
Customs line #1 was right after exiting the airplane. I showed my ID and was given the all clear. (I guess I sufficiently look like myself.)
Customs line #2 I declared all of the above. They marked my form up with all these red numbers and sent me to the ‘special’ customs line #3 for those who have misdeeded.
This line had about 20 people before me with red covered forms and about 4 suitcases each. Large suitcases. Each suitcase was being hand searched by one of two border patrol officers armed to the hilt, buff, no nonsense looking, border guards. I informed the porter that I had a connection to make in 1.5 hours and he just looked at me with raised eyebrows, “Why should I care.” The message radiated from his eyes.
Half an hour later I have made it to the front of the line. I make my way across the wide expance of white tiles and fluorescent lights I announced to the border control officers, “I have a plane to catch in an hour and a half and I’ll pay you whatever you want or take out anything from my suitcase.” Then I handed him my itemized list of every single purchase I had made and my red form. They were suitably impressed.
I received acclamation on my truthfulness, a lecture and an in depth pamphlet on Canada’s re-entry restrictions.
I was also quizzed on suitcase content. “Have your wooden carvings been treated?” Angelina responds, “I don’t know.” “Have they been painted?” “No, not all of them.” “Oh. Hmmmm.” They raise their eyebrows and look at each other. I realize that this is not a good thing so I try to think of anything that may help me through this tricky spot, “They have been varnished?” Border Guard, “Oh! That’s good!”
Amazingly no comment was made on the ‘weapons’ in my possession.
They pointed me in the correct direction for my flight and I RAN. On my feet were a pair of ridicules looking, teal, pointy toed, buckled 3” high heels. My feet were killing me as I had tried to hurry matters along by running to each stop. (I must have looked quite pathetic as one of those golf cart’s that carry old folks offered me a lift for one leg of my journey.)
All of my panic was completely unnecessary as I arrive at my departure gate one hour before boarding.
Alas, I stressed for nothing.
Now to the knuckle whitening, nail biting adventure at the Toronto Airport.
Tuesday night before leaving the UK I finally got around to composing a list of all my purchases. Throughout my trip I had used three different currency’s and I hadn’t been keeping a running total of the combined damage. Upon conversion into CND I was shocked at the amount. My mouth dropped open even further when I discovered I was over my personal exemption amount. Another issue was my dried seed pods, numerous wooden articles, 3 knifes and 2 swords.
Customs line #1 was right after exiting the airplane. I showed my ID and was given the all clear. (I guess I sufficiently look like myself.)
Customs line #2 I declared all of the above. They marked my form up with all these red numbers and sent me to the ‘special’ customs line #3 for those who have misdeeded.
This line had about 20 people before me with red covered forms and about 4 suitcases each. Large suitcases. Each suitcase was being hand searched by one of two border patrol officers armed to the hilt, buff, no nonsense looking, border guards. I informed the porter that I had a connection to make in 1.5 hours and he just looked at me with raised eyebrows, “Why should I care.” The message radiated from his eyes.
Half an hour later I have made it to the front of the line. I make my way across the wide expance of white tiles and fluorescent lights I announced to the border control officers, “I have a plane to catch in an hour and a half and I’ll pay you whatever you want or take out anything from my suitcase.” Then I handed him my itemized list of every single purchase I had made and my red form. They were suitably impressed.
I received acclamation on my truthfulness, a lecture and an in depth pamphlet on Canada’s re-entry restrictions.
I was also quizzed on suitcase content. “Have your wooden carvings been treated?” Angelina responds, “I don’t know.” “Have they been painted?” “No, not all of them.” “Oh. Hmmmm.” They raise their eyebrows and look at each other. I realize that this is not a good thing so I try to think of anything that may help me through this tricky spot, “They have been varnished?” Border Guard, “Oh! That’s good!”
Amazingly no comment was made on the ‘weapons’ in my possession.
They pointed me in the correct direction for my flight and I RAN. On my feet were a pair of ridicules looking, teal, pointy toed, buckled 3” high heels. My feet were killing me as I had tried to hurry matters along by running to each stop. (I must have looked quite pathetic as one of those golf cart’s that carry old folks offered me a lift for one leg of my journey.)
All of my panic was completely unnecessary as I arrive at my departure gate one hour before boarding.
Alas, I stressed for nothing.
Monday, May 14, 2007
almost home!!!!!
Time has flown by so fast it's hard to believe that it's almost over.
The assembly I went to on Sunday (at Bermundsey) was very welcoming and it reminded me of home. Can't wait to see everyone and to get back into the groov.
Need to figure out the whole moving thing too. I have a feeling I might be a little stressed out initially. Oh well. *Angelina Squeals in Excitement*
SEE ALL YOU LOVELY PEOPLE!!!!
Angelina
The assembly I went to on Sunday (at Bermundsey) was very welcoming and it reminded me of home. Can't wait to see everyone and to get back into the groov.
Need to figure out the whole moving thing too. I have a feeling I might be a little stressed out initially. Oh well. *Angelina Squeals in Excitement*
SEE ALL YOU LOVELY PEOPLE!!!!
Angelina
Saturday, May 12, 2007
blisters
Did over 8 hours of walking today and have slowed down to a hobble. It's worse than the aftermath from kickboxing.
On the bight side: I saw the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace and spent time at the Imperial War Museam. They have floors and floors of interesting facts and tear wrenching stores. One floor is dedicated to the Holocast another to WW's I and II. Deffinately a must see if you're ever in London. I have two quotes that I want to pass on but they're up in my room so you'll have to wait with baited breath.
Tomorrow I'm heading to the meetings of a local group of christians to worship the author and finisher of my faith and the rest of the day I'll take easy in order to rest my walking weary feet.
God Bless!
On the bight side: I saw the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace and spent time at the Imperial War Museam. They have floors and floors of interesting facts and tear wrenching stores. One floor is dedicated to the Holocast another to WW's I and II. Deffinately a must see if you're ever in London. I have two quotes that I want to pass on but they're up in my room so you'll have to wait with baited breath.
Tomorrow I'm heading to the meetings of a local group of christians to worship the author and finisher of my faith and the rest of the day I'll take easy in order to rest my walking weary feet.
God Bless!
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