Tea cup exchange 2!

I participated in Stephanie's exceptionally fun mug exchange last fall as you can see here. Sending packages to my friends is something I really enjoy and since I graduated college and all of my old friends are scattered across the US I have a lot more people to send them to. But I still could not resist signing up for the mug exchange.

I picked up the mug from the New Hampshire Institute of Art's annual mug sale. Since I started taking pottery classes I've gotten more aware of all the cool local art around New Hampshire. And while I have trouble justifying buying pretty things for myself, that problem does not exist when buying for others. I also picked up a few extra items based on what I was told about my exchange partner, Bethaney.

Here is a picture of what I sent to Bethaney:

 According to tracking the package was stuck in Atlanta for a week after it was supposed to be delivered and I got super scared they had lost it. But fortunately it did at last arrive!

I received my package from the lovely Ashley of California. There were some struggles in ensuring that the mug was received and, despite the fact that tracking showed it as delivered, I had to make my way to the post office to wrest it from their warehouse of undelivered packages. But it was all worth it as there were so many beautiful things inside!

The mug even has a filter for loose leaf tea.

I've started using it at work instead of my old plastic one and it makes everything look brighter:

Thank you to the wonderfully organized Stephanie for all the work she put into this exchange and to both my partners for participating!

Le Morte d'Car: Part 1

Once I was care-free, light-hearted person, frolicking from work to home to rock climbing in an old but reliable car. Now, as I write this, the cares of the world press in upon me and in the future dark clouds loom ominously. Tell it not in Gath, proclaim it not in the streets of Ashkelon, my car lies slain upon the heights. This is the story of how it happened.

Davis (my boyfriend) and I had arranged for him to visit me on a particular Sunday. He was to meet me at church and afterwards we would spend the afternoon hanging out in my apartment. I had, unfortunately, lost my voice around that time so introducing him to my church friends was a something of a struggle. They were very friendly and introduced themselves despite the adversity. 

We decided not to attend the fellowship lunch afterwards, owing to the fact that I couldn't talk, and set out for my apartment. Davis following me in his car. Now, alas, comes the unfortunate part. I have supplied you will a helpful diagram of the crash. I am represented by the blue car and Davis by the Green. I drew it on this cool site if any of you feels a desire to spend your free time recreating accidents. 

 I was going faster than I should have been and I stopped faster than I should have and suddenly there was a CRASH  and Davis' car slammed into the back of mine. We pulled over to the side of the road and got out to assess the damage. His right headlight was all over the road and his tire was completely shredded. My back corner was crushed and the corresponding tire did not seem to be in the first bloom of health. 

Because of the glass all over the road and the fact that neither of our cars were drive-able we called the police and, as people throughout the decades have been wont to do, we both called our parents. Between the parental units, the police, and AAA we soon had both the cars on tow trucks, and were sitting in the cab of the one towing my car. I was even able to rescue my most prize possessions including my rock climbing gear, the sushi for lunch, and one of my favorite pairs of jeans. The tow truck driver engaged us in friendly conversation and assured us that, in his opinion, both cars would be totaled.

Davis' car, unfortunately I didn't get a picture of mine

Once we reached that haven of warmth, the apartment, we were left to sort out what to do. Davis had to get back to Connecticut somehow and I had to get to work. After much discussion, online research, and soul searching we decided that the best plan was for Davis to get rental car the next morning and drive it back to CT. It was similar in price to a bus ticket and he would be able to get to work for most of the day. Since the rental car places all closed early on Sunday and the only bus yet to leave would arrive at four am in an extremely sketchy area we decided that the only thing for him to do was to spend the night in my living room. (Note: normally Davis does not sleep in my living-room or any other part of my apt, but, alas, in this case we had little choice).

The next day we wakened at the unearthly hour of 6 in the morning to catch the 6:57 bus, which runs between my apt and a station several blocks from work. It was a cold and dark experience. Once at work we suborned Deb, a co-worker, to drive us to the rental car location. After a passionate farewell to Davis, Deb and I drove off again, reposing in the confidence that he would find his way home. We were suddenly sundered from  that confidence when we received a phone call from Davis. Apparently rental car locations will not trust you with the responsibly of a car unless you have a credit card in your own name, and alas, all Davis possessed was a lowly debit card. After several possibly illegal U-turns we got Davis back in the car and back to my work.  

The next bus out was at 3 pm so there was nothing left for Davis to do but plant himself in the extra chair in my office and wait for the clock to strike three. Almost as soon as we arrived another coworker, Greg, who is known for his mistrust Obama, young people, and especially "Libs", stopped by to greet us. I introduced Davis and gave a brief explanation of why he was awkwardly whiling away his day in my cubical. Greg found all this extremely amusing, and sauntered off. We soon heard him expounding the story to various coworkers down the hall. His version included a fair amount of speculation about the dangers of texting and driving, and the untrustworthiness of young people, such as ourselves. (Note: neither of us was texting when the unfortunate incident occurred).


I decided it was time I found out what had become of my car so I called up the collision center which had taken charge of it and asked what the status was. The mechanic replied with: "I don't know if there's really a status on the car besides the fact that I thought I should probably find out who it belongs to." Apparently they couldn't do anything until the insurance company sent a minion to assess the damage. There was nothing to do but wait and wonder about the fates of our cars.

Finally the time of parting came and Davis was safely ensconced in a greyhound heading south. My boss was kind enough to take me home from work and another coworker offered to pick me up where I to call him in the morning. Now all this happened two days before I was supposed to return to my parents so that the whole family could drive out to Kansas. I therefore bought a bus ticket so that after work the next day I could return the the comforting parental home. 

I began to gather together those belonging I would need for the foray into the west. This led to a conundrum. That fall I poured many hours into the creation of a stain-glass window as a Christmas present for the parents. As fortune would have it I did not possess a suitcase large enough to hold such a treasure. In the end I wrapped it in newspaper and carried the thing. 

The coworker who had offered me a ride did not answer his phone the next morning so I returned to the shady world of mass transportation, this time carrying all the baggage I would need for my journey across the country. We arrived at the bus-stop closest to my work, but I still had a fair number a blocks to traverse. At this point I also discovered that the suitcase I had chosen had a tragic flaw: It's handle did not extend so it could not be gently wheeled to and fro. I would have to carry it the half mile to my office. Never having been one for exercising needlessly, I pulled a t-shirt out and tied it around the crippled handle.

Picture, if you will, me, walking down the busiest street in my city, rain pouring down, an oversize blue hat engulfing my head, clothed in a red pea-coat, in one hand holding a 3 foot stained glass window, dragging a suitcase by a brightly colored t-shirt wound around its handle. This was certainly not my finest moment, but I did make it to my place of work. And, after a day full of the joys and pains of the test engineer, I weighed anchor and boarded a bus towards New York, still not knowing the fate of my car. 

Infinity Dreams

I was nominated by Lydia at C'est La Vie to do Infinity dreams tag so here it is:


Here are the rules: 

 
Use the Infinity Dreams Award picture
Thank the blogger who tagged you
Tell us 11 facts about yourself
Answer the 11 questions
Tag 11 bloggers

Facts
1. I have 14 cousins :)
2. I grew up in the same house my Father and Grandmother grew up in
3. I am mostly Scottish but there is also some German and English in my ancestry
4. I have been to Japan, Taiwan, the UK, the Republic of Ireland, and Canada
5. I voted for the first time two days ago
6. I was born with a dislocated hip
7. My dad and grandfather were both hours late to their first dates with their future wives
8. I was home schooled until 8th grade then went to public high school
9. I have seven book shelves in my apartment and still have books that don't fit
10. I am the oldest of four
11. I worked as a tutor in college

Questions

1. What is your biggest hobby? Reading, I was about to say rock climbing since I do that about three hours every week then I realized that it would be totally in accurate since I spend much more time reading.


2. Who is your biggest inspiration? Jesus!


3. What is your favorite piece of music (can be either classical or modern)? This is a hard one I tend to bounce around in what music I like. The most enduring songs in my life are the psalms. I grew up in a church which sang only the psalms in worship and my family sang them in family worship everyday and I still love to sing the word of God. Here is one of my favorites, which I could find on YouTube:

I normally listen to softer rock music like Mae, Death Cab for Cute and Reliant K, and classical music but I never have any idea what the song names are I just turn on the radio.


4. What is something you wish you knew more about? I wish I was better at speaking Japanese and that I knew more about repairing and building things. I suppose those are more skills than things to "know about" but, while there are plenty of things I don't know much about, I can always read about them. Whereas the skills I mentioned require knowledge that you can't get out of a book.


5. What is your favorite quote?

“I will show my love to the one I called ‘Not my loved one.’
I will say to those called ‘Not my people,’ ‘You are my people’;
and they will say, ‘You are my God.”


6. What is something you look forward to doing each day? Reading! (perhaps there is a theme)



7. What is your favorite way to get exercise? Rock climbing! I go indoor rock climbing every week




8. Describe yourself in three sentences: ummm.... I am a female person, who does not like describing herself.


9. What has been your biggest life achievement so far? Well in terms of time and effort I would say graduating college but since I grew up without many friends I would say that I am actually more happy about the friends I have made and kept over the last few years despite the fact that I no long live near any of them.


10. What is something you learned recently? I learned that you can still vote in the primary even if you aren't registered for a party, which led to a lot of last minute googling of candidates and their views.


11. Where is the most interesting place you have ever gone? Japan, it is such a beautiful country with so much history and a completely different language.



Alas, I do not know many bloggers, I started this blog to share funny stories with my family. So instead of tagging I will add the 4 most influential books that I have read (Copying Lydia again).



Chronicles of Narnia



My mom first read me these at the age of three, expecting me to get bored and ask for an easier book. These books not only opened up the world of fantasy, which is still one of my favorite genres but introduced me to Lewis's other works which in turn made me realize that books about Christianity could be really interesting.


Confessions of st. Aug



I had to read this the summer after tenth grade for a three week church program I was part of. It was the longest of the books we had to read but definitely the best.I loved his story of how he found Christ and of his mother who never gave up on him. Even his thoughts on infinity and such near the end were encouraging since it meant I wasn't the only one who whiled away their days wondering what infinity meant.


The Four Loves



I still think of this book in the context of my relationships. Friendship was my favorite part.


Jane Eyre



I read this book the summer after 11th grade and loved it. In some ways it reminded me of Jane Austin. But I loved that it showed so much of the darkness of the world and so much of the light. I loved that Jane had to make moral choices which cost her everything, not just the man she wanted or wealth or status, she faces homelessness rather than sin. Rochester certainly is not my idea of the man I would want to marry but at the same time I loved reading about him. He clearly loves Jane, but that love is twisted by selfishness.

My Year in Review

Last year I:

Almost went to Florida but ended up having a great time with family and friends in the Midwest

Graduated from College :)

Traveled around the UK with my eleven year old brother :D

Moved into my own apartment

Completed my first quilt (with a lot of help)

Started my first real job

Instituted weekly Rock Climbing

Climbed a two mountains

Joined a new Church (corresponding to my new location):

Hosted Thanksgiving

Made a stained glass window:

And finally attended a pretty great family reunion across the country:

May God Bless you in the coming year.

EDIT: I got my wisdom teeth out at the end of 2014 so I took that out

A Tale of two airports: Part 2

Readers of my last post will have astutely noticed that only one singular airport was mentioned, whereas the title promised two. Fear not, this chapter will have enough airports to satisfy even the most airport-hungry reader.

My two days in Dallas went well. The performance class was more hands on and interactive than I expected and while I did not experience a huge leap in work-place performance at least I was not as bored as I had feared. 

One greatly distressing event did occur during the time I spent in class. We were broken up into groups and told to create a system out of snap circuits that could produce both light and noise to alert a airplane pilot of danger. The light was quite easy. The sound production was a much more difficult task and we spent a great deal of time figuring out how the sound module worked. Triumphing over this adversity, we were able to produce a working system to our instructor. None of the other teams had sound working but one of them produced a system which caused a motor to rotate. They claimed that the noise of the motor rotating would alert the pilot. We objected on the grounds that any pilot would be liable to confuse the sound of the rotating motor with, say, the motor hurtling a plane and all its contents through the sky. The instructor, who was not an engineer, was unmoved by our entreaties and declared their system as the winner because it cost slightly less. This was a crushing blow to my competitive spirit and no amount HR rhetoric could heal such a wound.

Eventually the time of learning came to an end. During my time in that lauded place of learning I had made the acquaintance of a nice young woman from the Mexican branch of the company. Discovering that she did not have in her possession a rental car I offered to take her to the airport. Now those familiar with rental car companies will know the dire consequences of returning a car whose fuel gauge is not embracing the F. I therefore set out with the intention of paying a visit to a station of gas along the way. Unfortunately no visions of such a station appeared and before either of us knew it we had arrived at the airport.

Up until this point I had been relying on my faithful GPS, which, after becoming acclimated to its new surroundings, had proven a loyal support, much as Aaron and Hur to Moses. Unfortunately once we arrived in the airport the GPS grew confused and when I asked for directions to the nearest gas station it lead me falsely to the terminals. Apparently at DFW you have to PAY to enter the hallowed pick up and drop off stations and We left that place two dollars poorer, shaking its dust from our tires. After several more failed attempts, which included trying to find the directions on my companion's Spanish-speaking smart phone, we decided to head in the direction of the highway, hoping against hope that there would be a gas station nearby. Great was the rejoicing when one appeared and we finally were able to fill up on gas.

From there the rental return arena was easy to find. We cleared out the car and I paid for the rental, surrendering my keys to the nearest employee. The rental return area provides buses to transport travelers to their various terminals and I bid farewell to my erstwhile companion as she departed in the direction of Mexico or at least the direction of the terminal which housed the Mexican flights. Not being so fortunate in the knowledge of my terminal I decided the check in at the kiosk located above the renal car arena. 

I swiped my company credit card, which I had used to make the reservation, and waited for my ticket to appear. All the met my eyes was the helpful message: "We could not find any reservations associated with that card please enter your confirmation number". Several more tries yielded the same results. I decided that stronger measures were required and dug out my itinerary. However, when i entered the confirmation number all that was displayed was "not a valid confirmation number". I was horrified. I tried entering it again and again saw the message of doom. This second rejection led me to do what I should have done long ago: examine my itinerary. Wonder of wonders the airport listed for my return flight was not the airport I had used for all seven of my other flights to and from Dallas, but was the previously unthought-of "Love Field Airport".  My mind flashed back to a conversation with my father about there being another, smaller, airport in Dallas, remarkable to him because of certain momentous events that occurred there during his childhood (see below).  

It seemed that when I made the reservation I searched by "All Dallas Airports" instead of "DFW". However, knowing the origin of the problem did not help with finding a solution.  Now I am a plan person. Have I thought out what I would do if my parents tragically both died and I was left as the head of the family? Yes. When I do things do I have a plans A through at least F lined up? Also yes.  However, the possibility of actually going to the wrong airport had not, even in my wildest dream, occurred to me. For a moment panic surged through my veins. I had just returned my rental car, I needed to be across Dallas in less than an hour. These stone cold facts froze my heart. Wild thoughts of calling the company travel agency or attempting to get a new flight from DFW swirled and I feared that I would be trapped in Texas forever. 

After several minutes of panic a new plan asserted itself in my mind. Studying my itinerary I saw that it had been the intention of that lauded document for me to return my rental to Love Field. I thought that perhaps I could return to the personages of the rental establishment and beg for.... I mean... reclaim what once was mine. I retraced my steps and found myself standing very near the car I had so recently vacated. As I reached it, however, a man inserted himself into the driver's seat and a strict-looking female pilot with white hair tightly bound above her head sat down in the passenger side. I was tempted to fall to my knees and cry out as they sped away. Curbing that impulse and continuing with my mission I poured out my sorrows to the woman manning the desk. 

The rental employees were actually quite helpful. After hearing the tale of my woe they issued me a new rental contract free of charge and even included enough gas to get from there to Love Field. This act of benevolence gave me a ray of hope that I might be headed out of Dallas after all. As the rental employee printed my new contact I entered Love Field Airport into my GPS. Love Field and DFW appeared to be about half-an-hour apart and so there was still hope. I entered the car and saw an unfamiliar sight. This car boasted the gear stick on the left whereas my accustomed transmission appears on the right.  

It took several false attempts to get the car and drive and confusion as to why the gear stick was returning to the center, but soon enough I was off. Or at least I was driving toward the sharpened tire spikes, used by the rental companies to keep their cars within the bounds of their jurisdiction. I signaled a worker to let me out. Telling him I needed to return the car at Love Field. He helpfully informed me that I could return it at DFW, but seemed to understand once I informed him of the imminent departure of my flight. Once my way was cleared of spikes a stressful but fortunately traffic free drive commenced. I arrived at Love Field with a little time to spare, returned my rental car, printed my boarding passes and moved through security in record time. My flight had not left yet and I was able to return to New Hampshire in peace. 

I suppose this event should lead to the conclusion that it is time for me to begin reading instructions, not a strong point of mine. Or perhaps I could just follow this advice of this helpful article.

PS. My car, my actual car, not the rental featured in this story, was probably totaled on Sunday. Stay tuned for that exciting story and possibly more on living the car-free life in New Hampshire... in January.....

A Tale of Two Airports: Part 1

A few weeks ago the very generous company I work for, seeing as I was still young in my understanding of the corporate world, sent me to Dallas to be trained in the art of successful work performance. I dutifully scheduled my flight, rental car and hotel through their work-travel system and looked forward to a few days of relaxing plane rides, rental car shuttle trips, and learning how to perform in the work place.

Arriving at DFW's airport I was relived to be in possession of my brand new driver's license. Last time I had almost found myself stranded at the airport after being refused a rental car because of my temporary license. Apparently when you switch states you have to turn in your old license and are given a paper license for the interim. What they do not tell you about this paper license is that most reputable establishments do not consider it valid ID, including but not limited to the TSA, the Holiday Inn, the library, big brothers big sister and most unfortunately Avis rental cars. Fortunately the patron goddess of those who need rental cars was smiling that day and the manager made an exception to their policy against paper licenses. This day, however, I was ready for anything. I had even remembered, on the advice of my manager, to bring my very own GPS to avoid having to rent one.

I slipped into the rental car, feeling the sleek fabric of the seats and the alluring shine of the shimmering paint. After acclimating to the unfamiliar bowels of the car by figuring out how to plug in the GPS, turn on the radio, and, most importantly start the car, I turned on the GPS. Now my GPS is from the olden days when cave men were just starting to realize the virtues of simple machines such as the lever, so when it is turned on the expectant traveler must wait a full five minutes before they are graced with the screen prompting them to enter an address. Normally I will set out in the vague direction of my destination and hope that a helpful red light will give me the needed opportunity to enter my destination. However, on this occasion I felt that my knowledge of the surrounding area was too vague to trust and waited patiently for the powering up of the GPS. Unfortunately once the awaited event occurred all that the GPS could tell me was that it was performing the mysterious ceremony of "acquiring satellites". Feeling that the inside of a parking garage was not the ideal location for this ritual I dutifully backed my car out of its spot and proceeded to exit the garage. The guardians of the rental cars inspected my license and contract and allowed me to pass unchallenged.

Unfortunately this airport was not designed for those who wished to idle their car while at the mercy of these mysterious satellites. Before I knew it I was on the highway, unsure if I as heading towards or away from my hotel. A desperate hunger clawed at my insides and the GPS showed no signs of completing its liturgy. The highway, on the other hand, began to show signs of splintering into a myriad of highways. I had a vague idea that Dallas was south and that a highway, named for our commander and chief of yester-year, would take me there. Unfortunately the signage available to me did not inform me of the direction this road was headed. I got on that highway anyway and began to search for an exit as a drowning man will scan the horizon for a life boat. Once I had finally found the longed-for exit I wrenched myself from the endless flow of traffic and parked myself at a station dedicated to the dispensing of gas. 

I left my GPS still acquiring in the hope that it would, perhaps, be ready to direct me when I returned. After sating my hunger with the purchase of chocolate milk and a small supply of food, I returned to the car. Unfortunately all of my hopes were for naught as the GPS continued to acquire. I attempted to search of "Holiday Inn" but the only results it was able to dredge up were located in the city from wince I had come, a mere two thousand miles away. The only recourse left to me also depended on these cursed beings, the satellites. I must pull out my cellular phone called someone with access to a wireless and lots of books. The first friend I thought to phone was Davis, but when he proved unavailable I quickly dialed the number of the home of my youth. Manning the switch board at that late hour was my still not-quite-yet Eagle Scout brother, Tim. 

After some fiddling with google maps and several miscommunication and complains about the economics paper he longed to be writing, he was able to direct me in the direction of my hotel. My GPS, after a mere forty five minutes was able to adjust to its new surrounding and direct me the rest of the way. On my arrival at the hotel I was asked for identification. Excited to show my new license I hurriedly opened my wallet only to find that the all-important license was not there. The hotel personal remembered me for my last visit to the lauded establishment and, after swiping my credit card a few times, let me pass. But the location of the identifying license gnawed at my mind and as soon as I had dropped off my baggage I hurried back to the car. Would I have to attempt the journey home without the comforting presence of photo identification? Minutes went by as I searched every nook and cranny for the missing card. It finally appeared, wedged firmly between the seat cushions, where it had fallen after its brief visit to the guardians of the rental car garage. My relief was so palpable that the young couple who appeared to be sleeping in the next-door car could, I am sure, feel it.

I fell asleep easily that night thankful that the stressful part of the trip was over. Little did I know what was to come.

Bereft of Chairs: a Tragedy

A few weeks back my young man, commonly referred to as Davis, made a change in his place of residence. This new abode was a mere two hours from my own apartment. As was natural I made plans to visit him on the first possible weekend. On hearing this news, the parents, moved to compassion by his need of furniture, offered him several tables. They described these possible tables to me and I relayed the descriptions to him. Photographic evidence was also submitted and a table selected. The family asked me if it would be acceptable for them to come up for dinner with us and to drop off the table at that time. I informed the family that it would be agreeable for them to come, as long as they we able to provide seating implements. They assured me that chairs were coming and I foolishly reposed in the confidence that everyone would have a place to sit. 

The morning of the visit dawned bright and beautiful. After a two hour drive, made brief by a librivox version of the Pickwick Papers, the fires of my love, and the lead which may or may not reside in my foot, I was reunited with Davis. We accompanied each other to a church and frolicked through his brand new apartment. It was then that he confided a fear to me. In his establishment it is customary to report the arrival of new furniture several days ahead of time and to reserve the special freight elevator. Davis had not warned these sentinels of the lobby until that very morning of the impending furniture, and while the young man at the desk had not seemed too concerned, Davis feared that the changing of the guard would mean a less friendly reception when the table actually arrived. We decided to hope for the best and continue bravely on.

 An abrupt halt to the happiness of the afternoon occurred when we faced an unexpected challenge: the ironing of pants. We were assisted in surmounting this by the fact that Davis' mother had convinced him to acquire an iron and ironing board. However, even the ownership of such useful objects could not overcome our inexperience in the field of ironing pants. Many have bemoaned the difficulty of choosing a working woman's wardrobe, but I find the wide array of choices allows me to avoid, as I would the plague (whether it be bubonic or pneumonic), any hint of required ironing. Davis, however, was not in such a happy position. The complexities of differentiating between a crease made by inexpert ironing and the all-important original crease brought us nearly to the point of despair. After the making of many rash vows involving the future consignment of his ironing to the dry cleaners, we were able to mold the pants into a presentable state. 

Much of the remains of the afternoon were spent crafting the perfect sushi for the family's eagerly awaited arrival. As is always expected with the family, they called to let us know they would be half an hour late. Somehow we were able to persevere through the extra half-hour of time together. 

The phone call received from the aforementioned family, informing us of their presence in the parking lot was the catalyst for the moment of truth with the security guard. The friendly young man of the morning was replaced by a fearsome guard of darkness, who, after several not-so-friendly looks in our direction allowed us to bring up the requisite furniture. He made it clear that no furniture could be brought through the lobby and so I had Pop pull the car around to the loading dock while I sent the rest of the family to seek shelter in the lobby under the baleful gaze of the security guard. 

As the trunk of the car was opened I gasped in horror. The table I had imagined to be extendable was in fact little better than an end table with no possibility of extension. Not only that, but my chagrin was amplified by the sight of only two chairs. How could we, a family of six, eat at such a small table with only three real chairs? Fortunately the parents had foreseen that the table might be too small and had brought a second option. This second table could be extended, even to the point of accommodating all six of us.  But what was to be done about the chairs? This thought was constantly in my mind as we carefully carried the furniture in through the back entrance to avoid shocking any residents with the thought that furniture might be coming into their building. 

When we reached the apartment Pop immediately claimed the desk chair as his own. Isaiah, the youngest brother, likewise took himself to one of the caned chair brought by the parents. Mother seated herself upon a low college-dorm style chair which I had brought and I seated myself at the second chair brought by the parents. Timmy, the older of my two younger brothers, and Davis found themselves chairless in a chair forsaken world. They both coped with this discovery in their own way. Timmy by stacking two crates on top of each other and Davis by flipping over a trash can.

Isaiah shared with us his debates with his sixth grade social studies teacher including the exclamation that he should "play the prove-it card more often". We all groaned for her sake. Inwardly reflecting on what a nightmare he must be to have in class. Despite this, it is likely that his report card, like that of almost every student will bear the shining commendation "a pleasure to have in class". We also learned of the parents’ still unsuccessful battle to have him moved to the higher math class. For, in their prejudiced against outsiders, the school district had automatically placed him in the lower section of math, permanently harming his ability to take BC calculus seven years from now. 

As this fascinating discussion was taking place Davis' trash can was folding in upon itself and had to be replaced with a large cooler. Desert was crafted and served as Pop expounded on various memories of his years in middle-school. It was about this time that I began to feel a giving way of the seat of my chair and soon had to abandon it all together. The rest of desert I viewed from the floor, gazing longingly up at the impossible height of the table. 

Despite the setbacks of the day various goals had been duly achieved and Davis had, in fact, acquired a table and one functional chair, which, after the fate of the other chair, he was afraid to sit upon. The experience will, I am sure, bring us closer together and inspire us all to ensure that enough chairs a brought to family gathering in future.