A trip through the miscellaneous

I'm on a little blogging spree.
I think "spring is the mischief in me."

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I attend an adult Sunday School class at College Church. I would say that I bring the average age down, but I imagine that isn't strictly true since there are so many older people and only one me. More than one person in the class remembers my grandpa, who will turn 90 in a few weeks.

The class is a little more than a Sunday School class - they call it an adult community. They pray for each other and have social events every once in a while. Those who were interested can sign up to be assigned a fellowship dinner-group. I joined such a dinner group - we ate together once in November and again last month.

The couple that hosted the dinner last month live in West Chicago, about 15-20 minutes away from Wheaton. I borrowed my cousin's car and volunteered to give a ride to an elderly lady named Marian and a car-less grad student named Deborah. It was an epic journey.

I looked up map-quest directions from Deborah's apartment to the Mosier's home and scrawled them down on a piece of paper before I walked to the parking lot behind Arena Theater to get Javan's volvo, Bluebell, at 5:50. I picked up Marian in plenty of time to get to the Mosier's by 6:30. Everything was going according to plan until we got stuck behind the longest freight train I think I've ever seen. Things went downhill from there.

Since it was dark so I couldn't read the house numbers on the street where Deborah lives, I had to jump out of the car a few times before I found the right place. Then all together we headed off. Deborah tried to read the directions to me from the light of the street lamps we passed since Bluebell's overhead lamp is broken. That was only a minor hitch.

The directions indicated a slight right off of Roosevelt onto Sarana. We never saw such a street, and drove all the way to Geneva looking for it. I had neglected to write down how many miles it was supposed to be, but that isn't so important since Bluebell's tripometer doesn't work. We finally pulled over into a gas station to get directions from an Indian lady with a very thick accent. She told us something about some Rt. 59 which was confusing to me since that was no where on the directions I'd seen. I decided to go back and find an unmarked street we'd passed that I thought might have been Sarana. Only, of course, I passed it again in the dark and turned onto the next quiet side street to turn around. That street was narrow, but had a wide dirt shoulder where I could see the tire tracks of other cars had turned around before. A few days earlier there had been a big thaw, most of the snow had melted, and the ground was pretty soft. I regret that I hadn't considered this before I attempted the U-turn. A split second after I said, "Oh, wouldn't it be awful if we got stuck in the mud" we did just that. Bluebell's tires spun, and she wouldn't go forward or back.

I should add, at this point, that none of us has a cell phone, and I had also neglected to write down the Mosier's phone number.

I turned the hazards on as I saw a car approaching from behind. A kind Hispanic man in a minivan pulled over to help. Deborah and he pushed and finally, after various attempts at going backwards and fowards and turning the wheel, we got out of the mud. (not before Marian felt compelled to get out and stand in the mud so as to have less weight in the car)

We got back on the road, bumping around a bit as the mud worked its way out of the tires, this time turning onto Rt. 59. From 59, I turned on a street that I recognized as one we should have been on at some point. It spit us back onto Roosevelt. We pulled into the next gas station, and while Marian tried to look up the Mosier's number in the phone book (it wasn't there), Deborah and I got better directions.

We finally got to the Mosier's street, though finding their house in the dark was another challenge. It was 7:30 by the time the three of us sat down to dinner with everyone else. I followed another couple back to Wheaton. It couldn't have taken more than 15 minutes.

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I find little things amusing.

On my flight back from Manchester, NH last weekend I sat next to a middle aged man who actually pulled out the laminated safety instructions from the seat in front of him and followed along as the flight attendant explained them. He looked behind him when told to "keep in mind that the nearest exit may be behind you." (although there was one 2 rows ahead) I wonder if he had every flown before.

Yesterday when I flew to NJ I sat next to a cute older couple at the gate. The woman smiled and nodded and smiled again at me. They talked together in a language I didn't recognize as I read. Every time I looked up, she's smile and nod. A few minutes before boarding time, I got up to get a cappuccino and as I was picking up my carry-ons she said, "Speak any Polish?" I don't, but I find the fact that she asked completely endearing. When I returned with my cappuccino there was more smiling and nodding and that was the end of our interaction.

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Some weeks ago my roommates and I decided to watch a movie (this is a rare occurance). Robin and I headed to Buswell library to check out their varied selection. We came upon one called "Coping with Stress" which we found quite hilarious. On the back it read:

Creating All-Around Wellness: Coping with Stress
Films for the humanities and sciences (2004)

A certain amount of stress can actually enhance performance and productivity. However, continually high levels of stress have been linked to all of the leading causes of death in America, including heart disease, cancer, and lung ailments. This program analyzes the role of stress in day-to-day life and in overall physical and mental health. Sources of stress are identified, and tehchniques for managing stress are suggested. Information on how to improve personal communication - a powerful safety valve - is also provided.

Yikes.
We checked it out for Erin's amusement and to see if we could get a reaction from the student working at the circulation desk.

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It's possible that all of us could have stood to learn something from that video.

Finals week was pretty darn stressful for me last semester. I noticed in January that I had hairs on the top of my head that were perhaps just a quarter inch long. I pointed these out to Robin, and she told me that sometimes hair falls out during particular stressful periods. When it grows back in you go through an unfortunate "spikey period." True that. These hairs are now over an inch long and thanks to winter static they don't always like to lie flat. It's made for some interesting "head days."