I believe in approaching life with humor. I mean, there's no point in taking it too seriously, it's not like we're going to get out alive. So step inside and prepare to laugh...
New Kid on the Blog :.
O’Ceallaigh & The Quill
Posted By Quilly on February 8, 2010
Susan from Stony River, welcomes us to Microfiction Monday,
where a picture paints just 140 characters.
If you’d like to join us, stop by Susan’s, pick up the picture prompt, and sign in.
Posted By Quilly on February 8, 2010
Welcome to Punny Monday. Every Sunday evening about midnight Pacific daylight savings time I post an original photo and ask my readers to figure out what was going on in my brain (or Amoeba’s) when he/I/we made it.
What noun* does this photo represent? EMAIL your answers and leave a comment designed to either help or confuse your fellow game players. The first contestant to EMAIL me the right answer wins a featured link in my blog which will display until next Monday when we’ll play this little game again. Enjoy.
PLEASE, do not write your guess in the comments. It spoils the game for the other players. Your guesses will be shared when the game ends. Oh, and just because someone announces they’ve won, doesn’t mean that they have. Please keep guessing until I post the answers!
*person, place, or thing
February 5th, 2010, 12:09 a.m. — Alice — Foot Note
February 5th, 2010, 1:07 a.m. — Mar — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 2:53 a.m. — Nessa — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 3:33 a.m. — Jientje — Foot Note
February 5th, 2010, 3:44 a.m. — Barbara’s Husband — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 4:17 a.m. — Doug — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 4:45 a.m. — Linda — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 4:51 a.m. — Granny Annie — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 5:24 a.m. — Tilden — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 5:43 a.m. — Melli — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 5:44 a.m. — Kelley — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 7:55 a.m. — Jane — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 8:03 a.m. — Carletta — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 9:01 a.m. — Raven — Footnote
February 5th, 2010, 2:01 a.m. — Susan — Footwork
February 5th, 2010, 3:44 a.m. — Barbara — Footwork; Fancy footwork; A plan is afoot.; The game is afoot.
Posted By Quilly on February 7, 2010
Macro Monday is hosted by Lisa of Lisa’s Chaos. If you love macro photography, this is the place for you!
Tube worm casings in an empty & cracked clam shell.
Odd Shot is hosted by Katney of Katney’s Kaboodle. If you’ve ever captured an odd or even down right strange photograph, this is the place for you!
Interpret This Sign Literally
Lisa in the shop.
The entire shop!
The remainder of the Coke cold case & mirrors, which add visual space to the "room".
The World’s [Literally] Skinniest Latte Shop is on San Juan Island in beautiful downtown Friday Harbor, Washington. The shop is built i what used to be the alley between two buildings. It is an ingenious use of space.
Lisa came to visit from Nebraska so I drug her into this coffee shop and insisted she buy a drink. I had a pretty good mocha. Lisa ordered a Chlorophyll Cocktail. If you like kale, I mean really like kale, you would have loved this drink. Me, not so much.
The service was friendly. The shop is adorable. And the whole event excited me so much I walked out without paying and my guest had to pick up the bill! I am quite the hostess, don’t yu know. Pft.
Posted By Quilly on February 7, 2010
And the winning caption for my startled deer, chosen by all of you is:
In first place with eight votes is:
“Okay, okay, I admit I tried it, but I never inhaled.” by, Susan.
In second Place with four votes is:
“I’ve got some salad stuck in my teeth? Where?” by, Lisa.
In third place with three votes is:
“They sure don’t make dental floss like they used to!” by, Thom.
I would like to thank everyone for playing I had a wonderful time. Every single one of you are winners in my opinion!
Posted By Quilly on February 7, 2010
He had his earphones on and was totally engrossed in the game. She walked in and put her hand on his shoulder. He moved the earphones off one ear and looked at her. “Yes?”
She asked, “Do you have an ETA on coming to dinner?”
He said, “There’s about five minutes left on the game clock.”
She smiled brightly and said, “Oh! Okay then. Perfect.” She turned to leave the room.
He called her back. “No, hon, that means dinner should be in about an hour.”
Posted By Quilly on February 7, 2010
Shirley, my second step-mother, was a beautician. That meant I always had a professional hair cut. It also meant that I always had the latest and greatest beauty products at my fingertips. I kind of miss that.
For my 8th grade graduation, my step-brother’s wife made me a gorgeous pink satin and lace formal — 1970’s gorgeous of course, but all the other 13 year olds thought I looked great — and Shirley did my hair in a Gibson Girl style with ringlets hanging down my back. The hair-do was old-fashioned and I didn’t want to go out in public. I tried to sneak into the dance and hide in a dark corner but my girlfriends found me and declared me Cinderella.
Sigh. If only my hair still did those wonderful things. If only I could do those wonderful things to my hair! I just signed up for a free Style Connection by Redken hair gel. I hope it will help.
Right now, I pretty much keep my hair smooshed under a hat — not so much to keep my head warm as to keep the wind out of my ears. Still, I am hoping that someday I will get to unbundle and face the world. It would be nice to do so with a descent head of hair.
Posted By Quilly on February 7, 2010
If you are a home owner and you plan to take advantage of The Home Affordable Modification Program (HAMP) , you need take care in considering the impact it may have on your credit report. There is more on the line then just changing or modifying your monthly payments. Uninformed homeowners have inadvertently signed up for terms that have a serious negative impact on their credit rating.
The American Residential Law Group has updated their FAQ page to provide answers to some of the most commonly asked mortgage and foreclosure questions. Further, they have posted an article, Home Affordable Mortgage Program Effect on Your Credit Score, which will help you understand just how HAMP works, how it might benefit you, and how to keep it from negatively impacting your credit score.
This is a must read for all homeowners. Knowledge is power. Don’t be one of the people caught saying, “I didn’t know they could do that ….” after your credit score has already plummeted.
Posted By Quilly on February 7, 2010
Chris from Enchanted Oak is doing the Simple Things Challenge, an easy way to keep your blessings flowing to Haiti. From her blog:
“Today and Sunday, I’d like to celebrate the simple pleasures of life with you. For each person who participates with a list, a poem, or a prose piece about the joy of simple things, my family will donate $2.00 to Heartline Ministries for their medical clinic and other programs in Haiti. The Heartline Ministries blog by John McHoul will tell you more about what they are doing.
Post your piece this weekend and include a link to my blog. Then pop in here to say you’ve posted your “Simple Things.” Post by midnight, Pacific time, Sunday, and don’t forget to link with me and notify me that you’ve posted. You can borrow the “Simple Things” photo. If you don’t have a blog, a comment on my blog will count too if you tell me so. Let’s keep those blessings flowing.”
The simple things I love, listed in no particular order:
And, of course, my family and friends — including all of you who leave me wonderful and charming comments. My life is truly blessed.
Posted By Quilly on February 6, 2010
My friend Lisa of Lisa Bolton Arts, is, as I type this, boarding the ferry that will bring her across the Sound to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. Amoeba and I are going out to play today. Don’t expect us back until evening. Why don’t all of you go out and have fun as well?
The sun is coming out and it looks like it is going to me a dazzling day in the PNW. All the better for charming our visitor. However, I forgot to order wholesale sunglasses and I still haven’t found a pair on this island anywhere, so after a day of squinting at the sun, I may very well NOT be back this evening.
Somebody remind me to order sunglasses as soon as I get back in. You’d think the migraines themselves would make it unnecessary for me to need an external reminder, wouldn’t you? Apparently that isn’t so.
Oh, and after I get my new sunglasses — which WILL NOT have a unisex design, remind me not to allow Mr. I’ve-Just-Lost-My-100th-Pair-of-Sunglasses to borrow the dang things.
She: Honey, you borrowed my sunglasses yesterday where are they?
He: Uhmmmmm….
She: You’ve lost my sunglasses, too, haven’t you?
He: Uhmmmmm….
She: I can’t believe you lost my sunglasses in just one day!
He: I didn’t lose them. I put them down somewhere and now I can’t find them.
Posted By Quilly on February 6, 2010
Posted By Quilly on February 5, 2010
Amoeba and I drove around the end of the island tonight and parked the car on a cliff above the beach at Cattle Point, then we climbed down the embankment. I noticed as I was climbing down that the soil was very sandy. I slipped and slid a couple of times, grabbing at the grass on the edge of the trail. It offered no resistance. Its root were extremely shallow and it just pulled free of the dirt.
After wandering down the beach and around the point, I climbed the cliff face there and again noted the extremely sandy soil. Once atop the cliff I forgot all about it and started snapping pics of the lighthouse and scenery. Amoeba and I discussed the extreme erosion that has bared a good (or bad, if you’re the lighthouse) portion of the foundation. The soil is all sand and it just washes away too easily. (I am certain there is a Bible lesson in here somewhere.)
Later as we were driving away and I was staring off the cliffs at the beautiful vista, Amoeba said, “Driving this road always makes me nervous. We do have our auto insurance paid up, don’t we?”
That brought my eyes off the view and onto the road. There was a car coming toward us, but it was clearly in its own lane and neither it nor we were going terribly fast. “Yes, our insurance is paid. Why? What’s wrong?” I intently studied the car dashboard.
Amoeba said, “This is a nice, wide paved road and it looks stable, but as you saw for yourself, it runs along the edge of a very high sand bluff. Next stop, ocean.”
I am an optimist. I said, “This road has been here for years. There is no reason why it would shear off and fall into the sea while we’re driving it. ”
He is a pessimist. He said, “There’s no reason why it wouldn’t either.”
I just gave him a how could you stare.
He said I shouldn’t worry because with our insurance paid up, we were less of a temptation to Murphy. (He of Murphy’s Law.)
Posted By Quilly on February 5, 2010
They were sitting at the table reading the Goldfish Cracker box. He read, “Favorite movie, Optimistic Pizza,” then asked, “Is there really a movie by that name?”
She said, “Mystic Pizza, I think. I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it.”
He said, “It’s probably some story about somebody working at a pizza place in Mystic, Connecticut.”
She retrieved a laptop from the living room and Googled Mystic Pizza. The page came up and she read aloud, “Three teenage girls come of age while working in a pizza shop in Mystic, Connecticut.”
He flashed a self-satisfied grin.
She said, “Feeling pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
He said, “Yeah, as a matter-of-fact, I am.”
She said, “I’m going to sign up you for Jeopardy.”
He said, “Oh no, you’re not! You just sign yourself up.”
She said, “Honey, you’re smarter than me.”
He said, “I don’t for a minute believe that is true.”
She said, “Okay, fine then. You’re not smarter, but you know a whole lot more facts about a much broader range of topics then I do.”
He said, “Okay, that’s true, but I’m still not going on Jeopardy.”
She asked, “Why not?”
He said, “Are you kidding? I could make a total fool out of myself in front of millions of people on national television!”
She smirked and told him, “I know. That’s why I’m signing you up and not me!”
He gave her “that look” and intoned, “What you lack in “facts” you make up for in “devious”.”
“What’s your point?” she asked, then grinned and offered him more crackers.
Posted By Quilly on February 5, 2010
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
and the book:
Katy’s New World (The Katy Lambright Series)
Zondervan (February 1, 2010)
***Special thanks to Bridgette Brooks of Zondervan for sending me a review copy.***
Bestselling, award-winning author Kim Vogel Sawyer wears many hats besides “writer.” As a wife, mother, grandmother, and active participant in her church, her life is happily full. But Kim’s passion lies in writing stories of hope that encourage her readers to place their lives in God’s capable hands. An active speaking ministry assists her with her desire. Kim and her husband make their home on the beautiful plains of Kansas, the setting for many of Kim’s novels.
Visit the author’s website.
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 208 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (February 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310719240
ISBN-13: 978-0310719243
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Like wisps of smoke that upward flee,
Disappearing on the breeze,
Days dissolving one by one . . .
Time stands still for no one.
Katy Lambright stared at the neatly written lines in her journal and crinkled her brow so tightly her forehead hurt. She rubbed the knot between her eyebrows with her fingertip. What was wrong? Ah, yes. Two uses of “one” on the final lines. She stared harder, tapping her temple with the eraser end of her pencil. What would be a better ending?
She whispered, “Time’s as fleeting as the —”
“Katy-girl?”
Just like the poem stated, her thought dissipated like a wisp of smoke. Dropping her pencil onto the journal page, she smacked the book closed and dashed to the top of the stairs. “What?”
Dad stood at the bottom with his hand on the square newel post, looking up. “It’s seven fifteen. You’ll miss your bus if we don’t get going.”
Katy’s stomach turned a rapid somersault. Maybe she shouldn’t have fixed those rich banana-pecan pancakes for breakfast. But she’d wanted Dad to have a special breakfast this morning. It was a big day for him. And for her. Mostly for her. “I’ll be right down.”
She grabbed her sweater from the peg behind her bedroom door. No doubt today would be like any other late-August day —unbearably hot —but the high school was air conditioned. She might get cold. So she quickly folded the made-by-Gramma sweater into a rough bundle and pushed it into the belly of the backpack waiting in the little nook at the head of the stairs.
The bold pink backpack presented a stark contrast to her simple sky blue dress. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, while at the same time a twinge of uncertainty wiggled its way through her stomach. She’d never used a backpack before. Annika Gehring, her best friend since forever, had helped her pack it with notebooks and pencils and a brand-new protractor—all the things listed on the supply sheet from the high school in Salina. They had giggled while organizing the bag, making use of each of its many pockets.
Katy sighed. A part of her wished that Annika was coming to high school and part of her was glad to be going alone. If she made a fool of herself, no one from the Mennonite fellowship would be there to see. And as much as she loved Annika, whatever the girl saw she reported.
“Katy-girl!” Dad’s voice carried from the yard through the open windows.
Would Dad ever drop that babyish nickname? If he called her Katy-girl in front of any of the high school kids, she’d die from embarrassment. “I’m coming!” She yanked up the backpack and pushed her arms through the straps. The backpack’s tug on her shoulders felt strange and yet exhila-rating. She ran down the stairs, the ribbons from her mesh headcovering fluttering against her neck and the backpack bouncing on her spine —one familiar feeling and one new feeling, all at once. The combination almost made her dizzy. She tossed the backpack onto the seat of her dad’s blue pickup and climbed in beside it. As he pulled away from their dairy farm onto the dirt road that led to the highway, she rolled down the window. Dust billowed behind the tires, drifting into the cab. Katy coughed, but she hugged her backpack to her stomach and let the morning air hit her full in the face. She loved the smell of morning, before the day got so hot it melted away the fresh scent of dew.
The truck rumbled past the one-room schoolhouse where Katy had attended first through ninth grades. Given the early hour, no kids cluttered the schoolyard. But in her imagination she saw older kids pushing little kids on the swings, kids waiting for a turn on the warped teeter-totter, and Caleb Penner chasing the girls with a wiggly earthworm and making them scream. Caleb had chased her many times, waving an earthworm or a fat beetle. He’d never made her scream, though. Bugs didn’t bother Katy. She only feared a few things. Like tornadoes. And people leaving and not coming back.
A sigh drifted from Dad’s side of the seat. She turned to face him, noting his somber expression. Dad always looked serious. And tired. Running the dairy farm as well as a household without the help of a wife had aged him. For a moment guilt pricked at Katy’s conscience. She was supposed to stay home and help her family, like all the other Old Order girls when they finished ninth grade.
But the familiar spiral of longing —to learn more, to see what existed outside the limited expanse of Schell-berg—wound its way through her middle. Her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands as she clenched her fists. She had to go. This opportunity, granted to no one else in her little community, was too precious to squander.
“Dad?” She waited until he glanced at her. “Stop worrying.”
His eyebrows shot up, meeting the brim of his billed cap. “I’m not worrying.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve been worrying all morning. Wor-rying ever since the deacons said I could go.” Katy under-stood his worry.
She’d heard the speculative whispers when the Menno-nite fellowship learned that Katy had been granted permis-sion to attend the high school in Salina: “Will she be Kath-leen’s girl through and through?” But she was determined to prove the worriers wrong. She could attend public school, could be with worldly people, and still maintain her faith. Hadn’t she been the only girl at the community school to face Caleb’s taunting bugs without flinching? She was strong.
She gave Dad’s shoulder a teasing nudge with her fist. “I’ll be all right, you know.”
His lips twitched. “I’m not worried about you, Katy-girl.”
He was lying, but Katy didn’t argue. She never talked back to Dad. If she got upset with him, she wrote the words in her journal to get them out of her head, and then she tore the page into tiny bits and threw the pieces away. She’d started the practice shortly after she turned thirteen.
Before then, he’d never done anything wrong. Sometimes she wondered if he’d changed or she had, but it didn’t mat-ter much. She didn’t like feeling upset with him —he was all she had —so she tried to get rid of her anger quickly.
They reached the highway, and Dad parked the pickup on the shoulder. He turned the key, and the engine splut-tered before falling silent. Dad aimed his face out his side window, his elbow propped on the sill. Wind whistled through the open windows and birds trilled a morning song from one of the empty wheat fields that flanked the pickup. The sounds were familiar—a symphony of nature she’d heard since infancy—but today they carried a poi-gnancy that put a lump in Katy’s throat.
Why had she experienced such a strange reaction to wind and birds? She would explore it in her journal before she went to bed this evening. Words —secretive whispers, melodious trill—cluttered her mind. Maybe she’d write a poem about it too, if she wasn’t too tired from her first day at school.
Cars crested the gentle rise in the black-topped high-way and zinged by—sports cars and big SUVs, so differ-ent from the plain black or blue Mennonite pickups and sedans that filled the church lot on Sunday mornings in Schellberg. When would the big yellow bus appear? Katy had been warned it wouldn’t be able to wait for her. Might it have come and gone already? Her stomach fluttered as fear took hold.
Dad suddenly whirled to face her. “Do you have your lunch money?”
She patted the small zipper pocket on the front of the backpack. “Right here.” She hunched her shoulders and giggled. “It feels funny not to carry a lunchbox.” For as far back as she could remember, Katy had carried a lunch she’d packed for herself since she didn’t have a mother to do it for her.
“Yes, but you heard the lady in the school office.” Dad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “She said the kids at this school eat in the cafeteria or go out to eat.”
Embarrassment crept over Katy as she remembered the day they’d visited the school. When the secretary told Dad about the school lunch program, he’d insisted on reading the lunch menu from beginning to end before agreeing to let his daughter eat “school-made food.”
Truthfully, the menu had looked more enticing than her customary peanut butter sandwich, but Dad had acted as though he thought someone might try to poison her. She’d filled three pages, front and back, in her journal over the incident before tearing the well-scribbled pages into min-iscule bits of litter. But —satisfaction welled—Dad had purchased a lunch ticket after all.
The wind tossed the satin ribbons dangling from the mesh cap that covered her heavy coil of hair. They tickled her chin. She hooked the ribbons in the neck of her dress and then brushed dust from the skirt of her homemade dress. An errant thought formed. I’m glad I’ll be eating cafeteria food like a regular high school kid. It might be only way I don’t stick out.
Dad cleared his throat. “There she comes.”
The school bus rolled toward them. The sun glared off the wide windshield, nearly hiding the monstrous vehicle from view. Katy threw her door open and stepped out, carrying the backpack on her hip as if it were one of her toddler cousins. She sucked in a breath of dismay when Dad met her at the hood of the pickup and reached for her hand.
“It’s okay, Dad.” She smiled at him even though her stomach suddenly felt as though it might return those ba-nana-pecan pancakes at any minute. “I can get on okay.”
The bus’s wide rubber tires crunched on the gravel as it rolled to a stop at the intersection. Giggles carried from in-side the bus when Dad walked Katy to the open door. Katy cringed, trying discreetly pull her hand free, but Dad kept hold and gave the bus driver a serious look.
“This is my daughter, Katy Lambright.”
“Kathleen Lambright,” Katy corrected. Hadn’t she told Dad she wanted to be Kathleen at the new school instead of the childish Katy? Dad wasn’t in favor, and Katy knew why. She would let him continue to call her Katy—or Katy-girl, the nickname he’d given her before she was old enough to sit up—but to the Outside, she was Kathleen.
Dad frowned at the interruption, but he repeated, “Kathleen Lambright. She is attending Salina High North.”
The driver, an older lady with soft white hair cut short and brushed back from her rosy face, looked a little bit like Gramma Ruthie around her eyes. But Gramma would never wear blue jeans or a bright yellow polka-dotted shirt. One side of the driver’s mouth quirked up higher than the other when she smiled, giving her an impish look. “Well, come on aboard, Katy Kathleen Lambright. We have a schedule to keep.”
Another titter swept through the bus. Dad leaned to-ward Katy, as if he planned to hug her good-bye. Katy ducked away and darted onto the bus. When she glanced back, she glimpsed the hurt in Dad’s eyes, and guilt hit her hard. This day wasn’t easy for him. She spun to dash back out and let him hug her after all, but the driver pulled a lever that closed the door, sealing her away from her father.
Suddenly the reality of what she was doing —leaving the security of her little community, her dad, and all that was familiar—washed over her, and for one brief moment she wanted to claw the doors open and dive into the refuge of Dad’s arms, just as she used to do when she was little and frightened by a windstorm.
“Have a seat, Kathleen,” the driver said.
Through the window, Katy watched Dad climb back into the pickup. His face looked so sad, her heart hurt. She felt a sting at the back of her nose —a sure sign that tears were coming. She sniffed hard.
“You’ve got to sit down, or we can’t go.” Impatience colored the driver’s tone. She pushed her foot against the gas pedal, and the bus engine roared in eagerness. More giggles erupted from the kids on the bus.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Katy quickly scanned the seats. Most of them were already filled with kids. The passen-gers all looked her up and down, some smirking, and some staring with their mouths hanging open. She could imagine them wondering what she was doing on their bus. She’d be the first Mennonite student to attend one of the Salina schools. She lifted her chin. Well, they’ll just have to get used to me.
Katy ignored the gawks and searched faces. She had hoped to sit with someone her own age, but none of the kids looked to be more than twelve or thirteen. Finally she spotted an open seat toward the middle on the right. She dropped into it, sliding the backpack into the empty space beside her.
The bus jolted back onto the highway with a crunch of tires on gravel. The two little girls in the seat in front of Katy turned around and stared with round, wide eyes. Katy smiled, but they didn’t smile back. So she raised her eyebrows high and waggled her tongue, the face she used to get her baby cousin Trent to stop crying. The little girls made the same face back, giggled, and turned forward again.
Throughout the bus, kids talked and laughed, at ease with each other. Katy sat alone, silent and invisible. The bus bounced worse than Dad’s pickup, and her stomach felt queasier with each mile covered. She swallowed and swallowed to keep the banana-pecan pancakes in place. Think about something else . . .
High school. Her heart fluttered. Public high school. A smile tugged on the corners of her lips. Classes like botany and music appreciation and literature. Literature . . .
When she’d shown Annika the list of classes selected for her sophomore year at Salina High North, Annika had shaken her head and made a face. “They sound hard. Why do you want to study more anyway? You’re weird, Katy.”
Remembering her friend’s words made her nose sting again. Annika had been Katy’s best friend ever since the first grade when the teacher plunked them together on a little bench at the front of the schoolroom, but despite their lengthy and close friendship, Annika didn’t understand Katy.
Katy stared out the window, biting her lower lip and fighting an uncomfortable realization. Katy didn’t under-stand herself. A ninth grade education seemed to satisfy everyone else in her community, so why wasn’t it enough for her?
Why were questions always swirling through her brain? She could still hear her teacher’s voice in her memory: “Katy, Katy, your many questions make me tired.” Why did words mean so much to her? None of her Menno-nite friends had to write their thoughts in a spiral-bound notebook to keep from exploding. Katy couldn’t begin to explain why. And she knew, even without asking, that was what scared Dad the most. She shook her head, hug-ging her backpack to her thudding heart. He didn’t need to be worried. She loved Dad, loved being a Mennonite girl, loved Schellberg and its wooden chapel of fellowship where she felt close to God and to her neighbors. Besides, the deacons had been very clear when they gave her permission to attend high school. If she picked up worldly habits, attending school would come to an abrupt and per-manent end.
A prayer automatically winged through her heart: God, guide me in this learning, but keep me humble. Help me remember what Dad read from Your Word last night during our prayer time: that a man profits nothing if he gains the world but loses his soul.
The bus pulled in front of the tan brick building that she and Dad had visited two weeks earlier when they enrolled her in school. On that day, the campus had been empty except for a few cars and two men in blue uniforms standing in the shade of a tall pine tree, smoking ciga-rettes. Dad had hurried her right past them. Today, how-
ever, the parking lot overflowed with vehicles in a variety of colors, makes, and models. People—people her age, not like the kids on the school bus —stood in little groups all over the grassy yard, talking and laughing.
Katy stared out the window, her mouth dry. Most of the students had backpacks, but none sporting bold colors like hers. Their backpacks were Mennonite-approved colors: dark blue, green, and lots and lots of black. Should she have selected a plain-colored backpack? Aunt Rebecca had clicked her tongue at Katy’s choice, but the pink one was so pretty, so different from her plain dresses . . . Her hands started to shake.
“Kathleen?” The bus driver turned backward in her seat. “C’mon, honey, scoot on off. I got three more stops to make.”
Katy quickly slipped her arms through the backpack’s straps and scuttled off the bus. The door squealed shut behind her, and the bus pulled away with a growl and a thick cloud of strong-smelling smoke. Katy stood on the sidewalk, facing the school. She twisted a ribbon from her cap around her finger, wondering where she should go. The main building? That seemed a logical choice. She took one step forward but then froze, her skin prickling with awareness.
All across the yard, voices faded. Faces turned one-by-one—a field of faces —all aiming in her direction. She heard a shrill giggle—her own. Her response to nervousness.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pull on the other kids faded. They turned back to their own groups as if she no longer existed. With a sigh, she resumed her progress toward the main building, turning sideways to ease between groups, sometimes bumping people with her backpack, mumbling apologies and flashing shy smiles. She’d worked her way halfway across the yard when an ear-piercing clang filled the air. The fine hairs on her arms prickled, and she stopped as suddenly as if she’d slammed into the solid brick wall of the school building.
The other kids all began moving, flinging their back-packs over one shoulder and pushing at one another. Katy got swept along with the throng, jostled and bumped like everyone else. Her racing heartbeat seemed to pound a message: This is IT! This is IT! High school!
My thoughts:
First and foremost, I enjoyed this book. I do recommend it. Now, that said ….
I had a little trouble getting into it when it first started. Katy came off as a little too perfect. I went to school with several Mennonite girls. With Katy and her father as the only references to the Mennonite community of the book, I thought they were being portrayed too narrowly. Then, as other characters entered the book, I saw the scope I needed to ground the story in reality.
Members of the Mennonite faith do try to hold themselves separate and live frugally. They tend not to gather luxuries, but to use only those technologies which make their work more efficient and productive, thus Katy’s dad drives an aging pick up but has a state-of-the-art milking facility and equipment. Not all families live as strictly as Katy’s dad chooses to, but the book did show us that through Katy’s eyes as she visited with Caleb’s mother in her much more modern kitchen.
I loved Katy’s grandmother, and Katy’s interactions with Jewel. To me the best part of the book was Katy’s struggle with her own feelings. She questions her wants and desires and wonders how they fit in with her life. She uses her own pain to help her relate to someone she would have preferred to ignore. And she questions the value of a lifelong friendship and chooses to honor it even in the face of rejection. In short, Katy is a teenager with moments of sweet innocence and moments of wrenching confusion and moments of childish rebellion — which is as it should be.
Posted By Quilly on February 4, 2010
I asked you all to help me caption the photo below and I got some absolutely fantastic answers. In fact, they are so good that I put up this poll so I wouldn’t have to choose. YOU choose. Warning: you may only vote once, so decide wisely.
To see your vote and caption together, click on the word “comment” immediately aboove and to the right (at the bottom of the poll chart).
The winner will earn the admiration and respect of everyone participating, and a featured spot with a link which will be displayed sometime on Monday.
Posted By Quilly on February 4, 2010
One of the first things we did before agreeing to move here is check out the internet connectivity. We were pleasantly surprised to find a variety of choices. We asked questions, checked out online reviews, solicited personal testimony, then went with an internet/cable/phone package. Turns out it wasn’t a great choice.
The equipment installer arrived as scheduled and did his thing, but it has been almost a month now. Our phone line still isn’t activated and we have no internet connectivity. We do have TV signal — which would be great if we actually had a TV (remember, ours is cruising the Pacific).
I guess we should have gone with wildblue satellite internet. They are experienced in servicing rural areas. I may just end up switching to them yet!
Right now I don’t know what I am going to do for net when it’s time to move into our own house. I’ve called the service provider 3 times. Before I even finish explaining my problem the little bubblehead who answers the phone transfers me to the installer — who has already done his job!
Oh! Except the last time. The last time I called I told her I didn’t even know my assigned phone number. She made a really rude noise and hung up on me!
I got smart and went to their local office. It’s closed. There’s a note on the door saying where payments can be mailed. I’ll be danged if I am paying for service I can’t even use!
