she's back.

hello. i don't have much to say today... just checkin in i guess. i've been at staff seminar out in the stix for a few days with no interweb. i'm not feeling incredibly long-winded today, so i'll do some bullet-point announcements.

• i am feeling much better. thanks to khadija for the chicken noodle soup.
  
• i bought some new books. three, to be exact. i got the drama of scripture, which i'm very excited about. (read my "ms. pac-man and a breakthrough" post for explanation.) i also bought a tiny red leather-bound bible to carry around in my bag in place of my ginormous study bible. it's TNIV. fanTAStic. and, the long awaited memoir... through painted deserts by the one and only donald miller, author of blue like jazz and searching for God knows what. i'll let you know what i think. i have high hopes.
• teaching non-midwetesterners to play euchre at two in the morning is likely to be unsuccessful.
• my betta fish kenny is alive and well. he has taken to scurrying frantically around his bowl when i come into the room. maybe he does it all the time IRregardless of my presence, but i take it as a sign of his affection. or we might be in a fight because i had to leave him alone for a day and a half to go to staff training. next time, i'll get a betta-sitter.
  
• my parents sold our house. now, mom and dad, i know you read this. i want to stress that i am not angry with you. i understand that it is the best decision for the needs of our family at this stage in our lives. i even like the new house. it is beautiful, and i am looking forward to making new memories there. that said, i am still feeling what could be accurately described as devastation. has anyone else experienced this loss of home and center that can speak comfort to me in my time of need? is it really so awful as i am imagining? anya has suggested taking pictures of the house and everything in it, to preserve the memories. there are little things i remember about the places i have lived, things that i looked at every day that made them home. often these things are imperfections, but they hold memories of family and friends. for example, before we (and by "we" i mean my parents) remodeled the house i grew up in, there was a tiny strip of wallpaper that had been torn away along the edge of the wall by the stairs. my father was furious about it, and asked my sisters and me which of us had ripped the paper from the wall. i remember that stephanie told him that our dog murray had done it. when my father told her that murray could not possibly have done it, she suggested that perhaps it was fred, her pet goldfish. she always was a liar. (jk, baby.) or in my apartment on richard terrace, affectionately known as "the man trap," there are many flaws that evoke memories, such as the hole in the wall in the hallway with the wires sticking out, or the eye-sore of a light fixture in my bedroom, or the chipped paint on the coffee table in the living room. i suppose in the long run, it's not the house that makes it home. it's not the carpet stains in my old bedroom, or the height charts we drew in the storage room downstairs, or my sisters' initials carved in the cement on the driveway. it's not the fort in the backyard, or the tree out front where we took our prom pictures. and even though i'll always love that house and the sounds and smells and sights that it holds, it's my family, the people that helped make the memories, that will always be home.

so much for the bullet points. enough for now.