This is such an interesting place. Similar to New York, it's a big melting pot of people from all over the world. Different cultures, languages, skin colors and ideas all merging together on buses, trains, and streets and I love it. Today I decided to have some fun on the Underground as we were headed back to our hostel. I took Danielle's scarf, which has a lovely red, green, and tan print on it, her green gloves, her oversized sunglasses and her purse and proceeded to put them all on. I'm pretty sure I looked ridiculous, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity. I was curious if it would get a reaction from anyone. It did not. There were no stares, no laughs, nothing. The people of London are apparently completely ok with me halfway cross dressing.
On a similar note, we're staying in a hostel full of people we don't know. Clay, Josh and myself are downstairs in a guys room of about 20 beds and the girls are upstairs in a girls room with the same. Last night we met Blanton. Blanton is gay. He hasn't told me this, but I've gathered information and come to this hypothesis based on his excessive effeminate mannerisms, voice inflection and lazy right hand. He's staying in our room and at first I wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea. I mean, I don't expect him to stay in a girls room, but it was kind of weird. This morning, we had breakfast with him and I'm really glad we did. He's a cool guy. We don't have anything in common and he didn't have anything to say during Clay's rant about British girls. But at the end of the day, he's human just like me. I'm grateful for experiences like these because it challenges me to love people that are different than me and that I may not agree with. I'm sure there will be more of that to come on this trip.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
silversun pickups
I'm headed to London today. It's one of my favorite cities in the world and I'm super pumped. Yesterday I broke down and bought an ipod touch. They are sincerely remarkable pieces of technology and I am sincerely glad I bought it. Wi-fi, music, video, what else do you need? I think it is going to come in handy. If you have any suggestions for music I should put on it while I'm traveling, please leave a comment and let me know. I love discovering new music and I'll have plenty of time to listen to it.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
readers
Merry Christmas!
Thanks so much for taking the time to read my blog this year. It was a fun project for 2007 and I am looking forward to continuing its life into 2008.
I pray that this year brings you many blessings of hope and adventure.
-Jeremy
Thanks so much for taking the time to read my blog this year. It was a fun project for 2007 and I am looking forward to continuing its life into 2008.
I pray that this year brings you many blessings of hope and adventure.
-Jeremy
Sunday, December 23, 2007
strange dichotomy
I spent Saturday afternoon with William and Silas, the two boys that my family "adopted" for Christmas. As previously mentioned (see 'icicles' blog from December 2), I wasn't exactly sure how I felt about the whole ordeal. I knew that spending time with them was probably a good idea, but I wasn't sure what the final product was supposed to look like. I had a problem with dumping a bunch of toys on these kids, spending an afternoon with them and then not seeing them again until next Christmas, if ever.
When I pulled up to the big yard where their little house sat, they were playing soccer with my dad. They didn't pay a whole lot of attention to my entrance and continued to play. I was cool with that. Silas decided to make his presence known by running and sliding through the leaves. It looked like it had the potential to be painful given the mystery of the contents beneath the leaves. I think he hit a stick. He sustained no injury, though, and we decided it was time for lunch.
Lunch was at Jack's, where chicken fingers and french fries were the item of the day. After we finally got them away from the playground and the Christmas tree, we sat down to some interesting conversation during our meal. We asked a lot of questions and they had a lot of answers. Silas occasionally uses a sarcastic tone that at his age is still kind of cute. I imagine one day it won't be. During lunch we presented them with a few Christmas gifts. My aunt provided a Cars blanket and pillow for each of them, of which they were in great need of. My dad and I gave them a basketball and pump, of which I would argue they were also in great need of.
For two boys born at roughly the same time, they couldn't be more different. Usually, the give away for twins is that they look alike. William and Silas don't look alike, think alike, act alike, or play alike and I find their differences very intriguing. William is bigger. Not a lot. Just enough to be noticeable. He has blond hair and I'm not sure what color eyes. As we passed his school on the way to lunch, I asked him what his favorite subject was. After pondering for a second, he said, "Outside". I assumed that meant recess. He went on to inform me that he didn't like math... or numbers... or letters. I told him that that could present a problem.
Silas is shorter and a little more feisty. His smaller demeanor does not discourage him from telling William what to do and he does so quite often. He has brown hair and is only now beginning to lose his teeth, which William has already done, or at least started. His favorite subject is math and I would assume he's the better student of the two. Silas also has more athletic ability. As we were throwing the basketball back and forth to each other, he proved his ability to catch and throw without effort. When the same was done with William, he proved that I needed to bounce pass the ball unless I wanted to break his nose. William can't catch.
As I spent the afternoon with these boys, I came to the realization that I've come to so many times before with kids like these. The biggest thing they need is love. I don't know where their father is or what he's like. And while I don't plan on filling that void for them, I know that I can be a man in their life that will show them love. Boys need someone to wrestle with, play ball with, and learn the ropes of manhood and I happen to know a little bit about all three.
It seems like such a big commitment, though. They're only six. I don't want to build a relationship with them, then abandon them because I don't have time. But, how often can I drive to Vincent, Alabama to give them quality time? Based on the way my life has gone lately, I'm not sure. I took it up with God and as I prayed for William and Silas I started to get upset. I was mad at him for putting them in this situation. Sure, it could be worse. But, why make kids grow up without a dad? That doesn't seem fair. He didn't say anything. I'm trusting that he's got it all figured out. For now, I'll just do what I can. Good idea, Jo.
When I pulled up to the big yard where their little house sat, they were playing soccer with my dad. They didn't pay a whole lot of attention to my entrance and continued to play. I was cool with that. Silas decided to make his presence known by running and sliding through the leaves. It looked like it had the potential to be painful given the mystery of the contents beneath the leaves. I think he hit a stick. He sustained no injury, though, and we decided it was time for lunch.
Lunch was at Jack's, where chicken fingers and french fries were the item of the day. After we finally got them away from the playground and the Christmas tree, we sat down to some interesting conversation during our meal. We asked a lot of questions and they had a lot of answers. Silas occasionally uses a sarcastic tone that at his age is still kind of cute. I imagine one day it won't be. During lunch we presented them with a few Christmas gifts. My aunt provided a Cars blanket and pillow for each of them, of which they were in great need of. My dad and I gave them a basketball and pump, of which I would argue they were also in great need of.
For two boys born at roughly the same time, they couldn't be more different. Usually, the give away for twins is that they look alike. William and Silas don't look alike, think alike, act alike, or play alike and I find their differences very intriguing. William is bigger. Not a lot. Just enough to be noticeable. He has blond hair and I'm not sure what color eyes. As we passed his school on the way to lunch, I asked him what his favorite subject was. After pondering for a second, he said, "Outside". I assumed that meant recess. He went on to inform me that he didn't like math... or numbers... or letters. I told him that that could present a problem.
Silas is shorter and a little more feisty. His smaller demeanor does not discourage him from telling William what to do and he does so quite often. He has brown hair and is only now beginning to lose his teeth, which William has already done, or at least started. His favorite subject is math and I would assume he's the better student of the two. Silas also has more athletic ability. As we were throwing the basketball back and forth to each other, he proved his ability to catch and throw without effort. When the same was done with William, he proved that I needed to bounce pass the ball unless I wanted to break his nose. William can't catch.
As I spent the afternoon with these boys, I came to the realization that I've come to so many times before with kids like these. The biggest thing they need is love. I don't know where their father is or what he's like. And while I don't plan on filling that void for them, I know that I can be a man in their life that will show them love. Boys need someone to wrestle with, play ball with, and learn the ropes of manhood and I happen to know a little bit about all three.
It seems like such a big commitment, though. They're only six. I don't want to build a relationship with them, then abandon them because I don't have time. But, how often can I drive to Vincent, Alabama to give them quality time? Based on the way my life has gone lately, I'm not sure. I took it up with God and as I prayed for William and Silas I started to get upset. I was mad at him for putting them in this situation. Sure, it could be worse. But, why make kids grow up without a dad? That doesn't seem fair. He didn't say anything. I'm trusting that he's got it all figured out. For now, I'll just do what I can. Good idea, Jo.
Friday, December 21, 2007
an ovenmitts worth
I like giving gifts. I think it's fun. But, I don't like giving gifts because I'm supposed to. For instance, Christmas. It's not that I don't enjoy giving people presents this time of year. I just feel like the gift means less because it's almost required. I like giving people stuff when they don't expect it and when you aren't expecting them to give you anything. Having said that, I really love this time of year and am looking forward to all the giving and receiving that will take place.
For some reason there's also this unwritten law that you have to give people a gift that "costs enough". Like, if you are really good friends with someone or a close relative you should buy them something nice to show them you care about them. I think that's bullcrap. I got to thinking about this at Bed, Bath, and Beyond tonight while debating what to get my grandmother. For some reason she likes salt and pepper shakers. I saw some in this store full of kitchen things that I thought she would really like. They were simple, magnetic and looked like rabbits. Perfect. But, they only cost $12. I started to feel guilty. I started to feel ashamed that she has done so much for me and all I'm going to spend on her is a lousy $12.
I quickly came to my senses and realized how completely ridiculous that was. Why in the world does it matter how much I spend? First of all, she would be just as happy if I wrote her a Christmas card on a napkin. Second of all, this is something I know she would like. I stopped feeling guilty. I got the salt and pepper shakers and said screw you, unwritten law.
For some reason there's also this unwritten law that you have to give people a gift that "costs enough". Like, if you are really good friends with someone or a close relative you should buy them something nice to show them you care about them. I think that's bullcrap. I got to thinking about this at Bed, Bath, and Beyond tonight while debating what to get my grandmother. For some reason she likes salt and pepper shakers. I saw some in this store full of kitchen things that I thought she would really like. They were simple, magnetic and looked like rabbits. Perfect. But, they only cost $12. I started to feel guilty. I started to feel ashamed that she has done so much for me and all I'm going to spend on her is a lousy $12.
I quickly came to my senses and realized how completely ridiculous that was. Why in the world does it matter how much I spend? First of all, she would be just as happy if I wrote her a Christmas card on a napkin. Second of all, this is something I know she would like. I stopped feeling guilty. I got the salt and pepper shakers and said screw you, unwritten law.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Healing
If you would, please pray for my friend Drew.
Sunday night he was riding a skateboard being pulled by a car. I'm sure it sounded like a good idea, but unfortunately it resulted in some pretty serious injury. If you know Drew, you have probably already assumed correctly that he wasn't wearing a helmet. I don't know the full details, but he fell from the board and cracked his skull on the pavement. He was able to walk away from the accident, but ended up in the ICU at UAB. His brain is swelling which is an obvious concern and I'm not sure of much else other than than. Please just pray for him and his family. Thanks.
Sunday night he was riding a skateboard being pulled by a car. I'm sure it sounded like a good idea, but unfortunately it resulted in some pretty serious injury. If you know Drew, you have probably already assumed correctly that he wasn't wearing a helmet. I don't know the full details, but he fell from the board and cracked his skull on the pavement. He was able to walk away from the accident, but ended up in the ICU at UAB. His brain is swelling which is an obvious concern and I'm not sure of much else other than than. Please just pray for him and his family. Thanks.
Monday, December 17, 2007
little to no wig
This year Wes and I had the privilege of having Colonial Properties as one of our clients. They're a big retail developing REIT that's done projects such as Brookwood Mall, Tutwiler in Trussville and Promenade in Alabaster. We've sold several things for them this year and it's been a great relationship.
My contact at Colonial is John. I have a lot of respect for him. He's a no-nonsense, get it down now kind of guy. Wes made the initial connection with John and their conversations entail such subjects, in addition to real estate, as their lake houses, firewood, mutual friends, and . I have not yet been afforded that luxury. The usual questions I would ask about his kids or hobbies are way off limits.
I usually call him about once every week or two to discuss the current status of our deals. He is well aware of who I am, but when he answers he is always less than impressed with who is on the other end. I've learned how to cut to the chase and only say words that would be considered "essential", as not to waste his precious time. He's nice to me, but he could care less that I'm alive and I'm ok with that. Since his office is in the same building on the floor below ours, he sometimes comes by and visits our office. He always says hello to me, but that's only if he's on his way to talk to Wes. I'm pretty sure that if I fell dead in front of him in the hall, he'd step over me to have a conversation with Wes.
The other day I called him with one of my infamous updates. Since I've gotten pretty good at these brief encounters I actually look forward to it. I feel like I'm on the floor of the New York stock exchange and I'm updating my client on the market just before we make a big trade. On this particular day, I was shocked at his response when I notified him who was calling. He was elated. My, "John, this is Jeremy" was followed by a huge "Hey Man!, how are you?" I almost didn't know what to say. I had but precious nanoseconds to consider and then decide if this was, in fact, that new reality that I lived in. He was glad to hear from me and finally we were about to connect on more than cap rates, sales prices, credit tenants and ten thirty one exchanges.
I responded, "I'm great, how are you?" I truly was great. This was awesome. He also informed me that he was doing well and went on to ask what he could help me with. It was after my subsequent response that the wheels came off the bus and I careened into the guard rail, off the cliff to a perfect action movie explosion below. After I told him that I just wanted to talk about the status of a particular contract, he realized something. He was not, in fact, talking to the Jeremy that he thought he was. He was, instead, talking to me.
That changed everything. He immediately cut the pleasantries and we got down to business. After less than three minutes I was off the phone with him. I got what I needed, he felt good about it and we were done. Just like that. I don't know who the other Jeremy is or what he's doing right, but I would love to know. From the sound of John's reception to the call, you'd think this guy had saved one of his kids from drowning or some other amazingly heroic act.
Oh well, nothing like a good reminder that you are still the bottom man on the totem pole.
My contact at Colonial is John. I have a lot of respect for him. He's a no-nonsense, get it down now kind of guy. Wes made the initial connection with John and their conversations entail such subjects, in addition to real estate, as their lake houses, firewood, mutual friends, and . I have not yet been afforded that luxury. The usual questions I would ask about his kids or hobbies are way off limits.
I usually call him about once every week or two to discuss the current status of our deals. He is well aware of who I am, but when he answers he is always less than impressed with who is on the other end. I've learned how to cut to the chase and only say words that would be considered "essential", as not to waste his precious time. He's nice to me, but he could care less that I'm alive and I'm ok with that. Since his office is in the same building on the floor below ours, he sometimes comes by and visits our office. He always says hello to me, but that's only if he's on his way to talk to Wes. I'm pretty sure that if I fell dead in front of him in the hall, he'd step over me to have a conversation with Wes.
The other day I called him with one of my infamous updates. Since I've gotten pretty good at these brief encounters I actually look forward to it. I feel like I'm on the floor of the New York stock exchange and I'm updating my client on the market just before we make a big trade. On this particular day, I was shocked at his response when I notified him who was calling. He was elated. My, "John, this is Jeremy" was followed by a huge "Hey Man!, how are you?" I almost didn't know what to say. I had but precious nanoseconds to consider and then decide if this was, in fact, that new reality that I lived in. He was glad to hear from me and finally we were about to connect on more than cap rates, sales prices, credit tenants and ten thirty one exchanges.
I responded, "I'm great, how are you?" I truly was great. This was awesome. He also informed me that he was doing well and went on to ask what he could help me with. It was after my subsequent response that the wheels came off the bus and I careened into the guard rail, off the cliff to a perfect action movie explosion below. After I told him that I just wanted to talk about the status of a particular contract, he realized something. He was not, in fact, talking to the Jeremy that he thought he was. He was, instead, talking to me.
That changed everything. He immediately cut the pleasantries and we got down to business. After less than three minutes I was off the phone with him. I got what I needed, he felt good about it and we were done. Just like that. I don't know who the other Jeremy is or what he's doing right, but I would love to know. From the sound of John's reception to the call, you'd think this guy had saved one of his kids from drowning or some other amazingly heroic act.
Oh well, nothing like a good reminder that you are still the bottom man on the totem pole.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Thank You, Dear
The natural byproduct of our existence, is non-existence. As we all know, the final chapter of the book of our lives is titled: Death. There's no way to know how many chapters will preceed it or what story the content will tell, but it is inevitable. Some go in pain, entrenched by physical ailment. Some go in fear, with petrifying thoughts of what may lie ahead. Some go without knowing they are going. Some go content, grateful for the time they have been given.
I spent yesterday afternoon with a man who was dying, my great uncle, Floyd Little. Today he stepped out of this world and entered a place that I believe he must have always dreamed of. After a 20 year fight with leukemia, the battle is over. The chemo is over. The pain is over.
Uncle Floyd was someone that everyone loved. It was impossible not to. Other than the time he took some medicine that made him really cranky when I was in high school, he was as kind and gentle a man as you'll find. He worked hard all the time and for as long as he could, kept his enormous yard in pristine condition. The pool was always clean, the grass was always cut and the pine straw that fell in the fall was quickly removed as an unwelcome intruder.
When I was a kid I spent a lot of time at Nanny(my great aunt) and Uncle Floyd's house. We swam a lot and he always made sure that someone was watching us and that we were "behaving". Running around the pool deck was absolutely unacceptable, as he hedged against the potential for my cousins or my brother and I to get hurt in any way. In the afternoons, after we had been swimming most of the day, Nanny would bring out watermelon. Post-swimming watermelon was my favorite thing. That was until Uncle Floyd one upped her with homemade ice cream in the evening after dinner.
I think Uncle Floyd knew something about everything. He must have memorized the paper every day or something. As I got older there was never a time I saw him that he didn't bring up some current affair or worthy fact about the world around us. He knew it was changing and he made sure he was aware of what was going on. A few months ago he started talking to me about real estate. He knew all about the trouble with the downtown office market in Birmingham and explained why he thought this was the case. His knowlege on the subject was quite thorough. I was blown away, but somehow not surprised.
He was a family man who loved his kids and talked about his grandkids every time I saw him. Though I rarely saw them, he kept me up to date on where they were and what they were doing. To say that he loved his wife is an understatement. I haven't yet found the words to describe his commitment to her. He did everything for her. At dinner, he ensured that she had everything she could need or want. When they traveled, he drove. He pumped her gas, he washed her car. He provided for her and he protected her. She relied on him and he followed through.
I've seen him provide this kind of care for her for years. It's who they were. It's how they operated. He spoke lovingly to her and she respected him. There wasn't anything that was too much for his bride. They were married for over fifty years and they knew each other like old lovers do. Often times he preceded her request with his action because he knew what she was going to ask. It was a beautiful thing. And now, after all these years of life together, after building an unshakable foundation and being everything they could for each other, he's gone.
I can only think of how much happier he must be. Yesterday when I saw him, he didn't have the strength to stand or the strength to talk. It was impossible to stay awake and the look in his eyes warned us that the end was near. His frail, bony body had fought all it could and there was no recovering. Until today. Today there is strength. Today there is life. Today there is the beginning of an eternity spent with the God who saved us from our wretched world.
As I look at his life, I see an example of what I want to be. I see a model of life well lived. He loved. His allegiance to his family, chuch and friends was undoubted and unwavering. Though I know the thought of leaving his wife behind would probably have disgusted him while he was here, he left no doubt in her mind that she was his. Floyd Little was a good man and he will be greatly missed.
'Storm' by Lifehouse.
I spent yesterday afternoon with a man who was dying, my great uncle, Floyd Little. Today he stepped out of this world and entered a place that I believe he must have always dreamed of. After a 20 year fight with leukemia, the battle is over. The chemo is over. The pain is over.
Uncle Floyd was someone that everyone loved. It was impossible not to. Other than the time he took some medicine that made him really cranky when I was in high school, he was as kind and gentle a man as you'll find. He worked hard all the time and for as long as he could, kept his enormous yard in pristine condition. The pool was always clean, the grass was always cut and the pine straw that fell in the fall was quickly removed as an unwelcome intruder.
When I was a kid I spent a lot of time at Nanny(my great aunt) and Uncle Floyd's house. We swam a lot and he always made sure that someone was watching us and that we were "behaving". Running around the pool deck was absolutely unacceptable, as he hedged against the potential for my cousins or my brother and I to get hurt in any way. In the afternoons, after we had been swimming most of the day, Nanny would bring out watermelon. Post-swimming watermelon was my favorite thing. That was until Uncle Floyd one upped her with homemade ice cream in the evening after dinner.
I think Uncle Floyd knew something about everything. He must have memorized the paper every day or something. As I got older there was never a time I saw him that he didn't bring up some current affair or worthy fact about the world around us. He knew it was changing and he made sure he was aware of what was going on. A few months ago he started talking to me about real estate. He knew all about the trouble with the downtown office market in Birmingham and explained why he thought this was the case. His knowlege on the subject was quite thorough. I was blown away, but somehow not surprised.
He was a family man who loved his kids and talked about his grandkids every time I saw him. Though I rarely saw them, he kept me up to date on where they were and what they were doing. To say that he loved his wife is an understatement. I haven't yet found the words to describe his commitment to her. He did everything for her. At dinner, he ensured that she had everything she could need or want. When they traveled, he drove. He pumped her gas, he washed her car. He provided for her and he protected her. She relied on him and he followed through.
I've seen him provide this kind of care for her for years. It's who they were. It's how they operated. He spoke lovingly to her and she respected him. There wasn't anything that was too much for his bride. They were married for over fifty years and they knew each other like old lovers do. Often times he preceded her request with his action because he knew what she was going to ask. It was a beautiful thing. And now, after all these years of life together, after building an unshakable foundation and being everything they could for each other, he's gone.
I can only think of how much happier he must be. Yesterday when I saw him, he didn't have the strength to stand or the strength to talk. It was impossible to stay awake and the look in his eyes warned us that the end was near. His frail, bony body had fought all it could and there was no recovering. Until today. Today there is strength. Today there is life. Today there is the beginning of an eternity spent with the God who saved us from our wretched world.
As I look at his life, I see an example of what I want to be. I see a model of life well lived. He loved. His allegiance to his family, chuch and friends was undoubted and unwavering. Though I know the thought of leaving his wife behind would probably have disgusted him while he was here, he left no doubt in her mind that she was his. Floyd Little was a good man and he will be greatly missed.
'Storm' by Lifehouse.
Friday, December 14, 2007
red starburst
As we all know, in life the path from point A to point B is not always straight and is rarely well mapped. The distance across a table can be a million miles. The mountain climbed to reach warmth is not without obstacle, whether self imposed or otherwise. I believe in God's guidance. In wisdom. Most of the time I'm just following my gut and facial expressions. I wonder what the current expressions mean. I wonder where they will lead, if anywhere other than a fast sprint backwards in a losing race against time.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
You don't even know me
Maturity is an interesting thing. So is immaturity.
Some kid, he was probably 18 or 19, smarted off to me in the hall of my office building yesterday. I wanted to break his jaw with my right fist. I didn't.
Some kid, he was probably 18 or 19, smarted off to me in the hall of my office building yesterday. I wanted to break his jaw with my right fist. I didn't.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Green
I met the craziest girl Sunday night. I'm not convinced that she was really crazy. But, I am a little. I went to Starbucks with my friend Jason to discuss our lives. As is the norm for me when I go to Starbucks this time of year, I decided that I needed some hot chocolate. I pulled out my trusty gift card, the one adorned in pretty red and yellow flowers - no joke - and proceeded to the counter. The girl, we'll call her Haley, because that's her name, asked what she could get for me.
I placed my order in the form of a question. I said, "Can I get a tall hot chocolate?" She said yes and began doing whatever it is they do on the computer screen in front of them. Then she stopped and said, "What if I had said no"? A little confused I told her I didn't know what I would have done and that we should redo the whole thing to try and find out what would have happened had she indeed said no to my request for a tall hot chocolate. I turned around, walked about 6 feet away, turned back around and walked up to the counter. As you might have guessed when I again made the request for my hot beverage, she said no.
Then Haley began to laugh. Almost uncontrollably. It was as if I had told her the funniest joke that she had ever heard. It was as if an invisible man was tickling her and wouldn't stop. I didn't think it was that funny. But, for some reason this particular barista on this particular night could think of nothing funnier. Until Jason ordered. He decided he wanted a Snow Cream. As a matter of fact, the largest Snow Cream they could make, which some call a venti. Jason's order was now the funniest thing Haley had ever heard.
Though I was in the bathroom at the time, I and all of Cahaba Heights heard her laugh at his seemingly innocent request. Apparently, at Joe Muggs they have a drink called Snow Cream. According to Jason, it's a tasty treat and in his mind they should, therefore, sell said divine liquid at all coffee shops. It made sense to me. But, Haley just laughed... a lot... again. Jason and I just looked at each other. Mostly because we weren't sure what was going on, but also because we weren't sure if this girl was going to live to make another nonfat double cafe machioto due to her restricted amounts of oxygen between spurts of laughter. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but still.
We finally discovered that Snow Cream is called a Vanilla Bean Frapuccino at Starbucks and thankfully that settled the uproar for the time being. We exited to the patio and assumed this would be our last encounter with Haley. It was not. She came outside and began talking to us. It was not a normal conversation. Immediately Haley began talking about her life. She is a 24 year old student at UAB studying social work and she very rarely works. About the time that she started telling us about where she lived, a van with huge and very graphic anti-abortion propaganda plastered all over it, pulled up in the parking lot.
"I hate those f'ing people" was her response to what she called the Dead Baby Bus. It took us off guard a little bit, but I wasn't that surprised. I didn't really care for their method of stopping abortion either. Haley went on to say that she was from Hoover and went to Kingwood Christian High School. From there she went on to the Masters Program somewhere in Canada. I was vaguely familiar with it, but it's some kind of Christian ordeal that trains people for the ministry. She also "f'ing hated" that. This led her to reveal that she is now an "agnostic" and no longer believes in any of that Jesus stuff.
As the conversation continued on, it became more and more interesting. We found out about her frequent pot smoking, her hatred of cops, and how her headset worked. It was great. I'm not sure why she decided to unload all of this in her quite spastic fashion, but it was entertaining. It also reminded me that people need Jesus, that people everywhere are confused and that they live their lives in a way that reflects this confusion. I didn't tell her about my belief in Christ, nor did Jason. She somehow already knew, or at least that's what she assumed. Despite all the chaos that was our occurred, I was grateful for it. People like Haley keep me questioning what is real. And real is good.
I placed my order in the form of a question. I said, "Can I get a tall hot chocolate?" She said yes and began doing whatever it is they do on the computer screen in front of them. Then she stopped and said, "What if I had said no"? A little confused I told her I didn't know what I would have done and that we should redo the whole thing to try and find out what would have happened had she indeed said no to my request for a tall hot chocolate. I turned around, walked about 6 feet away, turned back around and walked up to the counter. As you might have guessed when I again made the request for my hot beverage, she said no.
Then Haley began to laugh. Almost uncontrollably. It was as if I had told her the funniest joke that she had ever heard. It was as if an invisible man was tickling her and wouldn't stop. I didn't think it was that funny. But, for some reason this particular barista on this particular night could think of nothing funnier. Until Jason ordered. He decided he wanted a Snow Cream. As a matter of fact, the largest Snow Cream they could make, which some call a venti. Jason's order was now the funniest thing Haley had ever heard.
Though I was in the bathroom at the time, I and all of Cahaba Heights heard her laugh at his seemingly innocent request. Apparently, at Joe Muggs they have a drink called Snow Cream. According to Jason, it's a tasty treat and in his mind they should, therefore, sell said divine liquid at all coffee shops. It made sense to me. But, Haley just laughed... a lot... again. Jason and I just looked at each other. Mostly because we weren't sure what was going on, but also because we weren't sure if this girl was going to live to make another nonfat double cafe machioto due to her restricted amounts of oxygen between spurts of laughter. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but still.
We finally discovered that Snow Cream is called a Vanilla Bean Frapuccino at Starbucks and thankfully that settled the uproar for the time being. We exited to the patio and assumed this would be our last encounter with Haley. It was not. She came outside and began talking to us. It was not a normal conversation. Immediately Haley began talking about her life. She is a 24 year old student at UAB studying social work and she very rarely works. About the time that she started telling us about where she lived, a van with huge and very graphic anti-abortion propaganda plastered all over it, pulled up in the parking lot.
"I hate those f'ing people" was her response to what she called the Dead Baby Bus. It took us off guard a little bit, but I wasn't that surprised. I didn't really care for their method of stopping abortion either. Haley went on to say that she was from Hoover and went to Kingwood Christian High School. From there she went on to the Masters Program somewhere in Canada. I was vaguely familiar with it, but it's some kind of Christian ordeal that trains people for the ministry. She also "f'ing hated" that. This led her to reveal that she is now an "agnostic" and no longer believes in any of that Jesus stuff.
As the conversation continued on, it became more and more interesting. We found out about her frequent pot smoking, her hatred of cops, and how her headset worked. It was great. I'm not sure why she decided to unload all of this in her quite spastic fashion, but it was entertaining. It also reminded me that people need Jesus, that people everywhere are confused and that they live their lives in a way that reflects this confusion. I didn't tell her about my belief in Christ, nor did Jason. She somehow already knew, or at least that's what she assumed. Despite all the chaos that was our occurred, I was grateful for it. People like Haley keep me questioning what is real. And real is good.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
John from Nebraska
I spent all of last week in a hot hotel conference room surrounded by laptops and people that were smarter than me. The second installment of my CCIM accreditation proved to be valuable, yet mind warping as we studied lease analysis, user decision making, leave vs. own scenarios and a variety of other lease based ordeals. Fortunately, the course dives into the details and numbers behind leases and how they work. Unfortunately, I'm terrible at all things math. The guy next to me was from Jacksonville, Florida and he picked up the concepts like he was an MIT grad being taught how to count, basically a no brainer.
I was reminded how much I hate sitting still and how much I hate being in class. I don't function well in either scenario. Given that class was from 8:30 to 5:00 everyday, it took a lot of determination and sucking it up to get through it. That and Five Hour Energy. It's the best energy drink in the entire world. Usually, I don't buy stuff at the counter at the gas station. But, I would take one of these every day if I could. They're expensive, but they wake you up and there's no crash at the end like with Red Bull. It's the best $3.60 you'll spend on two ounces of liquid in your entire life.
I was reminded how much I hate sitting still and how much I hate being in class. I don't function well in either scenario. Given that class was from 8:30 to 5:00 everyday, it took a lot of determination and sucking it up to get through it. That and Five Hour Energy. It's the best energy drink in the entire world. Usually, I don't buy stuff at the counter at the gas station. But, I would take one of these every day if I could. They're expensive, but they wake you up and there's no crash at the end like with Red Bull. It's the best $3.60 you'll spend on two ounces of liquid in your entire life.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Sunday, December 2, 2007
icicles
In a desire to think beyond ourselves, this Christmas my family decided to adopt a family. It's a great idea. Take a single mother with twin boys in a trailer in Vincent, Alabama and mix them with a middle class family of four in the burbs and voila, a beautiful adoption has taken place. Initially, all I knew was that we would be buying Christmas presents for the kids and making some effort to spend time with them between now and the 25th. Saturday proved that I was entirely incorrect.
I intentionally stepped into an abyss of despair. It was rolled on the lot a few years ago and has seen little attention since then. From the outside it's a friendly looking trailer surrounded by a big yard. There were dogs out front that pointed to a happy family that had pets and a porch and a basketball goal. I assumed when we drove up that they must have just hit some hard times financially given the burden of raising two kids on a meager income.
What welcomed me inside was overwhelming. I don't have a great sense of smell. As a matter of fact, my sense of smell is the equivalent to the sense of sight that legally blind people have. It's rare that I smell things. Every day I put on deodorant and just hope for the best because it takes a lot of stink for me to ever notice. A lot of stink is an understatement for the mal odor that attacked me before I even stepped into the open door. I don't even know how to describe it... Maybe I do. Take a million gallons of spoiled milk and pour them out on the carpet of your living room. That's just a start.
Once I got used to the smell I started to look around. It was so strange. There was a bed in the living room. It had no sheets and it was filthy. You wouldn't let your worst enemy sleep in this kind of grime. The rest of the house followed suit in a similarly disgusting manner. The boys' room had a couple of twin mattresses with no sheets and a thick, black, dirt covering. There were plates on the floor. I'm not sure why. They didn't look like they had been eaten on, though that's the only logical assumption. It didn't seem like a big deal to get the plates off the floor, out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Actually, it didn't seem like anything was a big deal. These people lived like this. Every day. And it didn't bother anyone. My heart began to break for these kids. They were surrounded by a dirty existence and a chaotic void of irresponsibility and disorder. At first it made me sad. I thought of what their lives must be like. Certainly, they had no idea. Certainly, they could very well be two happy children existing in this cluttered world. But, their futures were being shaped by an upbringing that was gross and I hated it for them.
As the morning unfolded it turned out that none of the family was going to be home. We were there without them while the mother worked and the boys were to be dropped off shortly thereafter. It didn't turn out that way. Instead my aunt decided that we should clean their house. Ok. Where do you even start? I grabbed a vacuum. As I made nice rows of vacuum marks on the carpet, I continued to think about what was happening. My feelings of sadness turned into anger. Suddenly, I realized that this was all preventable.
I've been to third world countries. I've seen poverty and filth and disgust and despair. They make homes out of pieces of material that they find in landfills and try to do the best they can with what they've got. They live like that because there's no other option. They make pennies a day and spend that on food to feed their families. But, I didn't find myself in a third world country on Saturday. I was in the United States, where even our lower class can afford a trailer and a shelter finer than anything millions around the world will ever know. It aggravated me that even if you don't have a ton of money, you don't have to live in a haven for disease. You can do something about that and she apparently she chose not to.
Overall, I was glad we did it. We put Christmas lights on the front of the house and decorated a tree for them, as well. But, mind still hasn't fully grasped why. Is cleaning their house going to completely change their way of life. Is the mother going to wake up out of the apparent coma she's in and realize that what she's doing is ridiculous. I don't know. I do know that I will do anything for those kids. If our simple acts help them to have a better life, even just a better Christmas, I'm up for it.
I intentionally stepped into an abyss of despair. It was rolled on the lot a few years ago and has seen little attention since then. From the outside it's a friendly looking trailer surrounded by a big yard. There were dogs out front that pointed to a happy family that had pets and a porch and a basketball goal. I assumed when we drove up that they must have just hit some hard times financially given the burden of raising two kids on a meager income.
What welcomed me inside was overwhelming. I don't have a great sense of smell. As a matter of fact, my sense of smell is the equivalent to the sense of sight that legally blind people have. It's rare that I smell things. Every day I put on deodorant and just hope for the best because it takes a lot of stink for me to ever notice. A lot of stink is an understatement for the mal odor that attacked me before I even stepped into the open door. I don't even know how to describe it... Maybe I do. Take a million gallons of spoiled milk and pour them out on the carpet of your living room. That's just a start.
Once I got used to the smell I started to look around. It was so strange. There was a bed in the living room. It had no sheets and it was filthy. You wouldn't let your worst enemy sleep in this kind of grime. The rest of the house followed suit in a similarly disgusting manner. The boys' room had a couple of twin mattresses with no sheets and a thick, black, dirt covering. There were plates on the floor. I'm not sure why. They didn't look like they had been eaten on, though that's the only logical assumption. It didn't seem like a big deal to get the plates off the floor, out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Actually, it didn't seem like anything was a big deal. These people lived like this. Every day. And it didn't bother anyone. My heart began to break for these kids. They were surrounded by a dirty existence and a chaotic void of irresponsibility and disorder. At first it made me sad. I thought of what their lives must be like. Certainly, they had no idea. Certainly, they could very well be two happy children existing in this cluttered world. But, their futures were being shaped by an upbringing that was gross and I hated it for them.
As the morning unfolded it turned out that none of the family was going to be home. We were there without them while the mother worked and the boys were to be dropped off shortly thereafter. It didn't turn out that way. Instead my aunt decided that we should clean their house. Ok. Where do you even start? I grabbed a vacuum. As I made nice rows of vacuum marks on the carpet, I continued to think about what was happening. My feelings of sadness turned into anger. Suddenly, I realized that this was all preventable.
I've been to third world countries. I've seen poverty and filth and disgust and despair. They make homes out of pieces of material that they find in landfills and try to do the best they can with what they've got. They live like that because there's no other option. They make pennies a day and spend that on food to feed their families. But, I didn't find myself in a third world country on Saturday. I was in the United States, where even our lower class can afford a trailer and a shelter finer than anything millions around the world will ever know. It aggravated me that even if you don't have a ton of money, you don't have to live in a haven for disease. You can do something about that and she apparently she chose not to.
Overall, I was glad we did it. We put Christmas lights on the front of the house and decorated a tree for them, as well. But, mind still hasn't fully grasped why. Is cleaning their house going to completely change their way of life. Is the mother going to wake up out of the apparent coma she's in and realize that what she's doing is ridiculous. I don't know. I do know that I will do anything for those kids. If our simple acts help them to have a better life, even just a better Christmas, I'm up for it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)