Unexpected Visitor Brings Breath of Fresh Air

The morning started out like any other in my tiny, cramped 1 bedroom apartment. Five of us live there at the moment - and for about another month - four adults, a very energetic seven-year-old, two dogs and a rambunctious kitten. We all woke up, and talked about how great it is to live in Corpus Christi over some sembelance of breakfast before everybody went their seperate ways to work or whatever this Friday was to bring us.

I stayed home with the few stragglers who had nothing planned. This is fairly normal and, since the recent Hurricane Alex, I keep getting phone calls telling me that I don't have to work at Jamba Juice. So, my days are fairly event-free for the most part.

The little girl in the house, Elizabeth, was bored. She's been in this state for about three days with no kids to play with and a very cramped house with no room to run around, so we decided to make her a scavenger hunt list.

ELIZABETH'S TREAURE HUNT

• 
  
  Find 5 different kinds of tree leaves


• 
  
  Find 5 different kinds of flowers


• 
  
  Find 1 bottle cap


• 
  
  Find 5 different kinds of bugs


• 
  
  Find 1 Treasure Box (you ALWAYS have to have a treasure box!)

And off she went, with her list of tresures in one hand and a treasure-hunting hat on her head. She popped back in the house every few minutes to show off her finds. About the third time she opens the door and shouts:

"Look what I found!!" In her hands was a dull, run-of-the-mill rock. Nothing special. It wasn't shiny or oddly shaped. It was just a rock. I went over to inspect it and share in her excitement. As she walked the rest of the way into the door, a massive butterfly floated over her head and into the house. Instantly all attention turned to the butterfly.

Including its wings, it was the size of my hand or larger. It was dark brown and, though it moved consistantly, it seemed peaceful and tranquil. It landed on a box, then on the ceiling, then it alighted on the windowsill. I was mezmorized. One of us pulled out a phone and quietly went to take a picture of the butterfly. At the click of the phone's camera, the butterfly gently rose into the air and over our heads.

Right into the ceiling fan, which was whipping around full-throttle in an effort to keep the house cool. There was a massive THUD and the butterfly was kicked back over toward the window. The noise attracted the attention of my rather impetuous kitten who imediately engaged in battle with the biggest animal he's encountered as of yet. Out came the claws and the poor butterfly's already battered body started to take a few more hits as we rushed around trying to apprehend the kitten.

We finally caught him and locked him in the bedroom so we could deal with our winged visitor. He looked alright except several small holes that peppered one of his wings and he seemd as if his head had been knocked around a bit. We opened a window and he flopped outside and took off into the open air.

According to many legends, butterflies are the symbols of change and the journey of the soul as we learn to accept change. This butterfly was going about it's life. It was so calm and tranquil, then it got smacked in the face by a ceiling fan going 100 miles an hour. And, though it's tranquility disappeared, it was replaced with single-minded determination to do what it could to save its own life. The change in it's condition, the fact that it might die, did not seem to even phase this little trouper. It seemed to recognize that panicking or worrying would not do any good against the tides of nature. It did what it could to save itself and left the rest in the hands of its creator. It seems as though there is much to learn from that giant butterfly and the chaos it caused in my house this morning.

Return To Idaho And the Blueberry Village

Airports and airplanes have become no thing of consequence to me. Like an old hat, it has simply become second nature to check in, go through security, wait for hours in the airport, and then finally get on the plane - and then do it all over again several times during the day until I reach my destination. This last venture, however, was unique as it took me back to a place I love and have missed through the last few months of adventures: home sweet home.

As I walked up the familiar stairs in my home and surveyed the familiar landscape of mountains, alfalfa fields, barns and that beautiful blue sky, I found a note just waiting for me.

You are Cordially invited to the Blueberry Village

RSVP ASAP

What is this Blueberry Village? I soon found out it is an enchanting place created by my sister down by the creek. It has a fire ring with overturned 5 gallon buckets to sit on and a guitar to play. It is situated right on the water's edge and one can hear the wind whistling through the trees and the creek laughing along it's way.

When we were younger, we used to spend hours there, but as we've grown up so has this spot by the creek - grown over with bushes and tall grass. My sister had spent the last month reclaiming this area and named it the Blueberry Village.

Now we are back to spending hours upon hours improving the Blueberry Village, singing in the Blueberry Village and letting our imaginations expand and roam freely down by the creek.

Beauty Pagent Catastrophe

Here’s a quick synopsis of my personality. I’m the girl in the cowboy boots and cow-crap stained pants behind the fence at the rodeo. I’m the girl in the beat up tennis shoes, holey jeans, and a baseball cap. I’m the one who climbs trees, builds houses - breaks things. I am a tomboy.

Enter character number two: a good friend of mine from the theater department at school. He’s the kind of guy that you would do anything for. One of those guys you just can’t say no to. He’s the teddy bear, the Bon Jovi fanatic, the I smell like Captain Black cigars and beef jerky and three in the morning McDonald’s runs guy.

Now enter the situation. The college was having its annual “Miss Wayland” pageant. This is a beauty pageant in which all of the clubs nominate a girl to represent them and then the girls battle in three areas (talent, question/platform, evening wear) to decide which of them represents the school for an entire year as Miss Wayland.

From the very beginning of the nominations, several clubs were trying to get their sticky little fingers on me for their representative. I remained strong. No way was I going to get up on stage and prance around in a dress and heels. That is until my friend from the theater department asked me to represent their club. A feeling of defeat swept over me. I couldn’t say no. And so I was launched headfirst into a foreign world of group dances, high heels and lots of giggling.

The big day came more quickly than I could have ever imagined. I had this great blue dress and a pair of beautiful silver heels, which I duct tapped firmly to my feet. And with those duct tapped shoes, everything went perfectly. That is, until the talent portion of the competition.

I was doing a monologue entitled The World’s Fastest Lawn Mower (complete with a turbine engine), playing the part of a journalist telling the story of her ride on said lawnmower. I was dressed perfectly in black pants, a white collared shirt and awesome black stiletto boots. It was fantastic. Until I sat on the very edge of my very lopsided and top heavy desk (the only prop I had) and it tipped up on its end, spilling me onto the floor in an uncoordinated mess. I recovered flawlessly and it would have looked part of the monologue had the stage crew not flooded the stage and turned the desk upright once again.

Needless to say, I was not voted that year’s Miss Wayland. I didn’t even get into the top ten. They wanted someone with poise and a certain grace about them. As I enjoyed my extra large piece of pepperoni pizza backstage while Miss Wayland was getting chosen, I decided that I didn’t mind losing that particular competition.

A Violent Shove into Chaos

As a society, we usually encourage keeping Chaos tightly locked in the closet along with the broom, dust bunnies and any laundry that we haven't gotten done. Organization is lifted onto its pedistal and is the ultimate goal. Order is what we, as human beings, strive for. Many of us would describe ourselves as somewhat chaotic, but even we have struggle for a sense of balance within us - even if it doesn't make sense to everyone else.

On this ordinary Sunday morning, I was feeling quite at peace with myself and my decision to push myself a little bit out of my comfort zone. I had agreed to lead sunday morning worship with the praise team at church. This team consists of four ladies, myself included, and a pianist. I hadn't sang in front of people in a long time, so my nerves were on edge.

As I sat down in the back row, my usual spot, I congratulated myself for this much progress. Maybe next year I would step out from behind the music stand and out from the crowd and do a solo. Nope. Maybe a duet.

I had no idea that I'd be given a violent shove from the music stand in about ten minutes.

Apparantly somebody had opened the closet door and let Chaos out for some air that morning. Everybody that usually led the more serious part of the worship service was either sick or on vacation. Nobody was there to take their place. So it fell to me and my friend to lead a congragation of people three times our age to worship. We stood up there, alone, with only a hymn book between us and the people in the front row.

Needless to say I was stretched a little today. I guess the moral of this story is that sometimes, when you agree to give a little you end up giving a whole lot. So when you open the door an inch, be prepared for it to be flung open wide. Or to be unceremoniously shoved into something you weren't expecting.

Death By Automatic Toilet

Working at the Olive Garden was rarely boring. It was never quiet, either. Always present was the sound of forks clinking, people laughing, the manager telling me to seat guests faster, the servers telling me to seat guests slower, and the busboys generally keeping all of us in a good mood.

One particular day, before opening, my fellow hosts and I were rolling silverware and listening to the drones of the vacuum cleaner. I realized if I was going to have a chance to hit the bathroom at any time during my shift it would be at the present.

This particular Olive Garden had automatically flushing toilets, which in theory are wonderful. They, however, gave us quite a few problems, clogging and breaking fairly regularly.

On this spring morning there were no problems on the bathroom front; that is until I showed up. I slipped into the first stall, which was my favorite stall, and went on with business. As I stood up, my key ring, holding car and house keys, slipped out of my pocket and landed with a giant kerplunk into the toilet. Panicked, I of course froze and the magic porcelain gateway to the sewer opened its wide mouth and devoured all of the contents with a flush, including my keys.

Horrified, I simply stared into the now tranquil pool of water, watching the light reflect off the bottom of the brilliant white toilet bowl. It looked so innocent, so pure, so completely incapable of doing something as horrendous as stealing my car keys. This toilet with its shining silver hardware and gleaming white body, I decided, was a master con artist.

My sister delivered my spare set of car keys later that day. I am sure, however, that a rat somewhere has a new set of bling around its neck. I also can’t help but expect my car alarm to suddenly go crazy when that hypothetical rat pushes the panic button on my car keys. Until that day, however, I am forced to accept the death of my first set of car keys, a death by automatic flushing.