Always Stories…

In keeping with the theme of the season, I thought i’d do a little year end review of my life. But when I started down that road, I decided that rather than relive all the low points (and whatever high points there were) I would instead do a gratitude list. Because if there is one thing that comes out of a bad year its the thing you have to be thankful for.

1. My family. I am grateful to my big, weird, occasionally frustrating, drama filled, or annoying family. I love how big and unique my family is, but also how similar we are. I know that ultimately I could turn to any member of my family for support and get it unconditionally and immediately and I am extremely grateful for that - I know it is a rare gift. I’m also grateful that I actually like my family members, that they are each funny, intelligent and caring individuals. It makes it so much easier 

2. My friends. I think i’ve always been aware that I have really great friends in my life. Both close friends whom I interact with on a near daily basis and those I interact with on a less frequent basis. But with the challenges and trials I’ve experienced this past year, particularly the past 6 or so months, I’ve learned that I’m far more fortunate that I had even realized, and I have been repeatedly awed and humbled by the consistant flow of advice, inspiration, distraction, entertainment, unconditional support and most of all love. – I feel truly – and I do not usually use this word, but its the only one that comes close to being the right word –  blessed to have so many friends, in so many forms, and with such varied roles in my life. For perhaps the first time in my life, I fully believe and trust that anywhere I turn, in any category of my life or even phsysical location I find myself in, I will have a friend if I need one. My only hope is that I can return the favor by even half to any of them.

3. My Health. I am grateful to be generally healthy and strong. I could go to the gym more, and I could probably eat a little better, but I’m not massively overweight (no matter what Prevention.com and eDiets say), and I have no major or debilitating health problems. And I will be even more grateful for my health when I win the Biggest Loser competition and take my $1K shopping for hot new clothes.

4. My creativity. The sub group on this is a specific acknowledgement of my storytelling friends and mentors. They also fall into the friends category, but need to be specifically acknowledged here because they have given me tools and outlets for the development and nurturing of my creativity and storytelling ability, which has enhanced my life already, and I think will continue to in ways I have yet to realize. I’m also just grateful to have gotten to a place in my life where I feel ready and able to acknowledge whatever talent I may have and to prioritize developing it.

5. My professional associates – this category overlaps a little with the friends category, as some of my work associates have become friends and vice-versa, but as my work has been responsible for a large part of my struggles this year, I need to acknowledge the professional relationships that helped me get through and who made it bearable. The one thing I’ve learned is that I do my job best when I am able to work with the best, and this year any successes I’ve had professionally have been largely due to the people who were helping me.

6. My clients (past, present and future) Even though my clients are the real source of most of my misery this year, and certain clients drove me to the brink of throwing it all away, I still have to acknowledge the important role that they played in my life, and will hopefully play in the future. If not for the professional stress and trauma  this year I would not have learned how awesome my work associates are, I would have had one less opportunity to experience the bounty of support that my social network can provide, and I would not have been able to eat what little I did. I hope that in the coming year, I am able to experience good client relationships and professional growth, in whatever direction that turns out to be.

7. That I live in a free and democratic country. This isn’t something I would ever have put on a gratitude list in the past, but the last year has made me particularly aware of the benefit and tenuous nature of living in a free and democratic country. It is a free and democratic country that pulled together and elected Barak Obama to the presidency. Not just the first African American president, but a revolutionary leader who has reinspired me to believe that change is possible, that inspirational leadership is not dead and there just might be something left to believe in. The end of W’s presidency reminds me of how tenuous a free and democratic country can be. For the last 8 years W has done what he could to restrict freedom and civil rights, to chip away at the constitution and to offend the principals of this country. Perhaps because the end is in site, and its not as scary to think about, but all of a sudden I’m much more aware of how dangerous he was. I am particularly aware of this today as his “acts of consience” bill becomes a law, which allows health care workers the right to indiscriminately refuse to perform procedures or provide services that they feel morally opposed to. Receptionist at the clinic doesn’t believe in birth control? She can refuse to schedule your appointment. Cashier at Wal-mart is a christian scientist? She can refuse to ring you up for your antibiotics. It is turely the most dangerous, conservative, myopic, and prejudicial act by this president yet, and the only thing that lets me sleep at night is the fact that Obama is already trying to figure out how to undo it. Among all of other things W’s done that he as to undo.

I hope everyone is able to have a wonderful holiday season and can take a moment to do their own gratitude list – its a nice exercise for your heart and mind.

The summer when I was 6 years old, I broke my wrist. It was a pretty bad break and it happened while I was playing with some older kids in my neighborhood who I couldn’t keep up with very well. They knew they’d get in trouble if their mom found out I’d gotten hurt, so they convinced me not to make a sound while they walked me home. And I didn’t – I walked with my right hand holding my broken wrist bones of my left hand still and didn’t make a sound for about a block until I saw my older brother and finally burst into tears. From there much drama and excruciating pain ensued as I was whisked to the emergency room and separated from my parents and poked by unfriendly doctors and shoved under scary machines. When I got home, with my full arm cast and my powder blue sling I was in a state of shock and my mom made me a little cocoon on the couch and I stayed there for a couple of days before venturing to a cocoon on my bed.

Looking back on this episode now, I realize that the most traumatic part of it was the shock  of learning that my body could a) break, and b) playing could result in an inconcievable amount of pain and confusion and stress. I stayed in my cocoon on the couch for days because I was averse to any movement. My whole understanding and conception of the world had shifted — it was now a place where playing could result in great calamity and pain. My 6 year old brain could not fully process what my body had been through – I had no context for it.  How was I now supposed to navigate a world in which these things could happen? How could I go back to playing now that my eyes had been opened to the risks? Clearly, staying on the couch was better.

Eventually I ventured forth from the cocoon, but only to play cautiously by myself in the house. Of my entire childhood that’s the only period where I have memories of playing alone – without at least one of my brothers involved. One day I was playing with some toys and I had this little pink rubber dog that I was filling with water – I think it would spit water if you squeeze it or something. I accidentally dribbled a little bit of water on my cast and I went nuts. The doctor had a made a really big deal about the fact that I could never get the cast wet. I start to scream and in my mind’s eye I can clearly see myself holding my cast out in front of me staring at it wide eyed and wondering what the repercussion was going to be now that it had gotten wet, I’m sure on some level I was convinced it would be more awful pain. My older brother came bounding up the stairs followed by my mother to see what I had done to result in my shrieking, and I remember my brother’s relieved face when he realized that nothing that bad had happened. He and my mom explained to me that it wasn’t enough water to do any damage, and when nothing had changed on my cast after a few minutes I reluctantly believed them that I was fine.

I wouldn’t let anyone write or draw on my cast for weeks, afraid that it would unbalance the new relationship I’d come to with my arm – I kept it very still and it didn’t cause me any more pain. When I got the cast off, my arm was all shriveled and gross. I remember coming back from the doctors and my mom demanding that I go outside and find someone to play with  – the time for hiding was done. Time to learn how to use my arm again, and how to trust that I could play, and ride my bike and be with my brothers like I used to without falling apart. I started by enjoying grossing people out with my shriveled little arm, and in no time was back to my normal, pre-broken arm place. Except. Except for my new knowledge of the ways in which my body could betray me – could cause unimaginable pain and debilitation without warning.

For some reason, this story has been on my mind a lot lately, and I couldn’t figure out why until last night.  Last night I hung out with two good friends and then another new friend who is a cute single man. So because  he was a was cute single man, as soon as he left, we started talking about him as prospect for someone I could date. (At this point, I’m interested in getting to know him better, and that’s all I’ll commit to right now). But in the course of the conversation I had to imagine, in more detail than I have so far, dating someone new: Going on dates, going throught the process of letting him get to know me, and having to get ot know him, and all of the pitfalls and summits that come with that processes. And I suddenly felt nauseated in a way I haven’t since that that day I was dumped and spent a week throwing up. And I was surprised, b/c I’ve been dating for a LONG time, and I know the process, and sometimes it sucks and sometimes I have more energy for it than others, but I’ve never wanted to throw up at the idea of a simple date.

And then I realized, up until recently, that’s all been just playing. And then I fell, and I broke something, and I learned how much pain and drama and calamity can result from just playing. And like the experience when I was 6, the most salient point is the shock that that kind of pain can come from inside my body, and the sense that I won’t be able to anticipate or stop it from happening next time.  

Which of course isn’t true. After I got my cast off, I was a little more careful with how I played, and with whom. And I when I got hurt again it didn’t seem as bad, because my baseline had shifted and my context for pain had grown. And I suppose the same will be true for dating now.

But you know what else? I was having a lot of fun right before I fell, both times, and I’ll probably still be seduced by that kind of fun in the future. I just probably won’t be as shocked if calamity follows.

Its 11pm on a weeknight. Normally at this time of night I’m snug in my bed, having just finished watching Keith Oberman and having seen who the day’s “worst persons” are, am ready to drift off to sleep.  But instead, for the second day in a row I have missed Keith, I don’t know who the “worst persons” are -although I can assume “Billo” is on the list and that makes me feel a little better. Instead of being in bed, I’m eating my dinner of cereal and writing a blog about random things while I wait for my cupcake from Cake Love to get to room temperature so I can eat it. Tonight I had a board meeting and I missed dinner (hence the 11pm cereal/cupcakes) and as my mind wandered to various topics in an attempt to distract myself from my headache, I remembered I had an update on my coffee house stalker. And then decided I was just in the mood to write a blog of random thoughts. Probably not interesting to anyone but me, but that’s ultimately what really matters

So my coffee shop stalker came into the same coffee shop and looked at me, but didn’t acknowledge me in any specific way. But he sat down at a table near me and started to get a lesson in how to go on-line. The way he was sitting I was able to see the screen of the laptop and hear some of what his teacher was saying and he was getting a very basic tutorial in how to check email and surf the web. This is only significant/amusing because the theme of our conversations revolved around his fascination with me using a laptop and assuming I was really smart because I was using a computer.

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I’ve started having a recurring dream where I’m pouring milk into a bowl of cereal and the milk has gone bad. The dream is in color and I very clearly see the chunks of curdled milk falling into my cereal. And then for unfathomable reasons, I proceed to scoop a spoon full of cereal and curdled milk and prepare to eat it, but I always wake up right before it gets to my mouth. Like the culinary equivalent of the “falling” dream.

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I was in a coffee shop in an “emerging neighborhood” this afternoon, and its one of those real trendy, neighborhood coffee shops where everyone talks to each other and you share tables with people you don’t know and its all very friendly and nice. I don’t go there very often. But today I was in this back room that is set up like a living room and has a TV and this young woman walked in and didn’t do the normal hesitation at the door before deciding to share the coach with me (this is perhaps the one area of the coffee shop that is less community oriented b/c it’s couches and chairs and low tables instead of the normal tables and chairs). But so she just walks in with her head down, doesn’t so much as glance up at me as she walks in. It was as if she knew I was in there and had decided to pretend I wasn’t, which is impossible b/c you can’t see who is in this room until you’re inside it. She sits down next to me, and I make a show of cleaning up detritus which has drifted beyond my immediate space. Normal response is to smile acknowledgement, or in this coffee shop to say something like “oh don’t worry about,” or “You’re fine. Really.” From her, nothing. So she gets on her computer and apparently checks her email and the next thing I know she’s on her cell phone. Its a small room. I admit that cell phone/coffee shop etiquette is a little unclear, but generally you don’t get on the phone when you are sitting 2 feet from a stranger. And if you do have to be on the phone, its usually a short, impersonal conversation. Not her. She was calling her mom to tell her that she was just hired to do the illustrations for a dress designer’s book. She’s excited. Really excited. Just so…excited. Really. And she wants mom to tell dad that she CAN make a living as an artist. (Although later in the conversation it comes out that she’s going to make about $8-10/hr, so “making a living” might be overstating it.) I then find out that she doesn’t have a key for her mailbox at her new apartment yet, and they returned her rent check because she paid too early. Also, she was reading a book about how to manifest your dreams (which mom had given her for christmas last year) and she was practicing some of the techniques today and then got the email that she was hired, and so it seems like the book is working. And really,  she’s just so excited they were willing to hire her. At this point I almost feel obligated to congratulate her on the job because I feel very close to her. And her mom. She eventually hangs up, and a few minutes later i see a mouse run across the corner of the room and I jump and look to her to see if she’s seen it, but she hasn’t, and thats when I really start to resent her standoffishness. I debate saying something about the mouse, just for the moral support, but there is a wall up between us now, and I’m a little angry about it. 

Then three women come in and pause in the doorway when they see us (normal reaction), then they back out into the hallway and begin to loudly complain about how there are people in the room where they normally have their bookclub (the room wasn’t reserved). One of the women suggest they go upstairs, and another says “there are a few people up there too.” So then someone suggests they get their coffee and food and wait for the rest of the members and maybe someone will leave and there will be space. Then another says “Or we could do the thing where we just stand where we want to be and be really loud until they leave.” After some laughter, it appears that this is the approach they have adopted, and our little room is their target area. I remember why I hate people, and since I was planning to leave in 10 minutes anyway, decide to pack up and leave right then. I know that they will easily overpower my roommate, but then I wonder if her wall of distance might be able to withstand their book club entitlement. Part of me wants to stay and see. But I don’t.

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I’ve joined a “Biggest Loser Home Version” contest. A group of 20 or so friends and friends of friends compete with each other to see who can lose the most weight between Jan 1 and June 1. Its a $50 buy in, and so the winner could walk away with $1000. Right nowI’m at the lowest weight I’ve been at in at least a year. I still have more weight to lose, but there is still 3 weeks until the contest officially starts and any weight I lose between now and then doesn’t count. And so I feel like its actually a smart move to be eating a Cake Love cupcake at almost midnight because it increase my chances of winning the $1000 on June 1. That’s my theory anyway. By the way, the cupcake is peanut butter on chocolate (PB icing on chocolate cupcake), it’s a new flavor for me, I usually go for raspberry on chocolate. But this is very very good. Just FYI.

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I’m mostly over Army Guy. I’m noticing other guys, (ok, so I never really stopped doing that) but I don’t think I’m ready to try dating anyone in a serious way. Just the thought makes me want to run screaming from all eligible men (the two that I know at the moment). But I think I could handle a friends with benefits arrangement. I actually think it could be therapeutic. I think it could be the final step in my healing. I think sometimes its called a “rebound guy”. Whatever you call it, I think that’s what I want. I had a lovely FwB relationship last year, but he moved out of state. A really good FwB is hard to find. It really does help if there is a real friendship there on some level. Not a super deep socially entwined friendship, but an ability to carry on a conversation and enjoy each other’s company for at least a few hours. Otherwise its just a straight up booty call. Which is fine too, I’m not judging, I’ve had that. But I find that the presence of a genuine affection, or at least enjoyment of the other person, as a person, makes the benefits part better (this is predicated on the idea that the benefits are good. No amount of friendship will carry someone without some skills. That kind of sacrifice should only be made for an actual relationship). So in summary, I’d like to get a new FwB. And I think I’m going to put some energy into setting that up.

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I think its way past my bed time and i’m getting punchy. Kinda punch drunk, if you will. Perhaps too much sugar at such a late hour. I think i will take myself to bed now. Maybe my milk dream will involve cake tonight instead of cereal.

Peace out, yo.

I’m reading this book called The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst. Its about a man who looses his wife when she falls out of an apple tree in the backyard while he’s at work and the only witness is their dog. Her death is ruled an accident, not suicide, despite the fact that there is no explanation for why she was in the tree in the first place. Her husband is a linguistics professor named Paul, and he decides that he’s going to teach the dog to talk so that he can find out what actually happened.

Paul takes a leave of absence from his teaching position to focus all of his effort on this project of teaching his dog to talk. All of his colleagues ridicule him with the exception of his closest friend, another linguistics professor, who instead questions his sanity.

I’m a little over half way through the book, and a story is slowly unraveling that reveals his wife to be  dark and emotionally complicated, and Paulto be intensely devoted to her and deeply in love with her. He spends the better part of every day working with the dog to achieve communication, but is making little progress.

At one point his best friend comes over with his wife to do a kind of intervention. The wife cleans the house and opens drapes and puts food in the freezer etc, as the two men talk. The best friend asks Paul what he’s hoping to accomplish with his “research.” Paul eventually confesses to all of these “clues” he’s found since his wife’s death that reveal that all was not as he thought it was in the days/hours leading up to her death. He tells his friend that the dog is the only witness, the only one who can really know what happened on that morning that put his wife into that tree, and so he has to find a way to get the story out of the dog.

In response the friend suggests that Paul seek professional counceling. And this is when I had my random thought about friendship: A true friend would get down on the floor next to Paul and help him try to get the dog to talk.

Obviously the likelyhood that the dog is going to talk is slim, to say the least. But just as obvious is the fact that this is the way that Paul is choosing to process his grief, to understand the sudden loss of his wife. How can his friend, if truly his friend, not understand this and not help? Because that is exactly what I would do, and what I think my best friends would do for me.

(I also feel the need to mention that this is a beautifully written book and I highly recommend it.)

I promised my friend Pam that I would write a blog about mimes. And since she’s probably my most loyal reader, I didn’t feel I could refuse.

But its not just a random blog about mimes – its about these mimes that came to church.

I attend a Unitarian Universalist congregation, which is barely church, or a religion in the traditional sense of the word. There’s no God ,no use of the bible, except as metaphor, no hugging or forced interaction (also called community) that occurs at “normal” churches.  The primary reason I go is to hear the sermons by the minister – an amazing woman whose sermons are more philosophy than theology. In fact, if i know in advance (via their website) that she isn’t performing the sermon for whatever reason, I’m likely to skip the entire service.

UU services are my time for peace, for self reflection and for catching up with my friend JT who goes with me most weeks. So two weeks ago, we walk in and notice that the the dais that the minister usually stands behind is gone, and there is this big blue backdrop set up with the name of another UU congregation and followed by the words “mime troupe”.

“Mime troupe?!” I said turning to JT.

“The website didn’t say anything about mimes!” she says. “Are you going to freak out?” She’s referring to my phobia of people in costumes. Its a pretty severe phobia.

“I think I’ll be ok, but lets make sure we sit in the middle of a row,” I tell her.

Once seated in the dead center of a row we look at the program and see that the mimes will be taking most of the service and there is NO sermon by the minister. “Oh great,” I moan softly.

“I swear, there was nothing about mimes on the website!” JT says again.

Since we had little other choice we settle in and wait for the service to start. The beginning is normal, and then these musicians (who came with the mimes) start to play and suddenly there are mimes coming down the aisles of the sanctuary. Full-on mimes, with the black clothes and white faces, except they are all teenagers, which was a surprise. They seem to be pantomiming something about meeting new people, or walking together…for example a solitary mime will be walking by herself and she will turn, notice another mime a few steps back and pantomime for him/her to walk with her. There is much silent excitement every time a new group forms.

Eventually the whole herd of them make it to the stage at the front of the sanctuary and begin a…show? Is that what its called? I don’t know. At this point I’m just very distracted by the fact that these are teenagers. I’m looking at the three boys in the group and I’m thinking that they cannot be very popular at school. This makes me a little bit sad, but unless things are drastically different than when I was in high school, these guys are not hanging with the cool crowd. Which is probably why they joined the mime troupe in the first place. Which probably didn’t help with the fitting in, and I sigh at the vicious cycle of teenage social circles.

A narrator is speaking and I admonish myself to pay better attention. The narration is more poetry than prose and so its not immediately obvious what they are trying to teach us. I focus on the mimes and try to interpret their message.

Ok, the narration had something to do with negative self talk. There are two girl mimes facing the crowd who seem to be acting out painting on big easels. They stop and from behind the girl on the left comes another little mime to pantomimes disapproval of the painting, and the painter mime slowly looks defeated. Then from behind the other mime comes one of the boy mimes who pantomimes pleasure and approval at the painting, and the painter mime visably brightens. So…I’m assuming the critic mimes were meant to represent self-talk? And how it can either build you up or knock you down? I’m wondering if anyone one else is having trouble figuring out exactly what the message is.

The mimes and their shadows now seem to be going through the exercise with cooking, and then… trying on clothes…I think. I’m again distracted, and a little irritated at how much trouble i’m having interpreting all of this. I’m also getting a little bored. I think the message was delivered by the painting scene…whatever the message in fact was.

Suddenly there is singing, and a woman I didn’t notice before is standing next to the musicians and she’s singing a song about being just like her mother. I look at the stage and the mimes are acting out the song, which seems to be about a mother who was mean and critical and boring (I’m interpreting here), and then her daughter grows up to be the same way, and (I think) realizes and is afraid that now her daughter will be the same way. Or something. Its really NOT very clear, and I’m now fully bored and frustrated. I’m a fairly creative person. I understand (most) art, and metaphor and all of that, but I’m just not getting the whole mime thing.

Plus its kind of a downer. UU services are usually uplifting and positive. These mimes are killing my UU buzz. I go back to thinking about what kind of social life these kids have at school. The girls are probably ok, but those boys…. I’m suddenly struck by an intense hope that they can get some action with the girls in the troupe, because I don’t think they’re going to have much luck with other girls. Especially if those girls know they are in a mime troupe. I’m just saying. And then I have a thought that cheers me up: maybe the boys don’t want to date girls. Maybe they want to date boys. And if that’s the case then a mime troupe is actually a good place for them to be.

Ok, refocus on the mimes. They are trying to tell me something…after a few minutes I again lose interest in interpreting their actions and begin to wonder if they will do the classic trapped in a box routine. Probably not, its probably such a cliché that its forbidden from modern mime troupes. And then I wonder why there are mime troupes in modern times.

OH – they are leaving the stage! Maybe the mime part is done. The minister is back in front and saying something about the collection plate. The visiting mime musicians are going to play music while we pass the plate. I look at my program and see that the mimes will be back up as soon as the collection is done. Damn.

As they file back up on stage the narrator starts to talk about something having to do with standing up to peer pressure, or not letting other people pick your friends…or something. Why can’t I understand what’s going on? I wonder if i’m having a minor stroke. Or if I got drunk this morning without noticing, because my brain cannot input any of the information these people are trying to feed me.

I straighten up in my seat and stare at the stage, determined to get this one. We have a group of girls, talking, giggling, and a boy walks up to one of the girls, and she smiles and makes a show of introducing him to the group. OK so far. The girls seem to accept him, but then…I don’t know, somehow now he’s standing with his back to them and his head down, and the girls are making motions like baseball umpires signaling the runner is “not safe!” Seriously, am I having seizures or something? How did i miss that transition? I’m totally lost. Again.

Now there is a line of girls in front of the girl who introduced the guy, and the guy is behind another line and they are facing each other, trying to see each other around the “wall”, and…OH! they’re trapped in a box! They’re doing the classic trapped in a box!! I’m so excited I’m bouncing in my seat causing JT to give me a look.

“They’re doing the wall move! Don’t you love it?!” I whisper. She laughs.

Refocus. Now they are trying to take the wall apart, brick by brick, but it seems as if a new brick grows right where they removed the last brick. No progress is being made and I’m bored again. I start trying to work backward toward the meaning. OK, they are UU mimes. They are probably trying to teach lessons from the UU theology. Except UU’s don’t really have a theology. We have principals, but they are vague – be good to each other, community is good, live for now not for the afterlife, etc. OK, so I don’t actually know that much about UU principals, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing about walls of regenerating bricks.

I start thinking about all the things I could have done this morning if i hadn’t come here. And then I feel bad because in the almost 2 years I’ve been attending services at UU I’ve never thought it was a waste of time. Its these damn mimes. See, that old saying is really true “Nothing good can come from mimes.” Or maybe that’s just something I’ve always said.

At any rate, they seem to be done with their “skit” and now are forming a line and holding hands. And the chain of hand holding goes down to the musicians and the singer and the narrator, and now the narrator is holding her hand out to one of the congregants. JT and I shoot panicked looks at each other. Don’t they know? We don’t do that here. We aren’t those kind of people. 

The congregant who had the misfortune of sitting next to the narrator is also looking panicked, staring at her hand as if he’s never seen anything like it before. Slowly, I watch as his hand comes out to take hers and he turns to the woman next to him, who i assume is his wife and holds his other hand out to her. She takes it, but refuses to move her other hand from her purse on her lap. Her face is a mix of disdain and defiance as she looks at the narrator. The entire room seems to stand still for a moment – the mime troupe confused that their hand holding chain has stopped, the congregants praying it will stay stopped. No one seems to know what to do.

Finally the minister steps forward and thanks them for coming and they drop hands and the musicians start to play and the mimes start to go down the aisles shaking hands with the people on the aisles.

JT looks at me to see if i’m going to freak out that they are close to us. I tell her I’m fine but say “But this is why we always sit in the middle of a row. You never know what will happen if you’re on the aisle.”

We stand and being to make our way down the row toward the aisle. ”I swear, there was NOTHING on the website about mimes!” She says as we make our way out the side door. Normally we would go out the front door, passing by the minister and thanking her for the sermon. But we have nothing to thank her for on this morning. We escape via the side door and make to the parking lot without encountering mimes, and i consider that to be the second best part of the day. The first being when they did the trapped in a box routine.