A Tree Growing in Brooklyn

When everything you're reading and everything you're processing is all along the same theme, do you think it's because God's trying to teach you something? I'm beginning to think that's gotta be it.

One of the first things I did after I made the decision to move to Brooklyn was to buy the book A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Not because I had any idea what it was about; I just remember my cousin reading it when we were in high school, and it's been on my "to-read" list ever since. What better time than when I'm actually living in the place where the story is set?

Back in the fall, when one of the girls in my girls' group suggested that we read A Praying Life, I didn't think much of it. It, too, was on my "to-read" list since multiple friends had mentioned it in passing. I started reading the book with the rest of the group, about one chapter every couple weeks. We didn't finish it before I left for New York, so I've committed to finishing it this summer on my own.

Two very different books. But really, they are just two different approaches to the same theme.

"Everything struggles to live," muses Kate, the mother of the heroine in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. "Look at that tree growing up there out of that grating. It gets no sun, and water only when it rains. It's growing out of sour earth. And it's strong because its hard struggle to live is making it strong."

Paul Miller, in A Praying Life, focuses on the spiritual aspect of our struggles, arguing that it is essential for growth and strength. If God loves me, why does this all have to be so hard? is a question I have wrestled with again and again over the past year. Why isn't he answering my prayers? Why are people around me suffering? If God is supposed to be for me, why does it seem like he's actually against me? Miller addresses these questions, because he has asked the same exact ones. His conclusion? "God takes everyone he loves through a desert. It is his cure for our wandering hearts, restlessly searching for a new Eden. . . . Desert life sanctifies you. . . . The desert becomes a window to the heart of God. He finally gets your attention because he's the only game in town."

At the end of the book, Kate's daughter, Francie Nolan, sees the same tree her mother had observed years earlier--
The tree, whose leaf umbrellas had curled around, under and over her fire escape had been cut down because the housewives complained that wash on the lines got entangles in its branches. The landlord had sent two men and they had chopped it down.
But the tree hadn't died... it hadn't died.
A new tree had grown from the stump and its trunk had grown along the ground until it reached a place where there were no wash lines above it. Then it had started to grow towards the sky again.
Annie, the fir tree, that the Nolans had cherished with waterings and manurings, had long since sickened and died. But this tree in the yard-- this tree that men chopped down... this tree that they built a bonfire around, trying to burn up its stump-- this tree lived!
It lived! And nothing could destroy it.

I think I always want the life of Francie's fir tree-- I want to be taken care of and given all the things I need without any pain and without having to fight for them. But I love the picture here-- how the cherished fir tree isn't as strong as the "deserted" one that has to fight for survival. And it's the same with the Christian life, isn't it... I would love for everything I pray for to be given to me without having to struggle through a desert period of unanswered prayer. But God's not content just to have me be happy; he wants me to be strong, and the only way for that to happen is for him to change me. Maybe by not giving me what I ask for, maybe by making me wait for an answer, but always by weaving his story in my life.

Miller sums it up really well: "When God seems silent and our prayers go unanswered, the overwhelming temptation is to leave the story-- to walk out of the desert and attempt to create a normal life. But when we persist in a spiritual vacuum, when we hang in there during ambiguity, we get to know God. In fact, that is how intimacy grows in all close relationships."

I've written about the Black Hole of Communication that I loathe so much. While I usually use this to refer to emails or phone calls that have gone unanswered, I'm afraid it's also how I often perceive prayer-- sending prayers into the same Black Hole. Except that ultimately it's easier not to hear from my fellow humans than not to hear from God. Because if I start to believe that God doesn't hear me and doesn't care enough to respond, then it will shake the very foundations of my world.

So I guess the important thing is to continue to struggle. Use whatever metaphor you want-- a tree in Brooklyn, a girl in a desert-- either way, the struggle is what causes the growth.

It's cool to think that the indestructible tree is an accurate metaphor of the Christian, too. Sure, I'll never be invincible here on earth; but "If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Rom. 8:31).

And God is for us. God is for me.

I will fight to believe that.

Completing the beauty

I went to Redeemer tonight (for the first time during my summer-in-NYC, so it's still in keeping with the Visiting Different Churches plan). Tim Keller quoted C.S. Lewis, I think from Reflections on the Psalms -- about how when we experience something wonderful or see something beautiful, we want to tell our friends about it and have them share the experience with us. Lewis says that to have others share the joy of something completes the beauty of it.

This has a lot of applications to life, especially to sharing the gospel (which was Keller's point); but as I was thinking about it more this evening, it just struck me how that's part of the reason I personally have been enjoying blogging and knowing that many of you are sharing in my experiences as you read it.

You're helping complete the beauty.

:)

Happiness

"Happiness is finding a pencil, pizza with sausage, telling the time. Happiness is learning to whistle, tying your shoes for the very first time. . . . Happiness is morning and evening, day time and night time too. For happiness is anyone and anything at all that's loved by you." Or so say Charlie Brown and his friends in You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

I just finished reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (excellent, excellent book that I will blog more about in the future), and there was one paragraph that made me think of Charlie Brown's description.

Francie, the heroine, thinks to herself, "People always think that happiness is a faraway thing, something complicated and hard to get. Yet, what little things can make it up; a place of shelter when it rains-- a cup of strong hot coffee when you're blue; for a man, a cigarette for contentment; a book to read when you're alone-- just to be with someone you love. Those things make happiness."

I think Charlie and Francie are on to something. So often I'm so busy looking toward things I don't have, and I forget to look at all the "little things" all around me that are really what give life its color and joy.

Milestones

My grandpa turned 90 today. I'm in Maryland for the weekend to celebrate; Tim, Steve, and Ellen just got here too, so we'll have a little party for him tomorrow night. I got here while my grandparents were taking their nap, so I asked my mom if I could wake them up.

"Oh, Anne!!!" exclaimed my grandma when she opened her eyes and saw me. "What brings you here?!"

I'm here for Pop-Pop birthday-- he's turning 90 today!

"Oh, it's his birthday??" and she turned to my grandpa apologetically. "Oh Bill, I didn't even send you a card!"

Gramarie broke her hip a couple months ago and had to have a hip replacement, but she suffers from Alzheimer's and doesn't remember any of that ordeal (or that she'd probably wished Pop-Pop a "Happy Birthday" at least a dozen times earlier in the day). She still isn't allowed to walk without a walker, but she doesn't remember this and has to be reminded constantly. After helping her get up from the bed and getting her set up with her walker, she and I started to head to the kitchen to have some tea (Birthday Tea from Alice's, to be exact). As my mom helped Pop-Pop get up from the other side of the bed and get started on his way with his walker, Gramarie lost focus on heading out to the kitchen. Turns out, she was still distraught over forgetting his birthday. "Oh Bill," she said, parking her walker and heading over to him on her own -- we interrupted her with a shout of "You can't walk without your walker!!!" and she said, "But I just want to give him a birthday kiss; I haven't even given him a birthday kiss yet." But she took her walker with her the remaining few steps and gave him a kiss, both of their walkers awkwardly between them. "Happy Birthday, Bill; I love you."

It reminded me of when we went to move them from the Assisted Care place in Cape Cod to my parents' home in Maryland. The nurses and aides there told me, "We'll miss seeing your grandparents walking down the hall to meals, always hand-in-hand. It's obvious that they love each other very much."

They celebrated their 62nd anniversary this past Sunday. 62 years-- filled with their share of hard things, but also with so many good memories-- and those nurses and aides were right: it's obvious that they still love each other very much.

Happy Birthday, Pop-Pop!

Danny's Revisited

I stopped by Danny's today to get my paycheck. He'd told me last week that it would be ready any day after Tuesday. Well, last I checked Thursday comes after Tuesday; but today he said it wasn't ready yet and that I should come back tomorrow....

Gretchen came with me on her way to the subway; we grabbed coffee and sat for a while after my little exchange with Danny. Camille was there-- happy to see me, but looked ready to cry. She told me in hushed tones that she'd threatened to quit that morning but Danny had begged her to stay. Honestly I'm not sure how that place is still open... the one other customer we sat near announced loudly that he would not be coming back again.

It's weird to think about how many people we come into contact with over the course of our lives. And I believe God is sovereign and working out his plan, so I believe that each one of those contacts has a distinct purpose. I can't quite make sense of it.... I wonder why I met Camille; I wonder why I care about her so deeply, having known her for only three days; and I wonder if this is the end of the story of my interaction with her.

I'm going to go back for my paycheck tomorrow to see if it's "ready." Hopefully Camille will be working; maybe I'll see if she wants to have lunch someday next week...

Tea, (so much more than) a drink with jam and bread

Who knew?! There is SO much to learn about tea! Do you know the difference between white, green, and black tea? What temperature is ideal for water for tea? How to decaffeinate any tea?

Neither did I two days ago.

The past few days I've been training as a barista and a host at Alice's Teacup. If you've never been there, you're missing out-- honestly. The whole place is themed around Alice in Wonderland, so the menu has options on it like "The Mad Hatter" and "The Jabberwocky" (if you're really, really hungry). Little girls who walk in are offered fairy wings that they can wear during their meal, and anyone can make a wish when sprinkled with fairy dust at the front counter.

So far I've really enjoyed it. The staff has been really friendly and welcoming (maybe it has something to do with that Gretchen, my roommate and good friend, is their manager-- but I like to think it's purely because they're nice people); and everyone is encouraged to be themselves and to have a good time.

My biggest complaint at this point is that they make me feel very unaccomplished. Most of my fellow employees are aspiring actors/actresses, singers, or writers. They're not really sure what to do with me when I don't fit into any of these categories. Some of them are relieved to have "different blood" in the mix; others I think really aren't sure what to talk to me about since I'm not taking auditions or submitting writing samples like the rest of them.

I was tempted to tell them "I blog-- that's my artistic talent"; but then I'd have to give them the blog address, and I wouldn't be able to write stories about them....

Begin at the Beginning

I started training for my new job yesterday-- this place is MUCH more organized than Danny's, I'm happy to report!

Alice's Teacup is an adorable tea shop that has three locations-- one on the Upper West Side (Chapter 1) and two on the Upper East Side (Chapters 2 and 3). I'll be working as a host and a barista (the person who makes the pots of tea). It's not waitressing, but it should still allow for lots of people interaction. :)

I figure customer service should be pretty easy here; I'm sure we just follow the Queen's wisdom: "I warn you dear child, if I lose my temper, you lose your head. Understand?"

When I get home I shall write a book about this place... If I ever do get home.....

Subway Serenade

New York is full of surprises. Not all good, I'm sure; but so far it's been a rather pleasant experience.

On my commute today, I was reading my book (A Tree Grows in Brooklyn-- how appropriate, right?!) and time was passing quickly. At the stop before mine, four men got on and I didn't think anything of it. And then a low note was hummed and then voila! Instant barbershop quartet concert!

They had beautiful voices, and their first selection was a love song-- soothing, beautiful, wistful. As they passed through the train collecting money from any appreciative passengers, I found myself hoping they weren't finished yet. They weren't, and the next song was even better. They were at the far end of the train by then, but the words floated clearly to where I was sitting:

If we ever need the Lord,
Boy, we sure do need him now--
We need him every day
And every hour...

I had that chorus in my head as I started my first real day of training on the new job. I couldn't help but think how appropriate that song is for my summer.

Boy, I sure do need him now....

So, where are you going to church, anyway?

"Oh, you're moving to New York? Will you work at Redeemer?"

No....

"Oh, but you'll go there, right?"

No.....

"But then.... what church are you going to go to for the summer?"

I'm not.....

There's no way not to explain this, especially since I think it's proving to be an important part of this Pumpkin Patch experience. But even as I try, I can't help but remember how I always used to disagree with other people who would "church hop," and part of me wonders why I now feel that this is what I should be doing during this season of my life. But here goes, the logic behind this decision....

Somewhere over the past several years I lost the point of church. I mean, I went to worship and to learn more about God through the sermon and to fellowship with other Christians-- you know, all the reasons you're supposed to go. And I think that I genuinely was striving after those things. But somehow eventually church became another thing on my task list and a time to connect to others socially-- to see friends or meet new people. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a time to meet with God.

Several months and a burnout later, I'm trying to figure out what "recovery" needs to look like. My initial Plan of Action was to find a church and get plugged in-- find a way to serve, find a small group, meet new people. And then the Voice of Reason (or several of them really, and they sounded suspiciously like my closest friends) said, "NO!!!! You need a BREAK."

The more I thought about this and what it would mean for me to "take a break," the more convinced I became that this needed to be closely linked to recovering the real purpose of church. I fully believe that a key part of church is relationships and community; but I also believe that these are secondary (a close second, but still not equal) to one's relationship to Christ.

For the past six or seven months, God has been showing me in various ways how many answers I don't have. (Side note: this has been incredibly challenging, difficult, and humbling.) But this whole church-thing is part of that. I grew up in church; my dad worked for churches for most of my life; I've been on a church staff myself-- surely I should "get" what church is all about. But I don't. Not at all, actually. And so I am going Back to Basics.

"Ok, ok, this is all fine and good; but can't you just pick a church in NYC and go there?"

No. I know myself too well. I can't go to the same church and not meet people, not schedule coffee dates and hangouts, not join a small group, and not offer to help with stuff. Where I am right now, I would too easily slip back into letting church be a social thing.

Right now, church needs to be about worshiping God. Only about worshiping God.

So for this summer, that's going to mean visiting various churches. I want to worship God with Christians of all different denominations, who sing different sorts of songs and hymns and use different instruments or no instruments at all, who dress up or dress down or look like me or don't look like me. I want to be reminded that the only thing that matters is the One who we're worshiping, and to enjoy being surrounded by other Christians who are worshiping him, too-- whether their style is different than what I'm used to or not.

Tonight I went to a church that had a fog machine and a full worship band-- slightly different from worship at Tenth. But you know what? They loved God-- they worshiped him, and they helped me to worship him. Those people clearly know that God loves them, and they reminded me that he loves me. I spent the hour and a half with strangers, but we were all there for the same purpose.

And that's a pretty awesome thing.

Too much to think about

Ever have so much on your mind that you're not sure what you're even thinking? That's totally been my day today.

So here's one slice of what's on my mind.... Went to a party tonight in Tribeca-- a hilarious experience in and of itself. Met just a handful of people, but always the question "What do you do?"

Absolutely nothing.
Good question.
I wish I knew.
Funny you should ask; I'm trying to figure that out myself right now.
I'm actually unemployed.
Mooch off people.
Blog?
I was a waitress for three days, but I quit....

No matter how you look at it, none of those answers are my ideal response to the classic "What do you do?" question. Now granted, there was one guy who thought I was the bomb.com because I do absolutely nothing-- but then we found out it was just because he thought that meant I was rich. Joke's on him!

Why is it so embarrassing to have to admit you don't have the answers, or to realize that the answers you have aren't the ones you'd like to give?

So long, Danny boy!

Well, three strikes and you're out. Today was my third-- and final-- day of working at Danny's.

One of my first customers ordered an egg-white omelet. "We no have egg-whites," the cook told me (the same cook who I taught yesterday how to make eggs Sunny Side Up).

Really, we ran out of eggs? It's only 9:30 in the morning.

"No, we have eggs! Just we no have egg whites."

I will separate the eggs for you.

"No, we have no egg whites!"

I can't believe I'm having this conversation with one of the cooks. Seriously. I will separate the eggs for you-- you just have to take the yolks out!

At this point, Danny came over to see what was going on. I explained that I needed an egg-white omelet but that the cook said we didn't have egg whites. Danny started waving his arms in the air: "No problem, we do it, we do it."

Half an hour went by. No joke. Thirty painful minutes. Every time I had to walk near that customer's table I got nervous all over again. How many more times can I tell him his food will be right out? I went to ask the cook how much longer it would be. He was nervously scraping a frying pan into the trash. He looked at me and laughed nervously. "It just not working, I sorry!" Eventually he apologetically handed me a plate with scrambled egg-whites and veggies: "It's the best I can do, I sorry!"

It's okay, don't worry about it-- it'll taste the same. I hope.

We still had the credit card issue, too. I didn't get tips from at least four of my tables because there wasn't a place for them to write it on the credit card slip.

We got a busboy today; one of the girls at the counter told me that he was taking some of my tips.

Danny told all of us to be sure to put all the food into the computer and not to talk to the kitchen about it. Yesterday the upstairs cooks made the sandwiches and salads; the downstairs cooks made burgers and other entrees. Today Danny told us the upstairs would only handle the sandwiches. So I asked him about a problem I'd kept running into with this system--

If I have a table that orders a burger, a salad, and a sandwich, do I put all three into the computer and they'll bring it up? Or do I still tell the upstairs cooks that I need the sandwich?

"You put it in computer; why this hard?!"

No, I understand I put it in the computer-- but will the downstairs cooks make the sandwich?

"No, they no make sandwiches! Are you listening?! They make salads; upstairs make sandwich!"

I get that; I just don't understand how all the timing works out because yesterday my hot sandwiches were getting cold while they were finishing the burgers downstairs.

At that point, Danny gave up talking to me and told the other girls "This not hard; people make simple hard" and walked away.

I still have no idea how this is supposed to work. It wasn't even that I wasn't willing to use his system; I just didn't understand what the system was. In the end, I just timed it myself-- put everything into the computer, waited a bit, and then told the upstairs cooks when to start on the sandwiches for my orders. It mostly worked. Not completely, but it was an improvement over yesterday.

I think the final straw for me was when I had a table order two Cobb salads-- one with bacon, one without. The computer has no way to input special requests like this. So I rang up two Cobb salads, and then ran downstairs to tell the cooks the adjustments.

Danny was there, and he was not happy to see me.

Hey Lawrence, I just sent 2 Cobb salads-- one is no bacon, and the other is extra bacon. He said to just give his bacon to the other guy.

At which point Danny went off: "Go send ticket! You no give her food when she no give you ticket!"

You've gotta be kidding me. Danny, I did send the ticket! I just couldn't explain this on there!

"No ticket, no food!"

Even the cooks started defending me-- "she sent it; it right here, it right here!" as they grabbed at the tickets and thrust one at Danny.

"You use intercom; you no need come here," was Danny's response to me. Camille tried using intercom for her last order and it got all messed up. I wanted to say it, but instead I walked upstairs and told Camille and Stacey, I'm quitting.

"Please don't leave me here."
"I want to quit too."

And that pretty much summed up the day. Danny kept yelling at us for different things that none of us had been responsible for. Andre, one of the cooks (probably one of the better ones, for what it's worth), walked out after Danny yelled at him and told him everything was his fault. Stacey said, "If he's doesn't come back, I'm not coming back either."

Gretchen had offered me a couple shifts as a barista and a host at Alice's Teacup, but I'd really wanted to waitress. But part way through the day I texted her and asked how many shifts she could give me. I started training already and will continue next week.

The thing that makes me the saddest is that the staff (minus Danny) really did feel like family. I worked with them for just three days, and I'll really miss them.

Don't worry; I'll come back and visit-- I told them on my way out.

Stacey just laughed. "You will come back to visit and you won't find any of us here!" She's not kidding. So we traded phone numbers.

Today I met another girl with a wheat allergy, an adorable little girl who thought I was the coolest person in the world because I found whipped cream for her hot chocolate, a family from Denmark, and a couple businessmen who were glad to have a friendly waitress tease them about what they'd ordered. Even walking away after (another) frustrating day, I keep coming back to it: I still love waitressing.

Call me crazy. :)

A tip of a different color

I really do love waitressing. I'm not sure why; part of me feels embarrassed that I have my Masters degree and wait tables. And yet, the bottom line is, I love waitressing.

Even on days like today.

For the first two hours of my shift (7am-9am) I had one customer. Our credit card machine was working today, but apparently no one thought that it might be a good idea to give our customers the option of adding a tip for the waitress when they pay with a card. So when my first customer paid with a credit card, she didn't have the option of adding anything for me-- and so she didn't. When I explained this to Danny that this was a problem, he said, "Ok, ok, we fix it." Yeah, but I just lost a tip; and "we fix it" hasn't meant anything yet....

A bit later he handed Camille and me the waitress pads we'd asked for yesterday. Except that they didn't have carbon copies, so it wasn't actually any different from the scraps of paper we'd been writing on. Though I suppose the slightly larger size and the fact that this paper was lined made it somewhat easier for the cooks to read our scrawl. Baby steps towards "fixing it"; don't get frustrated.

Around the lunch rush, Danny suddenly started reprimanding us for using the computers to print the bills while still telling the kitchen what we needed them to make, like we'd been doing since opening yesterday. Turns out, the computer started sending orders to the kitchen so the cooks were making everything we put in plus everything we told them. No one had told us that the computers were working again, and it still didn't mean that our food would definitely get made; but that was a moot point.

I could go on about the other mishaps of the day, but I wouldn't get any sleep between now and tomorrow's shift. But I was reminded of a good life lesson today: When you are about to leave work and someone asks you to do something quickly, it WILL mean that you are going to be there for an extra couple hours.

I had said early on that I'd like to leave today at 2pm-- Gretchen had today off and we'd been planning to hang out, but then I got this job. At 1:55 a party of eight people walked in. Camille and I were both at the end of our rope with the computer situation, and Camille had been trying to take a quick break for the past two hours. "I really don't want this table; will you take it?"

No!!!! I just want to go home and hang out and have fun!
Sure. I'll take one more.

So Camille got her break, and I got a table of eight. They were friendly, though, and very appreciative of my looking after them. I kept overhearing parts of their conversations and could tell that they worked with kids. I wanted so badly to ask them about what they did-- if they worked in a school or an after-school program or what-- but I'm not quite comfortable with "New Yorker" ways, and I wasn't sure if it would be taken as poking my nose where it didn't belong. So I kept my questions to myself and kept their drinks filled instead. Just after they paid, one of the guys asked me to take the group's picture. Here's my chance.

Where are you guys from?

"Harlem Children Zone."

You've gotta be kidding me-- I've had my eye on this organization for months.
Seriously?!

Surprised laughter. "You've heard of it? Did you see our commercial?"

No, actually I applied to work with your program.

More laughter. "You don't have experience coordinating programs, do you?"

I do actually. I used to run a kids' outreach in Philly, and I decided I want to work with inner city kids. It's a huge reason I moved to New York-- because there are so many programs here that I'm hoping to get involved with and learn from; but I haven't been able to "break in" to any of them yet.

"You're kidding."
"Please take our information."
"Please send me your resume; I'll pass it to the right people."
"Come work with us!!"

Um, OKAY.

I have to say, for making me stay two extra hours, they didn't leave a very generous tip on the table. But honestly, this tip was even more appreciated-- partly because it's cool to have a contact with the organization I've been hoping to work with, and partly because it's a good reminder that God loves to use even the frustrating experiences to bring about good things. Even if it proves to be nothing, it was still an encouraging interaction.

I love that I work in a restaurant that's no more than 1000 square feet, and I meet people from around the world. And people from the organization that won't respond to my emails. And funny cooks from Mexico and counter help from Barbados and Puerto Rico and waitresses from a few blocks away. I love that no matter how mean a table is (yes, I did have a guy call me over three different times just to continue yelling at me for how his food hadn't been cooked correctly), they're gone in an hour MAX and you start all over again with a different customer. Really, I just love waitressing.

Give it a few more weeks; we'll see if the feeling lasts. :)

I sure hope no one from yelp! was at Danny's today....

Danny's is officially open. Danny's is officially running smoothly? Well, not so much....

I think we all knew it would be an interesting day; but wow, I had no idea exactly how interesting it would prove to be. When I walked in just before 7am, I was told to go downstairs and get my uniform--ah, this is why we never talked about what we needed to wear-- which consisted of a white chef's jacket and long white apron. Camille and I (the two waitresses for opening day) looked like the cooks, except that we didn't get to wear those cool tall white paper hats like they did.

Uniform, check. Pen, check. Paper..... Danny, do we have pads for taking the orders? "Ok, ok, I get you pads."

A couple minutes later, Camille approached Danny with the same question. He gave her the same answer. Camille and I looked at each other nervously. Danny disappeared for a few minutes and when he returned, thrust a stack of torn up paper at each of us. "Ok, ok, now you have pads."

First customer. Camille let me have the privilege of breaking in the system. I got the woman water, coffee, took her order, tried to give the ticket to the cooks. Blank stares. Oh, this is not good. I read it to them, then handed them the sheet I'd written on. They nodded and smiled; I felt relieved. Until I went back to pick up my order.

Wait, these eggs are supposed to be scrambled-- and they're supposed to come with bacon not sausage....

"No, no, you no say scrambled."

I showed them on the ticket where I wrote "2 eggs-- scrambled. Bacon. Rye toast."

The one cook shook his head and yelled at the other cook in Spanish. I continued to stand there, wishing I'd paid better attention in my Spanish classes. On second thought, maybe it's better I don't know what they're saying right now.

2 scrambled eggs + sausage + white toast. And then 2 scrambled eggs + sausage + rye toast. And then we got it-- the correct combination. I brought it to my table, apologized for the wait.

$1 tip. Can't say I blame her.

"It's the first day-- of course there will be kinks that need to be fixed," we kept saying to each other. But the system just didn't work. There's no way for the waitresses to enter the order in the computer; it needs to be handwritten and handed to the cooks. But then you need a bill to bring to the table. So you have your choice: write it twice, or remember what you'd written on the ticket that you'd given to the cooks so you can tell the cashiers and have them print you a bill. Somehow, I was able to remember all my orders-- and accurately. For those who know my memory (or lack thereof), this was definitely divine intervention. The other minor detail was that not all of the cooks are, shall we say, fluent in English.... and a lot was lost in the translation as we tried to explain to them what was wrong with the various dishes that came up.

Early in the day, I introduced myself to one cook, Mateo, who ended up saving my waitressing life. After we switched to the lunch menu, I took an order and gave it to the same cook that I'd been giving my tickets to all morning (breakfast is cooked on the main floor, where customers can watch their omelets being made, etc.). Apparently this was not the case for lunch. "Downstairs! This downstairs! No breakfast!" Bewildered, I turned to Mateo who explained that there was another kitchen downstairs, and that the real entrees would be prepared down there-- and that we had to run our tickets down to those cooks. I ran down, found the kitchen I didn't know existed, and told these other cooks my order. "Upstairs! They make upstairs!" Is it an option to make it myself? Cuz right now I think that would be the least frustrating option.

But they told me you do the lunch food! I'm confused!

"Upstairs! They no right-- they make upstairs!"

And back upstairs I go.... turns out half the lunch menu comes from upstairs; half from downstairs-- and no one, still, is quite sure which comes from where. After watching Camille and I go through this a couple more times, Mateo took matters into his own hands. "Annie [no one at Danny's understands the silent 'e'] I run food. You give me order, I get you food from upstairs or downstairs. You no run around crazy no more."

Deal.

We asked Danny along the way to clarify/explain/fix things; he was very reassuring with his "Ok, ok, I fix it"; but it stopped being comforting when he continued to stand there, smiling and nodding....

Camille and I are on again tomorrow; and we are determined to bring some order to the chaos. But I will say, even after working 9 hours today, I got straight on the train and went to Alice's to be trained as a barista, just in case this Danny's gig doesn't work out.....

Adventures in scavenging....

I went in search of Clue #2 today. You can't win at a scavenger hunt if you don't hunt for the next clue; they don't ever just come to you.

I started with a meeting at Pace University's School of Education to talk about getting my teaching certification. My previous years of teaching won't count towards anything, which wasn't really surprising. I told her about how I've been accepted to Teach for America but am on the waiting list for a placement, and she wasn't surprised-- said it's hard for anyone to find a teaching position these days, even if I do go through their program to get my certification. Brilliant.

Well, if I can't figure out my long-term future, let's keep working on the short-term. Next stop: interview with a nanny agency. The one thing I'm learning from my job hunting experiences this summer is that adventures are around every corner. This interview was no exception--

20 W. 20th Street, said the website. Simple enough. So I began my trek over, stopping to shop for shoes when I realized I was running ahead of schedule and was risking showing up embarrassingly early. It's good to be a little early and show that you're conscientious; it's bad to be very early and show that you're desperate-- it's a fine line, and I didn't want to flirt with it too closely. I tried on a couple pairs of shoes (Aerosoles is having a great sale, by the way), but I didn't buy any (maybe I'll visit the sale again once I know for sure that I really have a job....). Checked the time again, and decided it was safe to approach my final destination.

20 W. 20th Street-- there it is. So I started towards the door, noticing with amusement the sign that said "Rifle and Pistol Range, Basement Level" -- Is this part of the nanny training? I couldn't help but wonder. I explained to the security guard why I was there, and he told me I was in the wrong place-- they'd moved across the street. Well that's good. I don't like guns anyway. And I headed to the new location.

Sketchy. Really, it's the only word to describe this building. I made my way up to the third floor and laughed to myself as I read the signs on the different doors. It totally seemed like one of those places that people would rent an "office" to stage their fake business. Ah, Suite 300-- there it is.

I walked inside and almost ran back out. There was one guy sitting in this office, with all this lighting and a video camera set up. Really?? I know I'm blonde, but how dumb do you think I am?! But I need to make sure I have a job this summer, so I went in anyway and sat down-- so maybe that answers that question.

Ok, so really that's as dramatic as it got. The guy was nice and everything seemed legit-- the setting was just a bit strange. He asked me lots of questions, took my resume, I gave him my Social Security card and all my credit cards-- it all seemed fine. KIDDING. I am not that dumb.

Danny, the restaurant owner, called me as I was leaving the nanny interview. "Anne, you come at 7 tomorrow?" Yep, I'm planning on it. "Ok, good! I make no promises, but hopefu'y everyone have fun!" I hope so too....

Bottom line, I didn't find Clue #2 today. I guess if anything I'm just more confused about where to look for it. God, why is it so hard to figure out the next step? I know part of Clue #1 was that I can't have any of the answers, but how long will that be the case? What am I supposed to be learning from this waiting part of the process? I'm afraid I'm missing it somehow....

It's cold and rainy in Brooklyn tonight. One of those evenings that's perfect for sitting inside, listening to good music, and drinking hot tea. Well, 2 out of 3 isn't bad; I forgot to bring my tea stash with me from Philly....

Employed!! I think....

Down the street from my apartment there's this diner/coffeeshop/restaurant that's scheduled to open later this week. I walked by there last Tuesday and saw a sign posted that said "Hiring baristas and waitstaff. Inquire within." So I tried to go within to inquire. No such luck-- the door was locked. Hmm.... So I wrote down the phone number that's on the awning, and tried it the next morning. A Chinese man answered the phone, and I explained that I'd tried to apply but no one had been inside.

"Ah, we here now. You come now?"

So I did, and I filled out the application he handed me.

"You have experience?"

I've been a waitress, but not a barista. But I'm a fast learner.

"Ok. We open next Monday or Wednesday. We have coffee training before then. I call you Friday."

So, am I hired?? I guess I should have asked him then, but it seemed like "it" had all been decided already (I just wasn't sure what exactly "it" was...).

He called me on Saturday. "You live close. You tell me when you work. We do coffee training Monday at 1:30. You come?"

So I went today. One of the more entertaining "first day" experiences I've had--

I walked in and Danny, this Chinese owner, welcomed me: "You walk around. See the place." There were a few other people there, sitting at the table; they just stared at me blankly and didn't say anything. I couldn't tell if they were food critics, investors, vendors, or other employees. I walked around a bit, but I felt dumb since everyone else was just sitting there watching me investigate. Another girl walked in and looked as lost as I felt.

So I introduced myself. She seemed relieved. At least we were totally clueless together.

"Sit, sit!" said Danny, and he pulled up chairs for Grace and me. So we joined the Silent Circle of Strangers who were just staring at each other.

So I kept introducing myself. Turns out, they were all employees. Meet the cast:

Grace-- a very sweet and soft-spoken girl who will work behind the counter; she's about to start in a Criminal Justice program in the fall

Rose-- a very kind, older hispanic woman who has lived in Brooklyn for most of her life; she's raised four kids and insisted that they all work hard at their educations so they didn't have to work in restaurants and coffee shops like she has for the past 15 years or so

Camille-- strikes me as stereotypically "Brooklyn"; very outspoken but also very friendly; has been a waitress for 10 years at a restaurant down the street but is excited about being part of this new venture

Keith-- hilarious. Not in the funny way; more in the "wow, you take yourself really seriously" way. A snapshot of our initial interactions: we're standing around after the coffee saleswoman does her training routine (throughout which he gave several comments and corrections to her directions), and I say, "So, you've done this before?" Snicker. Me: "So, where did you work before this?" Another snicker. "Everywhere; I've done it all." Me: "Cool! So you'll be the go-to guy if we have any questions?" Him: "Well, I know everything about these machines. It's not hard." Sweet. Actually, I think we're going to get along really well-- he does seem like he knows his stuff, and like he takes his work seriously. I think he just wasn't used to people initiating conversation with him. Note to self: not everyone appreciates outgoing people. Noted.

Senny (I'll have to confirm that this is really how she spells her name)-- very quiet and very sweet girl who works days as a Home Health Aide and will be waitressing some evenings.

Reggie-- very softspoken guy, who I couldn't quite figure out if he was there to work or was just there with Senny. Guess I'll find out soon enough....

Danny-- the owner. Awesome. And extremely disorganized, it seems. Camille and I are the waitresses (we think), so we asked him when he wants us there on Opening Day-- two days from now. "Ah. When you want come. I don't know what it be like yet." Ok.... so do you want us to be here just in case it's busy? "Sure if you want to be." So.... should I come when you open at 6? "No, I be here. 7 ok." Do you want both of us? "I don't know." Ok, well, we'll come and just figure it out from there. Is there any training we need for waiting tables? "No, it's just food! We bring what they want!!" Wow, if only my other waitressing jobs had been that laid back.....

I think the coolest thing was the attitude that we're in it together. Grace had never used an espresso machine before so she felt pretty overwhelmed. Rose leaned over to her and said, "Don't worry. We're in this together. We're going to be a family away from our families."

Awesome.

So, we're opening on Wednesday: Danny's on Court Street. If you're in the area, stop by for breakfast, lunch, or a cup of coffee! If you're not in the area, it's probably not worth it for you just to come for a quick lunch-- so you can come on the weekend instead, when you have time to stay a bit longer. :)

Should be interesting. If nothing else, it'll give me good material for stories for this blog....

Scavenger Hunt for direction

This song has been my theme song for the past six months as I've been sorting through and praying through what God is calling me to do next....

What grace is mine that He who dwells in endless light
Called through the night to find my distant soul
And from his scars poured mercy that would plead for me
That I might live and in his name be known

So I will go wherever He is calling me
I lose my life to find my life in Him
I give my all to gain the hope that never dies
I bow my heart, take up my cross and follow Him

What grace is mine to know His breath alive in me
Beneath his wings my wakened soul may soar
All fear can flee for death's dark night is overcome
My Saviour lives and reigns forevermore

So I will go wherever He is calling me
I lose my life to find my life in Him
I give my all to gain the hope that never dies
I bow my heart, take up my cross and follow Him

And then I would follow it with this prayer: "God, I will go wherever you are calling me. I will do whatever you are calling me to do. But I have NO idea where that is; I have no idea WHAT that is. Please will you show me? Please will you make it clear?"

The one thing that's been clear to me over the past six months is that God's not letting me have any of the answers. You know those scavenger hunts where you get a clue to start and you can't get the next clue until you figure out the first one? That's my life right now.

Clue #1: Go to New York. You won't know how long, you won't know what you're doing. You won't have any of the answers you think you need, actually. You will have everything you need, but it's likely that it won't be the same as what you think you need. Go to New York.

Clue #2:

Haha, nope. There is no Clue #2 yet-- trust me, I'd like to know what it is, too. :) I'll keep you posted as soon as I get it, I promise.

Life through a bloglense

Have you ever noticed how everything is more beautiful when you're walking around with a camera? If you haven't, you need to try it sometime because you're really missing out. If you're looking for an artistic shot, you'll realize that art is everywhere you look. Yes, even in that piece of litter on the sidewalk. It captures a little piece of the story that is going on in that place. I think this is why I love photography so much-- it's given me a greater and deeper appreciation for the "nondescript" parts of life.

Starting this blog has made me realize that blogging is much the same way. Much like looking at things to see beauty, it's made me more aware of the beauty and significance within each activity and interaction. Talking to my barista about what I want to drink is no longer just about the coffee (though obviously, that's a pretty key detail); it's an opportunity for a great conversation and fresh insights into life.

I'm beginning to see that everything is significant. I've always tended to pack my schedule full-- literally to run from one event to another (if you think it's an exaggeration, ask any of my friends). Often I've been too busy to take out my camera; I've always been to busy to blog. Now I've been forced to slow down, and it's making me realize that this whole time I wasn't actually packing more "life" in by filling up my schedule-- instead, my schedule has been preventing me from seeing the life that was already all around me.

Try it sometime-- with a camera or with a blog. I think you'll be happy you did.

What happened to "Jehovah-Jireh"??

This time last night I was ecstatic because of the discovery of a Starbucks card. Tonight, I am holding the same Starbucks card, and the balance is a whopping $0.00. And no, not because I spent the day at Starbucks drinking $86 worth of coffee. I found out just before I went to bed last night that the card was registered-- that if I turned the card in (or if they reported it lost), the rightful owner could get back the balance on their card. Suddenly it wasn't a gift anymore; it felt like stolen property. So today Gretchen and I made the trip to Starbucks and told them what had happened.

It's a very cool gift card; has a New York City taxi on it and says "new york"-- but that's all it is now. Now it's not worth anything except a souvenir from what seemed like it was going to be such a great story of God's provision for me.

Yesterday I emailed one of my friends and mentors back in Philly about the card. I told her my exciting story of finding the card and how I felt assured of God's love and care for me through that discovery. In her response to me this morning she wrote, "Jehovah-jireh, He's my provider!........ He wants you to know not only will I provide needs I love you so much I also throw in luxuries."

That was exactly what I'd thought at first-- how amazing to see God care for me in this exceedingly-abundantly-above-and-beyond sort of way! So then with the new information that I could/should return the card to someone, I was suddenly faced with two problems... 1. The moral dilemma: Do I actually return the card? or is there a way to keep the money? 2. The crisis of faith: If God is Jehovah-Jireh, the God who provides, why couldn't he have given me an unregistered card? Why did he give-- and then take away so quickly? I thought he was looking out for me; but is the reality that he is just-- my biggest fear-- really a cosmic kill-joy that likes to hold out good things and then mockingly take it away as I reach for it so he can then watch me suffer?

I know it's just a Starbucks card. No, I'm not really worried that this is proof that God hates me and wants me to be miserable. But I am saying it's an apt metaphor for many of the internal struggles and debates I've been having with God this year.

I believe that God is sovereign. I believe that God is all-powerful. I struggle to believe that God is all-good. And once you start to doubt God's goodness, few things are scarier. If you believe in a God who orchestrates things and can accomplish anything he wants to, but is not good-- well, I honestly can't think of a more terrifying God. Once you start to question his goodness, you start to watch the pieces of your life crumble. And I think that is the pressure point at which so many of us begin to crumble. That is the pressure point at which I have found myself starting to crumble throughout this past year.

The story of this little gift card really reflects the bigger issues-- I believe that God had me find that card in the street. I believe that God could have had it loaded for $1000 and that it could have been an unregistered card that would have been mine free-and-clear. Those are facts in my mind. But then we come to the third part that I fight to wrap my mind around-- God is either good, or he is not. If he is not, he is laughing at me right now for getting so excited about a card I wasn't gonna get to keep. If he is good, that whole story was somehow the best possible thing that could have happened to me-- whether I understand the "why" of it all right now or not.

Believe you me, it was a struggle when I woke up this morning and saw that card.

"God, I just don't understand. Why would you give me something and then take it away so quickly? I thought you were providing for me, but you weren't? That just doesn't make sense. I thought you were showing me your abundant love. Why won't you at least let me hold onto that? Why would you take away the glimpse of your love for me that I've been fighting so hard to see?"

And then the question, always the question, "Do you trust me?"

....sigh.....

Not as much as I should, but yes, I'm really trying.

I wish I could finish the story by saying I get it. That I see the lesson God is trying to teach me, or that I am now 100% convinced that God is good. But like I said, this gift card story is just one piece of my huge puzzle I'm trying to make sense of right now.

I can't help but wonder, though, if all this processing is just one part of the "why" this whole thing happened.....

O Black Hole, why do you taunt me so?

The Black Hole of Communication. How I loathe thee.

You might be familiar with it-- that place where emails/texts/phone calls go, never to be returned. It's never the emails that don't matter, the texts that are just "hello!" without looking for a response. It's the emails that you a.go.nize. over, getting every word perfect and pouring out way too much of your emotional energy. Those are the forms of communication that I swear are especially vulnerable to the lure of The Black Hole.

I'm sad to report that the Black Hole is now extending its reach to other forms of communication. Here in New York, at least, the Black Hole is also hungry for resumes, and it is in cahoots with store owners and school administrators alike. I send out my resumes, I call and follow up; always the response: "We'll give you a call." Never a phone call.

It's defeating, really. At what point does one stop sending out various forms of communication, whether emails or resumes? Are the odds in my favor that eventually I will begin to get responses? Or am I really just becoming a pathetic human being that isn't taking the hint that No One Wants to Talk to You?

Ugh. I'm gonna go make some coffee....

I am Ben Folds. No, seriously.

You may have heard me talk about how I'm Ben Folds. Crazy, you say? Oh no, my friend. In his own words: "and they gave me some coffee, but they didn't charge me..." I've long suspected that Ben Folds and I live parallel lives, but this has really been the clincher. I get free coffee so often! I must be Ben Folds.

As if the countless free cups of coffee weren't proof enough, today I got evidence beyond a doubt. Gretchen, Pay, and I were walking near Chelsea, and as I crossed the road I saw a Starbucks card in the street.

"Ooh, a Starbucks card! Should I pick it up??" I asked.

"May as well, you never know if there could be some money on it," said Gretchen.

So I picked it up, and I held it like it was dirty... because it was.... and we began to look for a Starbucks. Sure enough, since we were in NYC, we came across a Starbucks about thirty seconds later. I had to use the bathroom, so Gretchen and Pay waited in line while I did.

When I came out, they were both smirking.

"Guess how much money is on it."

"37 cents."

"Higher." They were both laughing at me, I could tell.

"A dollar."

"No, higher."

"Ten dollars??"

"Higher!"

Oh wait... maybe they're smiling cuz they're happy, not cuz they're making fun of me??

"Twenty dollars?!?!"

"NINETY-FIVE DOLLARS."

Holy. Cow.

I was sure they were wrong. They were sure they were wrong. Who puts $95 on a gift card? Who puts $95 on a gift card and then drops it in the street?!

We didn't really believe it was true. Later in the afternoon we made our way to another Starbucks and each ordered a drink. I paid with my new card and asked for a receipt. I nervously looked at the balance... $86 remaining. It wasn't a sick joke!!!

Right after we got the initial balance report, Gretchen said, "How much does God love you!? He is taking care of you!"

I think it's easy to chalk it up to luck, or to being Ben Folds. I mean, I still will argue pretty adamantly that Ben and I are the same person; but this went beyond that. There's something about being unemployed in a big and expensive city, wondering how you're going to pay for basic things like coffee-- and then finding a "random" gift card in the street-- that makes you realize that it can't just be luck.

God loves me a whole lot and is taking care of me in all the details, even down to free coffee.

When my original job plan fell through and I was still moving to NYC, I said to some of my friends that I was prepared to see God provide for me in exciting and humbling ways. I guess a $95 Starbucks card in the street isn't really that humbling; but it sure is exciting. Another reminder that God cares about the details of our lives.

I wonder if Ben Folds thinks about that every time he gets free coffee.....

It's Just a Bank Account...

I'd like to open a checking account, please.
Yes, I live here in Brooklyn.
No, sorry, I won't be able to maintain a $2500 minimum balance each month.
No, I haven't gotten any mail at my new address yet.
No, I won't be getting utilities in my name.
Yes, I know you have a branch in Philadelphia.
No, I don't want to go back to Philly to open my account so I can use this branch in Brooklyn.

There's this street a little less than a mile from my apartment that is lined with banks on both sides. Good thing! I started at one end and worked my way down until I found a bank that would give me free checking without having to ask my roommates to put one of the utilities in my name so I could prove that I live here. They used the Philly address on my driver's license as my permanent address and put my Brooklyn one as my mailing address. I figured that it wasn't worth it at that point to explain that I'd never actually changed my Philly address when I bought my house last summer, so even the one on there wasn't actually right.....

One of these days I fully intend to consolidate all of my identities and have just one address....

Let the Job Hunt Begin!!!

I started job hunting today. BLECH.

I'm not picky; I don't ask for much. I just want a job that--

- pays well
- has a flexible schedule so I can hang out with my brothers on the weekend, Gretchen on the weekdays she has off, and any friends who come to visit me
- ooh.... health benefits; it'd be nice not to have to pay for those
- isn't too fast-paced, but isn't boring either
- pays well
- is within walking distance so I don't have to buy a MetroCard
- doesn't have me working crazy hours-- not too early, not too late

Hmm.... wonder why I didn't find anything today. :-/ Maybe tomorrow will go better.....

Steadfast Love

"Blessed be God, because he has not rejected my prayer or removed his steadfast love from me" (Psalm 66:20).

He has not removed his steadfast love from me-- not even to replace it with a different kind of love. He is constant; it's always the same love even when it looks different.... all the hard stuff is a manifestation of-- not a challenge to-- his steadfast love.

If I could put tears in a bottle....

I went to Brooklyn Tabernacle this morning. It was a little different than I'm used to...

For one thing, people were clapping all throughout the service. Not because they were being irreverent or because they were confused-- but because they were filled with joy.

For another thing-- and probably what struck me the most-- I had no responsibilities, and no one asked me any questions. The only woman who stopped me on the way out just wanted to tell me "God bless you."

It was just what I needed. I got to hear about Jesus and not worry about a typo in the bulletin, not think about who I needed to grab after the service (or who might grab me), or wonder what was going to happen because of some announcement that had just been made that would affect my workload for the upcoming week.

I heard about the prostitute who washed Jesus' feet with her tears. The pastor said something I'd never heard before-- that it wasn't just that she was crying; that wouldn't have been enough tears to wash his feet. But back then they had "tear bottles"-- when women cried, they would capture their tears in a bottle and cork it. They were usually buried with these tear bottles. This prostitute had doubtless been hurt many times. And she brought all that hurt and all that misery and poured it on Jesus' feet, the feet that would soon be pierced for her. For me. God has been reminding me how he is with me in it all, feeling all the pain and confusion and fear-- and he cares deeply for each of those tears.

Ikea Adventures

I woke up before 6am this morning because my window faces east and I don't have curtains. Kinda cool to wake up naturally-- if only it could happen two or three hours later...

We (Tim, Steve, Mary, Melissa, and I) went to Six Flags today (and yes, I chickened out of both Kingda Ka and Nitro...). On our way home, Tim said, "So what are you gonna do about curtains?" Well... funny he should ask; I was trying to figure out how I could talk him into stopping at Ikea.

"...and while we're there I could also just quick grab a dresser, because mine wouldn't fit in the car when Gretchen and I tried to take the one from my house..."

Somehow, I have the world's nicest brothers. He was totally up for it. I said, "Don't worry-- I know how to get to Brooklyn-- it's Exit 14 off the Turnpike. I think Ikea is Exit 13A." Well, I was right about Ikea, at least....

The shopping itself was actually great. I found curtains and a dresser I liked-- I wrote down the bin number for the dresser and we headed that way. But first, a stop in the "as is" section just in case. What's this??! There was the same dresser for 15% off because someone had assembled it and returned it! Sweet! And I didn't bring tools with me, so I wouldn't even have to worry about assembling it!

All good in theory.

We got it out to the car, and could not for the life of us get it inside the car. About 45 minutes later, we wedged it in the trunk and managed to tie the trunk down with some twine. So much for a quick trip! We got in the car and I said, "Thank you; I'm sorry; and I'm really glad that I wasn't here by myself trying to figure this out."

Back on the Turnpike, headed for Exit 14.... except that the sign said "Holland Tunnel" and I was sure that yesterday it said "Verrazano Bridge." iPhone to the rescue, sort of. "Um, Tim.... please don't hate me..... we're going the wrong way....." Ah! But we could still go through the Holland Tunnel and just "cut across" Manhattan. Oh right, except that NYC is famous for its traffic....

So the Ikea trip turned into about a 2 1/2 hour addition to our trek home.

Tim never got mad at me.

Have I mentioned I have the world's nicest brothers?!

Welcome.... Home??

That's what Gretchen kept saying as we drove into Brooklyn.... Welcome, yes-- I'd like to feel welcome here. Home? Uh, not so sure....

What a strange mix of emotions.

"Home is where the heart is," Gretchen continued when I balked at her welcome. Well, that makes no sense, because this heart is torn between Philly and New York and probably a little bit in Maryland and a little bit in England.....

Either way, we had a good evening here. Lindsay is here because she had an opera audition today and another tomorrow, so she's spending the night. If you ever really want to mess with the feelings of home, take a roommate from the old residence and stick her in the new one-- confusing! But it was fun to have her here. Dinner with Gretchen, Lindsay, Steve, Ellen, and Ellen's mom; walking around Cobble Hill; hanging out in the new apartment. It's been a full, but good, day.

I guess I've never liked moving, even when it was just a couple blocks away. It's partly my fear of missing out; it's partly the uncertainty of what the future holds. Moving to a different city and having no idea how long it's for-- am I a resident here or just a guest??-- has added a whole new dimension to that struggle.

I guess I'm "home" at least for the summer....

Good night, New York. Thanks for having me.

Closing Time

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end...."

So, it's official. Handed in my keys and cleaned out my office today (ok, that's a lie... I made a neat pile in my office; planning to get the stuff tomorrow). The end of an era. Such mixed emotions, I don't even know how to start thinking about processing it all. I guess that's what New York is for?

"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here...."

Not sure where I'm going (job-wise), but know I can't stay here. Such a bizarre feeling, being up in the air and knowing that you really can do anything, go anywhere from here.

So tomorrow I'll start packing.

Any minute now it's gonna start sinking in that I'm actually leaving....