Head of Hair

My dad and I have been watching the Anne of Green Gables series--Oh, Gilbert Blythe!--and now I feel like wearing long skirts and piling all my hair on top of my head, though there isn't a ball to be seen for miles.

Master of None

Today I had a simply marvelous day at church. Yes, we still meet in the cafeteria, but God is good! Attendance has doubled. Over fifty people came to share fika--there was Elsa's baked mocha squares and homemade red currant cordial, among other things--and listen to our guest speaker Hans Sundberg, also known as my brother's father-in-law.

The most significant improvement  to our church has come in the form of a sound mixer board (that is what it's called, I assume). My father unearthed it from among the debris in the church's storage room, along with two portly speakers. Let it be known that I have no prior experience with sound systems, but arriving early and being the pastor's daughter and it being a small church, I have happened into the position of key sound technician. I am the one who runs most of the cables, and I spend Sunday afternoons among plug-ins and mono stereo lefts and reverbs and lists of microphones. Someone told me I looked very competent behind the mixer board; they did not hear the prior conversation between me and Denzel.

Denzel (pointing to the array of microphone plugs): Which one of these is mine? I need to check my mike.
Me: It could be this one. Or maybe this one. (I finger the plugs, pretending to look helpful.) Or maybe it's this one.
Denzel: Nevermind.

I wonder what this button does.

Good sound takes hard work. Not only does a sound technician have to gauge the best strength for amplified voices, but also measure it according to the size of the room, the instruments in play, and the gathered crowd that both absorbs and muffles sound. I cannot deny there has been a great deal of fiddling with buttons to see what they do and some needless running around and tripping over cords, but I do enjoy the challenge.

When the worship team stepped up to play, Elsa asked me if I wanted to comp with them, so I played djembe with Mike on the box drum, despite not having a rhythmic bone in my body. This may be the defining character of our church--we do not have the means, the location, the gear, the sound system, the musicians--but we have jacks of all trades who are willing help move desks into formation and set the fika table and usher and greet visitors and run sound checks; and until someone with more experience and madder skillz comes along, we will make things work and keep them together, provided there is enough duct tape.

Rest for the Restless

I have to change. I want to change. If we remain the same at all times, we would not be complete people. I have to fight against my migratory instinct, that still small voice that tries to convince me that 'it will be better somewhere else'--wherever that 'else' may be. It's a common theme among internationals, and some suffer severely from it. My restlessness grows stronger when I stay too long in a place that does not simply hand me the adventure I seek, that needs me to make the most of my time. I grow impatient. Thankfully, I am not much plagued by this impulse, though I do find my thoughts turning to another place, another time, wanting to be far away when I am needed right here.

That is the great challenge. It lies not in overcoming impossible obstacles, but patiently staying put and working with (not settling for!) my circumstances, resting in the knowledge that there is a purpose for my time here, a reason for growing where I am planted.

Umbrella

Now that autumn is finally upon us, I have bought an umbrella. To think that I found one that looked like an old map, filled with pictures of ships and ships' cats and anchors! Perhaps it's better to buy an umbrella when skies are clear. There is always more choice when one is not pressed by necessity, though I have bought many a cheap umbrella because of a sudden downpour.

Ship's cats are an age-old tradition, carried on ships to keep away mice and rats that might destroy ropes, tools, supplies, or infect people and food with diseases.

 Prime Minister Winston Churchill says hello to Blackie aboard the HMS Prince of Wales, stopping the kitty from boarding the American destroyer. Blackie was renamed Churchill after his encounter with the famous man.

 

Storm-tossed

wind-swept

boats struggle

along wet

whale-roads

The Belts of the Trade

I have the lowest rank in the entire dojo. I am lower even than the nine-year-olds, which means I have to sweep the floors before we begin. Two kids ran alongside me while I ran with the broad broom down the lengths of the room, making me feel a bit like the bunny at the dog races. There is another white-belt in the class, but it turns out he is no true white-belt, but a blue-belt at his former dojo--six or seven belts up in the hierarchy, but demoted to the beginning because of his arrival here--and he kicks hard.

The comforting thing about being at the bottom is that there is only room for improvement. Everyone is very helpful; they patiently correct my posture or tell me to bend my overextended arm or to turn my foot more as I snap into a kick. Last night shihan stopped me, "Sanna, two things."
"Yes, shihan."
"Firstly, what is this?" Shihan taps my strangely knotted belt, saddened by my terrible tying skills, undoes it, and reties it. "Secondly, bring your leg in and unfold at the last moment." He demonstrates, coming down hard on the sparring pad that fake-white-belt is holding. Fake-white-belt staggers under the force. 
I nod solemnly. "Yes, shihan."

I have been trying to increase my physical activity to improve my stamina. Today mother asked me to help cook sausages for dinner. While waiting for them to fry I lay on the kitchen floor and did situps. Mother stepped over my limp form and made a salad; she has learned after all these years not to ask questions.

Daytrip to Town

 

 

We did a bit of shopping. Sofia bought a polkadot blouse and two pairs of tights and a whole  manner of things I can't even remember. I bought a pair of seashell earrings.

 

And a Fanta.

Happiness is

Stuffing your trouser bottoms
into your high socks
to cycle off in rain,
through puddles,
to karate class.