homeless

What a Trip

/ Quilly / 9 Comments

I left Roy, Utah at 9 a.m. yesterday morning.  For awhile it looked as though I wasn’t leaving at all.  I asked the motel desk clerk for directions to the nearest north bound freeway on ramp, and she didn’t know where the freeway was.  Instead I got directions to a gas station.

I could see the freeway on ramp from the gas station.  I asked which lane I needed to be in when I pulled out — neither.  It was a one way street and first I had to circle the block. 

Finally I hit the freeway — to contstruction woes.  Traffic was bumper to bumper, 70 miles an hour, with dump trucks and orange cones and tractors rolling in and out … somewhat freaky.  And in the mess I missed my exit and didn’t realize it until I was quite a ways past.

I stopped to ask for directions and was told to keep going, I’d make it just fine … which was tue, but it took me about 300 miles out of my way!  I drove through West Yellowstone Park though.  That was pretty.

I made it to my sisters about 10 p,m, last night.  I have had about 6 hours sleep and was just called to breakfast …

Heart & Hands of Jesus

/ Quilly / 2 Comments

The kids celebrated my birthday today at Sidewalk Sunday School. They sang their traditional horrible and squeaky rendition of, Happy Birthday, and Brandon, a member of my ministry team, gave me a special bouquet made to represt each of my six years as Director — six suckers.

My ministry team and I start each Sidewalk Sunday School in prayer. I always ask God to “help us be the heart and hands of Jesus.” I don’t just mean at Sidewalk. I mean everyday, in everything I do. I am not the only crusader in my family. My niece, Cindra, and her husband Tom have a mission as well. There’s is even grander then mine. Check it out: Eugene Hope Fest 2007.

Gifted

/ Quilly / 19 Comments

Two — count them — one, two — birthday posts from O’Ceallaigh. (The placement of the second post may require retaliation of some kind.)

One from a Dawg named Doug. Well, two, but he erased me from yesterday and replaced me with a dead Russian. Pft. (OC replaced me with Hugh Hefner. (I am still considering retaliation.)

A half-dozen handmade birthday cards from my students.

A handmade party hat from Mr. Texas-Drawl.

Two electronic birthday cards.

A bouquet of roses.

Two dozen cookies.

One felt-tip marking pen.

Lunch (a tuna salad sandwich from the Principal).

Three Four times I was subjected treated to horrendous artistic renditions of, Happy Birthday To You. (Thank you Caryl, Jackie, & students — and Brig.)

Dozens of well-wishes from all of you.

And breakfast:

Cindy came into the classroom very early this morning. She was carrying a brown paper bag. She said, “Ms. A., you know how you said you didn’t want us to get you any presents because you couldn’t take them with you to Hawaii?”

I nodded, eyeing the sack. Cindy continued, “Well, I thought about getting you chocolate, but you always say, “no candy,” so –.” She held the sack out toward me, “I got you this.”

I reached for the bag. She jerked it back. “My mom said you might be insulted. Please don’t be insulted.”

“I won’t,” I promised, and held my hand out for the bag. Cindy let go reluctantly. Inside was a granola bar and a Slim-Fast beverage. I thanked her, told her I had forgotten my breakfast, and proceeded to enjoy my snack. She was well and truly pleased with herself.

Webber & Rice

/ Quilly / 11 Comments

Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat

Saturday night my niece, LB, gifted me with a ticket to, Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. There was a catch of course, with LB there always is. I had to drive. The play was in Summerlin, a hoity-toity suburb of Vegas where every other street is a roundabout and nothing goes straight from here to there.

We had quite a trip finding the Summerlin Theatre — actually drove past it about four times — but find it we did. Our seats were front row, center. When we first sat down we thought we were too close to the stage. Turns out it was the perfect place to be. I imagine Pharoah flirts with a woman in the front row during every performance, but this performance it was me! Be still my heart.

I absolutely loved, One More Angel in Heaven, and Benjamin Calypso, but I’d have to say my favorite part was, Song of the King, When Pharaoh, as Elvis, sang and did his pelvis gyrations for me. I just about drooled laughed myself silly. It was wonderful fun.

This is the third Signature Production I have seen, and I must say I haven’t been disappointed by any of them. For community theater, this is a darn professional group. The dancing was spectacular — complete with the gymnastics we didn’t think we’d get to see from an amateur’s ensamble.

I had a great time. That ticket is probably one of the best gifts LB has ever given me. In fact, I was in such a good mood that I consented, without thought, to turning south on Maryland Parkway off of Desert Inn. The moment I made the turn I remembered it was a bad idea — and a worse neighborhood. And anybody who knows where I work and where I run my children’s ministry knows that if I’m nervous, the neighborhood has to be pretty dang bad.

We were going to the Arby’s because LB was hungry. We arrrived in the Arby’s driv-thru 4 minutes after the store closed. LB freaked. “Why would they close at 10 p.m.?” I told her to look around — and that I wouldn’t work that late in that neighborhood. Because of road dividers we had to drive around the block (the blocks are a mile squared) to get back to DI. Once on DI, LB asked me if we could try Taco Bell. I told her I wasn’t turning right on Maryland Parkway again. We ended up at a Mickey-D’s in a much nicer neighborhood.
All in all, the night was quite an adventure. I am back home now. It’s a quarter to midnight, I am humming, Any Dream Will Do, and I am not the least bit sleepy.

The P. B. & J. Sandwich

/ Quilly / 6 Comments

Special Announcement:

OC and I were the guest readers this weekend at Waking Ambrose. Pop on over to Doug’s place and listen to Episode 11 of The Meditations of Diogenes The Cynic.

You may now proceed to today’s post:

Sometimes not only the The Grownups Wanted Us Dead. On occasion we were quite content to kill each other.

I settled into bed wearing my customary night gown — one of my dad’s old t-shirts — and opened my psych book for a little studying. Gram was still in the living-room. She only had a few pages left of her novel, and wanted to finish it. We heard thunder on the stairs. I smirked, certain Rumble had found his P.B. & J. sandwich. I wasn’t worried. There was no way Gram would let him into my bedroom. I was safe . . . .