Some ex-residences

Forgive me for raking up old history, some of which I’ve surely blogged about before, but I have little else to discuss tonight. I must be getting on in years because I’m keen to list buildings I’ve lived in that have been torn down.

(1, 2) Mission houses, Las Palmas, Esmeraldas, Ecuador.

My boyhood home was the eastern house. As a baby, I briefly lived in the western house.

(3) Cottage on the property of Lakeview Church, Zion, Illinois.

My family lived in Zion from 1990 to 1991 (my third-grade year).

(4) Missionary Church Dorm, Quito, Ecuador.

My home during boarding-school years.

If I were asked to choose one former residence to live in forever, this would be it. My own Hogwarts.

It was torn down a few weeks ago.

(5) The Music Machine, River Park, South Bend, Indiana.

I lived in the tiny apartment above the office of the Music Machine, a DJ-ing business. I moved in when I married Karin. Less than a year later, the city forced us out and built a fire station on the land.

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I used Google Maps to try to find the house in Seattle’s U-District in which I rented a room for four months, in 2004 and 2005.

Ultimately, I can’t be sure of the address. It was a grungy building surrounded by gaudy fraternity houses. I leeched wireless Internet from one of those fraternities; the network was called “Sex Gods.” So, if I’m ever back in that neighborhood, I’ll know how to pinpoint my old location.

I did find this lovely 2013 article in the University of Washington’s student newspaper about my landlady, who rented to ex-cons, sex offenders, and others who needed a break. I was in neither of the first two categories, but she rented to me after she called my friends and they confirmed that I didn’t drink alcohol. (And it was good that she rented to me, because it was about the only room in Seattle I could have afforded.)

I lent her my mom’s parents’ missionary memoirs, and she read them.

That year and the next, when I moved back and forth across the continent, alone, to pursue fruitless but necessary studies, the Lord put me in touch with some remarkable people.

Karin & I show appreciation

Just a little more rain has fallen. Some floodwater has receded, though the river is still quite high. Our front street remains impassable. This isn’t a problem for us, however, since we have back streets galore upon which to drive.

Tonight, Karin & I bought dinner for the nice young woman who watched over Jasper and Ziva while we were in Kansas City. About halfway through the meal, it dawned on me that not everybody would consider being taken out to dinner to be an especially pleasant treat. For example, not everyone could comfortably eat the entirety of his or her order in front of other people, in one sitting. (I certainly could, though.)

Afterward, Karin & I hopped over to Fazoli’s, where Karin’s sister, Lily, is employed. We meant to wish her a happy birthday. She’d been called in at the last minute for a five-hour shift. She was the only counter worker, and she was running hither and thither, taking orders and distributing breadsticks.

We bought a cheesecake for ourselves, wished her well, and left.

Snow

… has begun falling upon South Bend. A good few inches have stacked up. Trucks plow and salt the roads. When I go out walking, I wear two tattered, hooded sweatshirts – I’ve outgrown my winter coat.

It feels as if winter has been here all along.

Xmas gifts have been arriving through the post. I thank whoever sends them (my siblings and I are using the “Secret Santa” method). I, too, have been ordering gifts for my designated beneficiary.

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I congratulated Edoarda & Stephen for staying at home the last few wintry days. Stephen, who’s just had his wisdom teeth removed, alternates between viewing the TV, sleeping, and throwing up. Edoarda watches over him.

Karin & I visited E&S last night. We viewed the episode of The Office in which Steve Carell spanks his jackass of a nephew. That justice of that scene was most pleasing.

At my own office, the year is slowly, strenuously concluding. Yesterday, one tutee asked me to proofread seven pages – hardly an unusual request. But the next tutee brought in 14 pages, and then a third brought in 28 pages, single-spaced. Her expectations were too high. Each tutoring session should require 30 minutes or less. (And, besides, we tutors aren’t supposed to proofread – we’re obliged only to explain “patterns of error.”)

I suppose there are moments in every job when the worker questions the wisdom of his industry. I was far beyond that stage. I only wanted the suffering to end, and it did, several hours later.

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Paolo Guerrero’s ban for taking cocaine has been extended until November of next year. Peru will miss him in the World Cup.

Meanwhile, the ban upon Emelec’s stadium has been rescinded (alas). What’s more, Ecuadorian TV companies have been forbidden from broadcasting the domestic finals – I’m not sure why – and the referees are threatening to strike for past-due wages.

Thanksgiving

It’s my Thanksgiving break, so I stayed at home. Karin went to her job. I read all morning. I missed the armed robbery that occurred at IUSB. In the afternoon, I performed some chores and wrote in my dissertation. Ziva and Jasper were glad to have me with them.

In the evening, I watched Grêmio defeat Lanús, 1–0, in the first game of the Copa Libertadores’s final round. It wasn’t a beautiful game. I turned it off after the first half and watched Midsomer Murders with Karin. In that show, there was one especially nice camera shot. It was from the point of view of a murderous shovel.

For tomorrow’s holiday dinner, we’re planning to eat Greek food, not Chinese. Then we’ll go to Karin’s grandpa’s house to play Phase 10 for several hours.

I’m grateful, this Thanksgiving, for my wife and kitties.

Mr. Quiring

A note about Mr. Quiring, one of my high school teachers: a gracious, inspiring human being.

A grand day off

Office-aide job A-OK.

Tutoring job old hat; still A-OK.

Dissertation not A-OK. (Old hat, though.)

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Along with the highschoolers, I have the day off, and so I want to use this empty moment to tell you to watch the first half of A.S. Roma vs. F.C. Bayern Munich, which was played last Tuesday for the UEFA Champions League. It was a fascinating first half. Not the prettiest first half I’d seen, but perhaps the awesomest one (and you know I never exaggerate). Bayern outscored Roma 5−0, and Roma weren’t even playing badly; Bayern were just that good. Their movements on the field were so intricate, so quick, I had trouble tracking them.

It wasn’t my favorite kind of soccer. It wasn’t effortless enough, and it wasn’t politically significant. It was astounding nonetheless.

The game should be available for a while on espn3.com.

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Today, out of love for Martin, I’m going to do some serious cleaning up. I’m going to clean up my bedroom, and I’m going to clean up the books that I’ve left stacked in the dining room. Also, I’ve lost my phone and I need to clean up the house to find it. Mary has the day off, too. Last night, she and I and Martin celebrated by going to the food court in the mall. We got into separate lines; I was counting out my quarters when Mary sneaked up behind me, put a five-dollar bill in my hand, and sneaked away. This melted the heart of the cashier, who tried to flirt with me. … Later, M&M and I went to Barnes & Noble, and though I didn’t have money to buy anything, I was able to look at the fonts.

Melting

Most definitely not snowed in; but the last two nights, walking has been perilous due to the ice. There are too few English terms for the different slicknesses I’ve encountered.

Today, though, we’ve had lightning flashes and thick rain. The snow mounds — formerly tall as houses, hard as marble — are greatly reduced.

(Will corpses be revealed, I wonder?)

If we’re lucky, the water won’t refreeze; the air will remain warm until the fluid has all trickled away. Meanwhile our yard is a slushy swamp, impassable in canvas shoes.

The male Sabby has sent me this beautiful thing.

The female has been nagging at me to continue applying, belatedly, for health insurance:

two Facebook messages;
one text message;
one email;
one e-card;
one postcard.

It’s so touching, I almost hate to do it.

Gratitude

At Bethel in 2002 I tutored a woman from Kenya; I helped her to pass her Spanish class. We keep in touch. Every few years, she takes me out for coffee.

Last week, she took me out for lunch along with Andrew, her grown son. When I explained how I’d moved back to South Bend, she offered to cook for me every week. I laughed. She could cook for me two or three times in a year, I told her.

Well, I seem to have lost that argument.

A Facebook message:

I want you to know that you are my son according to our culture. So please do not let me miss my rewards for being a servant. … Remember I said when I cook I shall cook for three. … I shall cook again this Saturday. Andrew would like to know the best time to bring the food and the drink. I wait to hear from you soon.

Another:

Son, depending on when I shall be done cooking Andrew will drop the food and the drink but we shall call. … You will need to keep the drink in the fridge and drink through the week as you write, study or make it a breakfast meal. It is my hope you shall like the drink.

Tonight they brought over the food and the drink. And I do like the drink.