On Accidental Saints and Made For Goodness - Week 1

I can't always make it to church, and that means missing book group. So I'm participating via blog, at least on the weeks I can't make it.

Overall Impressions

The choice to read these two books together was brilliant. They echo each other using different voices for much the same message, and it's a good and powerful message. So far, I'd say the message is, "You are worthy - it'll be okay."

Nadia Bolz-Weber's voice in Accidental Saints - Finding God in All the Wrong People is humorous, at times irreverent. She uses swear words! She sounds like someone I'd like to have coffee with. It's refreshing to "hear" someone speak on Godly matters without the lofty speech that often makes books on the subject inaccessible to the average Joe.

Desmond Tutu's voice in Made for Goodness and Why This Makes All the Difference is grandfatherly. Kind, approachable, instructive. His text is a little denser than Nadia's, which is why I think it's a good thing that we typically read three chapters of her book to two of his. He has a much different outlook than Nadia (for some obvious reasons), but still manages to relate to the American experience.

What Spoke to Me

One of the best quotes from Accidental Saints is: "There is nothing we have done that God cannot redeem." It's really hard to internalize this one. Tutu helps a bit: "God already loves us perfectly; God cannot love us one iota more. Equally, there is nothing we can do that will make God love us one iota less." This, too, is difficult to internalize, but remembering God's love is perfect is helpful.

The next quote from Accidental Saints captures the idea that we are all complicated. I think this speaks to the idea that we're all marred by sin in some way, but also reflects the idea that we're all saints, too: "On All Saints' Sunday, I am faced with sticky ambiguities around saints who were bad and sinners who were good." This pairs nicely with one from Made for Goodness, which reminds us that even though we are all complicated, we're also all good: "There is not a single person that God gives up on, because God knows that we are made to be like God, who is goodness itself."

Nadia talks about her struggles with racism, and that resonated with me. She says that for all her anti-racism talk and liberal leanings, she can't get around the fact that she reacts differently to (for example) young black men she sees on the street. She also references white privilege and her empty outrage at the inherent racism in our society. She says she feels that if she could just "show the right level of outrage, it'll make up for the fact that every single day of my life I have benefited from the very same system that acquitted George Zimmerman." Tutu has a slightly different take on it: "If wrong was the norm, it wouldn't be news... Murder and mayhem are not the norm. The norm is goodness." This brought me hope. It's easy to feel discouraged watching the news. Whether it's local stories or international news, there are atrocities everywhere, and there's so much of it I can't do a thing about. I like this reminder that while it may seem that stuff is everywhere, there's also goodness everywhere. It's almost like he's speaking to her outrage, here.

Desmond Tutu devotes a lot of time to explaining that our efforts to "be good" get in the way of our recognition that we "are good." One of the things he says is, "Attached to that notion of "being good" are all the "oughts" and "shoulds" that we think will win us... God's love and divine favor." I've been in therapy a few times. One of the more recent was because of the stress I was facing with accepting a decision that meant our family was geographically spread out, and I was (temporarily) a single mom. I had stopped sleeping. I had almost stopped eating. I was consumed by anger and stress. The therapist worked with me using cognitive behavioral therapy - changing your thinking in order to better control your thinking. He talked about "musterbating" - allowing too many toxic thoughts into your head. "It must be fair" (no, it isn't always fair), "I must do the dishes" (no, you don't have to do the dishes, but maybe there's a way to remind yourself that you want to), "I must be understood" (nope, that doesn't always happen, either). Focusing on that stuff will drive you certifiably crazy. Tutu also said, "We cannot choose how we feel. We can choose what we do, how we act." I'm not sure I agree with this. I think you can make choices about how you feel. I think my therapy did just that. I think when we are angry, that's as much a choice we make as when we decide to move forward from a set-back.

One of the first things I highlighted from Accidental Saints was a quote about the saints in our lives: "Saint Paul describes the saints as "a great cloud of witnesses," so when they have passed, we still hold them up, hoping perhaps that their virtues... might become our own virtue, our own strength." I had never considered our (Episcopal) view of the saints in this light, but I like the idea. It was an "aha!" moment.

There's this, on leadership, from Accidental Saints: "I'm a leader, but only by saying, 'Oh, screw it. I'll go first.'" I wonder how much of corporate leadership is this "Fine - I'll go first" kind of attitude and how much is "We (meaning you) need to go this way." Is one way better in the corporate world? More effective? Is there room for high-level corporate leaders to "go first"? I'd like to say that going first is the best leadership... But honestly, I'm not sure the guys at the top can do that. Not in any "corporate vision" kind of way. Maybe they can sometimes. I don't know.

The Discussion Questions

1. I rarely think of myself as a saint. Mostly, I realize how broken I am - I'm so mean, sometimes. Often, even. I've said before that if my mom, my aunt, and my husband are praying for you, you're going to be okay. While each of these people is merely human - they each have their flaws - I also know that they can be my strongest supporters. I've always felt their spiritual health was really high, even when they were in crisis or questioning their faith.

2. I think I'm often in places where I say the wrong thing, or I react the wrong way. I think loving (in a Christian kind of way) the people around you helps you empathize with them more, and might help you not say the wrong thing, but I think getting it right 100% of the time is impossible for humans. I think Desmond Tutu answers this better, by encouraging us to not try to say the right thing or do the right thing, but to remember that we are good, even when we're not.

3. Figuring out just what crap I've had exchanged for Jesus's blessedness is pretty hard. I know I've got a lot of crap. Figuring out which has been more or less directly exchanged is a tall order. I suppose, I could say that there have been a few times when I said exactly the wrong thing to someone... And those people chose to keep talking to me, to be my friends, to forgive me. I guess that's my crap for His blessedness.

The Big Deal About Some Washington, D.C. Bike Lanes

If you're following me on Facebook, you've already seen most of this. This post lays out the background information, both sides of the argument, and my stance in it.

The Current Situation:

There are bike lanes all around this piece of Washington, D.C., but few that connect the areas with a lot of bike lanes to the areas with few bike lanes, and fewer continuous north-south bike lanes nearby. The marker is for New York Ave. and 6th street, northwest. Solid lines are bike lanes, dotted lines are "bike-friendly streets" - places where Google has noted there are bicyclists, though I question their equation of large numbers of cyclists to "friendliness." 6th street is like a bike-lane desert.

In 2014, 12 bicyclists and 16 pedestrians were hit along the stretch of 6th street under consideration, and 14 bicyclists and 7 pedestrians were struck along the portion of 9th street under consideration, according to FOIA data cited by the Washington Area Bicyclist Association (WABA). So, bicyclists and pedestrians do use the street, but not safely.

On 6th street and M street (jut north of the marker on the above map) is a large church of long-time congregants, the United House of Prayer. The New Bethel Baptist Church is at 9th and S. Northwest D.C. has seen a lot of gentrification.

The United House of Prayer enjoys street parking, where about 75 cars can park diagonally on Sundays. The proposed changes to 6th street would allow only parallel parking, meaning the loss of an unknown number of parking places.

The Proposals:

There are four proposals for adding bike lanes to either 6th or 9th streets in northwest Washington, D.C. They all allow for some street parking, at least at "non-peak" times, which would presumably include Sunday mornings.

Here's my favorite proposal, which provides for protected bike lanes in each direction, two or four lanes of travel (four in peak times), and 2 lanes of parking during non-peak times. The plan for 6th street north of New York Avenue looks the same as this, which shows 6th south of New York Avenue:

The Conundrum:

Gentrification has forced many of the congregants to the suburbs. The churches may see a concerning situation where congregants are far from their church and have trouble parking once they get there. They are arguing that this loss of parking impinges on their freedom of religion.

The city has adopted Vision Zero, which aims to eliminate traffic deaths. Protected bike lanes are a major portion of this vision.

The Washington Area Bicyclist Association (WABA) asserts in their post on the recent public meeting that while concerns about gentrification are valid, using the proposed bike lanes as a proxy for this argument is inappropriate.

My Stance:

As Christians, we are told to protect the vulnerable. This extends to vulnerable street users, such as bicyclists and pedestrians. The benefit of being "strong" (in the majority, supported by your environment, and physically secure) is that you can afford to help the weak. As Christians, we are commanded to do so, even at the expense of our comfort.

As Christians, we are told that we are the stewards of our environment. While biking isn't free from environmental harm (tires are a petroleum product), it is more responsible than driving. As Christians, we should be encouraging bicycling and walking as means of transportation.

As Christians, we are told to love one another, above all else. The importance of community and inclusiveness is reinforced through scripture. Our public policies and behaviors should reflect these values.

Unfortunately, the behavior of the those representing the churches at the public meeting did not represent Christian values. Besides holding their right to park above others' right of physical safety, they shouted down and cat-called opposing viewpoints.

I hope that should my church find itself in a similar situation, that we will demonstrate the Christian values we claim as our own.

Busch Gardens Williamsburg, VA - Review & Tips

We went to Busch Gardens theme park over Columbus Day weekend. Here's the review.

What if Some Members of My Party Don't Like Roller Coasters?

Don't worry - there's plenty to keep them busy, too! The lines for the roller coasters (especially the Griffon and Mach Tower) tend to be pretty long. They do a good job of keeping the line moving and there's good stuff to look at, so you don't really realize you've been waiting for an hour to get on the ride. While the scare-lovers are waiting in line, the non-scare-lovers can ride bumper cars or check out the live animal exhibits or play fairway games. Or point and laugh at their roller-coaster-riding companions as they scream their heads off.

Why Should I Go to Busch Gardens Instead of the State Fair?

Just kidding, you should do both. While Busch Gardens is much more expensive than the state fair, you won't find roller coasters like those at your state fair. You'll eat better at Busch Gardens (they have salads and vegetables, in addition to some more traditional fair foods), though you will pay more to do so. Also, Busch Gardens is really clean, and it's clear that the people who work there actually enjoy their jobs. That makes a huge difference. The people running the various boutiques took ownership and pride in their shops. One commented on the Hallo-Scream shenanigans, with a gentle complaint about the screaming 13-year-olds "running through my store." She wasn't having it.

Basic Logistics - What to Take, What to Leave

The stroller (obviously). 

If you have a kid in a stroller, you'll be fine, though the stroller can't go on the scary roller coasters.

A drawstring shoulder-bag. 

Bags are allowed, and it's really nice to have one place to stash your stuff. Put your cell phone and wallet in there, so you can leave it with someone or in a locker before a ride where it might go flying.

Food and Drinks? 

I don't think you're allowed to bring your own in. Food and drinks are pricey, especially the beer ($8.50 for a metal bottle of Bud Light). You will get hungry and thirsty, but if you plan ahead a bit, you can make good choices at the dining areas. Also, at the gift shops, if you buy a Busch Gardens water bottle for $8, you can refill it anywhere, all day long. I wish I had done that - I could have been drinking a lot more water!

Cigarettes? 

If you're a smoker, don't fear. There are smoking areas spread throughout the park. I mean, it's run by the same guys who make Budweiser. They won't keep you from having a smoke-break... But they also won't let you smoke right by the kiddie rides.

Pay for VIP Parking? 

I wouldn't. For starters, if you're worried about walking too much, Busch Gardens is not the place for you. You will do a lot of walking, all day long. What's a little further to your car? Secondly, when the VIP parking is full, they don't stop taking your money. So, you could end up paying for VIP parking, and still park in the next town over. If you end up parking far away, there'll be a tram to take you to your parking area, so it's not like you'd have to walk for miles. Speaking of your parking area, take a picture of the sign with your country and number with your cell phone, so you don't have to remember it all day.

Pay For a Quick Pass? 

The quick pass lets you hop to the front of the line for rides. There's a one-time option, and an all-day option. They're really expensive, even the one-time option. We didn't get them and I don't feel like we missed out. Besides, like I said, the lines are entertaining, and they keep moving.

The Rides! Oh, the Rides!

There's lots out there on the rides. Some of them are really pretty terrifying. I loved it, but that Mach Tower was a religious experience. Seriously, I'm not sure I've ever prayed so fervently in my life. I cried at the end. It's an eternity of free-fall from 240 feet high. The Cape Hatteras lighthouse, the tallest in the U.S. is only (only! Ha!) 193 feet tall.

Yup. We're in free-fall.

That's the relieved grin of someone with a new lease on life.

These are people too smart to go on the Mach Tower

 Photo Ops!

There are lots of cool places to take photos.

Very appropriate choices of placement

Busch Gardens Does Hallo-Scream in October

It's pretty normal during the day - some Halloween decorations, and I think the haunted houses were running, though that's not our shtick, so we didn't go. You can get some pretty amazing body art, too,

At night, it gets really dark. The lights are dimmed, there's fog everywhere, and people dress up in costumes and scare park-goers. There are warnings during the day that Hallo-Scream may not be appropriate for small children. No, really. I'd recommend this only for kids 10 and older, maybe a brave 8-year-old. It's really dark, with a lot of flashing lights, and a ton of noise (mostly in the form of dub-step). People jump out at you screaming and waving things. It's kind of overwhelming and disorienting, even for the grownups. It would be a pretty cool date for high-school or college students, though. They all seemed to really be enjoying it.

To the park's credit, some idiot was dragging their terrified first-grader through the park, and a guy with a fake chain-saw jumped out and scared the kid half to death. So, the chain-saw-guy stopped and showed the kid that it was just a toy - no blade - and that he was just a normal guy, and the family got a photo with the still-terrified kid, mom, and chain-saw-guy. Not sure if that was park-provided training, or just really good common sense on the part of chain-saw guy, but good for him.

Character Worksheet

In my creative writing class at APUS, we were asked to fill out a very vague character template. I said I was used to more robust character templates, and cited the pretty awesome one at Scrivener, but noted that I also liked the Dungeons & Dragons format... except that you have to wade through a lot of the stuff for the game that doesn't necessarily apply to writing. So, I made my own.* It's pretty thorough, but I'd encourage any users to go ahead and ignore the bits they don't like. Being detail-oriented, I think I'll start using this for my future characters.

* In case the hyperlink doesn't work, try this:  https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j4iCBJsr1y3ejtxCJ4xxkjgjINpIl1o5H8HtfOHqKqA/edit?usp=sharing
Leave me a message me if it doesn't work and we'll figure something out.

12-Hour Challenge 10/27/2013

The prompt was to imagine a dream job - one you want, or one you see someone in and think, "Man. They've got it made!" Imagine that job, and then imagine a bad day at that job.

There's a part of me that has been wishing and wishing that instead of getting some liberal arts degree and remaining comfortably lodged in my government career, that I had gotten out of the Navy and gone to medical school. I'd be in Syria now, patching people up. Being under constant strain. Missing the crap out of my family, but making sure someone else's family members would make it.

It wasn't hard to imagine the bad day - there were so many options to choose from.

-Djinn

---

I was halfway through my 12-hour shift. It had been the normal things; what you expect in a situation like this: lots of gunshot wounds, no shrapnel unless there’s an explosion. Today it was thighs, and I was grateful and angry, but mostly grateful. So long as they missed the femoral artery and the femur itself wasn't too badly splintered, these guys were mostly going to make it. Guys, Jesus. Kids. Women. Children. And guys. But mostly not. I had talked to my colleagues, and it wasn't just my imagination: those bastards are targeting civilians, and they're playing a game: throats one day, thighs the next. Three days ago it was shoulders.

Good days are few and far between. I had a good day a couple of weeks ago. Everyone I saw, I had the supplies I needed to treat them. No one came in that unexpectedly didn't make it. Only two were too far gone to save (one kid had died on his way here). More folks walked out of here than walked in, freeing desperately needed beds. All the needs are desperate. Not enough beds. Not enough medicine. Not enough people. Never enough people. It just never quits.

Yesterday wasn't too terrible, but it wasn't a good day. No big explosions, but also no miraculous cures. We got supplies in two days ago, so nothing was too short… it’s just, like I said, yesterday it was throats. Lots of sewing esophagi back together, and more blood transfusions than I can count. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub. Throats bleed a lot, even if the bullet manages to miss the major arteries. One was a little kid. The guy who brought her in said she had been trying to get to school. Her dad didn't make it; she’s still here. Such a tiny little throat, and so much damage.

Normally, I work at an inner-city hospital as an emergency surgeon. I'm a general surgeon, so, I have to be ready to do surgery on anything. It’s not like my college friends, who specialized in orthopedic surgery – they get to work 9-5, weekends and holidays off most of the time, they rarely see anything too terrible, or something that can't be fixed.

“Hey, Doc.” It’s Ziyad, one of the nationals working with us as a nurse. He had joined up about a month ago.

“Another arrival? I swear I'm almost done…” I had been plowing through the plate of whatever that I was given in the cafeteria tent. It’s usually rice with some chicken or beef or something and some lettuce and tomatoes. I'm pretty laid back most of the time, but I’m hard and fast about my eating. I need the nutrients to keep going, to keep saving life after life, so I insist on meal breaks when needed.

“Naw – it’s still quiet. Just hoping you had a cigarette?”

I passed him one. I don't smoke in the states. Shifts in my ER are 12 hours on and 12 hours off, and after three shifts on, you get some days off. There’s usually a good bit of down-time during a shift. There’s never the kind of carnage there is out here. And back in the states… People look at you funny, if you smoke wearing scrubs. Here, everyone smokes, and they smoke all the time.

One of the guys I was in med school with was from Sudan. His parents moved to Chicago when he was in high school. They got into an accident in their first week in the states, and were astonished at the quality of the hospitals here. He kept saying how much he wished they had that level of care back home. We found out about Doctors Without Borders and I just knew we had to sign up. We come out for 6 months, and go home for 6. He and I happen to be off-set – Idris left last month and was replaced with Eric.

I put my Styrofoam plate in the trash bag tied to the tent-pole, drained my water-bottle, grabbed another one and headed outside. May as well smoke while there’s time.

The suddenness of the explosion made me stumble. Yup. Exactly enough time for a cigarette and a scrub-down. Eric ran past me, yelling something about scrubbing. He'd get used to it, eventually. Hopefully, sooner rather than later – his high-strung jumpiness was wearing on my patience, and I worried about his ability to focus during surgery. You have to find your Zen place. The place where nothing else matters besides fixing the brokenness in front of you as fast as you can.

I finished scrubbing up just as the victims started coming in. The nurses that were working with us may have started off lacking some training, but nothing will get you up to speed like disaster. After two years, we had the routine down. Eric and I would move from bed to bed at the direction of the nurses – mostly nationals – who would have triaged the victims. I took a steadying breath, found my Zen place. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub.

Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub. At some point, I realized there were more of us. The other two surgeons must have woken up because of the blast and come in. Anything big like that, and it’s not like you'd be sleeping anyway. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub. Extra-long days for everyone.

Ziyad, the guy who had bummed a cigarette earlier, started walking me to the next victim.

“Allah al-musti’an,” he muttered as we passed the still-long line of victims waiting to be triaged. God help us indeed. “We are drowning in these Shi’a,” he lamented as we prepared for the next surgery. I shot him a sharp look – bringing sectarian bias into the environment was strictly forbidden – but the look was all there was time for. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub.

I passed Eric, working furiously on an abdomen. Had he found his Zen place? He looked pale and scared. So did the surgeon from the other shift working on an arm across from him. Did I look like that, too? Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub.

I glanced at the clock, but it didn’t make sense. The numbers couldn’t mean anything. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub.

The next victim just had a little shrapnel in his lower legs. The nurses probably could have handled this. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub. And then it was over. The remaining victims all had very minor injuries that the nurses were wrapping up.

I went out for a cigarette with Ziyad and Eric and a couple of others and tried to make sense of my watch. It took a few drags, but I figured it out. I had been on shift for almost 16 hours. I had eight hours to get home, shower, and sleep before the start of my next shift. I left Eric and Ziyad, and dragged myself to my near-by apartment.

Something was niggling at me, but I was too tired to put a finger on it.

My eyes had only been closed a moment when my alarm went off, followed by the call of the muezzin. Dawn already. I grabbed an energy shot from my stash, and put another two into my pockets. I got to the hospital and started checking up on the folks who had stayed overnight. Everyone was doing well, but this environment wasn't nearly as sterile as it should be – they'd need to be watched closely for signs of infection.

“Hey, Eric.” I greeted my shift-mate. He looked even more tired than I felt. I considered what he'd be like, wound as tight as he already is, with an energy shot piled on top, and tossed him one anyway. “Crazy day, huh?”

“Yeah.” Eric looked thoughtful, for once more concerned than panicked. “All these attacks… You think all these folks are shi’ites? I mean, it seems like in Iraq, it’s all divided by neighborhood. Do you think it’s like that here?”

“I don't know.” I hadn't been keeping up with the news as well as I should have been. “This area? I don’t think so. Maybe it’s getting that way? But I'm pretty sure not all of these victims are Shi’ites. Why?” That niggling feeling was back. Something was off.

“Oh. Something someone said yesterday.”

“Jeeze. You remember yesterday? It’s still all such a blur. What do you think today will be?”

Eric looked unhappy. Maybe a poor choice of small-talk on my part. “I guess we'll find out.” He downed the last of his energy shot and I took a last drag as a car sped into the lot nearest the hospital. It looked like arms, maybe hands. It’d be a lot of work, but fewer casualties, I hoped.

Ziyad wasn't around, which was too bad. I was actually starting to warm up to the guy. His attitude wasn't the greatest, but he really busted and got a lot done. Being a local resident, he got weekends. For me, it’s 6 months of hell. When I get home, I'll take a couple weeks off, then get back to my job. For these guys… I mean, they live here, you know?

The next victim came in, helped by someone else, but walking. He had been on his way to work. Yup. It was hands. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub. Smoke. Eat some breakfast (some kind of bean dish and eggs). Another car pulled up and another victim jumped out. I was scrubbing up when I heard the explosion. Two days in a row. This isn't good. At least it’s earlier in my shift. Maybe I can go home on time today.

It seemed like fewer victims this time, but it still seemed like a never-ending stream. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub. I grabbed coffee, food, and energy drinks where I could. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub. I went home only an hour late, feeling bad for the guys on the other shift. They had come in after only three hours’ sleep. It all balances in the end, though. Or it doesn’t. Keeping score is too hard, and we'd be trading shifts in another 2 weeks, anyway.

The next day, Ziyad wasn't in again. I asked Eric about it.

He looked uncomfortable. Ziyad had been killed in the explosion, he told me. The only one who had died in that explosion. Then it made sense, kind of. Maybe helping all those other victims was his way of making up for what he knew he'd do, just a little bit. I wondered about the other nurses, the Syrians we were working with.

Doctors Without Borders. We're not supposed to be political – we just go in and do what we can to put people back together. But how can we stay neutral in an area where everything – your neighborhood, your faith, even your name – is political? And how long before the hospital full of wounded Shi’ites and the doctors trying to save them is itself a target? 

Hopefully, it never will. In the meantime, I've still got two more months. Remove foreign bodies. Stitch lacerations. Close wounds. Scrub.

My Dream is an Allegory

We went to Chesapeake Bay. It looked a lot like Monterey Bay, but grayer. It was the Navy base there, right on the water. It was like a Navy recreation area. On the left side were kayaks, and then paddle boats, and then the swimming area, where we were, roped off for safety.

We swam out into the deep water because it was. Because it was warm. Because the sun was shining. Because fish. Because we could. But then, the sky darkened, and all the people went away, and the swells grew. Beautiful swells, like chutes and ladders, like water slides, like rolling hills you take at a dead run because you have legs. We were way past the ropes.

"What about rip tides?!" He shouted at me. "WHAT?" I yelled, looking over my shoulder as I swam. I checked on my daughter, and my son, and looked back to the front. There it was, nestled between swells, like a snake, silvery and smooth. "RIP TIDE!!!" We were being swept out to the sea, but we knew what to do. "We have to swim ACROSS it!" I yelled back to my daughter, my son, my husband. "WHAT?" "Swim - ACROSS - it!!!"

So we swam and swam. The water was cooling down, churning, graying, and we were getting tired. I looked back, over my shoulder, checked on my daughter, my son, my husband. My son was flagging. So tired. I could feel the adrenaline starting to fight through the cold water and exhaustion. And then I saw his head. It popped out of the water, laughing and winking, and dove beneath the surface. He swam fast, like a dolphin, and caught up. So tired. We kept swimming.

We finally got to the floating dock where the water was all plants at the bottom and the kayaks were tied up, by the shore where it was calm, and the sand was topped with some cement embankment under the water. To stop erosion? Maybe.

Two cars were parked there. Sedans. They were visiting sailors on the base and  didn't realize about the tide, that it goes out, and comes back in. In one of the cars, a couple had fallen asleep after making out. They had jumped out of the car when the cold water on their legs woke them up. The cars were ruined. Insurance wouldn't cover that.

Here we were on the dock, floating, with its little floating empty office. How to get to our car? It was so far away, and we were so tired. We could walk, but we couldn't get there from here, and it was so far. We could swim, but my arms were like jelly. My whole body rebelled at the thought of more swimming.

Chaucer Hath Mad Jokes

I was supposed to be a discussion leader for the discussion on selections from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales this week, but there was a bit of a communications error, and my thunder totally got stolen. That's okay - I'm pretty sure I'll get to do Arthurian Heroes, which is almost as cool.

I had gone to some trouble to prepare this "Discussion Leader" post, and had thought of two things I really wanted to share in addition to the academic bits. So I whipped up some rhymed couplets. *Ahem* Forthwith:

Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a mighty blog
Which loaded with witticisms is; that churlish dog
Updates his posts on so seldom a moon,
Causing geeks like me to nearly swoon.
One may find the blog (and ken the dog anon)
At House of Flame, blogspot dot com
But whilst I dally with you here a time,
Allow a goodwife yet one more little rhyme.
I saw a comic upon the Google Plus,
As I was dawdling on this forum; it is attached, thus,
Click the attachment and humor you will see,
About the Middle Ages, that which tickles me.

The school's forum thingie is painfully out-moded, so the image below was an attachment that had to be "clicked" rather than just displayed in the post.

By the way, if you need a bawdy laugh, and/or if you haven't recently, find a nearby copy of the Tales, and read the Wife of Bath's Tale. Omg. Hysterical.