Monthly Archives: August 2011

August 29, 2011 · 2:27 pm

Cover Me!

"Super Asian Buffet". I made her do this. It's amazing that I have any friends at all...

As much as I’m enjoying life at the frat house [read: my part time job at Summit], a recent gander at my bank account prompted a rather frenzied attempt to find a second job last week.

Well, if I’m honest, my first instinct was not so much to scour the internet for available jobs as it was to channel the old couple in Titanic, lay down and pretend nothing was happening.

Not. An option.

And so I googled. I yahoo’d. I craigslisted, want-added, and even trianglehelpwanted.com’d. [“Long name, amazing results” my BEHIND.] I was looking for something that might allow me to write-because something about writing makes me feel. It makes me remember. It makes me avoid doing laundry-and that just feels right.

The results were so depressing, that the only possible thing left to do is blog about them. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my top four options:

  1. “Author wanted for humorous hunting and fishing blog.” How would I spin my cover letter for this baby? “Dear Sir, I believe I would present a unique asset to your blog, because I bring a distinctly raw, human perspective to the table. In fact, the last time I caught a fish, I sobbed the entire time that I watched it gasp for breath and die. Admittedly, I have never hunted, but I did watch Bambi as a child, and my therapist has high hopes for my full recovery. Truthfully, you needn’t be concerned about my lack of experience in this area, given that I have never sustained a head injury and thus have full confidence in my ability to pick it up. Is it anything like camping? I once stayed in a Holiday Inn, and thus, am an expert at roughing it. “
  2.  “Author wanted for crocheting blog”.  “Dear Madam, I am tickled pink at the prospect of writing crocheting tutorials for your blog, mostly because the idea of showing up to work in my yoga pants looking like an uncooked chicken leg makes me want to burst into song. While I have never crocheted, my neighbor does have a cat-which I presume qualifies me to speak authoritatively on the subject.
  3.  “Original erotic stories wanted.” “Dear Sir, while the idea of writing for you is simply fascinating, my Mother once told me to “stick with what you know”. Thus, I believe my talents might be better put to use devising crocheting tutorials for the masses. Crocheting is my life. Mr. Whiskers and I thank you for your time.”
  4. “Seeking a Chinese Interpreter” “Dear Madam, you are probably unaware that one of my best friends is Indonesian. This qualifies as “relevant work experience”, because I thought she was Chinese for approximately the first six months of our relationship. While I do not exactly speak Chinese, I have developed an unnatural fondness for Hello Kitty and Pokémon that I feel would endear me to your clients in a way that language could not-after all, where language fails: Hello Kitty speaks. For your consideration, I would also like to point out that I once had a wicked case of food poisoning after eating sweet and sour pork, and thus feel as though your country owes me something.”

It’s back to the drawing board, with me.

7 Comments

Filed under My favorite people, My ghetto-fab life

August 28, 2011 · 1:55 am

From The Other Side of the Wardrobe Doors.

Tis’ so sweet to trust in Jesus,

Just to take Him at His word.

Just to rest upon His promise,

Just to know “thus saith the Lord”.

Jesus, Jesus-

How I trust Him!

How I’ve proved Him over and over.

Jesus, Jesus-precious Jesus!

Oh, for grace to trust Him more.

I love those lyrics. I love the affirmation that “Yes, my trust is wrapped up in Jesus”, with the quiet plea for the grace needed to trust Him more.

We really can trust Jesus. I cling to that lately, as the bittersweet ebb and flow of a life turned upside down causes tears to spring to my eyes at the most unexpected moments. I came home the other night to the dismal discovery that my dog had chewed through a basket and left the pieces recklessly strewn about the hallway.

And I cried. I cried like an emotionally disturbed child who just wanted to take her E-Z Bake Oven into the bathtub with her. I believe that was the moment that I came to the startling realization that I am, in fact, in the midst of trying to adjust to this new piece of my life. And some days, it’s hard. This much change at one time makes my head spin.

Don’t get me wrong-there are an infinite number of things I love about being home. I can’t do justice to how glorious it is to be around the people I’ve missed so much until somebody teaches me how to do a cartwheel!

The thing is, there are other people that I miss now. Life as I knew it for two years is done-and suddenly, Dakar feels very much like Narnia must have felt to Lucy after the White Witch had been defeated. It was an entirely different world that was real and somewhere-…but she was never quite certain as to how to get back. As the years slipped by, she must have fought the gnawing feeling that her time in the snowy land past the wardrobe doors had simply been a dream.

Some days, Dakar feels like it never really happed. But in the drowsy split-second between sleep and my eyes fluttering open in the morning, I sometimes still half-expect to wake up on the dirty floor next to Michelle as the drunken lullaby of the mosque echoes throughout our room.

But I don’t wake up next to Michelle anymore. In fact, there are very few things about my life that are unchanged. It’s a sweet opportunity to press into Jesus and make much of Him-…and when I’m not doing that, I’ve sadly perfected the subtle art of taking my stress out on my favorite people. Let’s be real.

One of my first days at work, my boss handed me a credit card and asked me to run to the Apple store to buy an Ipad as a door prize for an event we were hosting. I drove to the mall in a sort of daze, unable to wrap my mind around the idea that we were about to spend over 500 dollars on a door prize, when there are people that I know just a seven and a half hour plane ride away that can’t always afford to eat. I’m not saying it was wrong. I’m just saying it was hard for me to do it.

It feels almost as though I’ve borrowed someone else’s life. That the cubicle at work, the pencil skirts and heels, the air conditioned car, the gloriously fluffy bed-those can’t possibly be mine. Something in me hesitates to buy a full gallon of milk-as though at any moment, I might discover that it’s time to leave again, and have to gulp down the whole thing before hopping on a plane.

I’ve said that I’m going to keep up with the blog, and I intend to. It’s just that these days, I’m not always entirely certain as to what to write about. The stories are so different now. But Jesus is the same, and He’s called me here every bit as intentionally as He called me to Africa. So hang with me as I figure out what that looks like-and how to write it down. :)

13 Comments

Filed under God's faithfulness, Musings

August 8, 2011 · 5:55 pm

The Facts.

With the birthday girl just the other week!

These are the facts, and they are undisputed.

  1. 1. Refried  beans and caramel truffle coffee do not a happy morning make. That particular life lesson was learned yesterday morning, during which I decided it would be a simply grand idea to eat nachos for breakfast, right before I left for work. Help me, Rhonda-I spent my twenty six minute commute to work turning a lovely shade of green that complemented the lush North Carolina landscape that serves as a backdrop for life here.
  2. 2. Speaking of work, I ought to tell you about that. Several months ago, the small groups pastor at my church approached me about working for him, helping to give shape to an almost non-existent women’s ministry at the church. After several interviews and not a few butt-dials and impassioned country song serenades later, he hired me. For better or for worse. One of the few women working at Summit summed up my job rather nicely on my first day-“Welcome! You are now working at a frat house.”

On that note, if someone could explain fantasy football to me ASAP, I’d appreciate it. I currently have nothing to add to lunchtime conversation.

  1.  The alleged job in the alleged frat house is part time, meaning I’ll be doing something else as well. Stay tuned.
  2. I took my baby sister back-to-school shopping on Saturday. Over the course of the past several months, she became taller than me. Upon that particular realization, I crawled into bed, curled up and watched lifetime television for a week.

Living on only jello pudding cups and sunflower seeds. Which was about as brilliant as the nachos before seven AM idea. I’ll pause while you write that down.

5. Speaking of jello pudding, my Ambien taking Mother has been sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night, and polishing off every dessert in the house without the foggiest recollection of ever doing so the next morning. The tell-tale chocolate smears on her face, however, don’t lie. She loves me a little less every time I point out that she could simply just say no to Ambien-but I find it utterly impossible to stop. Now, unless you’ve been living under a rock [or, the equivalent when it comes to access to social media: Dakar] for the past ten years, you’ve undoubtedly heard about the prescription sleep-aid known as Ambien. Touted as a sort of “miracle drug”, it promises to lull bleary eyed people everywhere into that ever-elusive REM cycle, leaving them totally refreshed and ready to bolt out of bed and run a marathon when they wake up the next morning.

But let’s talk about the fine print.

 “When taking Ambien CR, don’t drive or operate heavy machinery. Sleep walking and eating or driving while not fully awake, with memory loss for the event, as well as abnormal behavior such as being more outgoing or more aggressive than normal, confusion, agitation and hallucinations may occur. Side effects may include next day drowsiness, dizziness, and headache. Ask your healthcare provider for two-layer Ambien CR!”

Now, in my family, directives like that are more like quaint suggestions that don’t particularly concern us in the least. The idea of taking them seriously strikes us as being…well, rather pedestrian. In fact, I think we tuned out after “heavy machinery”-assuming that since there’s not currently a forklift residing in our backyard, we must be exempt. Ah yes, we scoff in the face of pansy warning labels everywhere!

Which if you want a crack at the chocolate case in my house, is unfortunate. Mom hosed the remaining half of it on Friday night.

Or we could talk about the time that my Mother, after taking Ambien [and while, I might add, on a diet], snuck into my little sister Emily’s room in the dead of one February night, and ate ALL of that poor girl’s Valentine’s day candy. I kid you not-Emily woke up to a tragic scene of shaped heart boxes strewn around the room with half gnawed chocolates ground into the carpet and stuck to the doorknob. Let’s talk about the conversation that ensued over breakfast that morning. I mean, how do you answer a distraught ten year old that simply can’t understand why her Mother would do such a thing? “Well sweetheart, Mommy was on drugs, and didn’t know what she was doing.”

  1. And speaking of Ambien, today is my sweet Grandma’s birthday. Isn’t she the cutest?

Happy Monday.

3 Comments

Filed under Family, Then I found $5.00

August 1, 2011 · 6:13 pm

My Smarter-Than-Me-Phone.

With Kellan the weekend we met Fred.

It was free.

And free was the only way that I would have taken it, really.

I cancelled my cell phone plan last summer right before I flew back to Dakar, effectively rendering both my old phone number and my antique pink phone entirely useless. [Really. The Smithsonian called asking if I might consider loaning it to them for their “Now and Then” display.] And after two days at home, it was time to visit my local Sprint store and rejoin society.

Which is precisely what Kellan and I decided to do that Saturday.

Now, I’ve always made it a special point to own a cell phone that was no less than 429 years older than my friends. Something about taking half an hour to painstakingly chicken-peck out two line text messages and continually repeating that much-beloved refrain: “can you hear me NOW?” just felt authentic. I was unencumbered by the technological lust that besotted the minds of my counterparts. I was real. In the midst of a microwave world, I was Laura Ingalls Wilder-churning my own butter and hauling my own water. I was…

…irritated. Let’s face it-when your African cell is nicer than your American one, you’ve got a problem, Houston.

Well it turns out that during my two years in Africa, I missed the rise of Lady Gaga, a rather alarming phenomenon that
the masses are referring to as “Bieber fever”, and every single one of you went and bought something called a “smart phone”.

My average-intelligence-phone and I were mildly distressed upon that little discovery.

I waltzed into the Sprint store and was greeted by a rather suspect, greasy blonde-haired man in a black shirt named Fred. Fred looked strangely uncomfortable-as though he might have felt much more at home on a used car lot.

Or in a bright orange jump suit.

I digress.

Fred proceeded to ask me what was “looking for in a phone”. Confidently, I explained that I wanted a phone that would survive the occasional swim in my coffee mug and dive off the top of my car. Something resilient. A fighter. Something cute, but not too cute. And most importantly, something that was not pink.

Kellan, mind you, stood off to the side, amusedly watching the confusion play across Fred’s face as he struggled to ascertain whether or not he could laugh.

Don’t even think about it, Fred.

Before I knew what had hit me, Fred was speaking Mandarin.

Or he might as well have been. With all of the gusto of “I have a dream”, Fred and his mesmerizing pot belly were lauding the wonders of smart phones everywhere. Scrunching my nose, I watched his gut bounce along with every ardent word and distractedly attempted to pay attention as he talked about apps, battery life, browsers and angry birds. There was something about widgets and syncing. Something about a touch screen, and how buying a smart phone would fulfill the hole in my life I’d never known was
there. Something about self-actualization, an end to world hunger, a cure for cancer and never having to load the dishwasher again.

And something about how I could get one for free.

Free. The first word I’d understood since the commencement of Fred’s impassioned outburst lauding the wonders of the smart phone.

Stop right there, Fred. I’ll take the free thingie. In black, please.

Fred looked rather deflated at my apparent lack of interest, but soldiered on and attempted to show me how to use my new phone.

The “on” button, Fred. Where’s the “on” button?

Before I knew it, Kellan and I were on our merry way, leaving Fred to scratch his head and eat his feelings in the break room.

Determined to embrace my new identity as a computer genius [which by the way, is apparently what you have to be to operate one of the dumb things], I spent the next hour reveling in my newfound ability to check my email and google from the highway. Everything was going along just swimmingly …until Kellan left to go back to New York.

That’s when things really got hairy.

I’d been interviewing for a part time job at my church [one that I start tomorrow! More on that later.], and my smarter-than-me-phone decided to butt dial my potential new boss.

Over. And over. And over again.

I was mortified. I mean, how on earth do you convince someone that you’re competent when you can’t even figure out how to lock your phone? Though I’m confident that my Baptist pastor boss thoroughly enjoyed the five minute voicemails I routinely left him of me belting along to “Whisky for my men, and beer for my horses”  in my car.

Just. Perfect.

And then, of course, there was the debacle that ensued when I tried to log a new contact into my address book. It’s a long, painful story-but suffice it to say that if you want to get ahold of me, carrier pigeons are your best bet.

Life is hard on the farm.

Aside from my smart phone saga, life has been busy but a ball as of late! I’ve been home for a month, and plan to begin blogging regularly again.

And speaking of the blog, you’re going to begin seeing some changes around here over the next couple of weeks. You can now find me at www.ashley-peterson.com.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time for a cup of coffee. I may even throw my smarter-than-me-phone into the pot. Cheers to that!

6 Comments

Filed under First World Problems, The daily grind, Then I found $5.00