I lied to you. I said I’d post last week and then I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I truly thought I would have time to write while I was at the lake, but it turns out that when you share a house with these folks:
the only moment you have to yourself is in the bathroom. And even then there’d be at least two little ones pounding on the door, demanding that you come out and play go-go hide n seek or Old Maid.
I’d love to make it up to you and write a bunch of posts in August, but in a few hours I’m flying to Alaska where my friend Jenny and I will be road-tripping it in a motor home with some of her family. Somehow I don’t envision lots of writing time. And from there I’ll fly to Colorado to see some old friends where there is certain to be no shortage of excitement. (Don’t worry, my friend promised to keep a fire extinguisher with us at all times.) Needless to say, I will be out of commission for the next few weeks. Please accept my humble apology and some highlights from the lake. Continue reading
My brothers used to be notorious for making bets and then wiggling out of them when they lost with lame excuses like, “I never said WHEN I’d pay you” or “I said 10 DOLL HAIRS.” I’m going to steal one from their playbook and instead of apologizing for not posting last Friday, tell you that “I never said which Friday I would post.” Lame, I know, but I’m doing it anyways. And I know I said I’d finish the second half of the post about fixing our eyes on Jesus, but that’s coming later.
The fact of the matter is life has simply gotten in the way. My dear friend Lindsay came to visit this past week, and I blame her for my unnecessary shopping sprees and for my lack of writing lately. Lindsay visited last summer which I wrote about HERE and this summer’s visit had a number of similarities. Again we ate tons of junk food (five burgers in seven days). Again we went to several different beaches (Venice, Dog, Huntington, Balboa, Dana Point, San Clemente, and Newport). And again I peer pressured Lindsay into doing things that scared her. (Because I’m just that kind of friend.)
I had never been to Venice Beach but had heard about all the freaks and wanted to see them. They didn’t disappoint. Between the potheads offering to make us legal and add some “greenery to our scenery”, the speedo-clad men pumping iron on Muscle Beach, and the tattoo parlors on every corner, we basically felt out of place the entire day. Continue reading
I took a volleyball class in college so I wouldn’t look like such a fool when I played at the beach. After the first day of class, the coach looked at me and said, “Katie, I really thought you’d be better.”
I’ve never forgotten that comment. I laughed and wasn’t offended because I suppose it’s a natural assumption that a basketball player would have decent hand-eye coordination. But I don’t. Like I REALLY don’t. And I was reminded of this fact on three separate occasions this week.
First, I decided to take up tennis this summer. My knees have been aching so I haven’t been running and a friend suggested we play tennis. Remembering the comment from the overly-honest coach, I decided to get a lesson from my dad before I played with my friend. After three hours on the court, I still was struggling to throw the ball straight up in the air to serve it. The only time I really connected with the ball was when I smacked it over the net when my dad wasn’t looking and it knocked the glasses off his face. I was so shocked that I had actually hit the ball hard that I didn’t even give him a “heads up.”
Wow. Continue reading
I used to drink an obscene amount of soda (or “pop” if you’re a weirdo). And when I say “obscene” I’m talking about 6-packs of Mountain Dew being downed in one day. I’m talking about getting 8 refills of Root Beer at restaurants with free refills. I don’t like coffee, so in college I would get my caffeine fix from liters of Cactus Cooler.
When I lived in Mozambique, I guzzled Pineapple Fanta and regular Coca-Cola like it was my job.
And I wasn’t the only one in Mozambique addicted to Fanta:
Speaking of drinking soda during a basketball game, I recently learned from my grandpa that he once drank 56 Cokes in one day. He justifies this by explaining that he was playing multiple basketball games under the hot, Filipino sun, couldn’t drink the water, and Coke was all that was available. But still, grandpa, 56?!? I may need to start blaming my soda addiction on my genes. Continue reading