Mark 8:34: "...If any man will follow me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me."
Matthew 11:30: "My yolk is easy and my burden light."
Mother Teresa: "I know God wouldn't give me anything I can't handle. I just wish he wouldn't trust me so much."
If I can get my knees under a patrol box, I can lift it--anyway, lift my half of it if my mind is in the game, too--and carry it to the truck, but usually I'm not strong enough to hoist it up to the bed. Usually someone will come by and give me a hand; if not, I just leave it by the truck and go back for the next one.
Some guys can lift a whole patrol box by themselves and toss it in the bed of the truck. Most partner up, though, and have this crazy upper-body strength that allows them to slide it into the bed.
I wish I were as strong as they are, but the fact is, I'm not. If I tried to lift the patrol box into the truck, I would back up the entire crew, hurt myself badly, and not be able to help with anything else, even mattresses and cots.
If I pretend I am stronger than I am and don't ask for help when I need it, I hurt myself and the group. Every time I help move a patrol box, though, I get stronger, even if I didn't lift it into the truck. (Those things are heavy!)
The same is true for non-physical strength. If someone's walking all over you, chewing you out for things that aren't your fault, harrassing you, taking advantage of you, don't pretend you're stronger than you are.
If you choose to let someone be rude to you, then be meek and humble and let them. It will toughen you up and strengthen you for the next challenge.
But if you let them be rude to you because you are afraid to speak up, or if they've gotten control of your emotions, you are not strong enough to handle this. And if you aren't strong enough, have someone help you. Talk to someone, hug someone, get the problem solved. If you pretend you're stronger than you are and don't ask for help when you need it, you'll hurt yourself and the group.
Friday, July 31, 2009
homemade meals for cheap college students: goulash
Katie and I made goulash when she taught me how to camp-cook, so I tried it again when I was making dinner for myself. We decided the rather unappetizing name came from the sound it makes when you stir it all together.
1 16-oz box elbow macaroni - $1
1 green pepper - $.50
1 onion - usually get a bag of 8 for a couple bucks
2 cans diced tomatoes - $.60
16 oz ground hamburger
1. Boil enough water to cover the noodles. Remember that boiling water takes forever so start it early. When the water boils, put in the noodles. Make sure you keep stirring them or they'll get stuck to the bottom of the pan.
2. Brown the hamburger. When it's almost all the way cooked (still a little pink), throw in your vegetables. Green peppers and onions are great, but you can use whatever you have in your fridge.
3. When everything's cooked, drain the water from the noodles, drain the grease from the meat/vegetables, and throw it all together. Add the cans of diced tomatoes (juice and all) then mix it up with the lovely goulash sound.
4. This makes a lot of food so I hope you have friends or a really large refrigerator.
1 16-oz box elbow macaroni - $1
1 green pepper - $.50
1 onion - usually get a bag of 8 for a couple bucks
2 cans diced tomatoes - $.60
16 oz ground hamburger
1. Boil enough water to cover the noodles. Remember that boiling water takes forever so start it early. When the water boils, put in the noodles. Make sure you keep stirring them or they'll get stuck to the bottom of the pan.
2. Brown the hamburger. When it's almost all the way cooked (still a little pink), throw in your vegetables. Green peppers and onions are great, but you can use whatever you have in your fridge.
3. When everything's cooked, drain the water from the noodles, drain the grease from the meat/vegetables, and throw it all together. Add the cans of diced tomatoes (juice and all) then mix it up with the lovely goulash sound.
4. This makes a lot of food so I hope you have friends or a really large refrigerator.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
what I didn't say when I gave you a hug
Mostly it was goodbye and thank you, but the "thank you" seems so empty. How can I say it? I've learned, grown, laughed so much.
Camp does weird things to you, socially. We're a small group (too small) working crazy hard toward a common goal with a common enemy and still finding the energy for a game of after-hours ultimate. We live together, we sleep in the same quarters, we eat every meal across the table from each other, and just when you fall into a groove and figure out how things work with this group, bam! you go home and the group dissipates. Some of them you'll probably never see again. Some of them you create weirdly close friendships with and you'll stay in contact for quite some time. But you'll never get the whole group together, living and functioning with its own dynamic.
Unless you're lazy, we're all pulling for you. We've all got your back. I can go on crazy adventures (four-mile hike in lightning for a Christmas tree? getting lost in a swamp? slinking around a mental institution at twilight? shooting off fireworks? sleeping in homemade shelters? sailing?) and the whole time I know I am completely safe. Be tough, be strong, do something stupid but I got your back. If you need a boost up a tree or a hug when you fall, if your sparkplugs go bad, if you want to learn how to cook or start a fire or change your sparkplugs or juggle, if someone's inappropriately hitting on you, we got your back. I've got a whole crew fighting for me, and I'm fighting for them, too.
I love camp because I know I am safe, and once I know I am safe, I can take risks and go on adventures. I wouldn't swamp tromp with just anyone.
From Mike: "Mary, you know I feel about my girls here. If you get in their face, you're not coming back. I'll make sure the situation gets taken care of. Now come here, give me a hug and tell me how cool you are."
I learned some cool skills, like camp cooking, knife sharpening, wood splitting, spark plugging. I grew a back bone. I learned how to goof off and why it's important. I learned how to throw my whole heart into what I do. I learned that people wildly different are crazy fun and can love deeply.
I am a different person now than I was when the summer began.
I learned how to give. When you give, you can receive. When you pour out your love, you make room in your heart to receive love. Then love pours in and you overflow and hurry to pour more out, but more comes streaming in and the mad waters splash and everyone rejoices.
Last night I had a blast (that's a pun for those of you who were with us at firebowl), but morning came and I had hugs to distribute. Mostly I didn't talk, because I knew if I did I'd be a mess, and I don't like crying in front of people. Usually I can't.
"Mary, you leaving?"
No words; just a hug. Together silence.
"Hey, look, I have to go."
"No." Arms tighter.
"No, really, I have to get the toilets cleaned and pick up my paycheck."
"No."
Eye squeezing. Tears losing. Together silence.
My list of people to say goodbye to was getting shorter. I looked across the parade field and saw another friend walking toward me.
"Did I give everything back?" I asked him. I'd probably never see him again, and I wanted to make sure I returned everything of his.
He nodded. "Yes. I hope I gave something back, too."
Gave something back? We work at Camp Tapico. That's just what we do.
Camp does weird things to you, socially. We're a small group (too small) working crazy hard toward a common goal with a common enemy and still finding the energy for a game of after-hours ultimate. We live together, we sleep in the same quarters, we eat every meal across the table from each other, and just when you fall into a groove and figure out how things work with this group, bam! you go home and the group dissipates. Some of them you'll probably never see again. Some of them you create weirdly close friendships with and you'll stay in contact for quite some time. But you'll never get the whole group together, living and functioning with its own dynamic.
Unless you're lazy, we're all pulling for you. We've all got your back. I can go on crazy adventures (four-mile hike in lightning for a Christmas tree? getting lost in a swamp? slinking around a mental institution at twilight? shooting off fireworks? sleeping in homemade shelters? sailing?) and the whole time I know I am completely safe. Be tough, be strong, do something stupid but I got your back. If you need a boost up a tree or a hug when you fall, if your sparkplugs go bad, if you want to learn how to cook or start a fire or change your sparkplugs or juggle, if someone's inappropriately hitting on you, we got your back. I've got a whole crew fighting for me, and I'm fighting for them, too.
I love camp because I know I am safe, and once I know I am safe, I can take risks and go on adventures. I wouldn't swamp tromp with just anyone.
From Mike: "Mary, you know I feel about my girls here. If you get in their face, you're not coming back. I'll make sure the situation gets taken care of. Now come here, give me a hug and tell me how cool you are."
I learned some cool skills, like camp cooking, knife sharpening, wood splitting, spark plugging. I grew a back bone. I learned how to goof off and why it's important. I learned how to throw my whole heart into what I do. I learned that people wildly different are crazy fun and can love deeply.
I am a different person now than I was when the summer began.
I learned how to give. When you give, you can receive. When you pour out your love, you make room in your heart to receive love. Then love pours in and you overflow and hurry to pour more out, but more comes streaming in and the mad waters splash and everyone rejoices.
Last night I had a blast (that's a pun for those of you who were with us at firebowl), but morning came and I had hugs to distribute. Mostly I didn't talk, because I knew if I did I'd be a mess, and I don't like crying in front of people. Usually I can't.
"Mary, you leaving?"
No words; just a hug. Together silence.
"Hey, look, I have to go."
"No." Arms tighter.
"No, really, I have to get the toilets cleaned and pick up my paycheck."
"No."
Eye squeezing. Tears losing. Together silence.
My list of people to say goodbye to was getting shorter. I looked across the parade field and saw another friend walking toward me.
"Did I give everything back?" I asked him. I'd probably never see him again, and I wanted to make sure I returned everything of his.
He nodded. "Yes. I hope I gave something back, too."
Gave something back? We work at Camp Tapico. That's just what we do.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
goodbye for now
I'm going offline tomorrow and won't be back on until I get back from camp (end of July). Write me at:
Camp Tapico
2408 Camp Tapico Road NE
Kalkaska, MI 49646
Camp Tapico
2408 Camp Tapico Road NE
Kalkaska, MI 49646
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Love is
"...does it sound like I'm thinking straight?"
"Yes. But you're thinking too much."
I've been torn up the past few days: angry, terrified, lost in my thoughts. Not lost the way I get in Genesee County, where if I just pulled over and looked at a map instead of calling home I'd be fine--no, I was truly lost. I didn't have any idea where I was, how I got there or where I was going. I needed to do something, to get out of the house and stop thinking.
It's a bad system: I'm home by myself with my Dostoevsky from when I wake up until when Anne and Mom get home from school. I have to get my reading done but I'm bad at reading and I end up thinking instead. I'd lie on the floor crying and praying for an hour at a time. "Jesus! I don't know what you want me to do. I'm trying to do your will but I'm pretty sure I've screwed up horribly. Is this really the path you want me to follow? Stay with me! I feel like I'm running away from you and I don't want to do that." I was trapped in this and I couldn't get out. I couldn't focus on my reading. A grocery store run helped some, but when I got home I fell right back into it. And thus I got behind on my reading.
I'm anxious to grow up, to get out of the house, to be with people, to get a real job, to get an apartment and pay for it myself. Slow down, Mary. You're still in college. Have patience.
This morning I went to mass and helped my mom with eighth grade graduation practice (sort of). She didn't really have anything for me to do, so she sent me to spread mulch around some of her plants by the school.
While I walked from the church to the school, I finally figured out my problem. I'm willing to give my time, my things, my smile, my ears, my arms, my food, my clothes, even sometimes when I really don't want to. I do a lot of things I don't want to do out of service to other people. But I don't give myself.
How do I give myself?
I buzzed into the office and went to my mom's room to get the mulch. I tucked it onto my hip like a baby and stopped in the hallway.
Art. When I make something, I put my whole self into it. The CD rosary on my ceiling, the St. Michael icon I made for Garrett, the Sir Gawain figure I made for Dr. Jackson and gave to Seth because it ended up looking stupid--I threw my whole self into it, I worked hard and tried some things that might not work. And some of them didn't.
I did a dang good job spreading the mulch. (Even saying that, I run the risk of my mom reading this and thinking "no, she buried the coral bells and put the mulch in the wrong place and now I have to go buy more mulch and take up my own time to go put it where I asked her to.")
This reckless abandon is the way my mother cooks and gardens. "I don't really have any idea what I'm doing," she says (constantly!), but she throws spices into the bowl and nearly all my friends who come over tell me she's an amazing cook.
A few weeks ago, I helped her line a skeletal wire tea kettle with moss. In theory, the moss would allow the tea kettle to hold dirt and we could plant flowers inside and hang it from the shepherd's hook. I finally understood what she meant by "I don't really know what I'm doing." She means exactly that: I don't know, but I'm going to try and see what happens. It might not work. But what the heck. There was a twinge of that "we're not really supposed to be doing this" thrill.
That's the vulnerability of love. "I made this for you. I put my whole heart and soul into it, and I hope you like it. I'm a little nervous because you might not like it. But I love you enough that I'm willing to run that risk."
My mom is so good at this! "Do you want to play rack-o?" She risks that we'll say no (and we often do). "Do you want to go to the dollar store with me to get clay?" "Will you dance?" "Clean your room!"
I suspect that the "obligatory yes" is actually worse than a "no." God gave us the freedom to disobey him in order that we might freely choose to obey him. "I'd love to play rack-o with you" is much better than "fine, I'll play rack-o with you."
Yeah, I remember my mom always telling us to be cheerful. I think I finally get it.
I think my mom is good at this at least partly because she gave birth to five kids. I've never given birth before but it seems to me it's a painful process, and the easiest way to go about it is probably to focus on what you're giving to your child. "I'm not doing this for me--I'm doing this for you, and I really, really hope you're happy." Of course the first thing the baby does is cry.
This part's for you, Jeff--that's something women can do that men can't do. "Don't give me any nonsense about having babies and stuff," you told me, and I'm not. It isn't nonsense. Tell me how difficult it is for a man to be a father (physically). The easiest ways to do it are rape, paying a prostitute, and sweet-talking an easy woman. It is possible for a man to be a father (physically) and not care a bit about his kids. (Good fathers don't do this. Mine loves me a lot.)
It is not possible for a woman to be a mother (physically) and not care about her kids. She can try not to care, she can abuse them and abandon them but she can't honestly not care. She's already put her heart and soul into her kids because of the suffering she's gone through for them, so to abandon her kids is to abandon part of herself, and so it tears her up. (This is why abortion hurts women so bad.)
Dr. Krannawitter said that before no-fault divorce, judges would often rule that the couple can divorce, but the dad gets all the kids--and then the couple wouldn't divorce.
There are a lot of things you men can do that we women can't do or aren't as good at, and Jeff, I'm sure you can list them all. But here's one thing that women are better at: reckless abandon.
Mother Teresa said "It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing. It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving."
Okay, think of the enthusiastic amateur knitter who makes sweaters for her husband. That is love! But she must also be willing to accept that maybe he doesn't actually like these sweaters. They probably look awful.
So when I hug you, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that hug.
When I run, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that run--find out how far I really can go, how hard I really can push, go until I actually can't anymore. (I've done this twice.)
When I eat, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that eating.
When I sleep, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that sleeping.
When I say "no, I don't really want to hold your hand right now," I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that "no."
When I climb the tower, I need to put my whole heart and soul into that climb.
Whether I end up in a convent or community or married to Garrett or married to someone else or hit by a bus, I need to love with that reckless abandon.
Tony told me that in a bible study, Catholic speaker Mark Hart said of prayer: "Love the 'yes.' Hate the 'no.' ABSOLUTELY CAN'T STAND the 'wait.'"
As far as long-term vocation, I'm getting a 'wait.'" So let's think of something to do while we're waiting.
While I'm waiting, I'll practice that reckless abandon.
Maybe you should too.
"Yes. But you're thinking too much."
I've been torn up the past few days: angry, terrified, lost in my thoughts. Not lost the way I get in Genesee County, where if I just pulled over and looked at a map instead of calling home I'd be fine--no, I was truly lost. I didn't have any idea where I was, how I got there or where I was going. I needed to do something, to get out of the house and stop thinking.
It's a bad system: I'm home by myself with my Dostoevsky from when I wake up until when Anne and Mom get home from school. I have to get my reading done but I'm bad at reading and I end up thinking instead. I'd lie on the floor crying and praying for an hour at a time. "Jesus! I don't know what you want me to do. I'm trying to do your will but I'm pretty sure I've screwed up horribly. Is this really the path you want me to follow? Stay with me! I feel like I'm running away from you and I don't want to do that." I was trapped in this and I couldn't get out. I couldn't focus on my reading. A grocery store run helped some, but when I got home I fell right back into it. And thus I got behind on my reading.
I'm anxious to grow up, to get out of the house, to be with people, to get a real job, to get an apartment and pay for it myself. Slow down, Mary. You're still in college. Have patience.
This morning I went to mass and helped my mom with eighth grade graduation practice (sort of). She didn't really have anything for me to do, so she sent me to spread mulch around some of her plants by the school.
While I walked from the church to the school, I finally figured out my problem. I'm willing to give my time, my things, my smile, my ears, my arms, my food, my clothes, even sometimes when I really don't want to. I do a lot of things I don't want to do out of service to other people. But I don't give myself.
How do I give myself?
I buzzed into the office and went to my mom's room to get the mulch. I tucked it onto my hip like a baby and stopped in the hallway.
Art. When I make something, I put my whole self into it. The CD rosary on my ceiling, the St. Michael icon I made for Garrett, the Sir Gawain figure I made for Dr. Jackson and gave to Seth because it ended up looking stupid--I threw my whole self into it, I worked hard and tried some things that might not work. And some of them didn't.
I did a dang good job spreading the mulch. (Even saying that, I run the risk of my mom reading this and thinking "no, she buried the coral bells and put the mulch in the wrong place and now I have to go buy more mulch and take up my own time to go put it where I asked her to.")
This reckless abandon is the way my mother cooks and gardens. "I don't really have any idea what I'm doing," she says (constantly!), but she throws spices into the bowl and nearly all my friends who come over tell me she's an amazing cook.
A few weeks ago, I helped her line a skeletal wire tea kettle with moss. In theory, the moss would allow the tea kettle to hold dirt and we could plant flowers inside and hang it from the shepherd's hook. I finally understood what she meant by "I don't really know what I'm doing." She means exactly that: I don't know, but I'm going to try and see what happens. It might not work. But what the heck. There was a twinge of that "we're not really supposed to be doing this" thrill.
That's the vulnerability of love. "I made this for you. I put my whole heart and soul into it, and I hope you like it. I'm a little nervous because you might not like it. But I love you enough that I'm willing to run that risk."
My mom is so good at this! "Do you want to play rack-o?" She risks that we'll say no (and we often do). "Do you want to go to the dollar store with me to get clay?" "Will you dance?" "Clean your room!"
I suspect that the "obligatory yes" is actually worse than a "no." God gave us the freedom to disobey him in order that we might freely choose to obey him. "I'd love to play rack-o with you" is much better than "fine, I'll play rack-o with you."
Yeah, I remember my mom always telling us to be cheerful. I think I finally get it.
I think my mom is good at this at least partly because she gave birth to five kids. I've never given birth before but it seems to me it's a painful process, and the easiest way to go about it is probably to focus on what you're giving to your child. "I'm not doing this for me--I'm doing this for you, and I really, really hope you're happy." Of course the first thing the baby does is cry.
This part's for you, Jeff--that's something women can do that men can't do. "Don't give me any nonsense about having babies and stuff," you told me, and I'm not. It isn't nonsense. Tell me how difficult it is for a man to be a father (physically). The easiest ways to do it are rape, paying a prostitute, and sweet-talking an easy woman. It is possible for a man to be a father (physically) and not care a bit about his kids. (Good fathers don't do this. Mine loves me a lot.)
It is not possible for a woman to be a mother (physically) and not care about her kids. She can try not to care, she can abuse them and abandon them but she can't honestly not care. She's already put her heart and soul into her kids because of the suffering she's gone through for them, so to abandon her kids is to abandon part of herself, and so it tears her up. (This is why abortion hurts women so bad.)
Dr. Krannawitter said that before no-fault divorce, judges would often rule that the couple can divorce, but the dad gets all the kids--and then the couple wouldn't divorce.
There are a lot of things you men can do that we women can't do or aren't as good at, and Jeff, I'm sure you can list them all. But here's one thing that women are better at: reckless abandon.
Mother Teresa said "It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing. It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving."
Okay, think of the enthusiastic amateur knitter who makes sweaters for her husband. That is love! But she must also be willing to accept that maybe he doesn't actually like these sweaters. They probably look awful.
So when I hug you, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that hug.
When I run, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that run--find out how far I really can go, how hard I really can push, go until I actually can't anymore. (I've done this twice.)
When I eat, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that eating.
When I sleep, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that sleeping.
When I say "no, I don't really want to hold your hand right now," I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that "no."
When I climb the tower, I need to put my whole heart and soul into that climb.
Whether I end up in a convent or community or married to Garrett or married to someone else or hit by a bus, I need to love with that reckless abandon.
Tony told me that in a bible study, Catholic speaker Mark Hart said of prayer: "Love the 'yes.' Hate the 'no.' ABSOLUTELY CAN'T STAND the 'wait.'"
As far as long-term vocation, I'm getting a 'wait.'" So let's think of something to do while we're waiting.
While I'm waiting, I'll practice that reckless abandon.
Maybe you should too.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
things I have to do before I marry
WOW I'm growing up. It's weird--my perspective on big things like careers and marriage and kids is way different. It's not a "what do you want to be when you grow up?" thing anymore but a "maybe in the next five years" sort of thing. It's not a "vague future" sort of thing anymore; it's a "wow this might actually happen" sort of thing.
This is not a list of things my future husband must do before he proposes--I've got that list too but it isn't here. These are things I need to do and ways I need to grow up before I marry. This is not a "finding a marriageable man" list but a "becoming a marriageable woman" list. If I've forgotten anything important, I want to know. Some of these I've done or started on already, and a lot of them I can't do right now. But I will get them done. You just watch.
This is not a list of things my future husband must do before he proposes--I've got that list too but it isn't here. These are things I need to do and ways I need to grow up before I marry. This is not a "finding a marriageable man" list but a "becoming a marriageable woman" list. If I've forgotten anything important, I want to know. Some of these I've done or started on already, and a lot of them I can't do right now. But I will get them done. You just watch.
- graduate from college
- get a steady job and live on my own (financially independent) for at least a year. during that time, eat regularly (not forgetting meals) every day for at least a month
- be able to deal with people talking and giggling and gossiping about me
- stop getting really annoyed at being called “cute” (individually or as a couple)
- close my eyes
- meet his parents
- have him meet my parents
- run 8K or break 7 minutes in a mile run
- get approval from parents, grandparents, siblings (including Tony)
- learn how to cook over an open fire
- take a big trip (on a plane or at least two states of driving) on my own or with friends, where I’m in charge or one of a few in charge of what to do and how things turn out
- drive from Tapico to Houghton Lake without getting horribly lost
- road trip of at least 5 hours by myself
- learn how to slow dance with Grandpa
- do something crazy with Emily
- make an important decision in less than four months
- freelance for a daily newspaper
- learn how to cook at least 10 good dinners
- understand cars and be able to at least educated-guess what’s wrong with them
- own a car and pay my own insurance and whatever else goes along with owning a car
- get a credit card and actually buy something with it
- eat a raw tomato
- throw up
- swallow a pill
- tell everyone when my birthday is and if they insist on fussing, let them
- take my photography to an art show or fair or something and sell at least one print
- have a pool party or a beach party or canoe trip or something with a mixed-sex group of friends and dress appropriately, and not spend the whole time assuming all the men are ogling
- go backpacking for at least 4 consecutive nights
- crochet something big/complicated, like a blanket or a sweater or something
- get in a fight with him and resolve it
- wear “everyday” makeup in public for at least seven days, and learn how to do makeup
- turn 21 and drink a whole beer or a whole glass of wine (responsibly, socially) at least 10 different times, at least once at a bar and at least once with dinner at someone's home
- read the entire bible at least once through
- have a solid group of girlfriends to go out with
- wear a skirt in public for something that isn’t a dress-up occasion
- learn to drive a stick shift well enough that I’m comfortable with it
- dress up for something formal and tell all my dressed-up girlfriends that they’re beautiful
- volunteer with missionaries of charity
- change a messy, poopy diaper by myself
- kiss him in front of my parents or in some other situation that would be sort of embarrassing but not morally wrong
- make a final decision on piercings and stick with it
- eat a whole meal with chopsticks
- get a cell phone that actually works (actually, get my own and pay for it myself)
- learn AP style for “whether or not”
- take my Sobe bottle to the bank and change all the coins into cash (or deposit the money)
- successfully and consistently keep track of my cycle for at least 6 months (really keeping track, that is, filling out NFP charts)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
"we're not stalkers: we're journalists"
I'm glad I'm a journalist because when I need to find some, I know how to do it.
Kate borrowed my chem book for the second half of the semester, and I thought I had taken it down from amazon.com. Apparently, I hadn't, and Kate still had the book when I got the "sold! please ship within 2 business days" email. I didn't have Kate's number.
I called Katie Rose, the reason I met Kate, but she didn't have Kate's number.
I checked Kate's facebook page (I'm not her friend, but I could see her profile) but her phone number wasn't there.
I went to the Hillsdale student directory and found her address, but her phone number wasn't listed.
I went to white pages on yellowpages.com and typed in her last name and zip code, but again, her phone number wasn't listed.
I went back to her facebook and clicked on the most recent post on her wall. The link sent me to Elizabeth's profile. I don't know Elizabeth, but I checked her profile for her phone number--she probably had Kate's number.
Elizabeth's number wasn't listed, but I saw that she was "in a relationship with Mitchell," and I had Mitchell's phone number--he and a couple other people and I studied philosophy together first semester freshman year.
While the phone rang, I saw that Christina had posted on Kate's wall as well. I talked to Christina over aim quite a bit--she and I were in the same Latin and Greek classes and we sometimes rode to Mass together.
I called Mitchell and started typing a message to Christina. Mitchell answered before I was finished typing, so I asked for Kate's number, and he gave it to me.
I called Kate.
Kate said she'd ship the book tomorrow.
Kate borrowed my chem book for the second half of the semester, and I thought I had taken it down from amazon.com. Apparently, I hadn't, and Kate still had the book when I got the "sold! please ship within 2 business days" email. I didn't have Kate's number.
I called Katie Rose, the reason I met Kate, but she didn't have Kate's number.
I checked Kate's facebook page (I'm not her friend, but I could see her profile) but her phone number wasn't there.
I went to the Hillsdale student directory and found her address, but her phone number wasn't listed.
I went to white pages on yellowpages.com and typed in her last name and zip code, but again, her phone number wasn't listed.
I went back to her facebook and clicked on the most recent post on her wall. The link sent me to Elizabeth's profile. I don't know Elizabeth, but I checked her profile for her phone number--she probably had Kate's number.
Elizabeth's number wasn't listed, but I saw that she was "in a relationship with Mitchell," and I had Mitchell's phone number--he and a couple other people and I studied philosophy together first semester freshman year.
While the phone rang, I saw that Christina had posted on Kate's wall as well. I talked to Christina over aim quite a bit--she and I were in the same Latin and Greek classes and we sometimes rode to Mass together.
I called Mitchell and started typing a message to Christina. Mitchell answered before I was finished typing, so I asked for Kate's number, and he gave it to me.
I called Kate.
Kate said she'd ship the book tomorrow.
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