I never thought I’d admit this to the public, but I have serious troubles with dating.

One wouldn’t think I’d have such huge issues: I’ve studied abroad and experienced other cultures, I’m pretty easy-going and care-free (in most respects), and I adapt with minimal effort to new situations. So why is dating such a problem?

Well, when I’m stuck programming intensively, it’s a HUGE problem! Let me give an example. In C# (Microsoft’s java-esque language), the issue with dating is showing different values in formats that agree for all parties (namely, the .aspx pages viewing them). I have no excuse, but I completely discarded Globalization in how I’m programming this tool. Europeans write their dates with the day in the month first, followed by the month and then the year. I’d completely accepted it while in Italy (see some of my hand-written journals from the time — only to be digitized at a later, undertermined date … hehehe). Coming back, however, I was thrown for a huge loop (well, in programming terms, a huge bug — yikes!) when I confused the format string: {0:dd/MM/yy} with the format string: {0:MM/dd/yy}.

On a better note: this project is definitely one of the coolest I’ve worked on in a while with ready recipients. Oh, and while I’m programming, I’ve also been watching cooking lessons and trying to learn good ways to improve my dating in the future!

And take a minute to reflect in your own way
Take your time and connect in your own way
– Caleb Kane

Just to warn anyone still reading this: this entry may seem a reckless rant, but it’ll hopefully come together at the end.

Life and Time are filled with music; at least, in my life they are. Journals are great for helping me reflect, but the moment is best captured with music. It seems that every 5 months or so I hit a great splurge (or binge as the case may be) in creativity. I become obsessive about finishing projects and I sacrifice a lot to get them done. The most notable instance was the KingQuest project the night before leaving for Florence. I’d been working on the application for three weeks full-time and the night before I left for Italy I finished the build that worked. It was a milestone made of music: Wicked. The soundtrack to the musical “Wicked”, was the driving force to those many, many hours of coding and developing. I bought the album on the iTunes Music Store and set it on loop. It doesn’t take much for one to guess what I WASN’T listening to on the inter-continental flight. In those three weeks, I purchased the CD and it jumped to the upper echelon of my Most-Played playlist (circa 100 times).

I’m now in the middle of one of those creative binges; and it’s a wonder I’m even able to recognize it part-way through. I returned from a short trip to Ft. Worth on Tuesday and ever since then I’ve only been able to concentrate on one thing: checking things off of the list. On the plane I made a list of 20 items (since it’s added about five items per day) and I’ve been working to check them off as fast as I can. It’s a wonder that each of the items is so easily removed: consulting on a fellowship with Dr. Hill where I’m helping him pick the video recording device for his research, coordinating with Judy to get Daryl’s backups to his colleagues in his translation project with Westar, adding yet another feature to KingQuest to make it my quintessential project for what I think should drive scholarship for the next decade, and a project for staff of the Christian Church in Kentucky, enabling them to do expense and hour tracking in order to maintain the accountability undermining their relationship with their congregations.

Beyond these, I’m also trying to increase my creative knowledge: I’m working on learning new techniques in Photoshop blending modes for a tribe project fermenting in the back of my mind; I’m making sure to keep better track of my thank-you notes I owe people for the blessings in my life — they’re slowly coming out, but obviously won’t make it to everyone who deserves them; I’m beginning the steps for my last-minute efforts to prepare for Chicago — Greek vocabulary, journal reading, note reviewing, etc. In all of this, the development happens with music.

The Kentucky project has excelled through U2’s “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb” album. The KingQuest text entry carried on in time with Rascal Flatt’s “Me and My Gang.” My travels to and from Ft. Worth during the past month (four trips in these four weeks if my counting’s right) are accompanied with eclectic mixes from friends ranging from Eminem’s “Shake That” to a collection of Blue October, Caleb Kane and other artists’ songs.

More than anything, this past month has been a roller coaster, oscillating through a set of emotions. While the looped music definitely feeds those emotions and their changes, it also gives the continuity to this stream coming out of me. I’m at a crossroads — in the next few days my creativity will either skyrocket and completely change in scope (it’s happened about 60 percent of the time I’ve recognized this stage), or it’ll change back and I’ll have to wait for yet another turn. We’ll see.

I’ve been so torn these past three weeks. I knew this transition back to Iowa would be hard, but I had no idea. I’m reforming my work habits and my lifestyle. In Ft. Worth, I was there for work. I arrived early in the morning (often before 8am) and was there late into the afternoon and evening (usually at least 6pm). It was my purpose for living there and it was a great schedule.

Now, however, I’m in Iowa and loving the weather (Low 70s and sunny with a cool breeze). I’m enjoying the daylight so much that I’d much rather drive around, run errands and savor the weather and work at nights when it’s dark and pointless to be outside. So here I am – almost 3am – and I’m working. AND I’M LOVING IT!!!!

I’m also stacking my time with tons of tasks. I’ll have my Macintosh computer running batch processes on images and then using my Windows computer for reading through and flagging sections for Dr. Gunn’s research. It’s great on one hand because I can get even more done without losing focus easily. It’s bad, though, because I’m taking on other projects — which I’ll be writing about in the next couple of days. Here’s a short sampling: I’m finally writing the Tech workshops and most are scheduled; I’m learning 5 new computer programs (well — really 2 if you count Final Cut Studio as 1); I’m preparing for my hike with friends on the Appalachian Trail in five weeks. (oh gosh — I’ve got to work harder at preparing for it!).

Perhaps the challenge in all of this is taking the time to breathe — and that’s where I’m torn. My lungs and my life are used to such an insane pace that now I’m having trouble readjusting. To make it less of a shock — or maybe more of one, depending on how you look at it — I’m doing down to Ft. Worth two more times (total of 6 or 7 days) between now and finals in the next month. Wow.

This is a quick update since I’m low on sleep, a little stressed and trying to catch up on a lot …

This weekend was ‘amazening’ (Brittney’s new word). As many of you know, I’ve been involved with the ecumenical Awakening retreats for the past 2 years sponsored by Catholic Community. Each Awakening is different and I’d have it no other way; who wants a repeat? This was a great way to transition myself out of my college mindset. Granted, I haven’t been fully in it for a while, but this was especially important for releasing the last things I was holding onto. Now it’s time for grad school …

The retreat was also perfect for reminding me why the effort to make it to every meeting on the weekends was worth it. The friends and community I basked in are the reason why TCU has been the best possible fit.

Something bizarre happened after the retreat when some of the leaders were eating lunch. We were enjoying meals at Potbelly’s (a sandwich place next to campus) and as I was standing in line I recognized someone I hadn’t seen in 5 years. Nathan Soyer, a HS student at Norwalk who was a year ahead of me, was sitting there with his brother and his sister-in-law. In Ft. Worth, TX?!? I knew he’d gone to college in Indiana, but why was he in Ft. Worth? It turns out that he and Travis were both working in California and Travis got a job in Ft. Worth and so Nathan was helping him move out here. We only have a few short minutes to say hi and catch up, but it was another reminder of how much my life is in transition. I’ll be heading to Norwalk on Tuesday (fingers crossed) and will be working from there for the rest of the semester.

Moving up there, though, will require me to leave a huge group of friends behind. A nice anecdote from the night captures a little bit of the current stress. I was driving Libby back from dinner while Jon and Richard drove in Jon’s car. At one point, after going over a speed bump, we heard a little metallic sound. After stopping and then going we heard it again and stopped, looked, and saw that my muffler had disconnected from the tailpipe. While I was talking to my parents on my cell, Libby called Jon and he and Richard came and looked at it with me. Richard had bun-gee cords in his car, so they got them, returned, and we attached it again (in my opinion more solidly — save for the disconnect — than it was before). I’m going to take it to a muffler shop tomorrow morning, but it was the bond I have with them all that made it only a 15-20 minute fiasco (for tonight) instead of the 1-1.5 hour one it could have been.

Now I’m going to continue working on putting in a good word for a friend …

To anyone who reads this, I’m sorry. I’ve been delinquent (or I guess distracted with other things) these past two weeks. Dr. Schmidt ended up dying a week ago on Tuesday. I was lucky enough to get one more chance to see him on Sunday before he was too weak for visitors. He died in hospice with Judy by his side. It’s been a hard time for everyone in the Religion department, but little blessings routinely appear: like friends.

Friends are amazing. I have the routine trouble of keeping up with old friends, but the littlest things bring us back together again and again. Richard Newton, my roommate for a year and classmate for 9 different courses, was also able to put into words what his last moments with Dr. Schmidt were like. (Just be forewarned — AMAZING):

From Richard Newton:
As the elevator ascended, I pondered over what my last words could be to a man whose words have meant so much to me. The way he spoke, whether in oratory or in conversation, always conveyed passion and flare. This time, when I would hear him speak, the passion he envoked would display the often forgotten aspect of passion which has disappeared from vernacular connotation– he would be suffering. At the time, what words could I share that would help him; yet, now, as I think about it, I was more concered with what words would help me. As a pastor, I’ve grown familiar with hospitals and the power of comforting words and silence; but now, I would be walking the halls, in search of a room where my teacher lay and I would once again be the student. I would once againg be the one with questions. I would once again be the one in need of guidance. This time and maybe for the first time ever in the history of our relationship, I wanted to serve him. As fate would have it, this time there was little I could do.

The elevator doors opened and I walked past his room. A sign read that he would take no more visitors but that all could go to a courtesy room and leave a note. I went to the room and was greeted by his family. They beared some physical resemblance to him but they all beared the mark of those whose hearts had been touched by a sheperd of a man. They had experienced Dr. Schmidt’s gentleness. They had seen him smile. They had heard him laugh. They had known his love in a way different yet familiar way than I had. We greeted each other as strangers do, however the words we shared rightfully took a back seat to the emotions we held in common- saddness, anxiety, bewilderment, and confusion. Soon after they went to his room to see if he felt well enough for me to come see him. I finished the note by the time they returned and they took me to his room.

I met his wife, Judy. She had a strength that I didn’t even know how to pray for. I wondered what they talked about and shared in their last moments together but knew that I would never know. I hoped they were the type of things that made the great stories that we all wanted to hear, but I hope that it was in a language that only they could understand. Meanings conveyed in a dialect that was incomprehensible to anyone save those who had experienced what they had experienced together.

She said that it was fine for me to enter the room and I felt both joy and pain. How could she give me a portion fof the last moments she would get to share with him? I suppose she knew that Dr. Schmidt’s seeing me might just give him a little more joy or peace and that was worth something to her. I guess the greatest love is about sacrifice– even in the very end.

When I walked into his room, I saw him. This time he wasn’t wearing khaki pants and cowboy boots. This time he didn’t have his glasses on. This time he was connected to machines. This time he was still. I came over to the side of his bed and sat in a chair. We gripped hands like we never had before. It wasn’t a handshake, it was a hold. It was an embrace, the likes of which are shared when a friend lifts the other up from the ground. I don’t know who was who though. The thank you’s he showered me with would have me think that I was lifting him up in some way but the strange peace I felt would indicate otherwise.

I greeted him with a Kali heMera, as we did everyday we saw each other. His face lit up. I saw the wide-eyed stare that only Dr. Schmidt could give, as he said “Kali heMera, Kali heMera indeed!” We shared how he was doing and he said that he was doing alright but he knew how he was doing, and he wanted to know what I had been up to as of late. He was thrilled to hear about my receiving of generous fellowships at Garrett-Evangelical, Perkins, and Wesley. Unfortuantely at the time, I could not tell him where I wanted to go but he assured me that I can’t go wrong with any. He was delighted to find that I was already serving two churches as a pastor. Until then, it had been difficult to be joyous of these blessings while I knew he was suffering. His pride in me let me know that I should be celebrating.

He asked about how Sarah was doing and he wished us such blessings. He told me that in this time he has learned that blessings and prayers mean so much and how he doesn’t take them for granted. He also learned not to waste time, for even though it hurt him to speak, he sipped some water and spoke to me just as he always would- verbose yet captivating, extemporaneously but timely, pensive yet candid. I had asked him if he had still been thinking alot. He said,”Oh yeah, I wake up in the mornings and I think about life and translations. Lately I’ve been thinking about the last part of Romans 8.” He said that it taken on a whole new meaning and had a new application to him. He said that his disposition had helped him realize the greater meanings behind the scriptures, “just like you have to do when you preach to people every week.” I laughed because I couldn’t imagine being one-up on Dr. Schmdit about anything-even when we disagreed. Trying to relate to his epiphany, I told him how living in the country taught me about the blessing and importance of things like rain and how I have a new perspective from which to interpret apropo scriptures. After saying this I, felt so stupid. Could I really compare my East Texas immersion to a professor’s last thoughts? His face gave me affirmation as he once again lit up and displayed his intrigue with my statement.

He said “Yeah, like the saying, the rain falls on the just and the unjust. People always say that life is just not fair…or what is it…oh yeah! ‘Why Me?’ If ‘why me’ is your first question, you are asking the wrong question. We all deal with things, and good things and bad things happen to us. It’s part of life. Life is about sharing and experiencing as much as we can. If all you can think of is ‘Why Me?’ your are missing the point.”

I was awestruck. I wanted to ask what the first question we should ask is, but I knew that only I could answer that for myself. He was still challenging me, giving me more to think about.

When I finally left the room, he kept on saying “Bless you and Sarah, Thank you, Bless you.” I didn’t want to let go of his hand and even when I did, we still tried to hold on as long as possible. As I reached the door, I turned and he waved to me one last time.

As the door closed behind me, I could only think of the most important lesson he had taught me, never in words but in spirit and truth. “Life must go on.”

Grace and Peace to you teach and friend.
God Bless You Dr. Schmidt

THANK YOU Richard!

Shock and awe. Those are the words that opened the second war with Iraq. Every news source gathered that “shock and awe” were the words to use for describing the destruction that happened in Baghdad that night. It was only two class sessions later when Dr. Schmidt did, as fester Prose points out, his normal: he turned on a word.

It’s a practice to which we all had to grow accustomed. “How would we say this today” or, better yet, “Why would a writer have picked this phrase instead of that one?” Those questions were common, not only in my first Greek classes, but also the later ones where it was just him and I. From those two simple questions would come answers we least expected but in the end were often agreeing with. It was those questions that drove his research and drove his teaching. It was those questions that drove him.

I forget off the top of my head where it was, but we were translating either one of Paul’s conversion stories or the transfiguration and he turned on a word (well, in this case a phrase). He asked those questions, and then gave us a simple question as an answer: do you think this was their worldview’s version of “shock and awe”? It was a sense of horror, a sense of dumbfoundedness and a sense of fear all wrapped into one. Why are we now full of shock and awe again?

Two Sundays ago I was just finishing a conference at TCU and went over to Daryl and Judy’s. I had bought some Italy maps a couple of weeks before when I was housesitting for them and I gave them a list of my favorite places; they were originally scheduled to go on a 2-month trip starting this past Monday to Florence, Italy and Greece. He’d already had permission to use the Laurentian libraries at San Lorenzo in Florence and even permission to use the Vatican archives in Rome as well as the monsteries at Mt. Athos in Greece for his research. He was set.

When they returned from their trip to California in mid-February, they took him to the doctor and found he had a case of anemia. He’d had one several years before as well and the doctors started treating, testing and trying to get his body back to order so they could make their Europe trip.

When it got closer to the date, they knew it wasn’t solved yet and their trip would be postponed. That Sunday, they let me give them a taste of Italy by cooking saltimbocca and a spaghetti with lemon sauce. It was three hours where I prepared it all in front of them and talked: about my Italy experience, about his research in California and what he and Judy were wanting to do in Europe. It was wonderful.

Then came the phone call this past Monday: Judy called and said that he’d had a colonoscopy the previous Wednesday and there was cancer and it was in the colon with some in the liver and lungs. That phone call began what I knew of his end.

Yesterday was full of little details I heard from people around Beasley Hall on his condition. I didn’t know much concrete besides that it was bad. We heard yesterday afternoon that Judy had called his family and they had come down. At that point we knew it was really bad.

At 10:35 this morning I went downstairs and talked to Dr. Lahustky. I peeked my head in the door, saw her in tears, and got choked up myself. The salty water our bodies put out is one of the bitter reminders of reality. We talked for a few moments and she said she had the 11:30 funeral to get to at our church, South Hills Christian Church, for Glenna Foote. Then Dr. Flowers came down and said he was heading in to see Judy (Dr. Schmidt’s wife) to help her arrange funeral details and be general support. Dr. Lahustky and I went ahead of him while he waited for Lea.

Even though they left after us, Ron and Lea ended up getting to the hospital before us since Dr. L and I got stuck up with construction traffic on 8th St. We arrived at the top floor of the tower and saw Ron, Leah and Dr. Darren Middleton. Dr. Middleton was there with Judy and his family, who arrived yesterday afternoon. While we were all waiting in the floor’s lobby, Judy and her father-, sister- and brother-in-law were in with Daryl and the doctors. We were talking, trying to come up with something funny to say to numb our minds a little and waiting and seeing what would happen.

Then I saw a face in the window in the door. Judy and I made eye contact and with recognition came that glow she gets from surprise. She came through the door and we all got up and gave her hugs. She then was followed by Daryl’s dad, Arnie, who came through the door, shook our hands, gave hugs, and was telling of “how proud we are of our boy!” No kidding. Talk about the understatement of the century!

Dr. L and I, seeing the doctors were out as well, took a moment and snuck in. Little did I know how I would react. When I first opened the door to his room I had to mentally double-check that it was the correct room. There were a man and woman standing who I’d never met (found out it was his sister and his brother-in-law) and then a man in the bed. It took an additional second for me to register the fact that the man in the bed was him, my mentor.

Dr. Lahutsky and I walked over to the bed, she took his right hand, I took his left, and we talked. She told him how she’d come to say goodbye to her neighbor and friend. They’d shared adjacent offices in the department for almost 20 years. Then he did something that still rips out the tears. He lifted the hand she was holding, motioned to me, and said to her: “he cooked my last supper.” Oh gosh; I lost it right there. There’s nothing worse than your New Testament professor saying that. I looked at his jaundiced body and his yellowed eyes and held his hand. Dr. Lahutsky asked if he wanted others to come and he shook his head and said, “I don’t want them to feel like they have to.” Sometimes I think there can be so much humility in a person that it’s wasted. There was no place we’d rather be and he knew that. Then came his final phrase – one which will serve as a guide to everything for me. Still holding my hand, he looked up at me and said “carry on.” We walked out of the room, trying not to let the signs of our grief slip back into his door.

I’ve gone through the rest of my day almost paralyzed. Dr. L and I made it back for the end of Glenna’s funeral and then a time afterwards in Dottie’s (our South Hills minister’s) office with her and fester. This afternoon I ended up covering the Religion Department office so Laurie, the Dept. secretary, could make a trip to the hospital.

Throughout the day the memories have been coming back. I’ve dissected his phrases a thousand times and the memories just add on top of each other. Perhaps the one that best fits with “carry on” is a candid conversation we had in his office. During my second year at TCU, he and I went to the Holocaust Remembrance week chapel service and then met in his office afterwards. While I was sitting at his round table he was busy over by his computer, getting something. He turned around and said, “Adam, that message that we just heard is why I still do what I do.” His witness — the reason he still professes — is one of peace. He teaches this area knowing full-well that many use it to justify discrimination, killing and war. He is a witness asking “what” and “why” and trudging through the crap that comes with “shock and awe.” How I wish we had him at our side as we try to get through this.

As of now, we don’t know what will happen. He’s on dialysis, his kidneys have shut down and it looks as if it’s just a matter of time. The one blessing I thank God for in all of this was the chance to say “Goodbye Friend.”

Swish-swish-swish. The sound knocked me out of my space-y haze and I looked down. It was dark, so I stopped and stood still while my eyes took a couple of seconds to adjust. Those precious few seconds were all that it took for the creature to decide I wasn’t an immediate threat and it was safe for it to scurry away.

I half-heartedly wish I could say this doesn’t happen often to me, but alas, it’s becoming more regular. Three weeks ago TCU started a program for Faculty and Staff: Frog Legs. For whoever signed up, that person worked with their department at tracking how much they walk — with the obvious connection of awareness stimulating improvement — by the use of pedometers. These pedometers, with the TCU Horned Frog logo and everything, show me just how little I walk during certain times at life.

Did you know that the least amount of activity I put my body through is while traveling? The first two weeks of the program I was visiting divinity schools and seminaries by flying and driving everywhere. I know what you’re thinking: the airports are where we get the most tired (well, besides the gym); it turns out that tiredness actually comes from the amount of carry-on bags and the g-forces from the take-offs and landings rather than the actual number of steps.

The places with the most pedometer activity: retreat centers! This is one of the bizarre paradoxes of life, but I walk more at the places where I sit and pray, think and read than I do for the process of moving around the globe. It was during my times at these retreat centers that I encountered the swishing creatures.

The first instance was last Friday night at my home church campgrounds in Newton, IA. I returned there last week after finishing my last divinity school visit and volunteered to help my parents and the other youth group sponsors and minister of my congregation with their middle school retreat. I was in charge of ice-breakers — (the guy living in Texas) — go figure. It was while the group was working on their Youth Sunday worship preparation that I walked from our cabin up to the main lodge to grab a sleeping bag for one of the adults who forgot one. I was trudging up and down the hills and lost in thought: about the events of the past two weeks, about the friends I missed and about the cold air starting to penetrate my jeans. Then came the sound. I looked down to the right at an opossum and chuckled. It flipped over, just five feet away from me, and scurried off down into a small creek bed. Leave to an opossum to play dead when I go that close.

The second instance was last Tuesday night when I was doing a spiritual retreat down in Lake Dallas, TX. I had just enjoyed a nice dinner and decided to go for a walk — down the stations of the cross and eventually following the driveway almost until it connected to the road. I made it there just as the sunset was fading away and I turned back and returned the way I came. Just when I was about to reach the retreat center I heard the sound and stopped. I looked down to my left. There, an armadillo took a second to look at me and then turned. It was four feet away, but it knew with its scaly shelled back towards me that it would be able to make it to safety. Its pace wasn’t a life-or-death frenzy, it was just fast enough to let me, or any other potential predator, know that it was out of the game.

Neither of these were spooky instances for me; if I had really bad blood-pressure neither would have likely caused enough stress to trigger a heart attack. They both, however, made me take a moment to stop. And together, they made me reflect even further.

Both instances had the same first reaction from both me and the creatures I’d never been closer to in my life. My first instinct, luckily (or else I might have missed it all), once I heard signs of their reactions was to stop and take a second to let my senses readjust for this new situation. Their reactions were to first play dead or uninterested until they gaged me. Both then turned and left me to go about what I was doing, just with them out of the picture.

I can only hope once I finalize my seminary/divinity school decision I don’t get the same reaction from many of those close to me. I may have those on my left show their shells and shut me out of their lives and I may have those on my right try to ignore me and then when they have the chance they may get as far away from me as possible. Either of those reactions are possible, and in a couple of cases likely; luckily, there’s often a sleeping bag or a pen and notebook ahead for when I continue the journey.

On the flip side, both instances (and probably those that will happen in the future) bring about more reflection on God, creation and my world external to myself. They take me out of the self-absorbed, introspective state and show me another previously hidden facet I can appreciate. I hope everyone gets these occasionally jarring moments that penetrate comfort zones only to cause more honest reflection.

A long time ago I was beginning the semester; now, I’m fully in the heat-of-things and trying to catch my breath. One would think my life would be simple. I’ve graduated. I’m not taking classes. I’m working at a paying job. I’m taking my time and visiting graduate schools. What isn’t ordered in all of this? – my life’s rhythm.

Added to a staff above my memories of last spring, I’ve complicated my life by also syncopating it with a spastic rhythm. There is no line of continuity in everything that occurs, instead I’m simply adding partially-overlapping layers on each other to make it all connect. Take my social life for example. The times I schedule myself the most and arrange my life in a break-neck pace are the times when I am rooted to a particular place: my busiest times in Ft. Worth are the solid periods where I’m housesitting for Dr. Schmidt and Judy. The times I’m staying the nights at friends’ places, however, are left completely open without any commitments. Those are the times that I read; those are the times that I work or study. None of this is bad, it is paradoxical, however.

Last week I spent Monday and Tuesday visiting Lexington Theological Seminary in Lexington, KY. Before anyone asks — I reflected a lot while I was at each of the schools and also afterwards. I’m not done, however, and definitely not ready to make a decision, so thoughts on each school will be available on an individual basis after some time. Tuesday night I rented a car and on Wednesday morning I drove down to Nashville, TN to visit Vanderbilt Divinity School. I enjoyed my time with my friends there as well before driving north to Owensboro, KY on Thursday afternoon. That night I stayed with Jeff Bruce and his parents and showed Mike and Angela pictures of Italy while we watched the Olympics after dinner. Friday I saw my maternal grandparents in Lexington (they were at a meeting there — they live in IA) and turned in my rental car and hung out with even more friends in Lexington before flying back to Ft. Worth on Saturday morning. Tomorrow I’m flying to Chicago to check out the University of Chicago Divinity School. We’ll see how it goes.

How is my schedule and life overlapping beyond all of this (i.e. what’s so spastic about this)? My time is regimented and loose, yet I am bound by it. My space is also transitional, and I am bound even worse to it. Today I wanted to work on some of my projects for Dr. Gunn, so I needed two things: an internet connection and a space to sit and work. The former is available throughout TCU (the wireless connection is awesome); the latter was more or a problem — the library was closed for the day. Closed?!? Yes, DFW had an ice storm and, even though the roads were mostly dry by lunchtime (the library opens at noon), the staff apparently couldn’t make it in. So, I spent the rest of the day in the Student Center working in the reading room.

Oh, before I forget, there’s another example of the crazy nature of my current life pace. TCU has a chapter for Phi Beta Kappa, the nation’s oldest honor society for college students. It’s a pretty selective group since the number of people allowed in the entire university is limited to a percentage of how many BA/BS degrees were awarded. For each of the past three years I’d witnessed a couple of Religion students each year be elected into this. The way they’re notified is the faculty members come into the classroom and make some statement about the historical significance of the honor society and then name the student. Well, this morning Dr. Lahutsky decided to do it at church! She stood up in the joys/concerns time and announced that I was elected into it. Talk about fun and yet weird at the same time. At least when she did it she did mention that nothing is normal in my life at the moment and this shouldn’t be an exception.

Two questions have ruled my life for the past two weeks: “why are you here?” (it’s both others and myself asking that) and “how much is it different from Italy?” Both questions are important at times, but they don’t ever get better conversations going; until today …

People asking me “why are you here?” doesn’t bother me as much as I expected. My situation is unique: I’ve graduated and I’m working at TCU before going to graduate school. People are startled after not seeing me for eight months, especially since I shaved my head. What I wasn’t expecting was how often I would ask myself that question. It’s not an atypical question; I ask it at least once a semester and sometimes once a month. Several times a week, however, is starting to push the limit. Juggling my workload (which isn’t hard, just self-demanding), my social life (there are WAY too many old and new friends to catch up with) and my ever-fleeting introspective time that I used to treasure is just plain hard. Why am I here? What is this all leading to? How did I even get here? How am I supposed to enjoy this while living in the moment? The questions go on and on …

My friends ask “How much is it different from Italy?” ALL of the time. They’ll ask it with food, with shopping and with unexpected things like TV. Normally I brush it off and ambiguously say “it’s different, but not so different that it’s a completely separate thing (whatever that means).” For lunch yesterday I experienced something so Italian: I was asked to pay more for less.

TCU’s food-service provider, Sodexho (see rant), is famous for overcharging students at TCU. Well, I should rephrase: the price is rarely the same even though the food options stay sadly constant. The price you pay for food at TCU depends on the operator at the machine and not on the actual food you purchase. I went over to the Deco Deli to pick up a sandwich and saw a special combo meal which came with chips and a 32 oz. drink. I didn’t realize it was the 32 oz. drink included, and assuming it was the standard for TCU, went with the smaller cup for my soft drink. When I got up to pay (luckily there weren’t people in line) the price came to over $2 more than the combo price. Here’s how the dialogue went:

Adam: “Wait, doesn’t the combo include the chips and drink?”
Cashier: “Yes, the combo does, but you don’t have the combo.”
Adam: “Well, how do I get it since these are the things that make up the combo?”
Cashier: “No, you have a 20 oz. drink and not the 32 oz. one. I have to charge you for each individual item now.”
Adam; “Wait, I have to pay more money for getting less?”
Cashier: “Yes, you should have filled with the bigger glass.”
Adam: “What’s to stop me from going over and dumping this into a bigger one? Can I do that?” (even though it’s SO typical for a TCU person to waste two styrofoam cups)
Cashier: “No, I’ve already put it into the machine and you already put the money on the table.”
Adam: “But you haven’t given me change, so it’s not actually finished.”
Cashier: “Well, let me see if I can figure this out.”
[While she worked on the machine I went and filled with a bigger one. When I came back the price was higher than what she’d said before.]
Adam: “How does it cost even more now?”
Cashier: “Because you got a bigger drink.”

I learned and followed the moral of the story today: bring your own leftovers for lunch!

Sometimes the best things are the ones that don’t change. I cringed when I typed that, because for my life, change is great and constantly changing itself (call it a derivative of the derivative). One of the traditions during the last spring semester was a group of friends who did dinner together every Monday night. Either cooking in one of our apartments or planning a night at a great restaurant, we make a point of gathering each week for great food and fun times together.

That semester there were five of us; now two of us have incorporated some others and started it again. Last week I made dinner; I gave it a 4 out of 10 ranking (I just wasn’t on top of things). Next week I’m planning a redemptive effort. This week, however, we made it to the “Old Neighborhood Grill.” On 8th and Park Place in Ft. Worth, this place was crowded but not unbearably so like many chain restaurants. The food was also better than we could have expected. Chicken-fried Steak is amazing; I didn’t know I had missed it until I came back and had it! Fried Okra is also good at this place. The best part of the night, besides nurturing the friendships, was the price of the meal: 6.75 for the main course and two sides. It was more than I could eat too!

After getting back to the house, spending some time with the two cats I’m housesitting (they’re attention-hungry when I get home since the house is empty all day), I read some and planned today.

One of the habits I didn’t like changing when I first got back to the States was not walking as my primary mode of transportation. Florence was great because (besides the art and the people) I could eat a ton of great food and then walk and still not gain weight. Ft. Worth is a city in which one definitely needs a car. The public transportation is inefficient and the distance is too great. Planning last night, however, I started thinking about how far it really was between the Schmidts’ house and Beasley Hall. 2.4 miles. 2.4 miles; that’s it! I clocked it on Sunday afternoon and decided it was definitely doable today. So, waking up 40 minutes earlier, I pulled on my coat and walked to and from work today. Not only is walking in the crisp air refreshing, but that time would have been spent sitting either in front of a computer or books at work or the TV or books at home had I not been walking.

Perhaps the highlight of my morning walk was seeing the friends I have offer to give me rides. One after another, Megan and Jessica both passed me while driving up University and offered me a ride. I know, it’s random to have that many friends see you walking to work, but it’s kind of fun too! Granted, I did pass them up on the offer, but it was their thought and kindness that counts. I now know, though, that for the days when I don’t have a tight schedule, I’m definitely going to walk instead of drive. Call me old-fashioned, but … sometimes not changing is better.