so...God?

"Is tomorrow really Monday?"
Kathleen asked this mostly rhetorical question from her spot on everyone's favorite chaise lawn chair. Her empty plate rested on her stomach while her left hand lazily brushed the still-damp grass. Mellow had been the theme word for the weekend. My Llama had taken the weekend off so that Grant could go to a big family celebration with Maria. I'd had a date with a guy from work Friday night, but had made it home by 11 p.m.; Phil and John came over then and Kathleen and I proceeded to smoke them at a 5,000 point game of spades before sending them home in a rainstorm sometime around 2:30 in the morning. It was still raining on Saturday, so Kathleen and I spent the day baking and watching movies. Sunday afternoon the sun came out again and they guys decided to grill. As the light began to turn purple and indigo, we all lounged around the guys' backyard, bellies full of Tod's amazing burgers and Maria's equally amazing dulce de leche. It was the kind of atmosphere that made people want to talk -- you were relaxed, satisfied, and you couldn't really see anyone that well.
"So John," Tod said, blowing out a thin stream of smoke from his cigarette. "You've been here a while now."
"True."
"And even after months of living with you, playing with you, hanging out with you...I have to say, you're still a very mysterious guy."
John laughed. "I don't try to hide anything," he said.
"Also true," Tod replied. "But it's not so much things you're hiding...I mean, we've all heard the stories and we all know about your weakness for macaroni and cheese with pickles -- which is disgusting, by the way -- it's more just the way you are."
I could just barely see John smile in the fading light. "I see," he said. "Well, that is mysterious I guess. But maybe not in the way you mean. Because it's not really me that's mysterious. It's God."
The peaceful, comfortable silence we'd all been marinating in got a bit thicker. I can freely admit that God is never something I'd talked about with any of my friends, and not something I'd really given much thought to. I held my breath wondering if we were about to have a heavy conversation, an argument, or if people were just going to get up and break the evening's summery spell. And a small part of me just wanted John to elaborate, because Tod was right.

change?

Okay, I'll be honest. I left Waffle House buzzing, and not just from the copious amounts of sugar in my maple syrup-and-whipped-cream-topped French toast. After my conversation with Pete in the truck, it was as though the CD in my head that had been skipping on the same song for the past few months had finally fixed itself and was playing my favorite songs again. A tiny part of me entertained the idea that maybe Pete and I could work things out romantically speaking, but I shut that train of thought down pretty fast. Mostly because I knew that my level of trust for Pete was still pretty low. And partly because I knew that if Pete and I got back together, Kathleen would officially lose it. But SXSW was officially awesome and the band blew everyone's mind. So much so that John decided to stick around a while; the guys cleaned out the storeroom above the detached garage (which was air conditioned thanks to Phil's studio being the half of the above-garage space) for John to sleep in. When I asked John how long he was planning on staying he just smiled and said "Until it's time to go."
Pete was around more after we got back from the festival; there were nights when the rumble of his old Chevy woke me up just before the sun did, but for a few months at least things seemed back to normal. Sort of.

at Waffle House

"This place is so disgusting." Kathleen wrinkled her nose and grabbed a napkin to swat at some non-existent crumbs in the booth we'd snagged.
"But it's road trip food. We are on a road trip." Tod slid in next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Lighten up, K. Road trip! Austin! Concerts! There is no room in this booth for a gloomy face."
And you couldn't deny that Tod's face was far from gloomy. In fact, I looked around as we all looked at our greasy menus. We'd taken up two booths -- me, Kathleen, Tod and Phil; Grant, Maria, Pete, and John. Maria's arms were waiving around, her mouth moving at light-speed. Pete and John were shaking with laughter; John's head fell to the table, his back still convulsing. Grant just shook his head, obviously having heard the story already. Tod turned around to ask what the racket was all about. His left hand still rested on the menu sitting on the table, his long fingers tapping out a rhythm. Phil and Kathleen were talking, I think about a new CD they were listening to in the car. I looked down at my menu and saw that my hands were shaking slightly. Odd. But maybe appropriate given that I felt like I'd just missed getting run over by a car, or made it to shore after being dumped into some wicked white water rapids.
Fingers snapped in my face.
"Hello space cadet," Tod said. "Beverage?" He motioned to the apron-clad waitress smacking watermelon gum at our table.
"Coffee," I said. "With cream, please."
As she moved on, Phil raised his eyebrow at me. "No offense, Gia, but you don't look like you need more caffeine."
I shook my head. "Why do you have to be so darn perceptive all the time," I said, smacking him lightly. "But I'm fine, really."

let's talk about this

A month after My llama's first show with John, I found myself once again driving my truck with Peter riding shotgun. However, the silence was slightly more awkward than the trip to the beach since I hadn't spoken to Peter in that month. Even Shawn Mullins couldn't soothe my rattling nerves.
We were on the way to Austin, my truck bed full of tents, sleeping bags, and of course the ever-present grill. I'd tried to convince Tod that the campground we were staying at had grills at each site -- we'd used them during every other road trip to Austin after all -- but he'd become strangely attached to this particular birthday gift. Since he was a little nervous about playing at South by Southwest this weekend, Kathleen and I had decided that his grill had become his security blanket. But who could fault him? I wasn't even playing and I was nervous; after all, some of my best friends in the world were making their debut at one of the hottest music and film festivals in the country. I think the only one of us who wasn't nervous was John.
"I'm beginning to think John is an alien."
"What!?" I was more than startled at this statement from Peter since last I knew he wasn't a mind reader.
"Think about it," he said, as though this conversation wasn't the first one we'd had in many weeks. "Aside from the fact that he's a professional homeless guy -- not all that unusual really -- he's always happy, never nervous, never angry, he's got this really unnatural..." Pete searched for the word.
"Peace?"
"Exactly!" Pete snapped his fingers. "He's like that Buddhist Kathleen dated for five minutes. Only not a Buddhist, funny, a first-class musician with great taste in movies, and an unnatural gift at Halo."
I rolled my eyes. "Someone's got a crush."
Pete smiled, surprising me by taking my joke as just that. He shrugged. "We've been spending a lot of time together when I'm at the house."
"I didn't realize you'd actually been around lately."
The lightness of our conversation did not make it into my voice.
Peter sighed. "How about we just get this over with. I really want to have a good weekend."
"And we all know that your needs and wants are priority."
"Stop being so passive-aggressive, Gia!" Peter said, his voice rising. "For goodness sake, let's not play around anymore."
"Fine!" my voice rising to match his. "Let's start with the fact that you've become a complete jerk. I can't even describe the look on Tod's face when you weren't at the pub that night. I mean, where were you? Working? Stuck in traffic? What? What excuse?"
"No excuse," Pete said. "And I told Tod that later. We worked it all out."
"Well that's great. And what's with you're hanging around lately? You're here, you're gone, you're back again...we never see you and when we do you're silent and surly and moody and a complete prick."
"Sorry mom," Peter said, sarcasm like acid in his voice. "Didn't realize I had to clear my calendar with you first."
"Did you ever just think about the fact that we're your friends, your family. We care about you and the last six months you've just been acting different. Not you. Friends are supposed to notice that kind of stuff."
"Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe hanging around got to be a little hard," Peter said. "I needed some time away from all that 'familiness.' "
My voice softened slightly and I knew I was about to step into a minefield. "I know it was hard when your brother died, but we wanted to be there for you. You didn't let us."
"I don't want to talk about it."
I shrugged. "I know. You never do."
We were silent for a moment, but some smoke still hung in the air.
"Keep going," Peter finally said. "You're not going back far enough into this anger you're holding against me."
"You sound like a psychiatrist."
"Gia."
I sighed and my heart constricted. "Fine. Fine. It still hurts, Pete, is that what you want me to say to you? I'm angry, yes. Sure, things weren't perfect. I was starting to get tired and overwhelmed getting carried along in your wake, but I loved you so much some days I thought my heart would explode. I wanted to get over that overwhelmed feeling. But you couldn't wait. You pushed and pushed and I'm sorry but sometimes pushing doesn't work and I'm sorry but I just got too exhausted. And then Travis died and you shut us all out. You shut me out but still wanted me to be just the same Gia, holding on for dear life to the tornado that is Pete. And it was all or nothing, but I never wanted it to be nothing, Pete. And then you got mean, and it hurt." I silently cursed the tear that sneaked out of my eye. "It really hurt."
Shawn sung about sad people.
"Guess that's it?" Pete asked, staring out the window.
"In a nutshell."
"Good."
I passed a semi-truck and glanced at a field full of cows. Were they Blue Bell cows? We weren't that far from Brenham. Shawn made it through his songs and my five-disc changer switched to Journey. My cell phone chimed once and delivered a text from the mini-van in front of me, full of instruments and musicians. Need food. Next exit.
"I miss you, Gia."

my llama

As My Llama took their first set break, I leaned over the the table and talked as quietly as a noisy pub on a Saturday night let me.
"So, does anyone else think they sound better now?"
Phil laughed and Maria and Kathleen nodded their heads emphatically.
"They haven't sounded this good since that night Grant was hopped on cough medicine and doing insane things to his bass," Kathleen said.
We were laughing at this true statement as the guys walked up to the table, slightly sweaty but with huge smiles on their faces.
"So, we're awesome right?"
"And so humble," I said, giving Tod a huge hug. "But yes, awesome. If I didn't know you already, I'd probably throw myself all over you and vow to be a groupie forever."
"Sweet."
"I'll be a groupie," Maria said, draping herself across Grant and planting a kiss in the middle of his stuck-on grin.
"We were just talking about what a great addition you are," I said to John.
"Thanks," he replied. "These guys are great. Makes it easy to play. And this crowd!" he gestured to the packed pub. "I mean, I've played some gigs that were one step up from a funeral. A good crowd also makes it easy."
We pulled up some chairs to the table and I went to see Lance about some more drinks. As I stood at the bar waiting, I turned back to watch my friends chatting and laughing. I noticed Tod lean toward Phil and Phil shake his head. Tod's helium mood deflated slightly as he craned his neck and scanned the pub. Unconsciously I balled my fist, wishing Pete's face was within punching distance, because I knew that was who Tod looked for. Because Pete had never missed a gig. Ever.
"Here you go Gia."
I turned and grabbed the tray of drinks. "Thanks Lance."
When I turned around I had to tighten my grip on the tray and thank heaven that my nerves had gotten stronger over the years because speaking of the devil...look who'd walked in the door.
"Hey Lance," I turned back to the bar. "Better give me one for Pete too."

...

"Thanks, Lance." I grabbed the frosty bottle off the bar and handed the bartender a ten. "Keep it," I said, raising the bottle in salute. Lance was the regular weeknight bartender at Marbles, and we had become regular customers ever since My Llama started playing gigs there at least once a week. It was a sweet find though; the owner had spent several years in Scotland and Wales, and Marbles was a definite nod to your typical neighborhood pub. Lots of worn-in wood, cozy booths, big tables if cozy wasn't your thing, and a couple of pool tables back in the corner. Food was good too and not too expensive. Anyway, we hung out here a lot and Lance took care of us. Tonight was a big night and I'd staked out a table close to the small corner stage; tonight was the debut of My Llama's new temporary drummer, John.
What a crazy few days. First of all, even though we'd all told John to crash with us and look us up and all that next time he made it to Houston, I for one didn't expect him to actually show up one day. It's one of those things you just say when you meet new people. You mean it of course, but no one ever really expects a follow-through. Anyway, so that was mildly crazy. But a drummer? Come on. Tod, however, swears that he's "money" and Grant is quick to nod his head and say "totally money." (Way too many late-night viewings of Swingers). We'll see.
"Hey Gia," Phil sat down next to me after squezzing my shoulders. "How's your day?"
I shrugged "same ol' stuff, you?"
"Yep."
Kathleen walked up a few minutes later, carrying drinks for her and Phil and a big pink frosted thing that could only be for Maria.
"Where's Maria?" I asked scouting out the comfortably full room.
"Ladies' room."
The guys had climbed onto the stage and begun to pick up there instruments and get settled. I felt a fierce behind-the-back hug and turned to smile at Maria.
"Hola, chica!" I said with a grin.
Maria rolled her eyes as I knew she would. "Seriously, gringo. When are you going to let me teach you some Spanish?"
"When my brain develops some language skills and you sit still long enough to deliver...or whichever happens first."
She laughed, brown eyes sparkling. "I've missed you Gia."
"I know... where've you been?" I asked. It had been a few weeks since Maria had made an appearance at our house or the guys' house.
"Work has been unbelievably busy," she said. "And my sister got appendicitis so I've been taking turns with my mom and sisters-in-law cleaning and cooking."
"Ouch," Kathleen said. "Makes me glad I don't have any family."
"Yes, but then who takes care of you when you're sick," Maria said.
"Gia."
We all laughed because we all knew it was true. I was a nurturer, or to put it another way, a girl prone to being stepped on and getting her heart broken.
Our conversation got interrupted by a drum riff.

...

...I was lounging on the couch in a pancake-induced stupor, watching through the archway as Grant and Phil washed the dishes and stacked them in the drainer on the counter. Kathleen was still at the kitchen table, alternately reading the newspaper and criticizing -- I'm sorry, critiquing, the dishwashing. Tod also sat at the table, head on his arms. Every now and then a groan would escape. I had just managed to stop thinking about Peter when the doorbell rang. I rolled off the couch and walked the few feet to the front door, opening it as Kathleen poked her head out of the kitchen. I stared out the door.
"John!" I said, queen of the obvious.
"Gia!" he said, his eyes crinkling as he grinned.
"What..I mean, come in," I held the door open wider.
"Thanks," he said, walking through. He set a good-sized backpacking pack on the floor next the door, leaning against the wall. "Hi Kathleen."
"Hello yourself," she said, "I think we have a few chocolate chip pancakes left if you'd like some."
"Who says no to pancakes," he said with another grin. "I tried the guys house first but no one was..." he stopped and laughed as we fully entered the kitchen. "hey guys."
"Hey."
Kathleen set the last plate of pancakes on the table in front of an empty chair.
"Milk?" I asked, opening the fridge.
"That'd be awesome. This is quite the welcome."
"It's Saturday," Grant said.
John took a bite and cocked his head toward Tod's still figure which hadn't even moved after John came in.
Phil quickly filled him in and I was pretty shocked to see yet another grin flash across John's face. Did this guy do anything but smile?
"Funny how God works things out sometimes," he said and before we could process that surprising comment -- even Tod lifted his head at the mention of God that didn't involve swearing -- John had gotten out of his chair and walked into the other room. In a few minutes he was back deftly twirling two drumsticks in his fingers. "I don't have a set with me, but I am planning to stick around town for a while."
We all started with gaping mouths.
"Finish your pancakes," Tod said. "Then come over. I've got a set at the house and you can try out a set."


author's note: thanks to those who are reading and pushing me on; I need the shove now and again. Sorry I've been MIA on the story-telling; but don't give up!

...

...
"Want some pancakes? I'll even thrown in some chocolate chips."
Pause. "Do you have whipped cream?"
Kathleen rolled her eyes. "Good grief, Tod," she said. "You want to watch a chick flick too?"
I shot Kathleen a look and answered, "Yes, Tod. Plently of whipped cream. And coffee too, so come over whenever. Bring anyone else at home."
Tod lived in an old Victorian two-story house with Grant, Phil, and Peter. He and Peter had grown up together -- the whole best-friends-since-third-grade thing. They'd met Grant when Tod got serious about putting a band together, and I think Peter had once dated Phil's sister. I met Kathleen when the temp agency I work for sent me to her marketing agency when the receptionist went on maternity leave. Despite Kathleen's notorious frostiness we managed to become friends quickly, maybe because I saw beyond her cold exterior and she saw beyond my aversion to having a "grown-up" job. When our apartment leases expired around the same time, we decided to throw our lot in together and found the tiniest two-bedroom house known to man. But it was perfect. We'd met the guys behind us when they threw a fourth-of-July party several years ago. Grant and Maria were already dating at that point, and there you have it. The story of how this motley crew of friends managed to find each other.
I was on my second cup of coffee and had six hot pancakes staying warm in the oven when Tod and Phil straggled in the back door, heading strait for the coffee pot.
"Grant's coming too," Tod said. "He's on the phone with Maria."
"Yelling or making up?" Kathleen asked from her spot at our tiny kitchen table, eyes still on the Saturday Chronicle.
"Making up from the sounds of it," Tod said.
We were all silent, but the air of expectation was clearly just me.
"Peter went out last night," Phil said quietly, his intuition as keen as his skill at recreating light with paint. I thanked him silently, and handed him the first full plate of chocolate chip pancakes to emphasize my appreciation. As I pulled three more cobalt blue plates from the cabinet and flipped the pancakes on the griddle, my gut twisted as I thought about Peter. We'd all noticed a difference -- Grant even commented on how Peter was home less than he wasn't. Peter had been digging a moat around himself for a while now; building a solitary island fortress that kept out even his closest friends. The only bridge across the moat at this point were the band's gigs. Peter still showed up at each one.

....

...The day at the beach ended typically. Grant and Tod drank too much, Grant and Maria fought about nothing, and Kathleen and I sunburned our backs. We were all tired by the time the sun started making its descent, and Kathleen and I voted firmly against a bonfire. So we loaded up the truck and the Civic and headed home.

Three weeks later I was sitting in the backyard with a cup of coffee and a mystery novel when I heard yelling over the back fence.
"Brent, you can't do this. What are the rest of us supposed to do."
"You'll figure it out, dude. I've just got to get out of town, get some space....get out of here."
"Well, what about staying until we find another drummer, at the very least."
"Look, man, I wish I could help. But I've got a one way ticket out of here on a bus tomorrow morning. And I'm on it."
A string of cursing and insults, an engine starting up, a car roaring off and then silence. Just me and the birds again. The screen door slammed behind me.
"What's up?" Kathleen said around a yawn, cradling her own cup of coffee. Clearly she was just moments out of her bed, yet still her hair looked perfect. Drove me crazy.
"Brent left the band."
"Seriously?" Kathleen settled into a lawn chair next to me. "Why?"
"To find himself?"
Kathleen rolled her eyes. "What a load of crap."
I shrugged. "Well, Tod was pretty pissed."
"Still am, eavesdroppers."
I laughed and walked over to the fence and up on a stool that sits beside it for just this very reason. Peaking over the top I saw Tod laying spread-eagle in the middle of his back yard.
"Sorry, man," I said. "Tough break."
"Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "Especially considering we're more booked up for the next three weeks than we've ever been, with more prospects for after that AND a chance at South by Southwest."
"Really?" Even Kathleen sounded impressed. "Your tape got through the first round?"
"Yeah," Tod said, "Not that it matters. You can't fake your way through a set with no freaking drummer." He sighed, and seemed to sink deeper into the dirt.
"It'll work out," I said.
"Just try to sound like you believe it, Miss Optimism."

...

"Ladies, it's been a pleasure."
I looked up from my beach chair and shaded my eyes. Our new friend John was standing over us.
"Likewise," Kathleen said from her own chair.
"Yeah," I chimed in. "Are you going to be hanging around Houston for a while? Did the guys give you our numbers?"
"I'm not sure, and yes. I'm sure I'll be coming back through here at some point."
"Be safe."
We waved at John as he shouldered his backpack and headed down the beach. I closed my eyes against the sun and thought about this new, interesting person I'd just met. The thought of traveling around and just living like a gypsy seemed both exhilarating and unnerving. And what made John more interesting was that he didn't seem like you're typical gypsy type. Just a guy going around being really friendly to people all over the country. And I got the impression that every new place he stayed for any length of time just added more links of friendship to what was probably a very long chain.
"So...."Kathleen said in her charicteristically cynical tone. "Do we think this guy's crazy, or what?"
"No way!" Maria said, with a wave of her hand. "He's just por completo de la vida, full of life. Not like SOME people I could mention."
I rolled my eyes. We all knew she meant Grant, and we all knew whatever fight-of-the-week they were having had nothing to do with not being spontaneous.
"Well, I agree with Maria. About John anyway," I said. "He may be different, but he's not crazy."

As we plowed through Tod's juicy, drippy burgers, John kept us entertained with a seemingly endless supply of stories.
"... so then the kid just threw himself down in the middle of the aisle and started wailing, sounded like a dog being tortured. His mom's face just turned red; I thought she was going to start crying."
"Ugh," Kathleen shuddered. "I've been in the checkout line behind little kids that start doing that and it's terrible. If I ever have kids -- which I don't ever, ever plan on doing -- I'd never take them to the store. How embarrassing."
John shrugged, "I just felt sorry for her," he said with a smile. "I mean, she had a baby strapped on in one of those carrier things -- couldn't be more than six months old -- plus a cart already full of groceries. So I just walked up to the mom and asked if she wanted a hand."
"I'm surprised she didn't think you were some kind of perv," Tod said around a mouthfull of dead cow.
I'm not, I thought.
"Guess she was just that desperate," John said. "She said yes, please. I picked up the little kid, threw him over my shoulder and followed her to the checkout and her car. The kid was so surprised I think he stopped screaming long enough for her to checkout. Started up again just as we were leaving of course, but at least she made it out."
"Did people give you funny looks when you went back in the store?" I asked
John grinned, "That's the funniest part. I totally forgot what I'd gone to the grocery store for, so I just went home."

...

We fell into a predictable arrangement once we arrived in Galveston. Girls on beach chairs, lathered up with sunscreen and trying to prematurely age our skin in the name of beauty; guys down by the water, inventing new ways of playing Frisbee. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath; I love the smell of salt water, and today that earthy aroma was joined by the smell of charcoal, burgers, and that unmistakeably summery and cocunuty scent of sunscreen. Laughter drifted across the wet, salty breeze, and the sound of the surf began to lull me into a stupor.

Eventually, my rumbling stomach responded loudly to the burgers on the grill, causing me to finally open my eyes and check on their progress. As I stood up and stretched, I took in the picture: Tod manning the grill; Kathleen arguing with him about a movie they’d seen last week; Grant and Maria listening with their arms wrapped around each other, despite of the heat; Peter and Phil standing close by, listening to a story told animatedly by a tall blonde guy

Wait a second.

I walked over to the group.

“You’re new,” I said with a smile. “I’m Gia.”

“Grace of God.”

“Excuse me?!” his comment startled me, but he just laughed, deep grooves appearing around his green eyes.

“It’s what your name means,” he explained. “Grace of God. It was my grandmother’s name.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to look like I wasn't thinking 'weird' -- which I was. “But you don’t look Italian.”

“My grandfather was German. "

Phil finally stepped into what was turning into a very odd first conversation. “This is John,” he said. “We met him down by the water; he’s been camping out for a few days.”

“Cool,” I said. “Where are you from?”

It wasn’t a hard question, I thought, but he took his time answering.

“Nowhere really. I grew up in New York state. But now, I’m not really from anywhere.”

“So what do you do?”

“Little bit of a lot of things. I’ve built houses, painted houses, cleaned boats, mowed lawns, waited tables, loaded moving trucks, demolished buildings. I was just telling these guys about the time I house sat for three months Alaska.”

“What?!”

He laughed again. It was a nice laugh. Made you want to laugh along. “This couple was getting ready to go visit family in the lower 48 and were going to be gone for three months. I was eating breakfast a diner and heard them talking about it to the cook. They said they hadn’t been able to find anyone to watch their house, and were worried about wild animals or squatters if the place appeared too abandoned. I offered to live there while they were gone.”
“And you didn’t know them,” I said in disbelief.

“I guess I have a trusting face,” he replied. “Plus, they figured I couldn’t do anything worse than the wild animals or squatters. This way, if it worked out they came out ahead, if it didn’t they weren’t any worse off.”

I shook my head. “Unbelievable.”

“It really was.” Yeah. That wasn’t what I’d meant.

“Burgers are ready,” Tod called, holding up a full plate. I took the opportunity of activity to study John a bit more. His hair was long and bleached, pulled back into a ponytail; his skin was bronzed and weathered, and his body had that lean but strong look -- like a long-distance runner, or this cross-country skier I dated once. I watched him laughing and joking with Maria and Grant as they loaded their buns, and marveled at how at ease he seemed with a group of total strangers.

The Beginning

Kathleen always says that if you can't feel the air, then it's not summer. In July, in Houston, it's always summer.

It was one of many weekend trips to Galveston, maybe not an award-winning beach, but it was our beach. And like Tod says, you don't need powder-white beaches and turquoise water to grill hamburgers and drink beer. Or play Frisbee and football and get a tan.
When we hit the Gulf Coast freeway at 10 a.m. on the dot, the sun was already a golden ball of fire, the temperature hovering just below 90 degrees. I was driving my S-10, Tod's beat-up charcoal grill strapped down in the back with a couple of hand-me down coolers. Peter rode shotgun while everyone else followed in Maria's Civic. It was the first time I'd seen Peter in about two weeks and after several minutes of silence I said so.
He shrugged. "I've been around. Where have you been? Avoiding me, perhaps?"
"No, that was six months ago. Keep up."
His dark sunglasses hid his eyes. More silence.
"Do we have to listen to this crap?"
"The Eagles are not crap."
"Whatever," he said, leaning over to look under my seat. "Do you have any other CDs in here?"
"Sure." I pulled the case from underneath my side of the bench seat and handed it to him. "But you always put up with them before."
"Yeah, when we were dating."
Not much to say to that; but the words only felt like they brushed up against my bruised heart, rather than full-on attack. I was pleased enough at the progress to ignore the fact that Tod had taken over my CD player.
"So, I'm guessing a new girlfriend?" I said, wondering as I did why I kept harping on the subject.
"Do we have to talk about this?" he asked.
"Peter!" I said, my radar buzzing at his avoidance. "Are you spending time with the Millers again?"
"Last time I checked, I don't think it's any of your business anymore who I spend my time with and what I do every night." his voice hardened with each word.
"So yes, then." Why couldn't I let this go?
Peter sighed, his tense body easing slightly, but not relaxing. "Gia, let's not okay? I'm tired and this..." he gestured between us, "...just makes me more tired. We're friends and we're with friends, headed to the beach. So could we just not? For today?"
I nodded and we sat and I wondered why we couldn't have a normal conversation and why he'd jumped in my truck anyway.

something different

Well, friends. Originally, I began this blog as an experiement in keeping in touch with friends, but it seems that I'm a pretty inconsistent blogger :) I think I'm as effective at staying in touch with "old-fashioned" email as I am with blogging. So, I've decided to try and adjust my use of this blog. Background: I am an undisciplined writer (some might argue that that makes me a non-writer, but I'm going for optimism here) who wants to be a consistent, "writing" writer. So I'm going to try a little exercise: turn this blog into a story, reminiscent of old-fashioned magazine serials. We'll see how it goes! The first installment may take a week or two to go online, so be patient but stay tuned.

It's August

Crazy to think about...August seemed so far away just a short bit ago. On one hand, I'm always amazed at how time just rushes by sometimes. On the other hand, I'm excited because that means that hot summer weather won't be around forever! (insert global warming joke here).

Camp was awesome, as usual. A great group of kids this year, and I particularly enjoyed the fact that since I've been a counselor now for three years, I actually felt like I knew some of the kids. Visiting home was also great. We actually had time to take Jeremy around to some of the cool history stuff in the area (World War I Monument and Museum, the Frontier Trails Museum, and the Truman Library). I learned a lot about World War I that I'd never known before. We also had a surprise anniversary party for my parents (30 years) which turned out Awesome! They were very surprised and really loved it.

Anyway, that's July....
The next "big thing" is a hiking/backpacking trip the weekend of August 24. We're headed to South Carolina with our friends Max, Ryan, and Nicole and their two beagles. I think the trail includes the highest pointin South Carolina, which will be cool.

that time again

Jeremy and I head to Sooner Youth Camp on Saturday. Woo-hoo! Then off to a week of hanging out at my parents' house in Independence, MO. should be a fun time both weeks.

A call for prayers

If you run across this post, please pray for our friend Cherish Cantazarro. Her husband died unexpectedly this weekend; they have five children and Cherish is 9 months pregnant with their 6th. As you can imagine her life has been turned upside down. God is providing her with an awesome amount of strength right now, but I know she would appreciate the prayers of others. Thanks.

continuing....

So, my good friend Dan Dalzell reminded me after my last post that sometimes having a paid staff is a necessity. And I must say that I'll admit that's true for many -- if not most -- churches. We visited a church a few weeks ago while out of town for a visit that has quite a large staff; they also have extremely professional drama and media programs, and an extensive children's program. It's true that the more a church wants to do, the more paid staff they'll need in order to do those things well. But I think what frustrates me lately, is that so often in those (often smaller) churches with only one or two paid ministers, the leadership and/or congregation have unrealistic expections of those ministers (like Dan said, they're only people, just like the rest of us). Sadly, this often leads to what I think are very un-Godly attitudes and actions toward those ministers. I appreciate Dan unwittingly encouraging me to clarify this...I guess the answer to my frustrations lies more in encouraging a change in attitude toward and treatment of paid, full-time ministers.

a search

The church we attend out here in NC is searching for an associate/youth minister right now. This weekend we had a candidate out for an interview weekend. What a frustrating process! And -- being that I'm not an elder -- I'm not even that involved in the process. The struggle for me is how high do standards need to be? Do I need to be blown away by the candidate, or is "adequate" enough? The problem is, I'm really hoping to be blown away. Honestly, it just reminds me of how I really think that not having full-time/paid/staff ministers is sometimes better. Of course I also realize the bigger the church, the more impractical that is. Our church is tiny, but I also realize that it's important to think with growth in mind...plan for the future. On the other hand, even in a big church is full-time/paid staff really necessary? It does take a restructuring in our whole thinking and framework of church organization, but I think it warrants some thought at least. My basic thoughts are that developing a strong eldership and a strong network of deacons and volunteers could take the place of a full-time minister (more people doing the job of one person makes a light load for everyone). Elders or other gifted teachers could take turns preaching, or a church could pay someone to just preach -- no other duties. Unfortunately, I don't know if the congregation we attend right now is ready for that kind of radical shift in thought.

this and that

We went to the Outer Banks this past weekend for a wedding; we had time to visit the Wright Brother's Museum, Jockey's Ridge ( huge, huge dunes), and the Bodie Island lighthouse. Plus we ate some amazing seafood at a restaraunt called Tale of the Whale. If you're ever up near Nags Head, NC, eat at Tale of the Whale and order a Pina Colada and something with scallops. (Mmmmm...so good).

This week I started a temporary telemarketing gig (only a few weeks...the event I'm calling for is the beginning of June). Since school's out right now for me, I had a little extra time, and this way I can make a little extra money too.

peace...