charlie

charlie, he's my neighbor. he is a 70-something, over-all wearing, korean war vet. he yells back at barking dogs. he honks a clown horn at passers-by. he believes that people who talk on cell phones are plotting against him. sometimes, b/c of some obsessive habit, he slams his back door so hard it rattles my windows. and he always seems to be breaking up glass or metal into the back of his truck. it's so loud that someone from across the street won't let him park his truck in front of their house anymore.

the first thing charlie ever said to me when i moved onto crescent street was "is that your cat?" juege was the last item i moved into my apartment and charlie happened to be standing on his porch when i was carrying the black furball in. i shouldn't say that "charlie happened to be standing on his porch," because charlie is ALWAYS on his porch. he is the neighoborhood watch, all by himself. in my nicest 'talking to an old person' voice i said, "yes! do you like cats?" and he said, "what the hell does that have to do with anything? he better stay out of my yard!"

after that first meeting i tried my best to avoid charlie when at all possible, mostly because i was a little bit afraid of him. but, it's hard to avoid a neighbor who lives on his porch. i decided to try again one day and called out,

"hey charlie! how are you doing?"

"what do you mean, how am i doing?"

i had had about enough of his being such a crab. i yelled back,

"i MEAN...HOW ARE YOU DOING? What do you think that means?"

I think he knew that i meant business at that point. so he yelled back,

"Fine, good. probably better than most people."

"GOOD. GREAT. Glad to hear it."
damn that charlie.

one day charlie rang our doorbell and asked brett to help him haul some items to the local antique shop. you see, charlie is a junk collector. he rides around town in an old rusted out, green, pick-up that boasts a "gore/leiberman" bumpersticker and has two orange flags that bob off the back, the kind that kids connect to the back of their bikes. he picks up anything and everything he deems as "valuable" from yards and curbs and dumpsters all over Grand Rapids. his truck is always filled with crap. but to charlie it's pure gold. it's how he makes his living. right now he has three old metal bathtubs laying sideways alongside of about thirty orange and blue crates. his stuff probably doesn't hold a lot of value to the critical eye of an antique dealer, but sometimes these guys will pick something out of charlie's truck and give him thirty bucks for it.

when brett got home from his antiquing adventure he was carrying a paper bag in his hands. "a wedding gift from charlie!" he said. we proceeded to take each item out of the bag with excitement and wonder. a small fake crystal clock, a cd from... china (?), and a lava lamp. we knew that it was probably hard for charlie to part from such treasures. we were honoured to have received them. we put them on our back porch to air out. you never see charile without a cheap cigar in his mouth.

i wrote charlie a small thank you note and put it in an envelope with his name on it. i told him that his gifts to us were our FIRST wedding gifts and we were very thankful for them. the next day i opened my front door and found a bag filled with canned food, mostly vegetables, and mainly peas and corn. this was the first but not the last bag of food i have found outside of my front door under my mailbox. each one smells like cheap cigar, but every one is received with a smile. i did not buy one can of vegetables last winter.

our relationship with charlie has changed dramatically since those first days on crescent street. now when we leave our apartment charlie blesses our trip with a, "have a good one!" when we come home he honks his clown horn at us...twice. we help charlie and charlie helps us.

charlie receives a government check each month. by the end of the month that check starts to wear thin. he has asked us for money before but never without the promise of repayment. he has made it very clear that he does not accept hand-outs. never has, never will. he has always repaid us. and he always leaves his trade-mark "thank you" outside our door under our mailbox smelling like cheap cigar smoke.

sometimes charlie asks us if we would like to buy any of his treasures. this usually happens at the end of the month. like i said, he does not accept hand-outs and we do not give them. we are now the proud owners of three red and gold sequined clown puppets with glass heads, and they only cost us 50 bucks. now, we know and charlie knows that those puppets are not worth $50. so, when brett and i came back from our Friday night dinner date and found a picture frame hanging on the hooks of our mailbox, we were not surprised. charlie's "thank you." we're going to put our wedding picture in that frame.

we love charlie. he tells us stories of war and travel. he explains how he's made it through life riding on the love wings others. and he's showed us numerous times how he loves back. it's true that charlie sometimes embarrasses us with stories of girly shows in foreign countries, sometimes he's grumpy, sometimes he's a racist. but charlie knows how to be a neighbor and he's teaching me how to be a neighbor too. one day i will miss the smell of cheap cigar smoke wafting into my open windows.

answer me this

here is a series of questions i often think about: should i pray for satan's soul? if the bible tells me that i should love my enemies, then shouldn't i love satan? in church sometimes we pray for "evil" people like osama bin laden, saddam hussein, and the likes so why don't we pray for satan? if satan is so evil, then why wouldn't we pray for a change in his heart? some people tell me that satan is beyond hope, but then isn't that saying that God isn't all powerful? don't you think that God wants Satan to change? Has God's love for Satan changed? -SN

he's a beast

every morning when i leave my house for work i scratch my kitty and i kiss my husband. this morning was a little different. as i was gathering my things and heading for the door i heard brett yelling to me from downstairs where he was sorting the recycling. "sara! close the door! close the door! don't let him in!" before i could even drop my purse and my morning mug of coffee i see juege, the beast, running through the door with a flutter of wings in his mouth. when he saw me he slowed his pace and started to strut. he was definately proud of what he had just accomplished and he was offering me, his number one lady, the prize. he headed for the bedroom to drop this cherished possession in the one place he knows i love best. my bed.

i quickly chased him into the bedroom, swatted his little behind and told him to drop the bird. he did. the bird laid there and pretended it was dead. but nothing could hide his beating little heart. it was practically beating out of its chest! juege sensed that he was going to lose his prize and started to lunge for the bird. i grabbed my towel and covered the bird and tried to hold off the cat. at this point i wasn't sure what to do. so, ever so gently, i picked up the towel and walked out onto the porch. i slowly unfolded it and there laid the small sparrow. it took one look at me and flew off. he left behind a trace of blood...the beast had left his mark. and i forgot my coffee.

pity me

so two semesters ago i was taking a class in something i like to call chemistry. maybe you call it that too. in my class was a boy named david and he was from the sudan. if you know anything about sudan you know that it is not a good place to live right now. and it was an even worse place to live a couple years ago. i do not know david's story. i do not know what possibly horrific events led him to Grand Rapids, MI. alls i know is that he sat across the aisle from me in chemistry class, was fairly quiet, had beautiful, deep, dark, black skin, and spoke with a soft, luring accent. later i learned that he has a huge heart too.

i ride my bike to school b/c i refuse to pay $100 to park for two and a half hours a week. so every day that i have class i rush home from work, put on clothes that i can sweat in, jump on my bike, wave good-bye to charlie, my neighbor, and speed down the great mountain that some people call Fulton Street (to all of you i say...ride your bike UP it sometime). i usually enjoy my ride to school. i've met some nice people. i've risked death a few times. and i get some much needed exercise. the times when i do not enjoy riding my bike is when a)it is raining b)it is snowing and c) i am late.

well, it was nearing november 13, wedding day. it was cold, it was half raining, half sleeting, and half peeing on my head. i must have looked very stressed on my bike that day and even more stressed when i came shuffling into the classroom b/c that was the day that david showed me his heart.

david approached me after class and introduced himself. he told me that he often saw me riding my bike to school as he was driving. he said that every time he saw me he would say "oh dear God that poor girl." he proceeded to give me his phone number and told me that he would give me a ride to school whenever i needed one.

i told my dad this story and he said, "only my daughter could get pity from a sudanese refugee."

well, it seems to have happened again dad. only this semester its genetics, the weather is still being kind, and Laura is a woman from Kenya. she has befriended me and taken me under her lovely wing. she showed me where the library was today and told me that she would make the copies i need for next week's class.

do i have a sign on my head that says "international students please pity me?" i kind of hope so...it's a good way to make some really cool new friends. --SN

embracing winter

brett just posted an entry about me and my love for summer.

it's true. i love summer. i grew up on the top of a sandune that slipped it's toes into the cool waters of Lake Michigan. It only took 147 steps for me to poke my own toes into that same water. the beach would fill up every summer with the "summer people" and the town resounded with the sound of the flip flop of flip flops. b/c my mother could not always accompany me to the beach to sit on her towel with her bag of popcorn and wax-coated cup of diet coke, i was allowed to swim alone, as long as i stayed in front of the lifeguard. in the summers i lived in my bathing suit. at the end of the season i had to peel it off my body and spend an hour cleaning the tub of the sand that served as sort of my "second suit." living in a small town meant that my bike was my main mode of transport. i could get anywhere in ten minutes. my sisters worked in the local ice cream shop. my love of mint chip ice cream started there. the lighthouse was my castle, the beach my kingdom, the sun my source of energy. summer meant freedom. it meant no school. it meant hanging out with friends. it meant driving with bare feet and forgetting to pack shoes. it meant family vacations where we would test out new beaches and camp along shores and at the foot of mountains in New York. it meant sleeping in the pop up trailer and searching for bear caves...in my swimming suit. in my mind summer meant "sara."

i have always embraced summer with all of my energy. i swim, i beach, i bbq, i smile, i bike, i walk, i farmers market, i ice cream, i roll with the windows down and the tunes up. so, when the last leaf of fall hits the soon to be frosty earth i am left tired and lifeless. that is, i WAS left tired and lifeless until i met and married brett. brett does not allow me to be tired and lifeless anymore. you see, brett is a nelson. and the nelsons are a winter loving, sweater wearing, hot chocolate drinking, colorado living, skiing family of swedes whose feet are always burried in warm furry slippers. and i am now a nelson.

now winter means sledding. it means going for hikes through the snowy woods. it means spinning donuts in the car. now, the beach is for walking on a frozen lake. ludicrous. and now, winter means christmas in colorado with the nelsons.

last winter was my first official nelson christmas. red, white, and blue skis with brett's aunt's social security number ettched into them were strapped to my feet almost the moment i stepped off of the warm airplane. i rode up the chairlift, burrowed down into my coat, gritted my teeth, wiped the snot from my nose and turned around for my first decent down a colorado mountain. suddenly there was a moment of... clarity. the view blew some life back into me. i started to understand why those crazy nelsons love winter so much. that week i learned to love winter just a little bit more.

under dad nelson's careful eye and gentle instruction i soon stopped snowplowing and straightened out my skis a bit. i learned to embrace the cold rushing wind on my face as i flew somewhat out of control down, down, dooooowwwwwnnnn. mom nelson would warm me up when we arrived back at the homestead with a cup of her special blends. sister brookie nelson encouraged me on the slopes with straight white-teethed laughs and giggles. it's what those nelsons do best you know...give perfect white toothy grins. those grins could encourage anybody. that week i snowshoed, skiied, rode on a sleigh through a moonlit snow-covered valley, skied some more, and shivered a lot. i can't help it. i only weigh 107 pnds.

for those of you that know me, you may find it hard to believe that I hold even an ounce of love for winter in my heart. well, here's some proof. last winter brett and i arrived home from...i don't remember...probably some raging hip-hopping party somewhere...ummm...and he asked me to go for a walk. it was pouring snow outside and it was midnight. i said yes. we walked to the park, straight to the centre, and proceeded to make snow angels. that, and i'm looking forward to the nelson christmas and it's only september.

winter is still a hard eleven months for me. but, the cold of winter has started to warm a small part of my heart. -SN

CELEBRATION

so tonight was a little celebration grand rapidians like to call "celebration on the grand." it's a party, or a 'celebration,' if you will, on the grand...river. so two years in a row now we've invited some of our peeps over for some grub and some brews, we chat, we laugh, and then we walk down to watch the grand fireworks exploding over the grand river. it's a grand ol' time. but this year was kind of only half of a grand time b/c we were a little late in getting ourselves downtown. the main bridge, best for prime viewing, was PACKED. this meant that we could only see half of the fireworks popping out from behind the Amway Grand hotel. we could only imagine what the other half of the fireworks looked like. we managed a half cheer for the half of the grand finale that we were able to see. farewell summer, farewell... --SN

i must...

ah...the flag. i want to be proud of this flag, i TRULY DO. but, it is becoming increasingly more and more difficult. i feel a lot of anger, disgust, and sadness about the circumstances in new orleans and the circumstances of this country. the images from katrina make it obvious that something is askew in this great land of ours. has anyone else noticed that the vast majority of the people stranded in louisiana are black and poor? ok, you're not idiots...of course you have. i do not blame george bush for the chaos of katrina, what was he supposed to do, hold back the winds of distruction with his own bare hands? now, the man leaves something to be desired and he probaby believes that he COULD have taken mother nature down. i mean he actually believes that he can end "terrorism." i do not blame the disaster teams, or the republicans. i do not blame saddam or barney. i blame people who play the blame game! playing the blame game makes it easy to forget the images. blaming others takes the focus off of the problem. blaming equals all talk and no action. blaming leaves people on roofs for days without water or food. blaming keeps people poor. i'm done blaming the blamers now.

anger is a normal response to attrocious things. anger is not bad. jesus got angry. but jesus used his anger to fuel himself into action. jesus took action against the things that made him angry and he did it without sinning or blaming others. instead jesus dug in, he got his hands dirty, and he asked important questions, challenging questions, questions that made others think about their actions. can you imagine if jesus DID play the blame game? can you imagine if jesus, while up on the cross, started pointing fingers, because essentially it's OUR fault. jesus knew that blaming would get him (and us) nowhere. instead he said "Lord forgive them for they know not what they do." and then he committed his spirit to God. there is bad anger and there is good anger. bad anger leads us down a path of disaster. bad anger leads us to play the blame game. but good anger stirs in us the sense to rise to action. this stuff going on should make us angry. the pictures we see should start us asking questions, the kind of questions that make people think about their actions towards their fellow man. the news we hear should be bringing us to our knees, asking for forgivness yet again. read this stuff. it's good. let it anger you into action. then look at this because it's beautiful. brett caught it.

my husband the communist statue

there's just something about him that makes him irresistable. this explains about half...

it ruined our pizza party

on our last night in idaci missionary jim planned to have a pizza party. we had been making arrangements for days. we invited an english teacher friend and his family that lived up the road, we made sure we had enough of the essential ingredients to even MAKE a pizza, and on the day of the party we warmed up the ovens a couple hours in advance, one oven in our house, one over in jim's. trust me, a pizza party in the bush of Nigeria is a big deal. it is definitely somethin' special and nothing to mess around with.

about the time that my drool started to collect in the corners of my mouth was about the same time that this nasty grey cloud decided to form. rain had defeated us before out there in the bush. i started to worry (thus the face i'm pulling in that picture). i quickly ran to jim's house to pick up the pizza that was to be cooked in my oven. it looked perfect. it had pieces of ham and bits of pineapple that jim so graciously pulled from his precious stock of food. i was careful walking back to my house so that none of the ingredients would drop to the ground.

twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes, thirty minutes...would the pizza ever be done? just as brett and i were asking ourselves this question we heard the first drops of rain begin to fall on our tin roof. we went outside to survey the scene. it didn't look good. streaks of lightning were stretching towards the earth in every direction. the sky was black, became even more black, and then ripped open. you haven't experienced rain until you've experienced a "shower" during the nigerian rainy season.

within ten minutes it had rained hard enough that we could not walk the twenty metres to jim's house carrying a piping hot pizza (see picture of the distance b/w our two houses below). the water in the field reached mid-shin and the mud dared to creep even higher. we saw jim's flashlight bouncing around his house. we went outside and called to him, "jim!" we said. "i don't think we can make it over!" he agreed it was pretty messy. we ate in our seperate houses that last night in idaci. the english teacher never made it. what a pizza party...i will never forgive that cloud.

**the pizza was fantastic. thank you jim!

our house................clinic..........jim's house