Day 8: A Fish Tale

Shortly after Katie and I were married we started transitioning the townhouse from bachelor-pad to a real house where humans could live. We were pretty poor in those first few months of marriage and we were just scraping by.

One weekend, we had 20 dollars left after paying all of the bills and wanted to go do something fun. We decided that our new apartment needed a little extra life, so off we went off to Petsmart in search of a new inhabitant.

Mizu - 水

We just looked around for a while. The puppies and kittens were cute, but out of our price range (plus we’d have to pay a pet deposit with the landlord). We thought about a parakeet, but with all the necessary supplies it also would have been out of our price range. Katie wasn't impressed by my suggestions of getting a tarantula, snake or lizard, so we searched on.

After looking around a bit more, we decided on buying a beta fish. We picked out a nice glass container, fish food, a ceramic Japanese temple, and (of course) a vibrant little blue beta. On our way back to the house, we indulged and used the leftover money at Publix to buy some cookie dough.

Upon returning home we set up his new enclosure and began deciding on a name for our new little pal. We went through several, but ultimately settled on “Mizu”, which means "water" in Japanese.

Mizu was a great new companion. His little glass rested on the bar and overlooked both the kitchen and the living room. He would follow us around in his glass as we moved to and fro. He was quite an enthusiastic little fish. Sometimes he would just dash back and forth unexpectedly. He was also fond of swimming circles around his little Japanese temple until he tired himself out.

About 2 ½ months after becoming a member of the new family, Mizu started moving around a little slowly. He would still follow us around from his enclosure, but he was very sluggish about it. He had also stopped eating, which was alarming because the proper little fish would normally turn into a piranha when his pellets hit the water.

The Temple of Mizu

One Saturday morning I came downstairs to feed him and realized he was missing. He was nowhere to be seen in his glass. I searched all over. I even looked outside of his glass just in case he decided life was too mundane and he wanted to give base jumping a go.

It wasn't until I started pulling things out of the water that I finally found poor little Mizu. He did a lot of things, but one thing he would never do was go into the Japanese temple. However, with his last strength, Mizu had apparently decided to enter the temple to die. His poor little body laid just inside the entrance, bobbing slightly back and forth.

His temple still stands in an otherwise empty glass container. Little Mizu lived an honorable life and made certain that he died in dignity.

Day 7: 5 Things I've Learned Since Moving to Georgia

This is a bit different than the last few posts I've made on here, but it's been on my mind. See what I did there? 



1. The People are Friendlier Here.

People aren't in such a rush and will actually have conversations with you while checking out at a store.



2. Overalls in the Wild.

I can't count how many times I've seen people out in public wearing overalls.



3. "Bless Your Heart" Doesn't Mean What You Think it Means.

It's a gentle (not always) social put-down.



4. It's All About The BBQ

I didn't have real BBQ until I moved to Georgia. Nor did I realize that making it is a religion unto itself.



5. The 4th of July is Ridiculously Patriotic.

Even the church service I went to was over-the-top patriotic. God Bless America!



So there you have it! I really love Georgia and have been blessed to have called it home for a little over 2 years now.
    

Day 6: My First Cup of Tea

You can never get a cup of tea large enough 

or a book long enough to suit me.”

― C.S. Lewis

Tea. What a strange and wonderful thing it is. Really it's nothing more than a bit of dried of leaves. But even so it has the power to make a good book great and a cold day warmer. Some of the best conversations have spawned around a teapot and there’s nothing more comforting than wrapping your hands around the warmth of a freshly made cup.

I can still vividly recall the time when I had my first cup of Typhoo tea. I was 13 years-old when my dad and I took a trip to the UK with our church group. One of the first nights we stayed in an old brick flat just outside London where some University students had an extra room and were kind enough to put us up.

The walls in the apartment were covered in wallpaper and the place had an old smell about it. It wasn't bad; it was just a cozy odor like one would find in an antique store. It was as if there were layers and layers of wood stoked fires, sweet pipe smoke, and good cooking that had soaked into the heavy wood and brick. Several inset bookshelves lined the room and were bursting with hardbound encyclopedias and old textbooks. The crumbling hearth had contained hundreds of years worth of fires and was blackened, charred, and ripe with age.

We spoke with the students for quite some time. They asked many questions about life in the states (particularly about the space center) and we inquired about what it was like living in the UK. Eventually one of them asked if we wanted a cup of tea. I never really had tea before. At least not English tea. I had tried a sip of coffee once and didn't care for it; for some reason I figured that tea was probably similar. If I were ever going to try tea, the proper place and time was at that moment. So I went ahead and said yes. One of the students took off for the kitchen and returned with a large plate filled with all of the necessities. Teapot, teacups, scones, cream, sugar, etc. We were asked what we wanted in our tea and then observed as she began to prepare it. 

Now there are many differing opinions concerning the order in which you should prepare the tea. Debates have turned violent and families have been torn apart because of the controversy surrounding differing methods. There are even scientific papers arguing the best way to prepare tea based on research done at the molecular level. 

The manner in which it was prepared for us was the following: cream, tea, and then sugar. Since then I've discussed the matter with a few Brits and their methods tend to vary, but the CTS method is the most common. However, discussing tea with the British can be a touchy subject since the whole Boston Harbor incident.

"Just tea for me, thanks."

After the first cautious sip, I became hooked. In fact, I drank the tea so quickly that it made one of the students laugh. 

“He likes his tea!” she exclaimed in amusement.

She went ahead poured me another and I realized that tea wasn't something to be finished so swiftly; it should be savored. It was in that moment that I became a tea drinker.

Since returning home from that trip to England as a 13 year-old, I have tried hundreds of different teas from all over the world. I drink it on a daily basis and have my own methods for preparing different types. I still subscribe to the CTS method (or CTH if I substitute honey for sugar) and after all these years, Typhoo tea is still my all time favorite.   

Day 5: The Week that Never Happened

Feeling Good!

A couple months ago I had surgery to repair a hernia. I took a week off from work to recover from having my belly cut open and a mesh sewn inside. Usually when you take a week off from work you leave and come back with things like: souvenirs, photos of your escapades and sometimes sand in your luggage.   

The week following my operation was a Vicodin-induced blur wrapped in pain and Netflix. Apparently Katie said that I didn't act too strange - in fact I seemed pretty much normal (for me at least). The problem is that I can't remember much about that week. Since the surgery, a few small things keep flooding back to me. Usually something has to happen in order to trigger them though. 

Just a few days ago I was looking in my Google Drive folder when I found a number of stories that I had written during “The Vicodin Times”. I was confused at first because I had no memory of writing anything during my recovery. I checked and sure enough the dates on the documents correlated with that week.

I read through each one carefully. It was the strangest feeling because they made perfect sense. I knew I had written them, because of the writing style and the way my brain works, but I obviously had no recollection of doing so.  

One of the stories was about two brothers stranded on a desolate planet shortly after a planet-wide apocalypse. They were alone, trying to get off the planet while surviving on canned beets (of all things). I read the story aloud to Katie and she started laughing, mainly because I was going into major detail (paragraphs) about how the beets were manufactured. Part of me wonders if the story was an emotional reflection of “Vicodin Dane” and his plea to escape the house. I don’t know where the beets came from though; I don’t think I had any while recovering.

Another story I came across was about a plant named Chuck and his adventurous journey from a nursery to a person’s windowsill. As I read the description of the plant and the house, I looked over at the windowsill and concluded that “Chuck” was in fact a real plant and the house in the story was my own. I found the realization kind of eerie and it almost gave me chills. It just felt like it wasn't ME that wrote it. I was stuck in the same recliner for most of the recovery week. The plant was probably my only companion while Katie was at work during the day.

I got upset a couple weeks post-surgery because I went to the fridge and opened up the box that contained my Harry Potter chocolate frog (from our trip to Islands of Adventure). I opened it only to find that it had been half eaten. I asked Katie about it and sure enough she produced a photo of "Vicodin Dane" holding up the frog with a big bite taken out of it. Apparently he did this while watching the chocolate frog scene in Harry Potter. He did save some for me, so that was thoughtful.

I’m sure that I’ll continue to regain some of my memories from that week, especially if I keep coming across things that trigger them. I still feel sad that I can't really recall the time off from work, but at least “Vicodin Dane” was kind enough to leave me a few laughs.

Day 4: When Work Meets Life

One of my many responsibilities working in Quality Assurance is writing and following SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures). SOPs are extremely important to follow in a manufacturing environment, especially when you work for a company that makes medicine. The safety of both employees and clients can be greatly affected if the appropriate procedures aren't followed correctly.

Since I've been totally engrossed in writing procedures lately, I've had some amount of difficulty leaving those thought processes at work. I find myself constantly creating them in my head and following them while I’m doing mundane things like scraping ice off of my car or re-potting a plant. The other day I was setting up the rice cooker and realized that I was mouthing the words for each step as I went along. For a brief moment I actually considered typing it up and printing it in a work acceptable format.

In general I am a rule follower; if you mix that with an obsessive-compulsive disorder then you have a potentially catastrophic amalgamation. I really don't want to be the guy who categorizes everything in the house and writes procedures for every daily activity.

Sometimes while my wife is in the middle of something, I will point out what the "best way" to do it is. I know it drives her crazy and she already puts up with me and my OCD more than she needs to. I am ever so grateful for her. She's the person that keeps me straight. Huge shout-out to her and her patience!  

Day 3: Georgia is Frozen

It was cold this morning. When I opened the front door I was met by the dry frosty wind. Passing the threshold I felt as if I were transitioning from one dimension to another. I was leaving the comfortably warm interior of my house behind and stepping into an environment that my body had never before experienced. 
I heard the ice crack while I forced the door to my car open and entered the frozen vehicle. The metal husk protected me from the biting wind as I sped towards the mountains. I glanced at the thermometer, and it read 4 degrees.  

Day 2: Plants, Plants, Everywhere!

My house is filled with plants. Wherever light streams through the windows they’re right there to catch it. 
One of my main annoyances with apartment living has always been the lack of yard to grow things in. I was constantly gardening when I lived in Florida. It was therapeutic, and I enjoyed the regiment and attention to detail involved with caring for plants. 
Since moving into our Georgian townhouse, I have become quite adept at indoor gardening. At first, indoor plants were entirely new to me. Now I have a wide variety of flora growing out of teapots, bird nests, old books, tiny wooden chests and other antique pieces. I am rewarded for my efforts by the unmatched freshness that permeates the air in our living space.

Day 1: 100 Word Challenge

It has only been 4 years, 10 months, 8 days since my last post on this blog. My reason for crafting a new post after such an extraordinarily long hiatus? Well I am participating in the (at least) 100 words a day for 100 days challenge. So here's day one. Let's see how long I can keep this up.



On the Dahlonega square people bundled in clothes scurried quickly from shop to shop attempting to avoid the gripping southern fragments of Hercules. 
After celebrating humanity at one of the many antique stores in town, we decided it was time to seek sustenance. Preferably hot, steaming and soul warming sustenance. We quickly found ourselves at a favorite of ours, it was where we ate breakfast on the day that I asked Katie to be my wife, a place simply called “The Picnic Cafe”. 
Behind the glass, the warm air smelled of freshly baked bread as we sipped on steaming hot coffee and watched as the aforementioned people skittered purposefully in search of warmth. 

 -Dane Gustafson

This is too cool

The Best Laid Plans

“If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.”

It's cliché, I know, but the famous Woody Allen quote about making God laugh is totally true. I have come to believe more and more that not only does God have an incredible plan for us but He also has a great sense of humor. There have been so many times in my life when I thought I knew what I was supposed to be doing and it turned around 180 degrees. When I was 5 I was sure I was going to be a pilot, when I was 7 I was going to be a zookeeper and when I was eight I was going to be an ice skater for Beauty and the Beast on Ice (don’t ask). But the last couple years The Lord has been working in my life and showing me what it means to fully put my trust in Him.

I’m the kind of person who really likes to plan for things before they happen, not because I don’t trust God, but because I like to be prepared. Recently I’ve learned that there’s nothing wrong with being prepared but part of that preparedness is being ready to change those plans at a moments notice. God doesn’t always give us a clear answer when we want him to. He’s not the proverbial genie in a bottle. He does things in His timing and although it may not make sense to us He knows the big picture and we just need to obediently follow His leading.

Peter and Andrew probably had plans to be fishers for the rest of their lives, and that’s exactly what would have happened if they hadn’t decided to follow Jesus. Imagine what would have happened if Moses decided that he wanted to continue living as royalty in Egypt. Or what if David was just fine with looking after sheep for the rest of his life? What if Noah decided that building an ark wasn’t on his agenda?

For me it’s a struggle sometimes to ask God for direction and then have to wait patiently and seek Him for an answer. What am I worried about though? Running out of time? Or missing an opportunity? But if God is The God who created the universe (and He is) then why am I worried about something that should be so simple for Him?

It’s because I’m in the same situation as the children of Israel after they left Egypt. They were ecstatic about leaving slavery behind but very quickly that “high” wore off. We can look back at the exodus now and say to ourselves “Come on! What were they thinking? They just had food fall from the sky!??! And they are doubting God again??” Well the difference is that we know the end of the story and they didn’t. That’s the point where we’re at in our lives, but we can have assurance in the knowledge that even if we don’t know about life’s twists and turns The Lord does.

A lot of times people use this illustration about God being the co-pilot, but I think God should be THE pilot and we should just be sitting in a seat. A passenger knows where they are going. I mean, they have to have a ticket to board the plane after all. The passengers aren’t sitting in their seats with their navigational maps and GPSs wondering how the pilot is going to get them to their destination, or if he’s properly compensating for the crosswind. Since Jesus bought the ticket for us we should just be able to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. Of course that doesn’t mean it’s always going to be smooth flying, there may be some turbulence on your way there.

The point is that we need to put our full trust in God and His perfect plan that He has for us and know that it’s better than anything we could think up. We just have to be willing to change our plans so they line up with His.

-Dane