grey and rainy Sunday

I survived the CPR and First Aid class yesterday. Actually, the instructor was great. I know her through work, and she's smart, well spoken and funny, all traits that help in the classroom!

Last night I volunteered at Wild West Night for a couple of hours. That was an easy gig, and as I didn't have anything else to do, I was happy to help out.

After my volunteer stint was over, I sat down to chat with a woman who works in the same building as I. I don't know her well but find her to be quite amiable. I wanted to ask her opinion about a project I'm about to start since I may ask a group she belongs to to participate.

Somehow we got on the topic of life after her husband retires from the military. She hopes they move home. Where's home, I asked. I thought she was from Oklahoma as she'd mentioned the state in a previous conversation.

It turns out she's from Roswell, NM, which is just two hours from my hometown. We determined that we're about six years apart in age, but she still asked if I knew a particular fellow, someone she'd had a crush on in junior high and high school. I knew his family because his sister was one of my best friends in grade school and junior high.

I love these "small world" moments that occur from time to time. Even though this one guy and his family were the only people we could come up with who we both knew, we were able to talk about our high schools, the rivalries, colleges in state and in Texas, life in New Mexico in general, etc. I felt like I was talking to someone from home. . . and I was. This doesn't happen often in my life of wandering, and it's oddly comforting.

When I told her I thought she was from Oklahoma, she said they'd lived there but hated it. "Besides," she said, "I could never settle in a state where they'd elect Huckabee!" Amen, sister. "I'm voting for Hillary!" she exclaimed. She then told me she wouldn't admit that to many people here. I completely understand.

The military attracts (and seems to encourage) so many right-wing religious Christians that I was thrilled to find someone who doesn't fit that description. As it turns out, this woman is Mormon, which shouldn't have surprised me given that the Clovis guy she'd had the crush on was from a Mormon family.

I don't really know that much about Mormons and don't remember much that I learned earlier in life. I do remember from my semester at Boise State during my college years that my friends and acquaintances there were very separate from and opposed to the Mormons for a variety of reasons.

And now my cousin's son has converted because he was serious with a Mormon girl for a while, and my cousin was initially horrified but has since accepted it. Loving him is more important than approving of all of his life choices.

From my perspective right now, as long as someone isn't hurting others AND doesn't try to convert me or preach to me, I don't really care what religion, if any, they choose. What I know about this woman is that she's a good person, is devoted to her family, likes to have fun, and is accepting of others. So she and her husband weren't drinking last night while most others were at the event. . . they were there and they weren't passing judgment and they were having a good time all the same.

As a "friendly acquaintance," this woman is also a breath of fresh air as I struggle with other friendships right now. Sometimes people you consider the "what-you-see-is-what-you-get" type -- no wondering about underlying motives -- are just what we need.

The weekend is here!

Ahhh, Saturday. One of my two favorite days of the week.

I went to bed early last night and got lots of sleep. Now it's 7 a.m. I wish I could say I have something interesting planned, like going to Nuernberg. . .

But no, I'll be taking a CPR and First Aid class today. It's not that I don't think that's a good thing. It's the wise woman who has her CPR and FA certifications in case they're needed.

But I like my weekends for relaxing and wandering.

Because I knew I'd be in the class all day and therefore here anyway, I decided to volunteer at a local event tonight. "Wild West Night." It's for a good cause -- all money goes back into various community organizations and projects. Attendees will be able to play for chips at gaming tables, then the chips may be traded in for items at the general store. The store will be filled with donated items -- anything from Polish pottery to jewelry to who knows what. I'll be working at the store. Should be kinda fun.

Then tomorrow. . . Sunday. . . is my other favorite day of the week. Maybe I'll go to Nuernberg.

The photo is a corner of the Chiang Kai Shek Music Hall in Taipei. . . from another Saturday a few years back.

The Scrapiteria

Every once in a while I like to look around at the blogs on blogger.com. I always find something interesting.

Check out the Scrapiteria, which is several years' worth of collages artists' works. They're posted by weekly themes.

A-dam scene III

One of many interesting buildings on a canal. This is not trick photography. The corner of the building is not a right angle.

A-dam scene II

In the market.

A-dam scene I

Store front in Amsterdam with car.

Amsterdam!

I just returned from a long weekend in Amsterdam with jk and her sister Nancy. I had a great time. . . and I'm not just saying that because I know they'll be reading this.

I last saw the city 25 years ago. I barely remember that few-hour visit except for the time in the Van Gogh Museum -- the city was one of many stops on that Eurail pass.

My first impression this time around is that it's filled with young people, and it's edgy. Mind you, I arrived late on a Friday afternoon with about a million other tourists who were all under 25. I'm sure many were there for a weekend of partying. The funky clothes I remember as being Europe-wide 25 years ago still exist in A-dam, though are not the norm elsewhere.

Funk aside, the longer we were there, the less edge I felt. The more of the city we explored, the more of its other side(s) I saw. . . Amsterdam is a city of contrasts.

Drunk and stoned youth stumbling around. Everyday residents shopping for groceries in the outdoor markets. Well-to-do tourists gazing longingly at the Art Nouveau pieces in the Hermitage.

A cat lounging on motocycles. A huge dog sitting in a window along the canal people watching. A delicious Thai meal in a place owned by a man who had moved from Thailand to the US, then Canada, before finally settling in Amsterdam.

The young lady at the tourist information office told me at what street to exit the streetcar rather than telling me the stop. (She didn't know it.) I confirmed with the streetcar driver that I was going in the right direction when I got on. Several stops later, I heard, "For the lady looking for such-and-such street, this is your stop." When I got back on later that night to go back to Central Station, I had the same driver, and he said hello when he recognized me. Who would expect such things from a worker in a huge city who must see thousands of faces every day?

In my youth, I admired the pieces in the Van Gogh Museum because I had studied him, his life, his work. Back then, I thought I knew something about life. Now I know how little I know.

This time I was struck by the fact that Van Gogh had been extremely religious, turned to art at the suggestion of his brother when he could think of nothing else to do, was self taught and only painted for ten years before he committed suicide.

Just today someone asked me if there's more to Amsterdam than the sex and drugs that everyone talks about. Oh yes. There's so much more.

Photo: Looking in the window at the front desk area of the Huis Marseille Photography Museum.