More OBE, or, Rosie the Riveter, or, You are Sixteen, Going on Seventeen.

I'm still filled with a good bout of OBE.

But it's not entirely detrimental to my state of being- in fact, it can be put to relatively good use. Which is why, on a Tuesday morning, I'm sitting with a list of eighteen places to apply for jobs. I'll be a big kid soon, it's time to enter the work force.

Yeah, Rosie, sure we can. But only after many hours of rigorous application filing and looking clean and professional and practicing firm handshakes (which, by the way, is something I've never gotten the hang of. It doesn't mean I'm a flimsy person- it just means that my fingers hurt). Yesterday at Petco (looking for a few rat supplies. More on that later), I went up, attempting my, "I am professional. Can't you read the words 'hire ME!' stamped across my forehead?" ploy for the first time, and asked, I thought very maturely, if they had applications available. The cashier looked at me for a second, and then informed me that it's all online, and, "You have to be eighteen to work here."

Oh. 'Kay then. Is it really that easy to tell that I'm not eighteen? It's not like as soon as I turn eighteen I'll magically be an adult, and capable of the rigors of working at Petco. Yeah, yeah, I know all of the legal stuff. There's probably some liability there just in case you get your head pecked to a nub by some parakeet (one of which, by the way, was loose at the time of my visit. They were running around with a net trying to catch it). But seriously. One year? When he said "eighteen", I almost threw myself on the ground and stomped my feet and almost shouted, "It's not fair!". Maybe that's the difference between sixteen and eighteen. Or sixteen and seventeen, take your pick. Oh well. So far, Tim Hortons looks like a good option. Also, Dunkin' Donuts and Charlotte Russe. I don't think I'm prissy enough for a job at Charlotte Russe, but it's worth a shot anyways.

Here goes nothing. Dive, dive, dive!

**On another very exciting note, it looks like my rattie adoption has been approved! Yaaay! I'm waiting for the official e-mail, but all signs say go. Hooray, for Madeline and Pimento!

The Law Breaking Challenge of 2011

It's kind of a funny story...
In ten days, I will be seventeen. It turns out that you don't actually really get anything awesome when you turn seventeen. Y'know, like, when you're fourteen, it's the legal age of consent. When you're fifteen, you can have a permit, when you're sixteen, a license. When you're eighteen you can vote and actually be a citizen and buy cigarettes and porn. But seventeen? Nothing. Nonetheless, it seems so much cooler than sixteen that I'm bursting with Obnoxious Birthday Excitement (hereby referred to as OBE).
Last night at debate, we were discussing the new resolution (In the United States, juveniles charged with violent felonies ought to be treated as adults in the Criminal Justice system), and it came up that in the United States, most seventeen-year-olds are treated as adults already. In response to this fact, I burst out with OBE, saying "HEY! I'm seventeen in ELEVEN DAYS. Or, ten days and five hours..." And then, after a minute of thought, I made up my mind.
It went something like this...
"Guys! Let's go do illegal stuff! I have ten days and five hours before I'm treated as an adult LET'S GO!"
A: "Or we could just work on our cases."
B: "What kind of illegal stuff did you have in mind?"
I immediately blurted out, "Drugs!"
But not actually, because somehow, I don't think I would fit well into the role of heroin addict.

But all of this led to some interesting mind bubbling and brewing. I decided to fuel my OBE with a challenge. A good challenge, because I like them.

Welcome to the Law Breaking Challenge of 2011.
Haven't heard of it? That's because I made it up. In the next ten days, I will try to break as many laws as possible.
These may include, but won't be limited to:
-Not bringing a shotgun to church (in case of Native American attack)
- Driving (no license!)
- Walking outside naked at four in the morning
- Walking a dog on a leash more than eight feet long.
-Spitting out of a second story window

Ratties, or, Bicycle Around the World Day

Somehow December passed in a whirl- actually, it was more like a drive-by shooting, the way that it hit hard and sped by fast, leaving many moments gasping for more time and air.
Yeah, I finally breeched into that dreded time of adulthood when the holidays (that is to say, Christmas and New Years) are more stressful than they should be.
Despite this, Christmas was very nice. I got to see some family, sing good music, and I got a few nice things under the tree. It's funny. Every few years, sometimes two in a row, Mom or Dad will say, "I hope you guys aren't expecting a huge Christmas."
Even when they don't say it, I know that we've never had a huge Christmas. But it's okay, because I've never had a Christmas I've been unhappy with. Present-wise I tend to like practical things, so that's no big deal. And I know that it sounds trite, but I honestly like the day because it's one of the few days a year that my brother and I magically get along.
I was extremely excited to find a large wire cage, unwrapped under the tree this year. It's big enough for rats or guinea pigs or even a small bunny or a chinchilla or something. I've decided, after years of wanting them, to get a few rats. I browsed around our humane society and stumbled across the Mainely Rat Rescue. I've applied for Madeline and Pimento, a pair of rats listed there, and I'm crossing my fingers that the adoption papers get approved, because they're Sooo cute. So. Cute.
Along with that large (and inexpensive. Apparently they found it at a yardsale) gift, I also got some bike accessories, like an odometer and a bell for my bike (more on that later).

Speaking of which, today, according to my schedule calandar, is Bicycle Around the World Day. In honor of it, I would take out my bicycle...except I don't have snowtires. That could be problematic. So instead I'll just cheer on this noblest of noble days.
I have, however, found a quite spectacular way of biking in the winter...sort of. A friend of mine introduced me to the great sport of Bike Polo. There's a motley group, apparently, who play under the cover of the parking garage downtown. I haven't gone yet, because I still need to construct a good mallet (they all make theirs differently, out of broomstick handles or PVC pipes or plumbing).

So, a hoorah to those people, whoever and wherever they may be, who are biking around the world right now. You're honorable. Maybe someday I'll do it, too.
After I finish hiking the AT and saving the world.

What's Happening? Well, I'll Tell Ya What's Happening...

I honestly have never been a fan of Thanksgiving. It makes me feel gluttonous, and means we have to clean.

But this year, it's not so bad. Especially since the break from school was well needed (yeah, that whole thing about Junior year being from hell was preeetty much true). Tuesday night, my friends and I partook in what will surely become a great tradition. We settled in together with cocoa and blankets, a wholesome scene, to be sure...and watched Thankskilling. Great choice guys. Really, it was classy. I recommend it to all who don't mind awful acting, bestiality, and profanity.

This was followed up by an extremely chilly game of Turkey Disc. Everyone who showed up gets an intensity medal, just for being there. It was snowing slightly, and the mud was freezing beneath our feet, but we trooped on, if only to preserve our dignity.

Tuesday, my creative writing teacher told us about the Turkey Trek happening in the City Forest. Four miles, at your own pace. Bring food for the food cupboard. Eight AM. I tentatively raised my hand to say I might show up. And for some disgustingly strange reason, I got up this morning at seven, and did it. The only reason I went was because I convinced my friend to do it with me, meaning that I couldn't back out without being a wuss. Speaking of dignity...

So I hopped on my bike, and rode to his house (coldest ride of my entire life, by the way), from where we drove out to the forest. Four miles doesnt seem like much, but I am nothing of a runner. Zilch. No running. Not since I quit track my freshman year. Once or twice a year, I'll convince my gullible self that I can run, and that it will make me a better person, but it ends with me going for a few (slow and taxing) runs, hurting my lungs or my achilles, and then calling it good. Beyond that, I disc. The. End.

So, God only knows what I was doing in the middle of the woods on Thanksgiving day at eight in the morning with running shoes on. We jogged and walked alternately, because my asthma didn't respond well to the weather, but I did it, and that's all that counts, right? [I almost have myself convinced that I'm a runner now. Becca, you champ!]

On a mostly unrelated topic, I have a cat.

Sort of.

One of my friends has a cat, who has downsyndrome. Or, at least that's what they presume, because she's really really really stupid and has crossed eyes [thanks very much, siamese inbreeding]. Her name is Squeaky [actually, it's Miko, but she only responds to Squeaky], and we were meant to be.

So, she's on loan. We've taken to calling her Squawky, because that's more what her little "MAOW MAOW"s sound like. Little Squawky thought that five thirty was an excellent time to come into my room and squawk at me for a half an hour. This means war.

The Acadia Challenge, or, We'll Just Butt-Slide Down This One

This past Sunday, I went with a few friends to Acadia. Acadia national park is probably the best known park in Maine, besides Baxter (but that's only because of Katahdin). In the summer months, Mount Desert Island (where the park is housed) is swamped with nature-going tourists. It's a really lovely park, mostly wild, with trails and bike paths and natural wonders scattered throughout.

A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend about how we ought to go hiking more, as we both want to someday thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. But it's getting late in the season for hiking. The air has turned cold and harsh, and mountains will be crusted over with ice. So we took this as our last opportunity for hiking before we'll have to switch to winter gear.

Mission: The Acadia Challenge

-Hike as many mountains in Acadia as we can in one day.

So, the three of us set out wicked wicked early to get to Acadia in time for the daylight. We could see our breath as we began, and I hadn't bothered to take off my pajamas- I just put the fleece pants on over my hiking shorts. We started out on Bald mountain, then, over the course of five hours, peaked at Parkman, Sargent, Penobscot, North and South Bubbles, Pemetic, and the Triad. There was another peak somewhere around Bald, Parkman and Sargent, but it wasn't expected and isn't on the map. Nine mountains, in just under five hours. We only covered about (with finger guesstimation and a map) ten miles total, but a lot of those miles were steep uphill or leaf-covered, cliff-side downhill. Around Sargent and Penobscot, we had to choose between a steep, watery trail, and another one that featured iron rungs down a cliff face ( we opted for the steep one. Iron rungs in cold weather could be disasterous). On another ( Pemetic, maybe?), the choice was between the ravine trail and the ledge, a series of near vertical, smooth granite patches that we had to scramble up. The scariest part though, was going down steep boulder-ridden mountain sides covered in leaves. They've been left, since pretty much no one is going to be out hiking by now, and they'll disintegrate over the winter. But they make it very difficult to know where to put your feet, and it's tricky walking over them, because it's easy to lose your footing.

After our ninth mountain, we went down a side trail towards Jordan Pond House, where we were meeting our ride, and ignoring the signs about wading and swimming and no body contact, we hopped out to a large boulder off the shore of Jordan Pond on smaller rocks, and sat, drinking in the sight of all of the mountains we had just cruised over. It was a good feeling, despite the aches in my ankles and knees, knowing that I had just climbed all that, and been able to keep up with my significantly taller friends.

Next Mission: Winter Hiking in Virginia

Confidence level: Non-existent.

Our path, but on the trails, of course.

Recap of the Gubernatorial Forum

The debate last night was a success, at least on our end of the spectrum. We had been told by our administration to make the presentation as professional as possible. Their goal for the night: Make the school look good. They didn't care so much about the candidates, just so long as we looked good. Well, I for one cared about the candidates.
The forum focused mostly on the education issues that will be facing the next governor, whoever that may be.
For those of you not familiar with the Maine elections, Here are the candidates, listed in order of poll results, highest to lowest.
Paul Lepage
Libby Mitchell
Eliot Cutler
Shawn Moody
Kevin Scott

Out of all of the candidates many speeches last night, I got the most of of Cutler's, Lepage's, and Scott's speeches. Moody and Mitchell fell short. I like most of Scott's ideas, but he does need a little bit more substance. His speaking skills were phenominal, and I went up to him after the forum and told him so. He thanked me, and we launched into a ten minute discussion. One thing Scott has emphasized throughout the entire campaign process is that he isn't really a politician. He doesn't come from a political background, and he uses this as an advantage. I think it's a unique way to go about campaigning, and I love some of his ideas for how to run the state and fix our problems, but he's the lowest in the polls, and needs some more umph in his campaign. I can't remember if it was he or Moody who didn't take their public campaigning money, but if it was Scott, hoooboy, he should have.
I have a Cutler sign outside of my house, and I support him the most out of all of the candidates. One thing I noted last night was the manner in which the candidates answered the questions that we, the students, presented. Going from left to right from my point of view, Scott made a point to use your name and look at you and only sometimes at the audience or the camera. Moody looked mostly at the camera, and a little bit at you, and also made sure to use your name, Mitchell... well, heaven only knows where she was looking. I think she was aiming at the camera, but from my angle, it looked more like she was talking to a fly on the ceiling of the auditorium, head held high like a day dreamer. She didn't look at me even once. Lepage gave the camera and the questioner equal attention, used names, but mostly talked about policy. It was an efficient way to deal with the questions- I was impressed, despite my general dislike for the man. Cutler, however, really impressed me. Perhaps he had an advantage, because he was closest to the questioner, but he made it a point to look directly at you the entire time he was answering the question. For him, it was about answering YOUR question, not turning every question into a chance to campaign. I felt like all of his answers were honest and down to earth, and I respect him for that.
I was also incredibly impressed when, after the debate, both Cutler and Scott remembered not only my name, but the names of all of the other students around me. There's something to be said for charisma.
Lepage's answers, I think, had the most information in them. His plans do make a good deal of sense, and I like some of his positions quite a lot. However, he's shown a lack of diplomatic ability- something that's very important to have as governor of Maine, or any state. I'm not just talking about his "get the hell out of my state" comment, but his entire campaign. He was well behaved last night, though, so he gets a brownie for that.
All of this having been said, I have to admit that I'm not the most politically minded person on the planet. I am swayed sometimes by emotion, and am not always well read on the issues. But I do think it's important that the voice of youth be heard before the elections. Your decision affects us too. Most of all, everyone needs to vote, and understand what they're voting on before they go. I know, I sound like a nagging public service announcement, but it's true and you know it. Just do it.

Go Fight City Hall, or At Least the Superintendent.

Tonight is the night of the gubernatorial debate, and it's going to be a long day. Tune in, if any of you get ABC.

Yesterday, Dad got an e-mail from our superintendent, concerning the letter I sent her. As far as I know, it said nothing besides requesting an "audience" (her word, not mine. It's an interesting choice of words, and it indicates and ego complex, if you ask me..) with myself, dad, and our principal (Mr. N). It took her three weeks to get back to me, and she didn't even get back to ME. I'm sorry, but if someone takes the time and trouble to send you a carefully planned letter, you ought to do your best to return the favor. It's not like she's celebrity status or anything. I'm sure she has more important things to worry about, but...really? I have to be a little offended that after proving that I am capable of thinking for myself and acting like an adult, I deserve to be treated like an adult.
So, the way I figure, this could go one of two ways:
1. Oh, shniekie, I'm in trouble. The superintendent wants us to drop the issue and just keep our heads down and do as we're told. Bad dog! Sit!
If this happens, of course, dad, as an employee, has to say "yes, ma'am". I think he's under the impression that that's what I'd say, too. But I'm not obligated to say "yes, ma'am". I'll say ma'am, of course, but I think it'll be more along the lines of "No, thanks very much, ma'am. I'm right, and you know it".
2. She actually wants to discuss her reasoning and why she is or is not planning on changing her policies.

I'm almost hoping for the first option, because this one is a whole lot more fun, even if we do get in trouble. The more difficulty we have getting what we want, the more people can get involved. I was telling my fellow debaters about the situation, at one of our tournaments, and they got very fired up. They're ready to go to a school board meeting and (respectfully) speak their minds. It makes a captain proud. Either way, I got the meeting, and that does say something. I suppose I shouldn't be too offended that they contacted dad rather than me- I have to pick my battles. But by George, I'm going to win the ones that I do pick.

Exciting stuff and things! Stuff and things! Excitement!

It's a gubernatorial election year. Woooohoooo.
Yeah, I know, not super exciting. But! It does allow some exciting things to happen. For example, last week, a "debate" (more like a Q&A. Not a single one of these candidates would stand a second in a real debate round) was held at my school for the candidates.
Debate team kids got free tickets. I don't really remember why, but I think their line of thinking was that the geeks are also politically minded. Oh. 'Kay then.
That's not that exciting though.
What's exciting is that next week, we're hosting another one. But the students are running it! And, because geeks are politically minded, the debate team is heading it up. We'll be moderating online chat rooms, where people can discuss the issues and send in questions, greeting people and candidates, helping some with press, and moderating the debate.
Yup. Geeks are politically minded.
So, I'll be moderating the debate. The hardest part will be refraining from asking pointed and sarcastic questions.

Fight, Fight for Victory Today, or, I Thought My Principal Would Kill Me, or, Flubber Neck.

Yesterday, I was privy to a conversation between my father and another teacher.
It concerned several policies that our superintendent imposed involving the debate team and the specifics of how we get to the NFL national competition. I'd heard about them before, but I'd forgotten about them entirely until they were brought up yesterday. The policies are as follows:

-Coaches who are also staff members of the school system cannot attend a regional or national competition with a qualifying student if that competition falls within the school year (Relatively reasonable. But our competition falls in finals week. A robot could give an exam). Parents will attend the competition with the child (At a national debate tournament, we must provide a qualified judge for our qualifiers. A parent doesn't meet those requirements).

-As a team, we cannot fundraise for nationals. We also are not allowed to use our budgeted funds to sponsor our trip to the national competition. So, these two policies combined means that the full burden of paying the fees of a national trip falls on the parents, which creates a hierarchy among the qualifiers: Those who are wealthy get to debate at a higher level.

*I need to make it clear that by changing these policies, the debate team, or any other club or team, would not recieve any more money than they already do from the administration and taxpayers.

Well, hearing about the injustices again fired up my passion against our superintendent, who I disagree with on most things, and who strikes me as prime material for the role of Scummy Politician. I'm sure that she's a nice person. But I don't get along with most anyone who's got their fake smile plastered on 24/7 and speaks with the oral skills of Hillary Clinton. So, I resolved to send a letter to the superintendent, presenting my entirely logical arguments, and starting up a campaign to change these policies. If she doesn't explain any valid reasoning behind her decisions, or doesn't respond to the letter, then I'm going to attend a school board meeting to present a speech about the issue. I think it's important. Maybe it's not the top priority, but it's still important, and ought to be changed.

So, I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon writing my letter. I've never written a formal letter before, and I had to google it to make sure I was doing it right. I wore my Harvard baseball hat, because it made me feel smarter. Dad helped me some by offering objective information about how we funded our trip (Dad is a teacher and the debate coach. Sooo, a little bit of bias, but what can you do?), and proper protocol in a situation like this. He pointed out that it would be proper to run this by my principal before sending the letter. Woah, woah, woah. Stop right there.
Run it by the principal? I almost ran and hid under my bed at this suggestion. It's not like I was doing anything wrong, but then again, you probably haven't heard my principal's reputation. I go to a big school, and have seen him around maybe once or twice.
You have to know a few things about the man I will hereafter refer to as Mr. N.
Mr. N is old. Very old. He's pretty much been here forever.
Mr. N likes to glare. A lot.
He has a lot of liverspots, and those liver spots glare too.
Last year he had his picture on the front page of the paper. He glared in that picture too. I think he wanted to look special for such an occasion, so he folded his arms over his chest to accessorize the look.
A few years ago, he rolled his lawnmower, and broke a leg, four ribs, and punctured a lung. He was going to retire after that, but no one wanted the job. That's because no one in their right mind would want to be principal of a high school. I've always been convinced that Mr. N took the job and keeps the job because he's strict and militant enough to get away with doing it without being terribly involved.
I knew that to make sure that all of the administration knows I mean business, I had to bring the letter to Mr. N. So, I printed off two copies. One to give to him, and a back up in case the lasers that beam from his eyes toasted the first when he tried to read it. I went to the office today, and asked if he was in, and they told me to go check, hardly looking up from their Very Important Business. So I peered into Mr. N's office, which I have never been in. Somehow, I always thought it was between the offices of the two assistant principals, which are on the edge by the hallway, and have an outermost wall made of bulletproof glass (my freshman year, some kid threw a stapler at one of the assistant principals through the bulletproof glass. I guess it's not staplerproof). But instead, it's tucked in a corner in the innards of the main office. The only reasoning I can think of behind this floorplan is that the principal can make a quick escape out the window if someone snaps and starts shooting the school. The room seemed larger than the other office, and Mr. N's desk was in the middle. The first thing I noticed was the jar of M&M's in front of his computer. They seemed to contradict everything I had heard about him, and so I straightened up, ready to deliver my Very Important Letter. The setup seemed similar to that of the Oval office, and Mr. N ruled supreme in his own little office. His bloodhound's eyes glared up at me from underneath liverspotted overhanging eyebrows, and his mouth seemed to be permanently droopy. I was concerned that it would just...slide off his face. I handed him my letter, briefly explaining its contents, and sat in one of the simple, assembly line chairs lined up a good five and a half feet from his desk. They were in a perfect row, not touching the wall, and far enough away from Mr. N that he could probably tell when students (or staff) tried to text in his presence. He leaned his soft, jello body back into his office chair, and commenced in reading my letter, which I had handed to him before sitting. As he read through, his head moved with his eyes, looking like a short pendulum, as if to say, "Yes, I am reading this. One. Line. At. A. Time". His jowels flabbed up and down, like he was chewing something. Possibly his tongue. Maybe he liked gum? I pondered the sorts of gum that Mr. N might favor, and decided that he was a Big Red kind of guy, because it was strong enough that his geriatric tastebuds might be able to almost taste them. As he chewed, the drooping sides of his face morphed into one fleshy ocean with his saggy chin, and then became seperate again as his teeth were brought together. The transition fascinated me, and I wondered how long the structure of his face had been able to change shape, like Flubber. Finally, after an eternity of trying to not stare too hard at the wrinkled curtains of skin, Mr. N put the letter down, sat up straight and said to me, after a pause, "Very well done".
I think I might have exploded a little bit in gratitude. I had been so nervous.
Mr. N continued on to say that he wasn't sure of what the superintendent's reaction would be, but that her decisions probably had to do with the budget cuts. I refrained from pointing out that we weren't asking for more money, and instead took my letter back (unsinged), thanked him, and went on my way.
If I get my way with this thing, I might send him a pack of M&M's.

Adventures at Four AM

Summer's been flying by, and I'm not sure I'm okay with that.
Slow down, I was just getting to know you!

A couple of my friends and I took a trip to Stockton Springs to see the sunrise a few weeks back.
This involved leaving around four a.m., which we handled surprisingly well.
The way down was extremely foggy. But it was very strange, because at some points it would be so foggy you could hardly see through the windsheild, and then in a few yards, the line of vision would be almost completely clear. It's a very nice drive, though. I forget how cute rural Maine can be.
We arrived just in time to see the sun rise through the heavy fog, which made a nice effect, and we went for a dawn swim.
All-in-all, a very good time.
We also headed over to Sears Island. Half of the island is cold water, like Sandy Point, but then the other half of the island, used often for clamming, is all warm water, because it's where the Penobscot River meets the ocean. There were a few old men out clamming when we got there, but we picked our way over farther on the beach and waded into the ankle deep waters. Much to our surprise, there's a large population of hermit crabs living there! They may have been two different varieties, but I can't be sure. Some of them were large, orange and fuzzy, and then others were smaller and brown. I think though, that the orange ones may have been the males, and the brown the females, because of the way the orange ones were dragging the others around. I'm curious if this is a part of the mating process.I had also never actually seen clamming flats before, or not for a very long time. I was surprised every time I saw a spurt of water. One of them even spurted right underneath my foot! Despite my persistent attempts, I wasn't able to dig any up.
At the end of our trip, we made a pitstop into a curious attraction. We kept seeing signs for the Book Barn Used Bookstore, so we decided to detour and check it out. It's literally a barn in the back of this guy's house. When we walked in, I almost fell over. The inside of the barn resembled a labyrinth. There were shelves of books up to the ceiling, and piles of books on the floor up to my waist. The entire barn was full of it. The owner sat at his desk and made small chat with customers- but I never actually saw anything except for the smoke from his pipe, because he was obscured by the many mountains of books surrounding the desk. I encourage everyone to go to this place if they ever get the chance. I could have stayed in there forever.

People Helping People Makes Me Happy, or, An Ode to Wonderful People 1

Today is an ode to the unrecognized Wonderful People, Capitalized like a title, because it is.
A lot of things go into making a store, a city, a church, a world go round. I spent the morning working with the wonderful people of Grace United Methodist Church.
Over a year ago, my church's youth group got involved with Grace United's Third Saturday luncheons. Every third Saturday of the month, a team from Grace United (or from our youth group) makes a meal to serve to anyone who needs it in the community. The room is always full, and twice as full in the winter, when the weather is cold and money is scarcer. The meal is given free of charge, and all of the workers come of their own accord. I can't even begin to explain how it feels to stand serving food to a person who lives day-to-day, not knowing if they'll be able to eat or not, living in a shelter, or with a family. That's what hurts the most to see, is the families that come in with armfuls of children. There's not very much space in the basement, where the luncheon occurs. But strangers and friends willingly rub elbows, share laughs, and get a good hearty bite to eat. The courage it takes to live lives like many of these people do is incredible. The stories that they have to tell are just as incredible, and I can't explain how much I look forward to serving them that one day a week.
But that's not the only time a month that Grace United comes to life. The church, whose congregation is comprised primarily of the older generation, runs a small thrift store out of part of the basement. They get all sorts of donations, but everything is marked very low. The store sees a lot of business from the same people who come to the luncheons, who are looking for essentials like clothing or just little things to make their abode look nice. I've recently started working here, and I've met so many incredible Wonderful People. I'd encourage anyone in the Bangor area to stop by! If I'm not mistaken, a good deal of the proceeds from the shop goes to the luncheons, so it's an unstoppable loop of goodness. Everyone who works in the store is a volunteer, and they work really really hard to make it nice, and also accessible to those with low income. Even moreso, the relationships that form around the store are great. It's a bit of a nice routine. I see lots of the same people when I work, and I've begun to learn names. Just the other day, a man came in saying that he had hit a spot of trouble, and that someone from the store had said that they had some clothing for him and also some sun tan lotion. It's these interpersonal relationships that bloom that make things like the Grace United Thrift Store so wonderful.
Wonderful People. They inspire me.

*P.S. Yesterday's picnic was a wonderful success, as was night disc, which was followed by the first fire and s'mores session. All in all, a very lovely day. Posting soon.