He Cleans up Well

Just thought I'd share a new development in the Sanchez home. Jon has begun his practicum, which means he's spending time in an actual school with a real teacher and real students. It also means he had to update his wardrobe from plaid to um, wait, from casual to business. There has to be a better way of saying that. Something more snappy. Either way here he is parading about the house in a tie and dress pants. Impressive. Me on the other hand, I'm not much more than the frumpy wife who spends all her time at home reading blogs and posting photos of her much more successful husband. Here's to ideals.

Tah Dah

Here it is, Jon's specialty birthday cake. I got made fun of for drawing out detailed sketches before the cake was actually baked and assembled. But take that Kim, it turned out great, thanks to those sketches. This is the first theme cake I've ever made and I'm hoping it starts a new tradition in the Sanchez home. Who is it you ask? Link from Wind Waker Zelda, of course. Although some of you already knew that. Some wish I would have included the triforce cupcakes in the photo. All that remains now is Link's hat, which I may eat for lunch. Yum.

Rescue 911

On Sunday, Jon and I were driving west on I-84 heading downtown to see the New Pornographers. Jon won free tickets and the only mention the show deserves is that though Lavender Diamond has a good song they are a true example of so indie it sucks. That's all I have to say about that. Moving on, we were driving west when I spotted a small fire near the embankment. I figured someone was burning leaves in their backyard, though something seemed amiss. As we drew nearer I realized the fire was on the embankment, not in a yard, and against the freeway noise barrier. This did not seem good. And Jon, being the ever responsible one, told me to call 911...now. I hesitated. I've never called 911, except for in 6th grade when my friend dislocated her knee and I'm not sure I was the one making the call, though my sister and I watched plenty of "Rescue 911" growing up. Ah, William Shatner and your reenactments. I protested: was it really that serious. Jon insisted: everyone driving down the interstate is thinking someone else has already called. I sighed, submitted and dialed 911 on his cell phone.

"You have reached Portland 911. If this is an emergency say 911 after the tone or press any key."

Are you joking me? It's an emergency and you want me to say 911 like I'm disputing a charge on my phone bill. I press '1.' I wasn't sure if there was an option for a non-emergency or highway embankment fire.

"A 911 operator will be with you in a moment. Hanging up will only delay emergency response."

Again, are you kidding. What if my arm just got chopped off or my grandfather was having a heart attack. You want me to hold? But I stayed on the line, because I didn't want to risk an angry call back or fine or getting in trouble. But really, they can put you on hold?

"We are experiencing a heavy call rate at the moment. Thank you for holding."

You're welcome. I bet Jon is wrong. I bet every stinking car traveling west on I-84 both in front and behind us is listening to the same message. After a good 30 seconds of shock an operator does come on the line. I've had time to gather my thoughts.

"Yes, I'm traveling west on I-84 and just saw a fire off the side of the road"

"Is it at 68th?"

"Sure." I'm terrible at estimating.

"We've got someone responding already."

"Great. Thanks."

Often times, I'm on the phone at 5:30am trying to get credit for broken yogurt parfaits at work. I sit there for five minutes listening to the same message and upbeat music. I couldn't help but feel the 911 emergency line could benefit from some sort of calming music.

"Please stay on the line and listen to these crashing ocean waves to soothe you."

Another option would be to dispense first aid information while the person is holding, but this seemed overly practical. I know that if an emergency actually happened and I was put on hold I would freak out. At least I think I would, although I suppose I'm so accustomed to holding for different things that it might actually calm me by convincing me this was like any other telephone interaction with a business. And they would help me as soon as an operator was available and my call may be recorded for quality and training purposes.

This just in...

In my gradual mission to make our kitchen a little midcentury modern and/or 50s glam, I recently acquired a cake platter and dome at a local thrift shop. It cost $4.99 and was just what I was looking for. In the past few weeks I've ended my shift and passed the kitchen kaboodle store on the way to my car. With a sidelong glance, I looked longingly at the cake platters they had on display. "If only..." I would sigh. And yet dreams do come true. Here is the new Sanchez Family Cake Platter (with accompanying Dome). Tah-dah. Initiating it into our home are a batch of chocolate chip cookies from my family's recipe. Delish! And there's Jon's face. Gorgeous. Soon, the cake platter will serve its true purpose as I attempt to make a Link cake for Jon's Birthday. Want to see it happen? Come to his birthday party this Saturday the 22nd between 7p and 10p. We'll have cupcakes, too. (Lord willing.)

hair plan update

Brandon Barker could take credit, and perhaps the Barker family as a whole, for many of the good ministry experiences I have had along with a mannerism or idea here and there. One of which would be the hair plan. The Barkers like to ask what your hair plan is. Mine is usually a gradual progression from short to long. It could also be summarized as lazy or frugal. It could fourthly be classified as intuitive. When I feel in the core of my being that my hair has become too long I decide to get it cut. That feeling happened sometime last week and here's the result. Mind you, I'm alone at home right now and my hair photographer/husband is not around to help. Be forgiving in your critiques.

If you'd like to talk about something completely different with me, I'll admit to feeling this odd sense of nostalgia last night. Often times after I got back from studying in London I would dream of being back there and would miss it intensely the next day. And I think with due reason, as God did a lot to comfort and strengthen me while I was over there. And I met some amazing people and lived in London. But yesterday I was in a great mood and partly because I was emotionally remembering a few different times and people. It was a relief in some ways from being stressed or frustrated. I'm not sure. But it was nostalgic, which doesn't seem like a viable feeling if we're not thinking of the 1950s.

More like Laborious Day...

...If it's backwards you want, then you want Multnomah. (alternative title)

So it ends, my twelve hour work day on this white collar holiday (as my co-worker so aptly put it). Unfortunately, I was wearing my black polo at work and wasn't able to participate in the festivities. For some reason the seminary decides each year to completely disregard the American convention to not have class on Labor Day, thus putting me at a plastic gray table for three hours for a discussion on biblical theology and leaving me with the sad revelation that I don't like biblical exegesis. My degree is primarily in biblical exegesis. If only I'd known when I started I would have gotten a Master's in Trinitarian Theology. I digress. What I really wanted to complain about (as I have for the past three days) is the fact that I had to go to work and class on Labor Day. Bah! I sort of feel (as I did last year) that my rights as an American had been revoked as I marched to class. I should have pulled out my passport, then they would have known. I understand Multnomah, we're to think of ourselves as citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven, but could we just have this one day?

Oh, well. I would like to extend a quiz to you, my devoted reader. What are the origins of Labor Day? I feel like it has something to do with a world war or the New Deal. Prove me wrong. And with that we'll put this fine and ambiguous holiday to rest.

Oh, Beautiful.

Watch out international waters (and lands), I've got a legitimate passport. One more official document that identifies me as both Hispanic and very very white at the same time. I got the prized possession in the mail yesterday. Apparently, I got the "Stars and Stripes" edition. The U.S. government decided to step up their passport technology by implanting an electronic chip in my passport's neck and the designers refused to be out done. Each page is a sweeping mural of amber waves, purple mountains and the like. Very inspiring and more so a bit ridiculous. Have you seen the new passports? They ooze patriotism. I suppose it's because you only need a passport when you are leaving the country and the U.S. government doesn't want you to forget America's greatness. "Look traveler, we've got Mt. Rushmore. We've got eagles. We've got Abraham Lincoln chiseled into rock. Uruguay doesn't have that. Come home, won't you?"

So, I told some of this to my co-closer at work last night. Her first question: "Where are you going?" As if I got a passport for the functional instead of the sentimental value. I've got nothing as far as international travel plans go, though I'd like to change that. My motivation in getting a revised passport was this thought: what if we win a trip for two to Japan and I'm stuck at home? That would be sad. But if I have a functional passport it's logical that travel will follow. Jon and I are both graduating in May and getting Master's degrees, so I figure we've earned ourselves a trip (let alone a career). I'm also thinking it's been too long since I was last in London and England as whole. I'm going to do my best to convince all involved that we need to take a trip back there. If the flights are expensive it would be balanced by free admission to the museums. Well worth it. Besides there are some people I'd like to see again. The Queen for starters.