Workin' 5:30 to 1, What a Way to Make a Livin'

The periodicity of rain in Alberta makes me rather happy. Every once in a while, it’s a true pleasure to indulge in the delights of drinking hot chocolate on a couch while reading and enjoying the sounds of rain on my roof and Norah Jones, watching the deluge of raindrops arrive in puddles, guessing what path a water droplet will take when traveling down a window pane, flicking the water off grass while walking through it, staring up at the sky and letting the raindrops come into focus as they approach the ground, dancing outside in puddles with rainboots, and skipping around with my big red umbrella. Because we get rain so infrequently in Edmonton, it’s easy to romanticize rainy days, I suspect mainly because a reprieve from the norm is always welcome and because some of the most tender moments in movies tend to occur when characters are drenched from the rain. My favourite moment in Garden State takes place as Large, Sam, and Mark take in the view of the Abyss as the rain pours down on them. There’s a sense of the water’s ability to cleanse, give new life, remove the façade of makeup, and bring out the truth. In film, scenes with rain showers generally signal a fresh beginning or state of vulnerability. I love the fact that in rainy weather, all of the dirt-covered sidewalks and cars parked along the road are cleaned off, and everything seems a bit more pure and genuine, untainted by the grime that accumulates over time (unintentional rhyming!). In weather like this, Edmontonians are almost as united in experiencing the rain as they are in celebrating making it into the next round of the playoffs, and there are few things that I like more than people sharing common experiences and developing an understanding of what others experience. Psych studies have failed to demonstrate that people experiencing difficulty together brings true understanding of each other, but some have suggested that Canadians’ friendliness and cooperative spirit has evolved in part from our shared familiarity with the at-times trying weather, which often compels us to shovel someone else’s sidewalk, lament the weather to one another, or push a neighbour’s car out of a rut.
















Customers are particularly garrulous on days like these, when small talk about weather leads to lengthy conversations about gardening season, Hurricane Katrina, and vacation plans that will allow for an escape from Alberta weather. It’s days like these that working inside the café is quite agreeable, as I can down white hot chocolates and play cards with Kristi during the oddly slow spells whilst watching the rain and snow fall down from the view provided by the ginormous windows. I’ve been back at work as a full-fledged barista for two entire days now, and it’s been both splendid fun and wearying. My café is one of my favourite places, and my job affords me with the opportunity to hang out all day with friends, make lattés, enjoy the absurdity of Whyte Ave, and earn a paycheque. However, we don’t take breaks at all on shifts at work, so eight hours of standing, running around, getting burned, being covered in a film of coffee, and being gracious to everyone we interact with always requires some energy. At any given moment in the café, I’m thinking about several things at one time, which makes a shift go by at the speeed of light (c=299, 792, 458 m/s), but keeps my adrenaline at ridiculously high levels. For example, at 6:30 this morning, here are the things I needed to do in the next five minutes: restock the muffins, make Allison’s double americano, put more ice in the water pitcher, put the red chiller bucket in the dishwasher and run the dishwasher, run the next four shots of espresso through the machine for backup chiller, turn off the icing machine because it’s making noises, have a bite of my veggie roll to satisfy my hunger, check the coffee levels to make sure we have enough of each roast, exchange a toonie for a roll of nickels from the cash box for the left till, place the Globe & Mail on the table by the condiment stand on the newspaper rake, tidy up the syrup pumps, wipe down the counter by the bean drawer, brew a pot of Cinnamon Hazelnut, set up a pot of Colombian Decaf to be brewed before the decaf customers arrive, sanitize my hands, serve any customers who needed service, and perhaps a few other things that I can’t remember. While I’m incredibly grateful for the fact that there’s never a shift that doesn’t fly by, sometimes I do wish I was working in a record shop filing CDs and telling customers what artist to check out if they’re an Elvis Costello fan, or could wear ballet flats and bubble skirts in an office. My fantabulous boss Michelle has verbalized her concern that the the girls who work at the café (and Darcy, I suppose) will become jaded with our coffee jobs, but I suspect that I'd miss the community and fun of the café if I ever left before my undergrad is completed. Besides its flavour, I feel that coffee’s best quality is its ability to bring people together, whether those people are friends, coworkers, or strangers. I’ve met so many super cool people through barista-ing, and reminding myself of these people always makes a rough day at the café (more rhyming!) worth it.

















In addition to the increased presence of work in my life, summer brings along a boatload of opportunities for outdoor fun. In the last couple of days, I’ve enjoyed the excellence of biking through the wonderful university area and river valley, having tennis fun, reading on my lawn/balcony, doing rain skipping-dances on my way to work, and walking around at night with Jess. I’ve so missed the freedom of living most of the day outside in the past few months, and am savouring the ability to spend much of my time breathing in the fresh air. Obviously, God had real vision when he created all the little things that make up the outdoors; there’s nothing like time spent outdoors to feel closer to God. Not only does nature reflect God’s beauty, and His love for us, but it also mirrors God’s character. I love the sky’s presence no matter where I am, and its constant exquisiteness. My grandpa’s fondness for astronomy and oddly sophisticated telescopes never ceases to remind me of the stars’ power to guide us, take our breath away, and give just a glimmer of God’s splendour. Pondering the reality that each one of the tiny stars is really a colossal ball of intensely hot plasma amazes me, and signifies to me that while I may not always see how huge God is, He is just that huge. In searching the night sky for constellations, I’m looking for God’s hand in the loveliness of the sky, and I’m prompted to look for His hand in my life. I really love the sky more than words can say, so I'll stave off on an explanation of the beauty and serenity of clouds, blue skies, and sunrises/sunsets. But watch out; I may delve into further examinations of my love for the sky in a future entry. Moving on to another aspect of nature that is overwhelmingly magnificent, I would consider the mountains, which I've grown up hiking up, driving through, picnicking in, and skiing on and beneath. Whenever I’m in B.C. with my family, the mountains represent to me God’s unwavering steadfastness, immutability, strength, and majesty. Although their rocky faces may be daunting, they’re truly approachable and welcoming, providing refuge and comfort to flora and fauna alike.

















The waterfalls housed in those mountains are one of my favourite things in nature. I love that the stream of life-giving water they deliver is ostensibly inexhaustible, and that the glistening, cleansing water acts as such a foil to the dusty rock face that it courses down, just as God’s perfection is such a stark contrast with my imperfection. One aspect of creation that I can’t quite enjoy in the midst of summer is the ice, which many have cited as evidence of God’s Being, since much of the life that we’re able to enjoy would not exist were it not for the unique properties of water, and the unlikelihood of a compound’s solid phase being less dense than it’s liquid phase is said by many to point to intervention in creation. Ice’s frictionless surface, especially when it’s frozen flawlessly, is an image of perfection, with no bumps or cracks. When we were in Whistler, the ice, albeit quite cracked, was exceedingly pristine and flawlessly smooth, and it was a sight to take in. The surface was unmarred, and again, I was reminded in moments lying down on the ice in Whistler of God’s perfection. I was all too aware of my bumbling inadequacy as I fell repeatedly and was vulnerable on the slick surface, and pondered how I'd slipped in my walk with God. I'm so marred by my selfish tendencies and ways of this world that, despite prayerfully considering my sins daily, it sometimes takes the juxtaposition of the flawless ice and my flawed self to fully grasp the beauty of His love for me and the relationship I have with Him. It’s so comforting that God, who is truly perfect, omniscient, and good loves me unconditionally, in spite of all my faults and failures. His love is perfect, and quite unlike the human tendency to love conditionally and preferentially. As humans, we’re quite prone to being driven by a need for acceptance and affection from others, when this at times can be futile; living in God’s love brings ultimate life, free of the need for pretense and fakery. I was considering God’s love today while grinding coffee beans, wondering how I can strive to love that fully, and tried to imagine what kind of dad Jesus might have been. Since He is perfect, and loves perfectly, would He love other children just as much as His own? I really will have to ponder this, because I imagine Him spending more time with His own children, but can’t imagine Him loving anyone less than completely. Thankfully, He never had kids, and this isn’t something tricky that I actually have to consider, just something I'm curious to think about. Just as infinity is difficult and very fun to ponder, perfection is an equally fascinating concept. Is perfection at some point at the end of a spectrum, or an ideal at the point of infinity? If I am at a certain level of spiritual maturity, and yet am so far from perfect communion with God, am I fractionally nowhere on that spectrum since it goes on to perfection? I suspect that this last paragraph has made little sense to anyone besides me since it’s difficult to relate one’s perceptions of infinity and perfection, but I really do love to mull over how vast God is, His perfection, and the grace that He’s extended to me that offers me forgiveness for my small-heartedness and flaws.


















I’d best wrap this up now, with devotions needing to be done before getting up bright and early tomorrow for work, and the dreaded Shaw cable acting up even more than usual. As always, I’ll read into things, and take Shaw’s finicky temperament as a sign to get off the computer before this computer follows in the footsteps of cable internet and goes completely caput. But I must nag you all to cheer for the Flames tomorrow night, since I’m immensely thrilled at the possibility of an all-Albertan playoff series. Jess and I had a blast while parading down Whyte last night after the Oilers’ monumental win, and I hope to have several more nights with fake Stanley Cups, inebriated fans, a stream of high-fives, exuberant cheering, and unity with hundreds of fellow Whyte Ave pedestrians and car passengers. I’m sure that this excitement will only be amplified by a series against the Flames, so I’m quite hopeful that we’ll be able to experience a Battle of Alberta of epic proportions. Hope you all enjoy the greatness of the outdoors in the next while, whether in snow, rain, or sunshine, and that all my fellow work-returnees aren’t working too hard and are making the most of their autonomy from the world of academia!
















Things that I’m Obsessed With at Work
- veggie rolls for breakfast, lunch, and supper
- wiping counters down
- dusting the grinds out of the grind area
- doing cash outs meticulously
- listening to radio station #10 (the best one by a mile)
- avoiding wearing my apron
- eating cinnamon hearts
- white hot chocolates
- wearing really destroyed Chuck Taylors
- smiling
- complaining about the ugliness of Second Cup products

Good Things About Living at Home
- talks about God, politics, music, art, film, football, etcetera with my family
- Jess’ delectable cookies (the gingersnaps tonight were spectacular Jay Jay!)
- reading my parents’ magazines
- getting hugs
- talking to Jess whenever I’m elated, sad, irritated, or lethargic
- uploading my parents’ CDs and pictures
- borrowing books from my dad
- not having to ever answer the phone
- benefiting from my dad’s actual knowledge of computers (as opposed to my complete ignorance)
- supper conversation and silliness
- having people who sincerely enjoy playing board games and cards (unlike many of my silly friends)
- being encouraged, challenged, and told the truth by people who know me seemingly better than I know myself
- watching indie movies in the family room with some Orville Redenbacher and blankets
- playing tennis and bocce
- laughing hysterically about things that only my odd family would find droll
- being instructed in the ways of driving
- always having a shoulder to lean on
















Songs I’ve Liked to Today
- “Belle” by Jack Johnson
- “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes
- “Rise” by Azure Ray
- “Bethlehem Girl” by Taylor Sorenson
- “Me and Julio” by Paul Simon
- “Where You Lead” by Carol King
- “Drowning Slowly” by Ben Folds
- “Our Love is Here to Stay” by Ella Fitzgerald
- “I Am Always the One Who Calls” by Pedro the Lion
- “Wig in a Box” by Polyphonic Spree
- “Secret Heart” by Feist
- “Gentle Rain” by Diana Krall
- “Seven Years” by Norah Jones
- “Heysatan” by Sigur Rós
- “One Minute” by The Album Leaf

Reasons I’m Sad
- my iTunes is entirely decimated (discussing details will only make me really sad, so I’m accepting this misfortune)