Bought these both for $15 from a interior designer dude in our neighborhood.

This morning, my new friend Mary Margaret, who announced to me that we were going to be friend because I wear vintage clothes and read Milton and Lewis, picked me up outside the dorms at 7:30 for a morning’s yard sale adventure. By 10:30 we had filled two cars and I had spent less than $30. It was fun.

Guitar Pin - so cool.

Samples from the box of the vintage greeting cards

I love bling, especially old bling!

Not Vintage - thankfully : ) $2 - never used.

The one thing I can’t post a picture of is my favorite buy of the day – a mid-century blue mini-couch. The nice couple I bought it from also happen to buy pieces for Judy, the owner of one of my favorite vintage shops in town. It’s adorable and will be a great reading couch once I find a place to put it. Until then, it’s making it’s home in Mary Margaret’s entryway.

Yesterday at work, an elderly customer commented that I seemed very calm and even-keeled. “You must be, if you go to Seminary,” he said. I laughed and said, “I make it appear that way.” But when I think about it, I do have that deep desire to have Psalm 1:3 be true to my life. I want to be rooted. I want to be unshakeable and fruitful. This rootedness comes from where I choose to make myself abide. What voices am I listening to? Do I look to my situation or the people around me to inform me of who I am and how I’m doing? Or do I look to God’s Word to tell me the Truth? Is my delight in learning more of who God is and who I am in relation to Him? Do I spend my time thinking about this Truth and allowing it to transform how I view all the things going on around me?

God knows.

Tree in Petra

The Louisville version of the Taco Truck

On that note, last Wednesday, I got a text message invite a girl at small group to grab lunch at the taco truck that was parked outside of her work. Not only was it really nice to get that invitation, but there was no way I could pass up the opportunity to see what a fish taco in Kentucky tastes like.

Fish Taco : )

When I got to the truck, I stood there waiting for my new friend as I stared at the menu and fiddled with my fat camera hanging around my neck. The guys in the truck asked what I was going to do with pictures of a taco truck and I told them that I would probably post them on my blog, if that was okay with them. For some reason, that got them excited, and I quickly tried to explain to them that my readership consists of my mom and five other people from my hometown. I proceeded to further embarrass myself by getting two confused guys looking at me when I asked them if there were many food trucks in Louisiana (for some reason I can’t keep my south-eastern geography straight). To their credit, the taco truck boys with their matching black tank tops and red bandanas, continued being nice to the crazy Californian girl by helping pick the best taco on the menu and letting me take their picture. Made on homemade corn tortillas and garnished with a spicy (but not too spicy) cabbage slaw, the taco really was a thing of beauty.

Blue Dog Bakery

One of the things I love the most about moving to a new town is exploring my neighborhood, preferably by bike or by foot. Unfortunately for me, after spending a year of being spoiled by Dutch feitspads and well-observed bike lanes, my fear of riding a bike on American roads is borderline irrational. I just can’t get myself to trust American drivers to know how to share the road with a bike. So I decided to try to wander my new town of Louisville by foot.

Last Wednesday, with no classes and no work, I decided to begin my walk-about adventure by finding the best little hideaway spot within walking distance of campus. Although the campus is in a residential area, we are on a road that parallels the shop street Frankfort Avenue. So I set out thinking that I would cut over to Frankfort Avenue and walk the length of it until I found the best spot to stop. One thing that I forgot to think of is what I consider walking distance here is severely limited by the day’s humidity level. I had barely made it past the organic gardening store on the corner, and an old lady consignment shop when I decided that the next place that looked like it served iced tea would be a good stopping point for the day’s adventure. My wimpiness was rewarded, though, when I walked up to Blue Dog Bakery. Not only did they have iced tea, but their lunch menu of artisan sandwiches (not the Starbucks kind!) and salads resembled something I’d find at Upper Crust more than the fried food I’d prejudicedly expected.

Since I was alone, the server seated me at a window bar next to an older lady who was reading a magazine. I sat down with my reading book in hand, ready to enjoy my lunch alone. I might have let out a “yum” when I looked over the menu, but that is all it took for the nice lady next to me to start a conversation. She told me this was her favorite place in town for lunch and recommended the roasted pepper salad (which I ordered). When I told her that I was new to town and an avid foodie, her face lit up and with a very dignified southern drawl, said, “Well now, let me tell you some of the best places in town.” So for the next hour I listened, and scribbled notes on an old envelope as she described all the best restaurants in town ranging from local to Vietnamese. As I ate my cold roasted pepper, eggplant, and goat cheese salad (which was amazing!) she described in loving detail the best dishes from each restaurant. “I don’t think you need to eat a lot of food,” she said, “but what you do eats needs to be good!” And after an hour of auditory gluttony, I was beginning to agree with her. At any rate, I walked out of Blue Dog Bakery with quite a list of places that I do hope to visit while I’m here – at a pace set by my budget. This first adventure felt like an unexpected and kind welcome to the small town city of Louisville.

In the meantime, here are few first glimpses of life at Southern……

Enjoying a homemade cappuccino thanks to my $1 frother from IKEA

My semester reading - I can't tell you how excited I am to read all these books!

Home Sweet Dorm Room

My School

My Library

The white benches on campus where single girls sit and wait for their future husbands......just kidding - sorta : )

I met Christine my second Saturday in the Netherlands. I accidentally (or providentially?) ended up at a small group leadership training day at the church office. She immediately struck me as one of those cool people who don’t take themselves too seriously while realizing they can’t take God seriously enough, and I soon invited myself to join her small group. As I’ve gotten to know Christine over these last few months smashing tiles for a fireplace mosaic, singing German songs in an Austrian ski tavern, or evangelizing Muslims at the beach, our adventures together have been anything but orthodox and boring. So when she invited me to her hometown this weekend saying, “We might have to run some errands,” I knew I’d have some interesting stories to tell when the day was over.

Our first stop, after picking her twin sister up in Gouda, was the klompenmaker’s house. There, stacked from floor to ceiling, were klompen of all sizes and colors. In the back of the shop you could see all this wood working tools and pieces of wood in all the stages of being turned into shoes. They picked out a small pair of pink klompen for their friend’s new-born baby. I waved good-bye to the klompenmaker, wishing I was brave enough to ask for his picture, and we continued on our way to the flea market.

The flea market was winding down by time we got there and most of the stands looked like they had been picked-through pretty well. However, Christine and I rose to the treasure hunting challenge and ended up with some pretty cool stuff. Christine found this purple velvet  tiger that she absolutely needed to decorate her bathroom at home…..

…..I realized that I’m a sucker for men with their lucky machetes…..

….we were even able to pick out some presents for our friends. We thought this mug would make a good late birthday present for our friend Jason. I bet you can’t guess what it says.

After we had filled the back of Christine’s car with all the treasures we had found, we made our way to her family’s adorable home where her mom proceeded to fill me up on fresh, sweet strawberries and insist that I take home a basket along with a jar of homemade advocaat.

I made friends with their family dog….

….and Christine thought it would be nice if I took a picture with him…..

Christine and her mom then hooked-up a trailer to the back of their old volvo, and we headed to another open market at Babypark to pack-up another Christian booth that her mother worked at. As we were entering the park, I was surprised to see so many women wearing skirts, many of them also in full black. When I asked why this was, they told me that they lived in a very, very conservative Christian town where all the ladies who attended local church had to wear skirts. Those wearing black were either widowed or had lost a father and had decided to wearing mourning clothes as a sign of respect. Opheusden is a town of old-fashioned, respectable farmers. I loved it.

This guy blushed when I took his picture.

I think this man was a friend of Christine’s mom. He made some kind of comment about me being from California when I hopped in the back of his car, so I decided to strike this pose for him.

The last, but definitely not the least, exciting part of our day has not photo documentation. On our way home, we picked up a refrigerator from a sheep farm, and stopped at the Utrecht IKEA to buy Christine a new kitchen counter and fill-up on Swedish meatballs. By about 9:30 we arrived at Christine’s house in Voorburg. As her sister and I were trying to figure out how we were going to carry the fridge and the countertop to Christine’s second floor apartment, Christine began to laugh. “I left my keys in Opheusden!” Still laughing, Christine began to knock on all the doors  of her neighbors empty houses, while her sister rolled her eyes and said something about how this was “typical Christine” and told me to help her with the first countertop piece. In the end, we left the countertop and fridge at her front door at the top of the stairs figuring that if anyone wanted those things bad enough to carry them down the stairs, they could have them. My junk and I were then dropped on in Wassenaar. I’m not sure how their day ended, but I think it included stops in a few more towns and a journey back to Gelderland to find some keys.

Saturday, May 29, 2010   Grand Cafe De Sjees, Delft

Saturdays are antique market days in Delft. As I browse through the stalls which line the canal, the pleasure of antique shopping is lost to me. I wish it weren’t, but as I look at all the trinkets and treasures, I experience almost a phobia of being smothered with”stuff.” Maybe my nesting instinct will kick in more if I ever settle in to a place of my own. But for now, “stuff” only slows me down on my bike and fills the all-too-limited space in my suitcase.

It’s a bit windy today, so I took my coffee inside. There’s me at the window, three waiters who are also taking refuge from the wind, and some amazing jazz music playing in the background. A fat lady wearing a cowboy hat, eating an ice cream, and riding a scooter just drove past. Did you know that on trans-Atlantic flights, one of the easiest ways to spot who’s european or not is to see who’s wearing cowboy hats? The cowboy hat is evidently the preferred American souvenir. I don’t want to go back out into the wind yet….Wind sucks all the energy right out of me – especially when I’m riding against it.

I wandered around the streets some more and found a place that would cut my hair for fourteen euros. With a haircut long overdue and thinking I couldn’t find a better price in Den Haag, I gave the Supercuts of Holland a try. The wind slowed and the sun began to warm the streets. Holland beach soccer was kicking off the season by hosting an event in the town square. I found a seat on the platform next to a guy with a huge zit on his nose and enjoyed an hour of watching boys chase a ball through a pile of sand. There was a happy feeling of summer with the Mexican ( I mean, Spanish) music playing, the sun warming your face, and the smell of sand and sweat in the air.

And the day wouldn't be complete without a windmill!

]]> http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/2010/05/30/to-delft-for-some-soccer/feed/ 0 threeinromania IMG_7675 IMG_7672 IMG_7676 IMG_7680 IMG_7682 IMG_7687 IMG_7699 http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/2010/05/28/the-longest-week-in-april/ http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/2010/05/28/the-longest-week-in-april/#comments Fri, 28 May 2010 11:24:38 +0000 Camille http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/?p=719 ]]>

After my last post, I began looking through my photo albums to try to remember what all has happened in the last month and a half. When I saw these pictures, I remembered why I had stopped writing. During the second week of April, my host parents spent a week in Cairo, and I, back home with the kids, experienced a physical and emotional burnout. I had actually really looked forward to spending that week with the kids. With their mom home most of the time, it’s not that often that the kids and I get much time alone together. So for weeks before the parents left, I prayed that this week with the kids would be filled with quality bonding time and God-centered conversations. Looking back, I can praise God for answering those prayers and for showing His power in the face of my human weakness.

In the routine of the school week, life in the house went smoothly. Aside from our normal schedule, we baked goodies together and had a fun half-hour of storytelling each night before bed. That time before bed each night was priceless, and it was amazing to watch as the kids began to compare what they were learning about God to other worldviews that people had taught them.

But as we headed towards the weekend, I could see that the kids were getting tired and missing their parents. Friday afternoon, we rode our bikes into the village for some gelato. There was a funny moment when, as we were riding our bikes and the kids were singing the echo of “King Jesus is All,” I felt like Maria from the Sound of Music – minus the good voice and sixties haircut. Back home, though, one by one, like a line of dominos, the kids all began to break into tears over some minor thing. By time I had finished dealing with one kid’s meltdown, another one had started . They missed their parents, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The weekend was the mother of all terrible weekends. Half-way on our ride to the beach for pancakes, Mr. Max decided that he hated his bike. What would have been a leisurely half-hour ride, turned into two hours of torture as he alternated from crying, throwing his bike on the side of the path, peeing on the side of the road, and telling me that I was ruining his life. Furthermore, he refused to sit with us or eat any pancakes once we did get to the beach. While Pien and I were trying to salvage some of the fun we had planned for the day as we ate our pancakes, Max decided to hide the bag or roller blades we had brought behind one of the restaurants couches. I didn’t realize the bag was missing until we were already fifteen minutes down the road. Leaving Pien and Mad Max to guard our bikes, I went back down the pier to retrieve the bag thinking about what at total failure the day had been. But something must have happened to Max while I was gone, because when I got back to our bikes, his attitude was different and he apologized. I thanked him for the apology, forgave him, said he did a really good thing by apologizing, and then, as if inspired, I told him that he should also talk to Jesus about the whole thing.

We made it through the rest of the weekend, but it was like treading water. There were still meltdowns to deal with, fights to break-up, and emotions to calm when we got the phone call from the parents telling us that a big cloud over Europe would prevent them from getting home for a couple more days. So, when Sunday night came around, and I had asked the kids for the tenth time to go upstairs to get ready for bed, I finally lost my patience, raised my voice, and said, “Why do you guys not listen to me? ( and some other commentary on the topic of disobedience)  Everyone upstairs NOW!” With big eyes, they all marched upstairs immediately, giving me five minutes to realize what a terrible person I was. By the time we had all gathered in Jonas’ bed for storytelling, I was crying and asking them to forgive me for speaking to them in anger. Max turned to me and said, “I forgive you, Camille, but you need to talk to Jesus about it.”

The parents didn’t get home until the following Wednesday, but God was gracious, and we survived. However, I was completely exhausted and lived the next two weeks in a trance state until I picked Christina up from the airport. And that, my friend, is something of what you missed in my life this last month.

]]> http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/2010/05/28/the-longest-week-in-april/feed/ 0 threeinromania IMG_7440 IMG_7435 IMG_7443 IMG_7449 http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/2010/05/26/im-back/ http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/2010/05/26/im-back/#comments Wed, 26 May 2010 18:51:47 +0000 Camille http://thelifeofapair.wordpress.com/?p=716 ]]> Last night, mom told me that I’ll wish that I had kept up with my blog when this year is all over. It’s been well over a month and I don’t know where the time has gone. Dutch classes have ended, but if anything I feel busier than ever. Christina flew in on Queen’s Day and we spent ten days braving cruddy spring weather as we made our way to Vorden by bike. Good company corrupts journaling habits. Our trip revolved around food and we spent many hours sitting in random cafes and catching up on life. I can’t explain the relief of knowing that someone back home has seen what my life this year has been like and know exactly where I’m coming from. To have that one person who understand makes re-entry so much easier. The sun came out as soon as she left so I trained the dog to ride in the front basket and rode my bike some more. I began to do the lesson plans for Crossroads summer Sunday school program, rode to the Chinese Embassy twice to get my visa for this summer, and did church announcements to try to get people to come with me. Marijke and I started studying “Lies Women Believe” and I’m finishing Hudson Taylor’s “Retrospect.” I visited some of Sophia’s family in Leiden for a day, and spent last Monday driving to Groningen to spend the evening with Marijke’s Oma. With all this, and the never-ending tasks of laundry, cleaning, cooking, dishes, and re-thinking my life, my days have been pretty full. I got out of the habit of writing and although life has been good and interesting, I haven’t had the “I need to write about this” urge. I’ll try to start this up again. Maybe I’ll document “Nacho Night” this Friday with the kids…..

Why did the pheasant cross the road?

I love riding my bike. I especially love riding my bike when the sun is out. So, on Friday, as I was riding home from Dutch class, enjoying a third straight day of sunshine and wishing I could stay on my bike just a little bit longer, I decided that on Saturday I would do just that. I’d get on my bike in the morning and ride until I had my fill. It was the saddest thing then, to wake up this morning only to have the sun lost in a thick, cold fog. So, instead of getting and early start, I dawdled for a few hours drinking my coffee, volunteering to walk the dog, and wishing the fog away. By nine, it still hadn’t burned off, but fog or no fog, I was going to get my bike ride in today, so I packed my lunch and my camera and headed out.

I planned to point my bike north in the direction of Lisse, home of the famous tulip fields. Beginning in Meijendel, a huge dune reserve running along the coast, I planned to go through the beach towns of Katwijk and Noordwijk before turning inland to the tulip fields. It turned out that Meijendel was beautiful in the early morning fog. When I stopped to take this picture of the pond, there was another older “fietser” sitting on a bench watching the ducks with his binoculars. He told me that there were five different species of ducks out on the pond this morning. When I commented that it was a beautiful morning, despite the fog, he promised that if I headed north, I would find some sun. So head north I did. And the further north I rode, the bluer the sky became and the warmer my back got. And as I approached Katwijk, my birdwatcher friend passed me on his bike and yelled back to me, “See! I told you!”

My first attempt at a self-portrait

I love this bike.

In my jacket pocket, I had a 3×5 card with directions to the Keukenhof Tulip fields in Lisse. Even as I was writing the directions down this morning, I knew that the likelihood of me being able to follow them for the whole thirty kilometers was nothing to bet on. And sure enough, I found myself wandering around the streets of Katwijk completely lost. I placed some hope on my tendency to be lost and still find destination eventually. So I wandered my way northward, and did eventually find one of the streets that was listed on my directions. But by time I got lost again in the tulip fields of Voorhout, I was hungry, so I made the quick executive decision that  Tulip Land in Voorhout, not Lisse, would be today’s destination.

Bulb harvest

Wassenaar Beach

With the sun completely out, everyone and their oma decided to ride their bikes to the beach. The bike paths were full of people and the strand cafe where I stopped for coffee on the way home  had a patio packed with people sitting in their chairs, facing the sun, smiling as they tried to soak-up all the first rays of spring. It was absolutely perfect.

A Dutch Cowboy