Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.


I don't generally go to church looking to be amused, or listening for people to say strange things (though the latter happens more often than you'd think. You just have to pay attention).

But today during the third hour of church, I found myself thinking about waterbeds.

My parents had a waterbed waaaay back when, so long ago that I can hardly remember it. But since they got rid of it, I probably haven't thought of waterbeds more than a few times. I certainly haven't thought of them in the last several years. They're just not something I encounter on a daily, monthly, or even yearly basis. Consider: when was the last time you thought about a waterbed?

So you can imagine my bemusement when, during a 45-minute lesson on "Becoming an Instrument in the Hands of God," the subject of waterbeds came up twice. Two different ladies raised their hands at two different times during the lesson to offer two completely unrelated (to each other, not the lesson) comments, each of which somehow involved waterbeds. I was so surprised by the first lady's mention of it that I can't even remember what the substance of her comment was. The second lady was talking about a roommate who switched beds with her when she hurt her shoulder and couldn't sleep in her waterbed.

It was an interesting phenomenon, and helped to distract me from watching the two homeless guys wandering around outside the church building during the entire lesson.

Contraband hymns

Looking forward to LOST