See you on January 8th!
Gathering chez Reynolds (right guys?!) ... check the calendar soon for the meal schedule update.
Friday, December 29, 2006
happy new year!
See you on January 8th!
Gathering chez Reynolds (right guys?!) ... check the calendar soon for the meal schedule update.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
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Friday, December 15, 2006
IT'S PARTY TIME! the second ANNUAL quarry christmas party!
second annual.
we can say that now.
how cool is that?! (almost as cool as the below post and comments)
MONDAY
7:00 - ???
The Dickens Pub
423 Elizabeth Street
(ya know... the one by th LCBO and Beer Store)
we have the "upper room" (the spiritual component of the evening)
we'll eat.
we'll drink.
we'll laugh.
Oh! and last week we talked about bringing canned food for Micah House. You can still do that, but we got a newsletter that made the following suggested ways of supporting them this Christmas
- assembling a "exit package" for the guests (includes cleaners, sponges, dish soap, tea towels, dish clothes, phone card, pail, etc)
- buying gifts for the guests to open on Christmas morning
- financial contributions
we can say that now.
how cool is that?! (almost as cool as the below post and comments)
MONDAY
7:00 - ???
The Dickens Pub
423 Elizabeth Street
(ya know... the one by th LCBO and Beer Store)
we have the "upper room" (the spiritual component of the evening)
we'll eat.
we'll drink.
we'll laugh.
Oh! and last week we talked about bringing canned food for Micah House. You can still do that, but we got a newsletter that made the following suggested ways of supporting them this Christmas
- assembling a "exit package" for the guests (includes cleaners, sponges, dish soap, tea towels, dish clothes, phone card, pail, etc)
- buying gifts for the guests to open on Christmas morning
- financial contributions
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
question du jour
Consider this our Christmas gift to you, our Quarry friends.
Get ready for the most memorable 'outfits' of our childhoods ...
.
.
.
circa 1984: the legendary computer sweatshirt
take note of the battery pack.
.
.
.
and now, scroll down ...
.
.
.
keep scrolling ...
.
.
.
a little bit further ...
.
.
.
trust me, it's worth it ...
.
.
.
scroll scroll ...
.
.
.
aaaand ...
.
.
.
Don't let the sweater distract you ...
:) maja & rho
Get ready for the most memorable 'outfits' of our childhoods ...
.
.
.
circa 1984: the legendary computer sweatshirt
take note of the battery pack.
.
.
.
and now, scroll down ...
.
.
.
keep scrolling ...
.
.
.
a little bit further ...
.
.
.
trust me, it's worth it ...
.
.
.
scroll scroll ...
.
.
.
aaaand ...
.
.
.
Don't let the sweater distract you ...
:) maja & rho
Friday, December 08, 2006
QUARRY, Monday
you guessed it.
monday.
quarry.
at rob & lisa's
540 Bridgman Avenue
905-632-9456
6:30 din-din
7:30 gathering
monday.
quarry.
at rob & lisa's
540 Bridgman Avenue
905-632-9456
6:30 din-din
7:30 gathering
... the pondering of the evening... "what does this advent deal really mean to you"... let's let scripture really speak to us and help us prepare for the upcoming Christmas season...
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Housekeeping, and a cool thought
Ok, so to your right (if you are on the main page) you will see link "Quarry Calendar". Click on it, and up comes a beautiful calendar with info about Quarry. If you click on an event, you see details, ie the location for next week is Rob and Lisa's. At the bottom, you can click on subscribe if you have a Google/Gmail account, and your calendar will be kept up-to-date with all the details. Pretty cool eh? I love it when technology is put to good use.
I have added the dates for Micah House, and the extra ones that are empty/available. Let me know if you want to help out. Rhonda, are ya???
Ok, now for the cool thought. I have been reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller (great book, not as good as Searching for God Knows What, but still great). I thought this passage was really neat. Wouldn't it be cool if people said these kind of things about Quarry (not the smoking pot stuff, and I'm not sure about the "loving each other... too physically"). I think we are off to a great start, let's keep working on it.
How to Really Love Other People
When my friend Paul and I lived in the woods, we lived with hippies. Well, sort of hippies. They certainly smoked a lot of pot. They drank a lot of beer. And man did they love each other, sometimes too much, perhaps, too physically, you know, but nonetheless they loved; they accepted and cherished everybody, even the ones who judged them because they were hippies. It was odd living with the hippies at first, but I enjoyed it after a while.
They were not the traveling hippies, the "live off the land and other people" hippies. They were formally educated, most of them from New York studying at NYU, getting their master's in literature, headed off to law school, that sort of thing. They knew all about Rostandt, all about Hopkins and Poe and Sylvia Plath. The know the Americans and the Brits and the fashionable African writers, the Cubans and South Americans. They were books themselves, all of them were books, and what was so wonderful is that to them, I was a book too. We would sit around and talk about literature and each other, and I couldn't tell the difference between the books they were talking about and their lives, they were just that cool. I liked them very much because they were interested in me. When I was with the hippies I did not feel judged, I felt loved. To them I was an endless well of stories and perspectives and grand literary views. It felt so wonderful to be in their presence, like I was special.
I have never experienced a group of people who loved each other more than my hippies in the woods. All of them are tucked so neatly in my memory now, and I recall our evenings at camp or in the meadow or in the caves in my mind like a favorite film. I pull them out when I need to be reminded about goodness, about purity and kindness.
So much of what I know about getting along with people I learned from the hippies. They were magical in community. People were drawn to them. They asked me what I loved, what I hated, how I felt about this and that, what sort of music made be angry, what sort of music made me sad. They asked me what I daydreamed about, what I wrote about, where my favorite places in the world were. They asked me about high school and college and my travels around America. They loved me like a good novel, like an art film, and this is how I felt when I was with them, like a person John Irving would write. I did not feel fat or stupid or sloppily dressed. I did not feel like I did not know the Bible well enough, and I was never conscious what my hands were doing of whether or not I sounded immature when I talked. I had always been so conscious of those things, but living with the hippies I forgot about myself. And when I lost this self-consciousness I gained so much more. I gained an interest in people outside my own skin. They were greater than movies to me, greater than television. The spirit of the hippies was contagious. I couldn't hear enough about Eddie's ballerina girlfriend or Owen's epic poems. I would ask them to repeat stories because, to me, they were like great scenes in favorite movies. I cannot tell you how quickly these people, these pot-smoking hippies, disarmed me.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined there were, outside the church, people so purely lovely as the ones I met in the woods. And yet my hippie friends were not at all close to believing that Christ was the Son of God.
This did not confuse me so much as it surprised me. Until this point, the majority of my friends had been Christians. In fact nearly all of them had been Christians. I was amazed to find, outside the church, genuine affection being shared, affection that seemed, well, authentic in comparison to the sort of love I had known within the church. I was even more amazed when I realized I preferred, in fact, the company of the hippies to the company of Christians. It isn't that I didn't love my Christian friends or that they didn't love me, it was just that there was something different about my hippie friends; something, I don't know, more real, more true. I realize that is a provocative statement, but I only felt I could be myself about them, and I could not be myself with my Christian friends. My Christian communities had always had little unwritten social ethics like don't cuss and don't support Democrats and don't ask tough questions about the Bible.
I stayed in the woods only a month. I wanted to stay longer, but I had secured a job in Colorado at a Christian camp and needed to honor that agreement. Though I had spent only a month with the hippies, it seemed like a lifetime. I had learned more about people, about community and happiness and contentment by living in the woods than I had in a lifetime of studying these ideas philosophically. I had discovered life outside the church, and I liked it. As I said, I preferred it. I said my sad good-byes and boarded a bus bound for Colorado.
Les
I have added the dates for Micah House, and the extra ones that are empty/available. Let me know if you want to help out. Rhonda, are ya???
Ok, now for the cool thought. I have been reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller (great book, not as good as Searching for God Knows What, but still great). I thought this passage was really neat. Wouldn't it be cool if people said these kind of things about Quarry (not the smoking pot stuff, and I'm not sure about the "loving each other... too physically"). I think we are off to a great start, let's keep working on it.
How to Really Love Other People
When my friend Paul and I lived in the woods, we lived with hippies. Well, sort of hippies. They certainly smoked a lot of pot. They drank a lot of beer. And man did they love each other, sometimes too much, perhaps, too physically, you know, but nonetheless they loved; they accepted and cherished everybody, even the ones who judged them because they were hippies. It was odd living with the hippies at first, but I enjoyed it after a while.
They were not the traveling hippies, the "live off the land and other people" hippies. They were formally educated, most of them from New York studying at NYU, getting their master's in literature, headed off to law school, that sort of thing. They knew all about Rostandt, all about Hopkins and Poe and Sylvia Plath. The know the Americans and the Brits and the fashionable African writers, the Cubans and South Americans. They were books themselves, all of them were books, and what was so wonderful is that to them, I was a book too. We would sit around and talk about literature and each other, and I couldn't tell the difference between the books they were talking about and their lives, they were just that cool. I liked them very much because they were interested in me. When I was with the hippies I did not feel judged, I felt loved. To them I was an endless well of stories and perspectives and grand literary views. It felt so wonderful to be in their presence, like I was special.
I have never experienced a group of people who loved each other more than my hippies in the woods. All of them are tucked so neatly in my memory now, and I recall our evenings at camp or in the meadow or in the caves in my mind like a favorite film. I pull them out when I need to be reminded about goodness, about purity and kindness.
So much of what I know about getting along with people I learned from the hippies. They were magical in community. People were drawn to them. They asked me what I loved, what I hated, how I felt about this and that, what sort of music made be angry, what sort of music made me sad. They asked me what I daydreamed about, what I wrote about, where my favorite places in the world were. They asked me about high school and college and my travels around America. They loved me like a good novel, like an art film, and this is how I felt when I was with them, like a person John Irving would write. I did not feel fat or stupid or sloppily dressed. I did not feel like I did not know the Bible well enough, and I was never conscious what my hands were doing of whether or not I sounded immature when I talked. I had always been so conscious of those things, but living with the hippies I forgot about myself. And when I lost this self-consciousness I gained so much more. I gained an interest in people outside my own skin. They were greater than movies to me, greater than television. The spirit of the hippies was contagious. I couldn't hear enough about Eddie's ballerina girlfriend or Owen's epic poems. I would ask them to repeat stories because, to me, they were like great scenes in favorite movies. I cannot tell you how quickly these people, these pot-smoking hippies, disarmed me.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined there were, outside the church, people so purely lovely as the ones I met in the woods. And yet my hippie friends were not at all close to believing that Christ was the Son of God.
This did not confuse me so much as it surprised me. Until this point, the majority of my friends had been Christians. In fact nearly all of them had been Christians. I was amazed to find, outside the church, genuine affection being shared, affection that seemed, well, authentic in comparison to the sort of love I had known within the church. I was even more amazed when I realized I preferred, in fact, the company of the hippies to the company of Christians. It isn't that I didn't love my Christian friends or that they didn't love me, it was just that there was something different about my hippie friends; something, I don't know, more real, more true. I realize that is a provocative statement, but I only felt I could be myself about them, and I could not be myself with my Christian friends. My Christian communities had always had little unwritten social ethics like don't cuss and don't support Democrats and don't ask tough questions about the Bible.
I stayed in the woods only a month. I wanted to stay longer, but I had secured a job in Colorado at a Christian camp and needed to honor that agreement. Though I had spent only a month with the hippies, it seemed like a lifetime. I had learned more about people, about community and happiness and contentment by living in the woods than I had in a lifetime of studying these ideas philosophically. I had discovered life outside the church, and I liked it. As I said, I preferred it. I said my sad good-byes and boarded a bus bound for Colorado.
Les
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