... at a retreat. Up in Harris County, where a group of fellow believers provide the man/woman-power for this semi-annual event over two consecutive weeks every spring and fall. Men one weekend, and women the next. I've been doing it for several years, volunteering my time to help make the event a success. It takes dozens of people, working behind the scenes, making it look like it all happens with smoke, wires and mirrors.
The participants do not see all the people who come together to provide all the meals, undertake all the invisible prep. work that creates such a seamless success, season after season. Until they 'graduate' on Sunday, and are so in love with the idea that they can hardly wait to be volunteers for the next event. Whereupon they are generally confounded at the number of people it requires, and the complicated process that reproduces the same setup/scenes year after year.
The little 'niche' I have found that suits my skill set so well involves a bit of floral work: right up my alley. There is a huge storage closet where lots of supplies are stored, bins and bins full of decorations. Shelves full of dry goods and disposable/paper/kitchen items. Vases, lamps, candlesticks, wooden crosses, tablecloths, all the equipage to be used for reproducing this well-planned weekend.
I make myself available as part of a team of three or four folks designated 'worship', so we are prepping for various gatherings in a small snug chapel, or larger open-sided tabernacle. My job mostly consists of assembling a couple of big cut flower arrangements, and adding some odd bits of frou-frou to decorate at various times during the event. Plus lots of down time, when I get to poke around in other people's business, kibitz with co-workers who apparently stay much busier in their little areas of expertise. I know to go prepared to get letters written, a back log of magazines read, and enjoy talking to people I only see once a year.
Today, I took my computer when I left home before daylight, only to discover that there is no wireless out there in the woods, miles from civilization. Terribly itchy to do some blogging, after several days of being in constant motion, on the road or at work. Using the excuse of going in to town to mail some notes at the post office, I went to the library and stole some internet to get it out of my system. And now, here, back at home, headed to bed: confessing. And wondering, since it is actually 'free', it's really not theft, is it?
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