Got me some BLING BLING

Ain't my Engagement ring perty???
Yes, folks, it's true. I'm marrying Matthan W. Allaway on October 21st, 2006 at Camp Wyldewood in Searcy, AR.

Can you come?

Of course!

As long as you bring a gift and are ready to rock!!

Back from Bali - Part One

I woke up, stretched and wiped the sleep from my eyes. A new day in Dhaka. After coming back from Bali, everything seemed strange and dirty again. I saw the rubbish piled in the street and the immense number of beggars with twisted limbs once again that I had just a week before been numb and blind to. The smells, the sounds, even as I woke in my luxurious apartment reminded me of Bangladesh and told me that I was certainly not on vacation anymore.
I dressed and walked across the hall to my Vice Principal, Debra’s, house to welcome her back and to catch up on gossip. After a satisfying chat, we both decided to go to school, do some work and check our email. We walked down the five flights of stairs and proceeded to exit the gate. The guard stopped me. “Sister! Sister!” he said and continued to talk to me in Bangla over 110 mph. Debra looked at me questioningly and I looked at the guard. “Mustafar,” I said, trying to slow him down. “Ami buste pari na. Ashti ashti bolen.” (I don’t understand, speak slowly) He tried speaking slowly for the first few words, but immediately sped back up to the original 110 mph this time banging on the gate.
The words “sister” and “Emily” are the only ones I could catch. Completely baffled, I scratched my head. “Sister Emily (who was my roommate) went to America last night.” I told him in Bangla. “I don’t understand.” Debra looked ready to go and so was I, but Mustafar was completely bent on communicating his message to me. I dialed Diane Jennings. “Can you please listen to what Mustafar is trying to tell me? It seems important and I can’t understand him.”
Just then the landlord (feared by all this tenants) walked up to the situation. “Sandi,” he said in his thick Bengali accent looking down at me from on high grinning his greasy smile, “What is going on?”
“Ummm.” I said trying to hide my timid look. “I’m not sure, I don’t understand what Mustafar is saying. Something about Emily, but she left for America last night.”
“Who is on the phone?” he said, pushing the words through his tiny row of teeth.
“Well, sir, that’s none of your business, and I’m in a hurry.” I said summoning my Western equality with him and squaring up my shoulders. I wouldn’t have him questioning me. I don’t work for him. His lips slowly shut over his teeth and Mustafar scampered over to me and held up the phone. “Hello, Diane? What is Mustafar talking about?”
“I have no idea! Something about Emily!” she said confused. I couldn’t deal with the situation anymore. I left it and walked out the door and stepped onto the rickshaw where Debra was already waiting for me.
“What was that about?” Asked Debra scooting over in the tiny seat.
“I have no idea, but I feel like drama is on the wind.”

A Few Questions of Image.

I received this email from my mother this morning. It reads:

"I don't know if it occurred to you or not when you invited all of your supporters past and current to go to your blog....but...you use some bad language on that site. Sometime you ought to read it again, picturing yourself to be grandma Hobby, or the Garners. I wonder what impression they have of Sandi the missionary now? Hmmm. And before you think that you are just modern and we are just old fashioned.....how would you like your students to imitate you? Think their parents would be pleased? And what about the Lord? Do you think he approves of that? How can a well/fountain produce both good water and bad?And before you get upset with me, consider this. Yes, we all have bad sides and bad days, but we need to work toward perfection, toward being like Jesus as much as we can."

To those of you who have read this site and been offended by the language, please know that I sincerely apologize. I would like everyone who reads this blog (tho' few yee may be) to know that I am a follower of Christ, and that I would do my best to lead a sacrificial life for him. But I do believe that my mother raises a question, not so much about sin, but about image. Everytime I sit down to write in this blog, I think, how shall I portray myself? And the answer is always, "Well, as honestly as possible." Everyone sins. I know we all know that, but do we really realize it? I mean, do you REALLY expect me to be perfect? I'm so sorry, but I do not wish to be on that pedastool. Think of me as human. If I give you a realistic idea of how I really am, then perhaps you'll pray for me more effectively. Perhaps, you in turn will be more realistic or honest about your life, and will grow closer to your brothers in Christ. I do not wish to offend anyone, but I refuse to write fluffy newsletters about all my imaginary ministries I have, or conjure up devotionals from my life. Please don't expect me to be perfect. That's what Jesus is for. That's what Grace is for.

My 8th Great Grandfather

This is a letter from my mother to me. My mother LOVES geneology, which CAN be quite boring, but not on this occasion.


You guys know how I plug on in spare minutes looking up leads on one ancestor or another. Well I was digging on the Mitchell side of Daddy's family and decided to see if therewere any Mitchell names that popped up in Germany. I find this guy who is an ambassadorfrom Scotland in Germany. In the article it throws around names like the Keiths and theEarl of Mar, and the Dunbars etc. which are names from MAMAs side of the family tree. SoI run across an article about James Francis Edward Keith l696 - l758, and start scanningdown through it. Find out that he never married, but had a mistress named Eva Mertens. I thought. That sure sounds like a pair in my tree. So I go looking through the 50 someodd pages of charts and BA BAM there they were!!! So I looked up more articles online onthe pair. This is the abbreviated version:

James was the second son of the Earl Marischal Keith. His older brother, George, and hehad to flee Scotland when the "Pretender" lost the battles with England. This James wasnamed after the Pretender whose full name was James Francis Edward Stuart. Their motherLady Mary Dunbar sent them whatever money she could to help them in France and Spain. Lands and titles were removed by the regent in England because they took the wrong side. The queen of Spain was the mother of the Pretender and she sponsored James for a coupleof years in military school in France. Then he goes to Russia and becomes quiteimportant in the court of Peter the Great. For a short time he was GOVERNOR OF UKRAINE.(Isn't that ironic Sandi?) When Peter dies, Elizabeth, a daughter, takes over. She wasquite the bawdy flirt and had lots of lovers. Its not clear if they were ever actuallylovers, but she sure wanted him and wrote him letters. She wanted him to father herchildren and raise them up to fulfill Peter's dreams. About that time war breaks outwith Sweden and he is sent off to win battles. A young orphan girl about l5,l6 years oldis in the camp (according to one story) and he falls in love with her and takes her hometo be his mistress. In another story he "captures" her during the war. At any rate hecan't marry someone below his estate...but he has children by her. Puts her up on theproperty that Elizabeth had given him in Lithuania. After the war was over, Elizabethstill pressures him to marry, and he kindly writes back that it would not be good for herpolitically and he takes Eva (the girl) and the black valet, and goes to Prussia where hewas welcomed by King Frederick. The king makes him a field marshal. Things go well inPrussia for some time. Eva is quite the striking girl and attracts men. This is aheadache, but James is badly in love. She liked to party and one night she went toofar....either said the wrong thing or did something very inappropriate...and Frederickexpells her from Prussia. She goes back to her hometown of Riga, Sweden. They said shehad striking eyes and a stately figure. Whatever that means. So she lived in exile andJames fought more battles. He never married. She never married until after his death. He died in battle, and was buried with honors in Berlin. There is a painting of him inone of the articles. Wearing the white wig. Doesn't look like anyone I know! :) Afterhis death, Eva and his brother George get into it over James' will. They both burnletters that they were afraid the other would use against them. When it was all said anddone...he had a grand total of 25 pounds!!! Not much for the family to live off of!Perhaps that is why their son, our ancestor, Alexander Keith,came to the colonies inl745.He needed a fresh start in a land of promise.

Love, Georgia/Mom

SPAM-BAM-THANK YOU MA'AM

Post answer in a comment (fill out whatever you want to):
1. Name: Sandi Rose Beth Pennington

2. Birthday: July 2, 1981

3. Where you live: Dhaka, Bangladesh

4. What makes you happy: productivity, Jesus, indulgance, friends, baths, Bangla food, kissing, Rock-N-Roll, people who can't sing and try anyway, Conan O'Brien, plucking my leg hairs, flying fish, brocoli, memories of Marti when she was a little girl, when my momma says she loves me, travelling to places that most people can't pronounce and ticking them off my map, a healthy bit of competition, getting emails, seeing my tatoo in the mirror, braiding my hair, and farting accidentally in front of people, when my dad says "beer" and burps at the same time, Irish accents, flossing my teeth, The Song of Hiawatha, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, beer, the sound of a cello.

5. Currently listening/the last thing you listened to: Miss Annabel Short teaching violin lessons...

6. Do you read my blog regularlyl? This came from Tabitha's blog, and yes, baby, i can't get enough!

7. If yes, what makes it especially good or bad?: All the pictures are great. Kick ass tatoo, by the way!

8. An interesting fact about you: I have nine lives. I know how to knit.

9. Are you in love/do you have a crush at the moment?: yes

10. Favourite place to spend time: with my bible study group at the moment, or at the Jennings' house.

11. Favourite lyric: "If I had known then, what i know now" Red Mosquito by Pearl Jam

12. The best time of the year: Fall

RECOMMEND
1. A film: Amores Perros
2. A book: The Kite Runner
3. A band, a song, or album: Pearl Jam all the way
PLUS1. One thing you like about me: I like Tabitha's paintings
2. Two things you like about yourself: i like my sense of humour and my life experiences
3. Look at my friends-list and tell what you like about one of our mutual friends: Andrea is the coolest and i will weep on the day that we meet again.

4. Put this in your blog if you want to . . . i know it's like an email forward so you don't have to, but if you want, it could be fun . . .

2006 is bound to be the most phenomenal year yet

• You know how I know? It's because of the way it started. :)
  My good friend Ruth from South Africa said in her lovely accent, "Sandi, thair's gooing to bee a pahty et my flat on New Yair's Eve at ten thahty. Would you like to come? I'd verry much apprriciate it if you would play yor guitah." Of course I had to accept. I adore Ruth. "Howevah," she went on, "Thair's a pahty in Mohammedpur at the Davees' furst at 7:00, so do be awair that if thsir is havey trrraffic, then I might be late." I took that into consideration.
  New Year's eve: I started baking an apple pie for the party at around 8:00. At 9:00, my door bell rang. Not too long ago, my door bell broke, so I had the handy man from the school install a new one. I wasn't there to be able to choose the ring tone, so he picked it for me. I think he very much enjoys the sound of the TikTik. The TikTik is a little lizard that lives in everyone's home and everyone loves them, because they eat cockroaches and mosquitoes. Anyhow, they have this shrill crackling / whistling call and that is what the handy man chose for my door bell sound. Sometimes when the real TikTik calls, it takes me a while to realize that it's not the door and the same vice versa. Okay, whatever, so the door bell rings, "TWERP TWERP TWERP ha ha ha ha" Julian. My goodness but if that girl doesn't just go ahead and bring her thread and needle with her. That way she can sew herself to my side and never leave me alone. She's a sweet girl, though, and a good friend. She just really likes to talk about herself and how much money has been given to her by a Dutch lady who sponsors her.
  "Hey Julian," come on in. I wave her in and walk to the kitchen. Julian's ever ready smile follows me inside. Shishu (the dog I'm dog sitting starts barking it's head off). "Don't worry about him, he's just racist." I explain. And it's true! You know those dogs and only bark at black people or who only bark at men, it's the same with Shishu, only with Bengalis.
  After a while Shishu stops barking, and I finish my pie. Julian talks and talks and talks. It's 10:00. "You know, Sandi," Julian began again. "I have need to tell you something so neat!" I stop what I'm doing and look at her. "You know my Dutch lady?" (this is actually what she calls this woman) I nod my head in boredom. "She is so beautiful, you know? (giggle giggle) She love me very much, I know. Like a momma. I call her and i talk to her about my nak phul (nose ring) and he is so excited, Sandi!" She tends to get her pronouns mixed up. I am silently amused. "So my Dutch lady tell me he, she want to buy for me diamond, can you understand?" I gasp. There is no end to this crazy Dutch lady's money, it seems. "And so she go to look for the prices," Julian continues wrapped up in delight, "and she said she bought a gift one diamond, Sandi! Can you believe it?" I shake my head and sip my tea. "I say her 'This too much price! I cannot allow!'," Julian went on indignantly, "So i ask her the price so i can for to back her the money, do you understand?" (You might not, but she meant that she wanted to repay her for he diamond.) "So my Dutch lady, he say to me it 250 Euro." I choke on my tea. "Sandi, how much is that price in taka."
  "Too much!" I wave my hands frantically at her. "It is maybe 20,000 taka" (which is more than what Julian gets paid for 3 months, and she has a good job.) Julian giggled and giggled.
  "You see, Sandi?" she covered her face with her hands, "My Dutch Lady love me very much!" I quickly change the topic. I can't stand how for Julian love = money. Which is why I sometimes wonder why she wants to be friends with me when we have little in common. She is a sweet girl, though, and has been a good friend. She turned to a picture of my sisters, Anna and Marti. "You know, Sandi, your sister are very beautiful! I think more beautiful than for you." She laughs. I sigh. "I think they are very naughty, like you!"
  "Julian, I think we should go ahead and walk over to Ruth's house. They should be here any moment." We gather the pie and my music and lock the door behind us. The stair well was pitch black.
  "Sandi, be very careful!" Julian explained, "You have no good eyes and you will fall down on me." You gotta love the lack of tact. It never gets old. We creep down the stairs and try to open the gate. It's locked. Where's the guard? We look around and call out his name. No answer. "Sandi, I will go for to look." I do love that about Julian. Where I am too shy to go knocking on doors at 10pm, she is not. Noone answers. Finally she just starts opening doors and seeing if there are people inside.
  "Julian!" I hiss, "Stop that!" Just then she closed a door and ran over to me laughing.
  "I found him, Sandi." She giggled. "The guard is in that one, it smells like a man in there." We knock on the door and the young guard (who should be awake and on duty) staggers out the door with half closed eyes. After fumbling about with the keys he opens the gate. "Happy New Year," Julian sings good naturedly. He grunts and closes the gate after us and scratches his crotch.
  All the while I'm calling those I know who are coming to the party and asking them if they've arrived yet. "We're stuck in traffic!" says Alana, "It's awful, we've been sitting at the same place for 45min."
  "Try Airport Road." I suggest.
  "We just got a taxi, it took us a while." said Ruth, "we should be there momentarily."
  "No, you won't. There's really bad traffic through Banani," I continue on with better directions. I'm annoyed at the situation.
  Julian and I walk through the deserted streets. Well, deserted all except for the ever present construction workers who always have something rude to say to you. We arrive finally at Ruth's gate.
  It's dark inside.
  "Hello, Bhai!!" I shout. No answer. "Bhai, ashun!" (Brother, please come.) still no answer. What is up with all these sleeping guards!! One from across the road comes sauntering up to us to check us out and help us wake up the guard. I don't mind his stare. I'm grateful for his loud voice and Bangla. Finally, the sound of keys rattling and feet dragging across a concrete floor. 'Click' 'Screetch' the gate opens. Another bleary eyed guard glares at us with annoyance. "Understand, that I have to get up very early." he said in Bangla. "Understand that you should be awake and on duty now." Julian scolds. He curses us and slams the gate shut behind us.
  It is 11:30. Sitting outside Ruth's flat in the hall, I make another round of calls. "Where are you now?" I ask feeling the panicking sense that they won't arrive on time.
  "We're getting really close to DOHS (where Ruth and I live). Man, I hope the gate's not locked." Because I live in a quite posh area, the neighborhood gate closes and locks at random times during the night.
  "If it is, you can walk through it." I slouch down, knowing it is. "But it'll be a 15 minute walk." and that's if you hustle.
  On the phone with Ruth, the story was much the same. It's 11:55. Julian starts singing. 11:56. I call Alana "We'll be there in five minutes. We did end up walking." she says. I sigh. 11:57. "Three minutes!" I say to Julian, she cheers. 11:58. I call Ruth. "We're driving through the North gate, we'll be there in five minutes." 11:59. I start counting down from 60 with Julian trying to keep up.
  "Happy New Year!" We both scream at the same time and hug. So that's how I ushered in 2006. Unbeatable, huh? At least we had apple pie.

Hark the Rickshaw Bells Ring

Christmas here is incredibly different. I get up in my messy room, because I gave my maid a two week vacation. I put on my saree and fry up some pancakes. I try to remember that today is a special Christian Holiday and I need to be an example, because everyone will know I am Christian today. I wipe off the counter and put on my high high heels. I grab the garbage with one hand, throw my purse on my shoulder, and pick up the plate of pancakes with the other hand. Outside the door, I set the plate of pancakes down to lock my door. I shove the keys in my purse and away I go. "Oh Lord," I pray,"Please don't let the landlord come out and talk to me!! I can't stand her!" I am very aware that I am glittering with gold and jewels. I am wearing a red and gold saree. Usually wedding colors, but appropriate for Christmas. "Boro Din" the Bengali's call it. "Big Day" Don't ask me why. The guard sees me and gives me a big greasy smile. "Shubor Shokal!" He grins at me through green teeth, watching the folds of my saree sweep around my waist. "Good Morning". I huff at him and throw my bags of garbage at his feet. I am the picture of wealth. "Shubor Boro Din." I correct him. This is no ordinary morning. Have respect, servant. He opens the gates of the garage and lets me through. I realize that I, a rich, young, white girl, glittering with gold and stunning in red, wrapped in a Bengali saree, and holding a plate of strange looking flat bread with a huge bulky purse with strange mysterious contents...I must be a sight to see. As strange as an African villager in a loin cloth must look like walking down the road in America. The stares still get on my nerves. A lot! I walk through the first bunch of construction workers who all stop and stare. In my peripheral vision, I see all their heads turn together in unison as I walk through them. Like their noses were compass needles and I was the North. God give me patience! I feel the bug named irritation creep under my skin. I pick up the pace and start to count my steps to distract myself from the meows and kissing noises. A rickshaw approaches me. He has no passenger. As I hurry past him, his head turns, too. Jesus! Please just get me to Ruth's house! I have no patience today! At least I'm past the workers. I turn a corner and am approached by another Rickshaw walla. Same results. Same turning of the head. Same ignorant curiosity and lust. I hate him. I hear him "ding ding" his bicycle bell in very much the same way a driver would "hoot" his horn at a hot chick on the sidewalk. I don't return his prying stare. I follow him with my ears. I sigh a heavy hot breath and force my legs to stretch just a little farther. Urge them to pick up the pace just a little bit. This plate is getting heavy. I listen with agony as I here the gravel under the rickshaw crunch as he turned to make another pass. I gnash my teeth an take a deep breath. Don't say anything, Sandi, it'll just make things worse. Just go go go! I almost feel his breath moving the hairs on the top of my head as he peddles slowly past. His stupid face. He's turned around on his rickshaw so much now, he's facing backward. I meet his lude face with a defiant stare. Right in the eyes. Women should never do that. I was angry now. His smile melts away with one sweep of brief uncertainty. I attack. "What!" I scream and throw up my hands at him. "What are you looking at!!!" I march right up to him. I can't turn it into Bangla. I'm too mad. He doesn't understand. Uneducated a-hole! He stops his rickshaw. He laughs at my rage. "Jao!" I say to him, dismissing him as though he were a child. "Go!" He smiled a mean smile. He's made women mad before. Loads of times. He's used to it. Another rickshaw walla hears the noise and peddles up behind us to wedge his two cents in. I march down the road. I hate this plate of pancakes and how stupid they make me look. The wallas follow me close behind. I walk through another construction site. I'm ready to bite anyone who says anything to me. I swear I could just bite someone's finger off!! A middle aged man moves in to where we nearly touch as I pass. "You are lovely" he says in English. "F___ YOU!" I growl through tight jaws. Sorry God! I was so mad. I feel instantly guilty. Yes! I'm at Ruth's house. I step inside and take a deep breath. I smile at the guard. "Shubor Boro Din"! He takes no notice.
Later on in the day, after the gifts, the music, church, the gorgeous weather, and the food; I sit and wonder at Christ. I know that I could have easily done a better job this morning. I know I could have glorified Him better than I did. Yet, I felt justified in my actions (all accept for the f*** you at the end). I wonder at Christ, because He was never self centered. He never would have corrected someone whether it was Easter or some random Thursday. He would have greeted the construction workers with a kind smile and a respectable "Shubor Boro Din" Before they were able to say rude things to him. And if they did, I think he would have stopped and stood there, head held high (not running away) and said something intelligent. I don't know what. And if someone told him he looked nice, I bet He would have said, "Thank you." It makes me SO thankful for Him. That He did come to this world. God incarnate. So that we could finally have an example of how to act! Thank you, Lord. Forgive us when we stumble.