Here's a cool picture I took when it finally stopped raining. We had a couple days of sun, and not we're back to clouds. But I'm starting to get used to it.

Today I present you with two dilemmas. Feel free to give me advice.

Dilemma 1: The umbrella.

At Regent, there is an "umbrella area" where people leave their umbrellas. At first, I was wary about leaving my umbrella there, because I paid a good $20 for mine, and I didn't want to lose it. But I was assured by Regent veterans that it was safe. After all, there were much more expensive umbrellas there, and a thief would surely go for one of those first. So I reluctantly left it. Well, at the end of the day, I went to grab my umbrella, and surprise surprise, it was missing. I looked through the whole pile twice. There was one umbrella that was the same colour as mine, but it was obviously much more expensive. So maybe someone accidentally took mine. I checked again today, and that one is still there, and mine is still not. Here is the dilemma - should I take it? Should I take the one that almost looks like mine?

Dilemma 2: Hoodie.

So I used an English term the other day that made people look at me really funny. The thing is, these people were not Asian, Australian, British, or even American. These people were Canadian. The term was 'bunnyhug'. Yes. Just in case you didn't know, Saskatchewan and possibly some parts of Manitoba are the only places that use this term. I personally have never thought about how strange this word is. I have never broken it up into its two root words, "bunny" and "hug". I have never imagined bunnies giving me hugs. But apparently, that's the image that springs into the minds of all non-Prairie people. So they said "cute" and "that's so sweet" and "awwww". Hello. I do not want to elicit those reactions. So this is the dilemma - should I convert to "hoodie" or stay with "bunnyhug"?

I'm sorry this blog entry is so devoid of the deep meaning a student of theology should infuse into everything. It's my busiest week. Must. Write. Paper. But I'm still finding time to go down to the Rock in the morning. The other day, it was just Martin and I. Martin the heron, that is. I watched him fish. He's so freaky - he stands so still and then he just springs into action, with a bill like an ice pick. Crazy. I'm glad I'm not a fish.

That's the deep thought I leave you with. Be glad you're not a fish.