Fresh & Clean

If you're thinking this looks a lot like the remnants of a stash of 10 tithing envelopes forgotten in the pocket of a shirt that found its way into the wash today, you're right -- that's exactly what this is.

The San Antonio Church Tour of '09

The San Antonio Church Tour of '09 is in full swing! In an effort to broaden my religious understanding, I'm visiting various churches in San Antonio and blogging about it. So if you have any interest in reading (admittedly long) posts about my experiences, you can check out the blog at

sachurchtour09.blogspot.com

If you have suggestions of churches or worship areas I should consider, or if you want to come along, let me know!

I'm not as cool as I pretend to be

I butchered a French man's name today. And I mean wholesale slaughtered it.

It wasn't even a strange, unfamiliar name with bizarre French spelling that would have left me totally clueless. It wasn't Jacquot or Apollinaire or Émilien or Amaury or Théophile. THOSE I would have looked up online before even attempting. No, it was Jean-François. Which seems easy enough.

Now, I don't speak French. But I'm not totally ignorant. And I like saying things right, and usually I manage decently enough.

So before I called the guy, I prepped myself. "Jean" like on Les Mis, Jean ValJean. Zhoh(n). Got it. "François," like Froh(n)swa. Piece of cake. It sounded great. Not native, sure, but legit. Educated. Cultured. I felt ready.

Then when the guy picked up, I totally croaked. Totally. Croaked.

"Hello, could I speak with, uh, Zheen, uh, Zhoh... ::mumble, mumble:: Frons..frans...fronswah?"

The reply came kindly in perfect English tinted so attractively with French accent: "This is he." He didn't make a point to say, "Yes, this is Jean-François (you pathetic American)," he just moved on like it was no big deal that I just shredded his name. I would not have been so generous.

He's probably totally used to it, but I not only decimated his name but then I tripped over the pieces! I hang my head in shame.