When you are looking here... it's happening there...

Okay, I admit.

It is a super lame title for a chapter. Let's see you come up with something more creative than that after a full day of studying ob-gyn and community health. Ugh.

So... this summarizes my life to a tee...

I am house-sitting a dog for friends of mine and I return home from a long day at school to the foul smell of dried dog-piss. Worst. Smell. Ever! Some people will say that nothing is worse than the smell of brussel sprouts, but they lie. Tell them to look after a poorly trained puppy and then they will understand that nothing really beats that smell on the foul-scale.

Anyway... house-sitting a dog. That was the point of the story... not the smell thing.

So I take the dog's mat outside into the backyard when I let the dog out. Standing the mat against the fire pit in their backyard, I get the hose and spray the living snots out of that stupid mat in hopes that the smell would leave. After spraying it for an extended (!!) amount of time, I leave it propped by the fire pit and run back into the house to scrub the kennel down. This smell has GOT to go! However, I was so focused on scrubbing the smell out, I forgot to watch the mat and dog in the backyard. Needless to say, this severely untrained puppy took the wet mat and dug a hole in the backyard and proceeded to BURY THE MAT! So, now I had to re-wash the mat, wash the dog, ANNNNND fill a giant hole.

The same is true internally. I was so focused on the fact that these two years would be a time of spiritual seeking and reconciling and while I was giving that my full attention, I failed to see how other aspects of my life were starting to heal up.

Two years into my first undergraduate degree, my naive and positive outlook on life was violently shattered. Fast forward through some hospitalizations, panic attacks, and months of counselling and I would have sworn that I was "good to go!"

However, then as a requirement for this undergraduate program, I found out that I was required to do an ob-gyn, maternity, post partum rotation. I did everything I could (EEEEEVERYTHING) I could to get out of having to do this rotation. I contacted the course lead and begged to do my entire rotation in post partum, working with newborn babies... the answer was a bold-type NO. I asked my post partum tutor if I could do the duration of my assignment with infants rather than labouring moms and again, the answer was... NO. Though, the tutor actually laughed a little before she said no. I visited my wonderful family doctor and requested a doctor's note to excuse me from this rotation for "religious reasons". Her initial reaction was just laughter. I guess I have a way of sounding funny when I'm really worked up?

My family doctor actually did come 'round once she knew my reasons for wanting to avoid the placement, truly giving me the choice of whether or not to go through with the rotation. In her best wisdom, she helped me figure out what the pros/cons were to both doing or neglecting the placement and then willingly wrote a doctors note to excuse me from having to witness any births and sent me on my way with Ativan.

To my surprise, once I finished up the post partum portion of the placement and transferred over to the screaming moms in agony, the labour-tutor was incredibly understanding as well. Our discussion went something like,

"I really, really, reeeeeally don't want to be here"

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What can I do to make your time here manageable?"

"Let me go to the pre-term unit and play with pre-term babies all day?"

"Not until you see a birth. It is actually a beautiful thing. Don't you want to have kids one day?"

"Heeeeeeeeeeeello adoption!"

She thought that I was "genuinely humourous" and literally walked me through the process as best she could. Together, we chose a woman who was labouring with her fourth child. When it came time for this patient to push, she pushed for a grand total of 3 minutes and 21 seconds. At which point, I happily excused myself and went to spend the last portion of my placement in the nursery.

But the weirdest thing came of my experience at the hospital. Aside from deciding with certainty that I would NEVER have kids of my own, I began to feel as though I could conquer the world. Really, as lame as it sounds, I had just overcome that which previously, scared me to the point of not sleeping, not keeping food in, and not really breathing. I most certainly did not execute myself in perfect form or with the utmost grace, but I did it! It was not tear-less, anxiety-less, or sarcasm-less, but it also was not me-less.

From there, I had the courage to somehow follow through with one of my assignments to follow a midwife around for a clinical day. I swear it is only by the utter grace of God that I, one student among 70-0dd students, am selected for a midwifery experience rather than any of the other long list of possible experiences. There, I spent 11 hours learning that the hospital way is not the only way and that there are humane experiences of pregnancy. 11 hours in which I was not forcing healing to happen, and yet... it was. Just learning the fact that contrary to the hospital pathway, particular patient histories do not always necessitate cesarean sections and that the pregnant couple have full power of decision making, not un-involved physicians who get paid more for 'complicated delivery procedures' was enough to perpetuate healing.

Aaaaaand, as if that wasn't enough of a step forward, yesterday found myself sitting at the University Health Services awaiting an 'initial intake' with a psychologist. Unlike this time last year, I was actually able to articulate three 'priority needs' for the 12-sessions I am entitled to as a student. Granted, my second and third priority and reason for seeking psychological services both had "related to number one" written beside it, this is both huge and awesome!

Finally, as a true testament to the grand improvements that seem to be happening in life, I was able to attend not one, but two massage therapy appointments in the past three weeks. While these appointments would be heavenly relaxation to most, being able to trust someone enough to be able to lay on my stomach, having severely limited vision because of having to put one's face in that stupid face-toilet-bowl-shaped-thing, while the almost-complete-stranger makes physical contact with the clothes-limited me... is... exciting beyond words!

For those who know me even slightly, they know that this last step is truly reflective of the inner healing that has already started. Seeds that were planted in this heart of dirt over these past two years are now sprouting through the black soil in search of the sunlight warmth. I only have a mere 6 months left in the program, but that is more than enough time in my humble opinion, to continue on this journey. And, as I said to someone today, even if I never actually nurse a day in life (I *will* nurse, but if I never got the chance to), I now understand why I embarked upon this particular journey almost two years ago.

So, while I was busy trying to scrub the smell out of this spiritual kennel of mine, the healing was continuing to grow in my flower pot. The seeds that were planted over the years by nursing instructors who claimed that my brick walls were too high and suggested some level of psychotherapy... those incredibly loving people who let me hang out and play music with them every now and again without any church requirements, constantly reminding me of the fact that I am loved for who I am and where I am on this journey...those people who remind me all the time that ultimately - I just need to be me. Me, the genuinely humourous child who needs the reminder to water the plant every now and again.

Crazy how that works, isn't it? I should know by now that things never really happen how we plan them out to, but rather - they happen when we least expect them, don't feel ready or worthy of them, and when we have the inner strength to laugh at the pure irony and coincidence of the timing of them.

Za Book

"You should write that in your book"

"Ahhhem, uhhhh, what?"

"The book. The book you are going to write and publish one day."

"Ohhh, right. That book. I forgot I told you about my desire to one day write a book about the hilariousness that is my life; you reeeeeeeally think that I should write about how I overcame the passing-out-puking-pathetic-ness-of-my-ObGyn rotation?"

"You ARE still planning on writing a book, are you not? It would be a perfect title of a chapter"

"Yes, of course. I even have a list of people who want to write the forward for my book - and I haven't even written it yet!"

"I WANT TO WRITE YOUR FORWARD!"

"Right. I will add you to the list"

It is moments like this which make me laugh out loud. This was a legit conversation that was instigated by my family doctor when I went to see her for a prescription refill for the summer months. Surprisingly, it is also moments like this that help me to realize that there are moments of new life and 'resurrection' happening in my life at present.

Picking up the Pieces

After spending a weekend away, I came home to a room that needed some TLC before the upcoming week got too crazy to give it some proper attention. I unfortunately discovered this the painful way.

When I stepped off my bed to be able to sort through the laundry from the weekend, there was a sharp, shattering noise and a few seconds later, an immensely sharp pain on the bottom of my foot. Without even looking down, I knew what had happened.

Last week, in the flurry to pack and leave as early as possible, I accidently dropped a Christmas ball (like the ones you hang on your tree) that I received from a lady at work. It had shattered and while I thought that I should clean up the pieces at that very moment, I didn't. I simply promised myself that it would be the first thing I did when I got home.

But I forgot.

And now, I was paying for it. As I tried to pull the shattered glass out of my heel to bandage it up, I realized yet again - just how relevant this life moment was symbolizing something more; it was reflecting the current state of my spiritual life. Symbolically, it was not my foot that was hurting, it was my heart.

I kept telling myself that I would tend to an important relationship later. Tomorrow turned into the next day, which turned into the next major feast, which quickly slid into the next month, and then the next year. And, here I am - on the Sunday night - realizing that I have waited too long to pick up the pieces. Broken, lost, tired, sore, and now bleeding... I am faced with an extended healing period that will require more effort and TLC than if I would have just picked up the pieces over a year ago.

A year ago, the pieces were manageable - they were large in size, and low in number. And now, having walked on them, they are tiny shards that will require a careful eye and gentle fingers and probably a vacuum and a whoooooole lot of patience and perseverance.

But, I learn the hard way.

At least I learn.... kinda.... sorta....

That said, I am about to drop to my hands and knees to start a long and tedious healing process. As soon as I get a bandaid and some polysporin, that is.

The Tides are Changing

This time yesterday morning (almost exactly to the minute), I was standing on a Bahama beach in sandals, a pair of long shorts, and a very light jacket. We had just finished eating our last meal on the island as a family and when the rest of the six went upstairs to pack, I snagged my youngest sister and made her come down to the water to take pictures with me. I had missed a friend's birthday back home and just to prove that I was thinking about her while away, I wanted to get a lovely picture of "Happy Birthday (Friend)" written in the sand with the ocean in the background for a half decent birthday card.

And what seemed like a 30 second task to find the "perfect spot", write the message in the grains, and snap the picture... turned out to be incredibly and deceivingly challenging. The tide was not quite out all the way and it took a number (higher than 10) of attempts to time the writing in between the big waves and get the picture taken. So much so, that I nearly lost a sandal to the undertow and managed to provide quite the comedy to the security guard further up.

And now, 24 hours later, exhausted and wide awake, I find myself chuckling at how beautiful of an image yesterday's adventures were in illustrating life itself.

In about an hours time, I will drag my jet-lagged, sleep-lagged body out of bed, shower, and drive to the local university where I will embark upon a two year, professional degree of studies to hopefully graduate as a Registered Nurse - fully certified, trained, and health conscious. The logical part of my brain keeps telling me that these are just courses... they are no different than the six years of undergrad courses I just finished taking. But that middle section of my body that houses the digestive system seems to be saying something else. My stomach is churning, I feel like I'm going to either pass out or puke, and although nerves are not a horrible thing - I cannot remember feeling like this when I attempted to start theological studies a little over a year ago.

I am pondering the whole concept of the tides changing and what that means for me: a single soul standing on the edge of something so deep and profound as the ocean having the waves wipe out the message I try to write each time.

Maybe pondering the journey as a whole is too overwhelming and impossible to do, but I cannot help but ask the question of whether this journey is going to the "thing" that leaves my mark in the sand or whether this is something I am embarking upon as an attempt to run away from facing God's call once again. On the flip side, perhaps the tides have indeed changed as has God's call on my life, morphing the expression of discipleship that I am called to live and breathe and emulate.

Makes me wish that I could have a brief cup of tea with one of three wise spiritual mentors. One, because she would ask the hard questions in a way that would make sense and then share her intuitive opinion on what she believed the answers to be. Two, because although I only recently met him, he is a truly incredible young man who frankly - hates change and transition as much as I do and although he couldn't offer tips on how to cope, just sitting in his presence and sharing the hate of transition moments would be enough. And three, because although I detest green tea, she steeps a wonderful cup and whether via custard and bananas or curry or simply a peaceful accent... the world always seems alright from her viewpoint; she always has a plan B, even when having done something completely backwards or downright wrong - scolding and shaping is done in and through love - always, and frankly/finally - I miss her.

But, as these three individuals either live on the other side of the world, are in school themselves, or unreachable - I guess I am left to ponder these waves as any brave soul has done in years gone by: experimentally. Here is to hoping that I do not get sucked under by the pull of the ocean, wiped out by a massive tidal wave, or get lost wandering aimlessly along the beach front of life.

Cheers!

Sisterly Connections

I am laying awake (when I should be sleeping), wondering how many places I have referenced "Wonder Chemist".

Annnnd, as means of an update, failing miserably.

Let me explain where this is coming from. Last week, I met up with my sister for coffee. Albeit, we share no common genes, bodily fluids (aka, we are not blood sisters), or similar dreams and aspirations. However, on various occasions, as sisters do, we have fought with one another, ignored one another, screamed about (not to, but about) one another, cried with, for and because of one another; we have pouted about one another, tattled on one another, envied the other, and wanted to punch, kick or otherwise seriously injure one another.

But in the same breath, I can only speak for myself here, I would never (ever) want to live a life without the other. We have seen each other at our worsts and still manage to sit on the sidelines of one another's lives to cheer, encourage, and motivate.

Anyway, contrary to what her family members would have done, she trudged over to a small coffee shop after her long day to catch up. Maybe next time, I'll let her pick the place because it never fails that I suggest tea/coffee, neglecting the fact that she does not drink hot liquids. Ever.

We sat there for what seemed like a few moments and caught up on one another's lives before she had to run off to get a ride home and I had to dash off to a meeting elsewhere. I know it seems weird, but for the first time in a year and a half, I almost felt human again. She did not have a gun or want to push me into oncoming traffic; she even hugged me when we parted ways.

The next afternoon, I got a text asking if she would see me at Taize with my guitar. I kid you not, every excuse that I pulled out, there was a logical, well thought out response. And, being politely persistent, sure enough - Sunday afternoon, I got a text simply stating what time she would be there to run through the song selection. Before I could really comment, she told me that whatever happened or whoever came, she had my back (so long as I didn't pick a fight with a nationally renowned body builder).

Showed up, played, and tried to pack up and leave in silence.

About 10 minutes down the road, en route home, she texted. "Was it as bad as you thought it was going to be?"

"Yes, but in a different way than I expected"

"Explain?"

.... I will save the boring details of the conversation in the middle. It was what came at the end that means the most. Essentially, I told her that my heart was crying. I am pretty sure it was crying the words, "I want to come home". It was not referring to returning home to the white house with green trim, but a different kind of home. Whatever I tried to do, my heart would not cease it's tears. Most painful drive of all time.

And, although I wouldn't have predicted it, my sister got it.

So, I asked straight up - how do I make it stop hurting?

And this - in all her wisdom, is what she said.

"You don't. You let yourself heal. You understand that you've now taken the first step in getting back to what's important in your life. And, you stop pushing and stop running away."

Needless to say, her words resonate in an incredibly powerful fashion. And, tonight - keep me laying awake wondering, pondering, wishing. How did this blog get started? Oh yea! Because when we met for coffee, she inquired about the status of Wonder Chemist and I. Which got me thinking... have I called him Wonder Chemist outside of the blog? Hmmm...

My fingers are numb...

I was always taught when growing up, that if the world ever gave you something that stirred that urge inside of you to punch something/someone else, reach for an ice cube.

Well, my fingers are number than numb, so what I'm trying to say is that any spelling errors I make, are not my fault.

My fingers are numb because I am upset about the human condition and how people have been trained to respond to tragedy by saying, "I'm sorry...." I understand that there is a certain level of empathy at play here, whereby the other person is acknowledging the pain of a situation by potentially apologizing for the fact that life sucks. I get that.

But honestly, it is THEE most unhelpful, pointless, mundane, ambivilent phrase in the English language. Those two cursed words should be reserved for apologies and apologies only, where you are at fault for something and you are remorseful. And, as a huge introvert who likes to ponder the shit out of every little thing, I would rather hear "Wanna talk?" than "I'm sorry". Seriously. Because I would be more open to talking through how much life sucks and hearing their honest, unreserved account of why life either sucks or it doesn't than to hear that they are "sorry" for some random misfortune that they had absolutely no part in.

I don't know... maybe I'm just upset because on a night where I need to talk the days events out, the two people I turn to, immediately drop the "I'm sorry" bomb on the conversation as if it will make everything better. Or, maybe it's true... maybe "I'm sorry" is a phrase that is abused in our lexicon and we need to work on changing this.

Up to you. I'll supply the ice cubes.

Feelers

Everyone, at some point, has done that thing in life where they first send feelers into a conversation, testing the waters to see if the other person is open to having a deep conversation about the shit-tayness that comes with life. Sometimes we discover that in fact, this the person we can talk to, confide in, and share the strains and stresses of the day while other times, the radar comes back, "NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY" for whatever reason. The other person is too busy or preoccupied or would just prefer to not participate in such a conversation.

Often, when people are sending feelers out to us, it's obvious - they give subtle hints that there is something bugging them that they want to talk about, but sometimes - we haven't the slightest clue until something triggers us much later in the day.

This morning, I was running behind. There is too much bubbling around between these ears to get a good night sleep as of late, so when the alarm goes - there is a consider amount of grumbling, moaning, and sighing to start the day. Racing through the shower, throwing a lunch together and trying to find clean clothes to wear (not in that order -and our wash machine is broken) in 15 minutes was a challenge. And when sibling #2 stood in the porch entryway in her pj's while I tried to find shoes and get out the door, I didn't even take a moment to ponder why she asked, "Did you hear what happened last night?" I honestly thought she was going to tell me about someone who came into work, someone passed on a juicy piece of community gossip or that her ball team qualified for the playoffs (this last one would truly be a long shot, but I was being optimistic). If I would have taken 2 seconds (seconds!) to look up at her before I answered, my answer would have been different. But, I didn't. She was putting out the feelers, and I was completely ignoring the fact that she was doing so. "No, but can we talk about it when I get home this afternoon? I am going to miss the bus and that would be a bad thing!"

"Yea" she said... and didn't move as I turned and ran out the door.

I got a phone call/voice message during my class that was a frantic and upset sibling #2, mumbling something about how she was had called into work to let them know she couldn't go in, and they were insisting on having a doctor's note.

After calling her back, returning the message from the doctor's office about a surgery date, and re-arranging some work commitments I had that afternoon, I found out in a hysterical manner that a friend of the family was killed in an ATV accident last night; there was no way she was going into work, let alone - hold herself together long enough to tell me what was going on over the phone.

Later in the afternoon, as I was heading home to switch vehicles and clothes for class tonight, the events of the past few days had hit hard and I too, needed to be momentarily hysterical with someone. So, just like my sibling did this morning, I put the feelers out to someone I felt comfortable talking to - and surprisingly, got the same "NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY" response that I had given my sister this morning. They had a long day, an appointment stood them up, and will be moving in the next week and probably had a million other shrimp in their frying pan to saute, without adding mine into the mix as well.

Needless to say, I felt like a shmuck. It's funny how we learn our lessons... that simple, pop-psych phrase, "what goes around, comes around" is so true. My sister needed 30 seconds of time this morning, to call her work and explain in a calm fashion that she truly couldn't work today, and I pushed it off until "later". But now, thankfully, I have seen this case from the otherside - from the "I need to talk" side when someone is just not receptive to talking at that given point in time.

Lesson learned. Next time it is incredibly obvious that someone is putting feelers out into my waters, I will take that moment to glance up, make sure they're okay, and "be there" for them. Today's lesson is brought to you by the letter J, the colour: pea-ish green, and the number 3.

Speechless

Well, all in all... it was a pretty good night.  At the last possible moment before leaving for ball tonight, I got an email from my supervisor saying that the schizophrenic role that I portrayed on Tuesday with my mom, "Maria" was so stellar, the medical faculty wishes to arrange a taping of the two of us to send out to other cities in the program.  Which, after I finished I laughing, was a huge sigh of relief and affirmation.  We'll see if that actually transpires or if they were just kidding...

Then, headed over to the ball diamonds, where we trounced the other team a whopping 13-4.  And, better yet, I contributed to the run total!  

I then had a 20 minute drive to reach destination "x" in order to drop off the S.L.S. Survival Kit. At which point, surprisingly, panic set in.  I had honestly only known "Maria" for a total of maybe 3 months - and even then, only saw and talked to her a small handful of times (less than 10!).  What if.... what if she was the not the heart I was to touch, the outlook I was to affect, or the life I was to give just enough to?  The shocking part in all this is that I did something that I haven't done in almost a year... I asked a friend to pray for Maria's heart to be open and willing to receive what was on it's way to her.  I kid not, I was literally shaking as I pulled up to the address which I had written on my arm; I nearly tripped on the flat sidewalk, over my own two feet.  I knocked on the outside door, fought the temptation to run, and after standing there and working to build up my confidence - pulled the outside door open just enough to reach the doorbell.  

Sweet!  No answer - I can put the bag between the two doors and she will find it eventually.  However, heading back to my car, the door opened and I hear, "hey!".  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit... I'm busted.  Do I get the car and speed off?  Run as fast as I can on foot and pretend that's not my car?  Ohhhhh crap!!  Nope.  Didn't do any of those things unfortunately.  I turned around.  Oooops.  Maria wanted to know what this package was and so I started explaining it, but told her it would all make sense when she opened it later.  And so... we talked.  

She opened my eyes to the reality that people on commercials don't usually use the product themselves.  Like hemorrhoid cream supporters on T.V... prolly don't even have hemorrhoids; Ellen most likely doesn't use Covergirl, defying aging cream and actors on coffee commercials probably don't even drink coffee.  I decided... I'm going to write to Ellen.  

Watching a sports car go by, Maria made a comment that hers was better - and I thought it was a joke.  She normally bikes everywhere!  At which point, she opened the garage and... there it was... (drooling!).  She asked if I had time to go for a ride - and when I made a kind of squealing noise, I think she took that as a yes.  Off we went... AAAA mazing!  She is racing it on Sunday and invited me for a ride-along.  I wish I could put into words how excited I am. 

Whether it was conversation, riding along on the open road with the windows and top down, or the gift that just kept on giving... she was laughing and crying and laughing.  And, I received the greatest compliment of all time... "you should go into business doing this sort of thing.  Really, I mean it!  I LOOOOOVE this!"  She kept all the little notes that went with each gift, setting them carefully on the coffee table to show her other half when he gets home.  

Life is way too short to spend everyday of our busy lives always looking in or down.  And I got the impression that although she may never actually use any of those ridiculous gifts, a pretty rough week may have been turned around... if only for a moment.  Well, this ordinary person is off to bed.  Life needs a' ponderin', sleep needs a gettin', and maybe (just maybe), someone needs a thankin'.  

F5: Homes, Houses, and... Holy Habitations!

This week's Friday Five, posted at RevGals, is:

As some of you may know I am in the midst of my first home purchase. It is a new-build and so some of the fun was picking out upgrades and major decor items to my taste rather than walking into a previously owned home that needed to be upgraded room by room (pink and teal tiles in the bathroom, anyone?). As much as decorating is not my thing, I did try to embrace the moment because just how many times do you get to have a do-over on kitchen cabinets/floors/countertops?  And so, my questions to you this fine Friday involve your home past, present or future...

1) If you could, what room in the place you are currently living would you redo first?

If I could redo any room in the house I'm living in, I think it would have to be the porch.  Growing up on the farm, the porch was a gathering place in the house that was never big enough; it was where farming friends would stand and chat for "just a moment" or the initial welcoming location for family and friends over for dinner or games.  And, the house in which I am currently residing, has a (for lack of a better word) pathetic front entrance.  A spot to hang one or two coats - where only one person can comfortably stand at a time.  Yup - needs some expanding!  

2) What is the most hideous feature/color/decor item you have ever seen in a home?

Hands down, this item would be an old recliner chair owned by an old seminary friend.  The chair definitely had a character of its own - but was truly an eyesore!  The material was almost a valuer fabric - and sitting it in almost brought about the hibbie-jeebies.

3) What feature do you most covet? Do you have it? If not, is it within reach?

A fireplace and hearth.  Not one of the newer, ridiculous "gas ovens", but the true wood burning fireplace.  Maybe it's just because of happy memories of a childhood spent staring at the dancing flames, but there is something cozy and comforting about wrapping up in front of the fireplace and allowing yourself to just "be".  

4) Your kitchen - love it or hate it? Why?

I am impartial to the kitchen; I love that it is a gas stove - SOOOO much easier (and cost efficient) than electric... when you turn off a pot that is about to boil over, you don't need to worry about also removing it from the element.  The gas ceases, so does the threat of running over.  :)

5) Here is $10,000 and you HAVE to spend it on the place you are living now. What do you do?

I am not sure about the cost of renovations, but I have always been a big dreamer.  If I had $10,000 to put towards this house...hm... tough one!  I think, I would spend the money wisely and pull out all the dog hair/dust/grime/germ infested carpet in the bedrooms and put hardwood or some easily washable alternative.  

BONUS: Why do you think there was such a surplus of ugly bathroom tile colors showcased in all homes built from the 1950's right through the early 80's?

Ha ha ha ha... I LOVE this question! I tried going through pictures, but was unable to find any.  My grandparents lived in a house in a local, small suburb in which their main bathroom was done in a lime green colour.  Yup - serious!  The bathtub, toilet, sink, tile... all lime green.  Of course, it had aged so it wasn't a vibrant lime green, but it was AWESOME none the less.  They have since redone it, changing the colour to white, but honestly - if they made lime green tile, tubs, and sinks now - you better believe that the entire house would be done in it.  ....not that it's my favourite colour or anything ;)