A Slightly Belated Christmas Post

I suppose I should write once more before we bid adieu to 2012, huh?

Merry Christmas! (I know, I tend to be a little behind the times....)

I forgot to mention our Christmas tree in my last post. We got it about a week before Christmas. While our artificial tree lasted, we used that, but it saw its last Christmas three or four years ago and, since then, we've got a real tree every year. I think this year's is a blue spruce. And yes, it's still standing. We aren't the type to toss out our trees and take down our lights the day after Christmas, as if that's the end of it. I'm still listening to Christmas music.

Someone suggested we name the tree, and my youngest sister tossed out whatever complicated phrase is "Merry Christmas" in German. Mom just gave her a look and refused her friendly suggestion, considering my sister could barely pronounce it herself. I responded with "Feliz Navidad", and somehow the tree became "Feliz".

Feliz sat bundled up and unlit for a couple days while our lives continued in the usual crazy, rather slipshod fashion. Finally, Mom said I needed to get the lights on.

I've never lit a real tree. It's hard. Artificial trees have nice, even rows of branches. I didn't even know where to start with Feliz, and wanted to give up, but Mom wouldn't let me and, being the sweet, unfailingly obedient daughter I am, I pressed on.

My poor hands after that! All over, past my wrists, my skin was sore and blotchy red.

Then we decorated the tree, tossed under it the few gifts already wrapped, and went on our way.

Christmas week was crazy. We only had morning service for church, and then an evening service Christmas eve. After church, the girls insisted we open gifts rather than after we all dragged ourselves out of bed in the morning. After reading the Christmas story, we did.

I got gloves, tea, some jewelry, notebooks, and candy, and was told my books would be on the way soon. I got Mom a fuzzy blanket so she'd quit stealing mine, leg warmers for one sister, one of those poseable wooden figurines for the other, and had pitched in money for Dad and the brother.

After that, we sat around until 10, when we headed out on routes.

We didn't get snow for Christmas. Still don't have much to speak of. But I don't complain when it's time for papers, because I've been able to wear my sneakers most days and haven't been slowed down by sludging through snow.

When we finally got home, we all went to bed and got up when we pleased. Then we girls helped Mom get dinner ready, we all ate, and proceeded to have a very quiet day. That's Christmas around here.

Life trudges on still. I work, clean, cook a little, try to write, and have hit 90 books read this year. The last was Little Women, which I've never read before, unless you count an abridged children's version. When I wasn't laughing over Jo's mishaps, the blend of comedy and moral lessons, and the general cheeriness of the lives portrayed in the book, I was sobbing like a baby; sometimes both at once, because it went from depressing to happy all in a moment. And that was before I got to the truly sad part of the book. I'm all too easily influenced by fictional emotion. Bother.

I'm looking forward to some of the changes the New Year is bringing. Actually, I think the whole family is. Though I don't techinically do New Year's resolutions, January is a good starting point for a lot of the things I'm trying to do; mostly, sorting out my crazy life.

Oh! I'll finally be revamping the blog soon. I got a title all figured out. The minute I thought of it, I was like "Duh! How simple!". It's a one-worder, but I like it.

But whatever! Happy New Year! And hopefully I pick up on writing '13 instead of '12 pretty quickly.

The End of the World (or not). Plus: a Little Christmas Spirit, all Year Long

*WARNING: High linky usage. Proceed with caution. Do not engage linkies unless you want to waste time and maybe get a chuckle out of it.*

 

You know those days when you get a song stuck in your head, and you're playing it over and over in your head pretty much all day long? You might even look them up on youtube so you can listen to the whole song, which you've forgotten, as opposed to the one line you remember. Sometimes I like to think of those songs and theme songs for the day.

Yesterday's theme song was "It's the end of the world, as we know it, and I feel fine!"   :)

I don't know how the rest of the song goes. I just know that part because they play it on "Chicken Little" as "the sky is falling".

(Side note: I googled "Chicken little scream like a little girl" looking for the right picture and got this, which just made me happy.)

*cough* Anyway!

Opinions among my facebook friends concerning "the End of the World" are greatly varied. Some people couldn't stop cracking jokes; others were telling people to stop picking on other people. I'll admit that I posted one or two sarcastic posts and comments to posts, as well as a few pictures. And I'll also admit I was worried about how yesterday would go. Not the world ending, but the possibility of stupid people doing stupid things in honor of the world ending.

At least in our corner of the world, December 21st was here and gone without a supernatural hitch. I worked, helped deliver papers for the routes we're subbing, helped clean the house, and overall had a pretty good day.

While I have to scoff at the people who decided it was a good idea to heed the chiselings of an anciet civilization of humans as equally fallible and finite as themselves, this event served as a nice reminder to me about the uncertainty of life. We aren't given a time when Christ will return. All we are given is a warning to use this precious life carefully and make it count.

In other news, our house is picking up the so-called "Christmas Spirit" a little late this year. But then, I guess we always do. Or maybe it's just that it comes gradually for us, because we tend to start the Christmas music playing around September, and we're usually drinking hot chocolate at least at that time.

I feel bad saying I think it's going to be a good Christmas in light of the Sandy Hook shooting. Maybe it's the feeling that we kind of need a good Christmas. Having a job means I finally have money to spend on gifts, and that is gratifying. I know some people are all about making gifts, my youngest sister one of them, and I don't disagree that those make very personal gifts. However, Sometimes there are things I see that I know will bring a smile, and I'd like to give that smile. I know we don't need money to express our love for those around us, but sometimes a little money helps.

Yes, I still get excited about opening my own gifts, but here's the thing: who really remembers what they got for Christmas last year, much less the year before? It's the emotions of the day, the sense of love and happiness, the break from life, that we remember. At least, it is for me.

I don't necessarily look forward to a new year. I'll spend the next three or four months trying to remember what number to put as the date. (And then my birthday will come and I'll have to remember how old I am.) What's the fun in that? I don't techinically do "New Year's Resolutions", because the overwhelming sense of guilt when June comes and I realize I've accomplished next to nothing on that list is too much for me. But the New Year is yet another healthy dose of reality. "It's a new year. We're still here. We're new people, but we still have a life to live, and we've been given another day to live it."

Some people talk about how we ought to have that "Christmas Spirit" all year 'round: peace and goodwill, love, giving, etc. I agree. When friends complain about me singing Christmas songs in July, I tell them what my dad likes to say: Christmas is the original praise and worship music. And there's no conclusive evidence that Christ was born in December to begin with, so why limit the honoring of such a miracle to that month?

I agree that some aspects of the Christmas spirit ought to be with us all year 'round. And here's another thing:

We wake up on January 1st, Brand New Year, and see the year stretched open and promising (most of the time). We make promises to ourselves about what we're going to do, because the first day of the year is a great milestone by which to track our progress. Maybe we 're still in the same mindset on January 2nd, and possibly January 3rd. By the time March 26th rolls around, however, we're living the day-to-day like always. It's just seasons changing and time passing.

What if, like the "Christmas Spirit", we woke up every day of the year with that sense of opporunities waiting to be seized? What if we jumped out of bed singing praises that we're waking healthy and safe under another sunrise? I know I roll out of bed reluctantly most mornings. Before I'm fully concious, I'm building a to-do list. When I go to bed, I'm not rejoicing in what I accomplished; I'm starting tomorrow's list. That isn't living; that's existing. 

What if, every morning, our thoughts go to God and determine that "this is the day which the Lord hath made" and we strive to use it to His glory? Every day is a new day, a new chance, no matter what number we attach to it. We're always sinners saved by grace, pilgrims in a world that is not our home.

 

 

And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed.

The night is far spent , the day is at hand : let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light. 

Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.

But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof.

- Romans 13:11-14

Night Driving (plus a little pointless trivia)

Yeah, so.... I just need to write a prologue to copy and paste into each post which is written far too long after the previous one. In short, it's been a crazy...what? Month? I've had things to write about (namely Thanksgiving and then maybe something about Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day) but obviously didn't care enough to bother, and now those topics just aren't that relevant or whatever.

Well, now I'm back. Though I don't really have anything to write about, it's Friday, which is one of only two days a week which I originally designated to be blogging days.

Old habits die hard.

I guess I do have a little to write about. We're all getting into the Christmas mood around here. I've made lots of molasses crinkles and snickerdoodles. Mom made another batch of hot chocolate and has supplies for chex mix, peanut brittle, peanut butter fudge, and other holiday traditions. We're all making good progress with our Christmas shopping. Mom even found reindeer antlers and a red nose to put on her car, like she's been wanting to do for years. Then she saw the elf ears on someone else's car and wanted those. Right.

She and Heather decided the reindeer/car is Francine, ol' Rudolph's daughter. Didn't ask, don't care to. This led to Mom saying, "Wait. Francine's a girl, but she has antlers."

I reminded her about the reindeer we saw last year (or the year before?) at the city gardens: both male and female have antlers.

This led to a little research on my part, and I discovered something interesting:

Reindeer and caribou are the only...deer-like creatures (they have some strange Latin name for their family or species that starts with a "c", I think) where both the male and female have antlers. For reindeer, at least, both male and female get their antlers in the summer. However, male reindeer lose theirs in mid-November/early-December, and female keep theirs until spring when their young are born. Thus, if we all want to stick to the image of Santa's sleigh being pulled by antlered deer, and we don't want to resort to the excuse that it's all magic, Santa's reindeer are all female. (I always suspected Vixen and Dancer at least were female, so this is easier for me to swallow.)

And tada! That topic blends right into the main topic of the evening! Just cuz I'm that awesome.

Our family was invited to a birthday party tonight for our science teacher. You know, the totally awesome one? She's the only reason I survived chemistry. She likes chocolate and movie quotes and Jeopardy games in class. She helped with my graduation party (and she's one of few people to whom I've managed to give "thank you" notes for said party...). She's just too cool for words. Someday, she needs to write a biography, even if she can't publish it. And then she needs to write textbooks. And then play on Jeopardy.

Anyway! In the end, it was only us girls who ended up going. In my car, which means I have the right to drive. I almost forfeited the right. Why? Because it meant driving at night down country roads.

I've driven at night before, but usually with a parent in the car, unless it's 10 minutes across the city. I've driven those country roads before, but usually with a parent and always in daylight. I'm struggling with a few driving phobias, including lane-changes in downtown traffic, and night driving along deer-infested roads is high on the list.

Deep breath. At least it isn't snowing. (We got some snow last week and flurries earlier this week, but all that's left is a little mush and ice in the shady places.) Snow driving is another phobia of mine. I've yet to do it, and it's another reason I appreciate my old boat of a Chevy over Heather's sports car. Mom made sure I had instructions (though I had a hard time picturing just what she was talking about) and reminded me (or threatened) to text when we left home, when we got to the party, when we left the party, and when we got home.

We left at 6, giving us just enough time to get to the party when it started, if I drove the speedlimit. It actually didn't go too badly. Heather acted as co-pilot, offering her knowledge of the area, because neither of us was crystal clear on where we were headed or what we were looking for. We managed, and I never had to slam on my breaks to turn onto the right road. Yay!

Another perk in my car is honest-to-goodness brights. Mom's car's brights are about as bright and the normal light setting and no one would know the difference. Mine actually showed me beyond both shoulders on the road.

So there I was, maintaining a steady 55 MPH down roads lined with Michigan ditches and across bridges (cringe). I confirmed an earlier suspicion that I pull a little to the right, especially when I'm on a bridge and a semi with very bright lights is passing on the other side of the road. We made good time, arriving just a tad late to the party (and I think they started early).

There weren't many kids there (just one guy and girl Heather's and my age and all their younger siblings). I knew some of the people from church. The rest were total strangers, though some insisted they recognized me. I ate finger food and sipped punch and marveled at how my upbeat, crazy science teacher could be hosting such an almost solemn affair. Here I was thinking there'd be karaoke or something.

We sat around for a little over an hour. Heather avoiding the chocolate for some reason and kept saying weird things I'm not aloud to repeat. In the end, our teacher's daughters invited Allenna to spend the night, so it was just Heather and I on the way home.

Now that I was familiar with my route, I was able to relax a little more. (And by "relax", I mean be less uptight and likely to freak out but rather calm and focused.) Heather and I sang along to Christmas music and kept our eyes peeled for deer. We didn't see a one of 'em. Wonder of wonders.

Winter is Coming 'Round

Yeah, yeah. It's been too long. November is over half done already. Craziness.

I won't bother with a long update. Don't much care to consider the past few weeks, to be honest. Life is still trudging along.

Mom brought back a computer from Grandma's house (I think it was Grandpa's) and Wes got it set up for Allenna and I. We both suffered computer crashes in the last few months. The new computer is a good ol' desktop, and I've been avoiding having to use the keyboard. I was just getting used to Dad's, which I've now decided I don't dislike half so much as I'd said I did. There's no Microsoft Word installed yet, which means I can't access my writing files. (For some reason, they all turn to gibberish if opened with WordPad or Notepad.)

But now I'm blogging, at last.

We got snow last Tuesday. Granted, it was just flurries and it didn't stick, but it was our first snowfall of the season. Since Friday we've had foggy nights and mornings. Cool to look at, but scary to drive in. I actually haven't been the one driving yet, and I'm not too eager to try. We've also seen plenty of sunshine, which is great.

I've been fighting a cold since last Tuesday. It started as a tickle in my throat and, by the next day, had developed into a nasty head and chest cold. Then it was a stuffy nose and a cough. Now I have remnants of the cough and a slightly runny nose. And just when I was thinking I would be the only one in the family to get it, Wes and Allenna mentioned sore throats. I'll get blamed for that.

Besides the massive headaches that make it feel like my head is going to explode, having to breathe through my mouth all night, and getting a coughing fit in church, I discovered another problem with having a cold: stuffy noses make it very hard to read books out loud. I babysat on Friday night, when my cold was reduced to sniffles and a choke. I felt bad just trying to maintain a conversation with the parents. Then the kids decided they both wanted me to read a whole bunch of books to them. Normally, I'd be loving that, especially because the boy prefers to be more active and only his sister begs for me to read a third and fourth book, but they both insisted on Friday. If they understood half of what I was reading, I'd be surprised.

On Saturday, Mom, the girls, and I went on a shopping trip with some ladies from church. It's an annual thing, and the intention is to get a bulk of the Christmas shopping done. Neither Mom nor I am are much of shoppers. We both like to go, get what we need, and leave, and neither of us much cares for window shopping if we don't have money. However, on occasion I don't mind it, and the mall we go to is bigger than our own (and also nearly 2 hours away, but worth it). I've been on the last three or four trips. Last year we went twice; once with the ladies and once as a family a couple weeks later. It was nice then because I had a significant amount of money for the first time, and I got most of my Christmas shopping done.

This time, I got some things for Mom and Heather, but.... Yeah, I spent the rest of my money on myself. I do feel kind of bad about that, but the rest of the family wants things that require all of us pitching in, or things like gift cards and money to spend at the local used bookstore (don't worry, she already knows). Plus, the mall had a Teavana store!

Teavana tea was on my Christmas list, but I figured I make it easier on Mom and Dad and take care of it myself so they wouldn't have to worry about it.  :p  I also put the Underland Chronicles on my list, so it's all good. (If my family doesn't understand my desire for books as gifts, they understand tea even less so. Which usually means my Christmas presents are a complete surprise, which I enjoy.)

Okay, I know there was something I wanted to post about, but I can't think of it right now. Bother it all. I should know by now that this is what comes of waiting so long between posts. I didn't mean to. I started writing one last Tuesday, but I didn't get very far.

Oh, well.

It's hard to believe it's Thanksgiving week! For us, this means morning routes during the week and pizza for our Thanksgiving meal (still not sure how that became a tradition). Our house seems to run through a cycle of cleanliness and disorder, and, in honor of the holiday, Mom bumped things up so the clean part of the cycle is coming around. (Yes, roll your eyes. It's a stupid pattern to which I contribute and from which I ought to withdraw my support.) This means that, while I write this, the counters are waiting to be cleaned and the laundry to be put away. We're also planning to move our old, very used table out into the garage and bring in a "new" table given to us by some friends a while ago. Somehow that hasn't happened until just now.

That's life?

Someday, my prince will come?

My cousin is getting married tomorrow.

She's the first grandchild on Mom's side of the family to get married. It's a tinny bit bittersweet, since Grandpa died this May. That's where Mom and Wes are. They took a train! Of course, it was in the middle of the night, but still. A train! I'd take that over a plane any day.

Meanwhile, I'm home alone. Again.

Well, not entirely. Dad's here, just at work. By now, I'm pretty used to this routine. Possibly too used to it. I had Hershey pick the movie last night. And then I cried through the movie. ("Ms. Potter", if you were wondering.) And then I watched "Push", about superheroes. Well, superhumans. And ate macaroni pies. Which I made while listening to Christmas music.

I was going somewhere with this, I know it. I think it was going to be deep and thoughtful. Somehow.

Oh. Right. Weddings.

And, no, I'm not going to talk about my wedding dreams. (Oh, goodness! Last week I had another. Well, it wasn't the wedding exactly. And the guy had a face! But I digress.)

Years ago, when I was, like, twelve, I fantasized about being married by the time I was 18. Probably in part because that's when Mom got married. I've always been in favor of marrying young. (Not absurdly young, mind you.) As I got older, I waited and waited for "the ONE" to magically appear and sweep me off my feet.

Is it because I read too many fairytales? The only romances I like are the old classics, like Pride and Prejudice, where there's more to the plot than just the romance.

Anyway. Obviously, I'm even in a relationship yet. And whenever I consider the fact, I feel begrudingly grateful. I doubt I would have been ready emotionally for a relationship even 6 months ago.

Mind you, I don't agree with the whole attitude of "waiting till we're ready", because my experiences with life have proven that things never line up the way we imagine. That's life for you.

As time went on, I found more and more people and books talking about having contentment in singleness. For a while, I agreed with my mouth but not with my heart. Somehow I figured God would agree with me and toss a shiny knight into my path just because my heart said I was ready.I built all my dreams around it. I spent my time staring off into the distance, waiting for Mr. Right to crest the horizon, wondering if maybe his horse threw a shoe on the way over, and generally pining away for something I'd read and fantasized about and about which I still have no clue.

Finally, I got jogged on the head hard enough that it clicked: singleness is a stage of life, not a transition. Life doesn't run childhood-transition-marriage-happily ever after. After the big mental/emotional growth spurt, when we start realizing what life is about, is a new stage. Where I'd been spending all my time waiting for the next stage to arrive, thinking of it as being what my life was all about, I was wasting valuable time.

Singleness is an opportunity, just like every other stage. It has its own challenges, its own chances to grown and learn and do important things. It's to be embraced, not endured.

Some of you might be rolling your eyes. "Yeah, duh. Is that what you've been thinking all this time?" Give me a break. I take a while to catch on. I'd actually welcome a helpful slap every once in a while.

Here we go again. Another thought I can't quite put into words. Bother it all.

Okay, fairytales. Most of those ditzy princesses and scullery maids had one goal in mind: find the prince (or otherwise exceedingly dashing, witty, chivalrous, well-built, man) and fall in love-at-first-sight. Subconciously, I'd made my role model more like Ariel the dreamer (sorry, Jessi) and Snow White, the whistful maid singing into wells and listening to her own voice echoing obnoxiously. In fact, it's supposed to be more like Rapunzel (the Disney one): reading, painting, learning to cook and play guitar and make candles, and carrying on lengthy conversations with a sarcastic amphibian. You know, not wasting her time gazing out of windows thirty stories in the air. She wasn't even thinking about being resuced by a dashing rouge with what, frankly, I think is a ridiculous smolder.

Okay, so maybe not quite like Rapunzel, but I hope you get my meaning.

Yes, I really just wanted to try to make a comparison to Disney princesses. Then there's Belle, who sees the true man behind the hideous face.... Ah, I give up.

My point goes back to my ever-present theme of making the most of every moment; something I still fail at quite regularly. I spend my days waiting for the perfect man to come along, and all the while I'm not working to grow into the strong, spiritual, helpful, smart woman he deserves and is looking for. I have at my fingertips everything I need to grow into that person. Or - deep breath - I may never get married. (I hate considering that alternative, but this is reality.) Either way, God has a plan for my life, and He's shown me the kind of person I need to be in order to be the most effective, with a man at my side or all by my brave, adventurous self. I'm the same person either way. I know what I need to do, and instead of wasting time waiting for God to take my advice and just give me the guy and expect it all to work out beautifully despite my lack of efforts to prepare, I should be doing something. Anything, really.

It's an attitude I have to force myself to adopt every day. It's painful and itchy and two sizes too small for my silly day-dreaming heart, but it's the goal. I've been laying out all my dreams like the plot to a fairytale. Have you noticed they don't usually get far beyond "I do" and the happily-ever-after spiel?

Fact is, it's still life. It will still have its challenges, and I still have to be ready to meet them. A kiss doesn't magically solve everything.

So here I am, 18 and...more than a half, and learning to make the most of it. Or trying. And I'm starting to realize that, unfortunately, we never stop growing. Maybe growing up, yes, but not growing. Again, that's life. Why does it have to be so confusing?

November and Playing with My Hair

It's November now. I'd like to be well into the first day of NaNoWriMo, but between not having my own computer and being in the middle of two stories, I'm not. Ah, well.

It's freezing cold. Like, barely 50 now. Cold enough to warrant snow, which we still don't have. (By the way, I said I wanted snow, and then along came Sandy. That wasn't what I had in mind. We ended up getting freezing rain and lots of wind.) And I can't find my good pair of fingerless gloves. So my teeth chattered while I waited for Heather's car to warm up when I ran errands.

Mom and Wes are on a trip, and the girls have a youth retreat coming up, which leaves Dad and me for routes on Saturday and Sunday. (Our subs are the youth pastor's family, and they'll be at the retreat.) I'm just oozing enthusiasm. Not my idea of quality time with Dad.

Anyway!

For a while I've been looking for ways to curl my hair. It's not that I've always dreamed of having curly hair. Okay, for a while I did. Now, however, I am perfectly content with my hair color and type. I rarely use a blow drier (unless I've been moving slow and don't want to go to work with wet hair) and never use a curling iron. I have a hard time styling my hair because I'm not big on messing with it, like ratting and gunking and hair-spraying.

But once in a while, it's nice to change things up. Jessi learned this new way of curling her hair, but I don't think I have the patience for it: constantly twirling my hair while it dries isn't for me.

There's always the whole putting-my-wet-hair-in-curlers-and-sleeping-with-them method, but usually I style my hair for church, and I am not a fan after doing that last year for the Christmas party (especially doing routes like that).

Yesterday, I saw the hot curlers Mom got a while ago and figured, "Why not? It's worth a try." I'd just taken a shower, and to use the curlers my hair needed to be dry. I gunked it up with my favorite styling cream (Noodle Head, if you care to know), and scrunched a little. Then I mopped the kitchen floor. (Sadly, mopping doesn't happen nearly as often as it should.) I ended up doing it Cinderella-style.

My hair was still a little wet, so I added more cream and blow-dried. And didn't brush it. I have a hard time letting my hair get messy like that.

Then I added the curlers. I was going for loose waves, but for some reason I couldn't manage it. Maybe I left them in too long? While they were in, I mopped the entry way floor. Then I took them out.

Not loose waves. Try tight, bouncy ringlets. Like, my hair was almost to my shoulders, and straight it hangs down to the middle of my back (or thereabouts).

Add some hairspray, finger-comb, pull back a little, and swish in front of the mirror for a good 10 minutes giggling like an idiot.

I don't normally do much with my hair; a fact that got it chopped when I was fifteen. I prefer long hair, but it takes more effort to dress it up. I've learned a lot of ways to do braids. However, I don't do a lot of loose, hanging styles. Curls are a nice compromise. Now I just have to figure out how to use the curlers so I get waves.

Allenna saw me when I had finished making faces in the mirror, and I offered to try it on her hair. She has shorter, finer hair and layers, so it took some work, but we finally figured it out. We both were actually quite dressed up for church.

I didn't brush my hair before bed, and when I woke up some of the curls were still intact. When I managed to brush it all out, it was a poufy mess. Braid it is!

What's in a Name?

Recently - I don't remember why - Jessi was talking about googling herself and people she knows, and telling me about the funny (or weird) results. I think I've tried it once or twice for myself. Out of curiosity, I googled myself yesterday. Just my first and last name.

I didn't find myself until the second page.

I did find a photographer, a couple restaurant employees, an ancestry.com page to a lady b. 1908 d. 2000, and a character for a Percy Jackson fanfiction. I enjoyed that last one.

Strange how googling myself and finding many people with the same name who are not me can make me feel so insignificant. I guess that's what middle names are for. Although one search result informed me there were only five people in the U.S. with my name. I find that hard to believe.

We were watching a TV show on Netflix the other night - one of those apocalyptic/world collapses kind of shows everyone seems so interested in - and one of the characters mentioned how she couldn't remember her dead husband's face.

Dad jumped in with a comment about how that has a scientific explination: We have a hard time remembering what the people we know most and love look like because there are so many images of them in our brains that they all jumble together, whereas we recognize people we've only seen a few times because there are only those couple images to link to them.

And here I was worrying that it was just my weak memory that made me incapable of recalling the features of a friend's or relative's face.

I did get to pondering something like this a while ago, while I was feeling especially poetic. It seems to me that for the people we love, it's less what they look like and more who they are that comes to mind when we think of them. Less physical features and more of their...essence, if you will (though I don't mean to sound creepy). I've often heard pastors talk about our bodies as just being the shell for who we actually are. When I think of my family, I think of what they mean to me, what I know and love about them, not the color of their eyes or how tall they are.

I don't know why I find this so comforting. Maybe it's the knowledge that, though I'm bound to forget the face, I won't forget the person.

At one point that was going to tie in a little better with the name thing. Something along the lines of "it's not the name, but the person", and how a name is just what someone is called by. (And that, in turn, was going to link to my dog.) Maybe I'll give it a try.

First off, my dog. Don't y'all love hearing about her? In those brief moments when I find the will to train her, I realize that one key component to her training is the fact that she doesn't answer to her name. In the training guides I found through google, they tell you to say your dog's name, and every time she (most dog training manuals always refer to the dog in question as "she") responds, "click and treat". Dogs don't answer to their name because it's their name, but because it's the word they know to  mean we want them. If that makes any sense.

In a lot of the fantasy books I read, especially Tolkien's, the characters have multiple names. They have their given name, and then sort-of-nicknames based on their characteristics, or terms of endearment, like the Elvish word for "laughter". Names are used to identify, but often the name used identifies with the true person, and it's not the name they were born with.

It's a concept I can't quite put into words, and I almost feel funny trying. I don't want to sound bizzare or anything. This isn't supposed to be deep and un-Biblically spiritual, just a thought.

That whole thing about our body just being a shell makes me think of Jesus. He was God incarnate, God in a body prepared for Him. Even His name wasn't unique. It had significance, of course, and then He was also called "Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us". All this junk about how Jesus looked makes me roll my eyes. (Especially when He's depicted as Caucasian. It's not racist to be firm in the fact that Jesus was a Jew.)

Do you understand what I'm trying to say? Because I'm having a really hard time trying to explain, and it's frustrating.

Names do have significance. They can define you, especially last names. People associate names with things. A child with a good, upright family will have more expectations put on them to be like the others who carried that last name. Names can connect people. But names and faces aren't all we are. They aren't the impression we'll leave on people. It'll be the attitude, the spirit of joy or of depression, the laughter or the temper, the hope or the sorrow, friendliness or pride, love or hate. They might never remember our name - they might not even know it at all - but there's a chance that, even for a couple hours, they'll remember who we were because of how we lived in front of them.

Dreaming of a Real Winter (Also: Back to the Issue of Titles)

Last year around this time (okay, in September) I wrote a blog post about autumn, and about the different "visions of autumn", like gray and drizzly with the bright colors or sunshiny and clear and vibrant. This year, I haven't even been able to enjoy the colors all that much. Our color peak came a couple weeks early, and then wind and rain brough most of that color to the ground in a few days. We're still getting some shifting trees, but mostly it's all brown. And it's been gray and rainy.

There's snow in the forecast for next week. Considering our poor winter last year, I'm super excited. I'd love to actually have snow on the ground for Christmas - Thanksgiving, even - and be able to build a few forts and things like that.

The only thing that worries me is driving in the snow. I took driver's ed in November last year, but it wasn't really wintry weather yet. (And when we finally did get snow, it didn't last long.)

Mom and Dad like to use the old-school methods of predicting the weather; chiefly, how the animals are behaving. (But then, this is Michigan, and our wildlife is always a little abnormal.) I've seen some pretty obese squirrels lately, which Mom says could mean either lots of snow or lots of bitter cold. I'm hoping for the former.

The bad weather all year meant poor crops. Where the apple trees were overloaded two years ago, they're empty this year. The next time someone complains about having too much snow and wishing for more southern weather, I'm going to point to last winter and the one before and the subsuquent harvests. And I'll probably be struggling to refrain from kicking them solidly in the shins. If you want southern climates, move south. This is Michigan, for crying out loud!

Of course, the warmer weather last winter meant I was puddle-jumping for my birthday instead of throwing snowballs, and that part was fun.

My biggest problem with a decent winter is that I'm going to have to be careful to not spend all of my money on fun winter clothing. And boots. With colorful winter inserts. And fingerless gloves. And a new NaNoWriMo t-shirt. Especially with the big ladies' shopping trip coming up.

Speaking of NaNoWriMo, this will be the second year in a row that I'm not doing it. I'm still struggling with my superhero story ( and to any of you reading this who read that, I'm so sorry) and the story about the dragon who can't fly (which I'm wise enough to only share with my sister before it's completed). There's also the matter of my not having a computer of my own. Hopefully, a couple more paychecks will fix that (although the other thing that needs to be fixed is my dog, and that's a more pressing issue), but until then I'm using Dad's computer, and that won't work for word wars.

I'm sure about mid-January I won't be half so happy about snow (if we do in fact get it and not the alternative of bitter cold), but right now I can't wait for it. Actually, about the time we start subbing our youth pastor's boys' paper routes is when I'll be hating it.

I finally broke out the Christmas music this week. Sometimes we start listening to it in August, but this year and last we started late. I'm not very excited for when the radios start playing it, though. How many different versions of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" can they come up with?

In other news, I've still been pondering the matter of a new blog title. Yeah, even I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it.

What about "Slapdash Serendipity"? Yup. I seriously just made that one up. But I really do like the word "serendipity". However, "perfunctory" is rather a fun word as well, but it's definition isn't all that great ("lacking interest, care, or enthusiasm").

Something that's been stuck in my head since yesterday is the phrase "banana guilt", a concept introduced to me last week. It's where we look at a banana that's not yellow but more brown and a tad mushy, and we would prefer not to use it, when in fact that's the best time to use bananas, because that's when they have the most flavor. Which explains why banana bread recipes call for overripe bananas.

I had the idea yesterday that, were I ever to write a biography of sorts, even fictionalizing it a little, "Banana Guilt" could be a fun title.

Seems that, currently, I'm leaning toward fun phrases as opposed to a title with my name in it. I even briefly considered "Defying Gravity", because I'm thoroughly enjoying the "Wicked" soundtrack I borrowed from Jessi. (Up until a few weeks ago, I'd only heard a few songs.) Then there's my continued attempts to think up a good phrase from a favorite poem, quote, or verse.

It's probably because I can't track down a decent adjective that flows with my name. I don't even care right now if it starts with "a".  I still like "abstract", "absentminded" suits me, "anecdote" is fun, and "ambidexterity" has the same first three letters as my name, but none of those really seems to work.

Did you know that "somniloquence" is talking in your sleep? Yes, I'm browsing dictionary.com.

Ah, well. Guess I keep pondering that. Maybe eventually I'll come up with something.

Sleep-overs, Book vs. Movie, and the Definition of "Classic"

It's been repeatedly brought to my attention lately that I am "deprived". "Culture deprived", it might be called, because it's all about the movies and TV shows I haven't seen and/or don't desire to see. I only just saw an episode of "I Love Lucy" last year upon Jessi's insistance, followed by "Gilligan's Island". Yeah, I wasn't impressed with either. I'm not much into watching or reading things because it seems to be the thing to do.

At the latest "singles'" evening get-together, Jessi and I got to talking with one of the fairly new guys about this topic. They both gaped at me with a mixture of shock and mild disgust when I said I hadn't seen or even heard of this show or that. At one point, the guy said, "What about Star Wars?"

Ha! I know about Star Wars because I'm American. I "get" the references. However, I think I've seen about 30 minutes in total from all the movies. (I don't even know how many movies there are.)

"Never seen 'em," I proudly informed him.

His head sank onto his arms, folded on the table.

"Actually," I continued with a smirk, "my dad's a Star Trek fan."

He groaned, and his head sank even lower.

As a kid, the worst form of punishment one could give me was to take away my reading privileges. Especially when I was two chapters from the end of the book or someone had either died or was just about to. I rarely got grounded from TV or computer, and if I was, it didn't bother me too much, because Sims could wait. It was when Mom told me I wasn't allowed to read another sentence until my chores were done that I fell into the depths of despair. Such a concept leaves most of my peers flabbergasted, and the remaining, the kindred spirits, settle down to discuss their favorite books, so it's not like my feelings are hurt.

Don't take this to mean I only read great literature and all the old classics. I did just finish A Wrinkle in Time and the sequels (personal favorites), but now I'm reading Gail Carson Levine's Two Princesses of Bamarre, which has "Ages 8-12" on the back.

Last night, I went over to Jessi's, because she was going to be all alone with her eccentric dog and wanted company. She was determined that I was going to watch this movie called "Quest for Camelot", which evidently every '90's kid should see, but of which I'd never heard.

First off, it took me about half the movie to adjust to the old style of animation. Second, it was on VHS and the sound quality was whacky, so I couldn't enjoy the music numbers because I didn't have a clue what was being sung. Third, Cary Elwes (Westley from "Princess Bride") played the main guy, who was blind, had awesome Jedi moves (See? Star Wars), and had a silver-winged falcon for a best friend. Fourth, the main girl made a huge show of being adventurous and independent, but leave her alone for two minutes and she was so incompetent that she almost ruined everything. Fifth, I was again reminded of how of much those old kids' movies were actually cheap comedy to keep the kiddies interested and didn't add anything to the storytelling. Looking back at all my old favorites ten years later, I have to wonder why I loved them so much. This is why I can't write children's stories.

Jessi did warn me in advance that the movie wasn't spectacular, but she built it up as this epic thing I simply couldn't miss. Ha!

But it was fun anyway. Nothing like dorky, harmless entertainment to laugh about while we eat pizza and tackle the dog. We followed up with "Race to Witch Mountain", though I fell asleep half-way through. Some nights we have deep discussions while trying to dicipher things like "Inception", and other nights we snack and avoid boredome only by commenting on all the silliness, having put aside all expectations of being blown away by epic storytelling and visual effects. It's all good. I still think A Wrinkle in Time is a must read for everyone, no matter how much they like or hate reading, and for Percy Jackson, The Lord of the Rings, and all the Chronicles of Narnia, the books are better than the movies. As far as Princess Bride, however, I prefer the movie.

Just "One of those days"

You know "those days" you have sometimes? Where it's just one thing on top of another, and eventually you either go to bed early or brace yourself and ask, "What's next, while I'm ready?"

Yeah. I have plenty of those days. Sometimes I have those weeks. Once, I was convinced it was one of those years.

Usually, "one of those days" is Thursday. Don't ask me why. Last week, things kept building up. Not dangerous or even directly impacting us for the most part. Just things like having to stop at the gas station more than twice for various reasons, seeing emergency vehicles and accidents all over the place...that kind of thing.

Today was "one of those days". Big time. (Okay, maybe that's hyperbole....)

Whenver I need to be up and moving by 9, 8 always seems to come too early. I go through stages; sometimes I'm happy to be up by 7, and other times I'd rather sleep until 9, despite the fact that I always go to sleep about the same time. Maybe it has to do with the weather. It's been getting colder and it's also been rather rainy lately.

In any case! I had a slow morning where I shambled around the kitchen, took a shower, and almost waited too long to leave for work.

Work itself was fine. Actually, the poor weather didn't discourage business very much. Twice in five minutes the electricity blinked off. Wasn't that fun!

After work was when things really started happening. Nothing huge, like a car wreck, but the little things that build up until I'm like, "Okay, really? This too?"

Mom had me run home to grab something and drop it off at the church for her before I went to babysit. Sasha and Hershey thought I was home for good, so when I ran them out and then went toward the door, they freaked. They make me feel like such a horrible human.

So I ran to the church, dropped off the stuff, and climbed back into the car. Moving around, I knocked the steering wheel thing (you know, the thing to which is attached) and suddenly the hazards were flashing. What?

And what do I do? I start slapping at the steering wheel trying to turn them off, of course. The button is on the top, so how I turned on the hazards in the first place is anyone's guess. Meanwhile, I was running short on time to get to babysitting, which only made me more frustrated. Commence grumbling/shouting in the harshest words I can manage. (Which aren't much beyond "stupid", but still sound severe in a low tone.)

Finally, I realized I was trying to move the little switch in the wrong direction. Without knowing it at first, I nudged it in the right direction. It took me another 30 seconds or so of unintelligible muttering to notice. Then I was off.

When I got to the house where I babysit, I was in a rush and didn't make sure the seatbelt retracted. (It has an issue and likes to droop where the driver leaves it.) I shut the door, seeing as I did that it would hit the seatbelt but not much caring. Smooth, Amber.

Babysitting didn't last long. When I arrived, the kids were having nap/quiet time, so I did  little writing. When they woke up, we read some, played some, ate some, and then I was off!

I had to run by Wal-Mart for dog food, because we were completely out. (It's like Sasha knew I gave her and Hershey the last of it this morning, because she devoured it in near-record time.) Wal-Mart is only about five minutes from where I babysit, which is good. About half-way, I noticed a windy sound coming from my door. I hit the lock button, but had a feeling it didn't matter. I would have clung to the door, but I was driving 30 MPH on one of the most winding sections of road in this city.

And then, right on the curb, the door started to open.

I'm proud of my level-headed reflexes in situations like those. I caught the door, tugged it closed, and gripped the wheel with my other hand. Wal-Mart was in sight!

There's a sort of turn lane into the parking lot, angled and with a sharp turn. Here my door pulled as if to swing open again. I got through the turn and stopped to try to close the door. It wouldn't close.

I hunted down the closest parking spot (well, sort of, because I wasn't parking in the sticks) and turned off the car, then confronted the door.

I had some vague memory of this happening before to Heather's car when the seatbelt gets caught in the slamming door. I knew the latch needed to be fixed, but I couldn't do it. So I called Mom. She was also at Wal-Mart!

However, my loving mother who never fails to encourage me to do things on my own told me to take care of it myself. Yeah. Love you, too.

There was a guy who had walked to his car, parked next to me, about the time I pulled in. He was sitting in it, probably waiting for me to deal with my issues and move. Admittedly, I made a bit of a show of grumbling at the car while I knelt next to the door and tried to fix the latch with a key. Eventually, my damsel in distress act worked.

"Are you having a problem with your door?"

Yes! Oh, yes, yes, yes!

Of course, he fixed it with no issue, and behind him I'm fist-pumping in joy. I thanked the man profusely and skipped off to get dog food.

I'll admit: I thoroughly enjoy the occassional reminder that I'm the "weaker vessel" and deserve a little sympathy, a little patience, the door held open, and to go first in line. Why would any girl want any less? In moderation, of course, but it was just what I needed to help me cool down after the frustrating door issue.

I called Mom just before leaving to ask her something, and she told me to take the back way home like normal because there was an accident near the other way out of the mall area. I soon saw proof of this when the winding-most road in the city was backed up with traffic. Thankfully it cleared quickly, because I hate leading a pack of cars driven by frustrated drivers, and that's the situation in which I temporarily found myself.

Okay, so now that I've reviewed it all, I guess it wasn't truly "one of those days". Maybe it was more like a "you had to be there" kind of day?

One more thing. On the way to Wal-Mart, before I really noticed the door issue, I saw a little toy monster truck sitting right in the middle of the road. My immediate reaction was pity for the poor little kid who lost their toy car. That kind of thing (abandoned objects in strange places) always makes me wonder how they came to be there.

Taking the Adventures as They Come

Our parents raised us to be fairly self-sufficient. We've always done chores, worked for most of our spending money, knew how to entertain ourselves, and learned through living. Life was the fieldtrip, especially right after the big move 9 years ago.

It's because of this fact, I believe, that I survived yesterday.

The "singles" group at church (AKA "College and Career", AKA everyone out of highschool who isn't married) recently started a Bible study at our youth pastor's house. There's always good food (homemade, not pizza!), and it's normal for some of us girls (young women?) to be called upon to help prepare it.

Sunday night, I was asked to bring potato soup, because our youth pastor's wife was going to be out of town. I was also told that if I managed to make contact with the youth pastor, he'd give me some money for supplies.

Finally, around 10:30 the next morning, I got ahold of him. He was nearby and told me to come meet him. When I did, I received not only a credit card, but also a list of things he needed for the Sr. High Bible study (he teaches that first and then comes to his house for the singles') and instructions to call one of the youth workers, who recently had surgery and needed some things picked up.

And then Mom needed me to drop off a newspaper. Downtown.

I've never driven downtown unaided. Since my driving test, I've been terrified with the idea. One-way streets. *shudder*

And then I completely shocked myself by successfully angle parking, delivering the paper, and getting out of the parking space and headed toward Wal-Mart, all while going the correct direction on the maze of one-way streets. Score! And also completely nerve-wracking.

The library was on the way, so of course I had to make a quick stop. My sister has been waiting for a certain book to become available. Like always, it wasn't there.

Then Wal-Mart. This where that whole "learning through living" bit comes in. Whenever Mom had the chance, she was teaching us how to do the seemingly little things of every day life, like shopping. And while I was hunting for the things my youth pastor needed, I was calling his wife and the youth worker for their lists (his wife had a few more things I needed to get for last night), and then calling back when I translated "Velveeta shells and cheese" as "Sullivan" something-or-other. Don't ask. This is why I prefer face-to-face.

But I emerged victorious. And got out of that parking lot alive. Then I had to hunt down the youth worker's appartment. I've been there at least three times, when she's had some of us over, but I always forget where it is. I couldn't use my phone's GPS because I was spelling the name of the street wrong. So I called her back again and finally found her. After going 15 MPH down every nearby street trying to see building numbers.

Then a quick stop at the church to drop off the Sr. High Bible study supplies, and home at last to make the soup.

I've only made it once. It's one of those recipes where we have a general idea of ingredients, but mostly we just throw it all together until it tastes good, trusting our instincts about measurements. Maybe one day I'll take the trouble to write some of these recipes down for future reference.

The first time I made it, it wasn't thick enough (and my whole family likes their soup thick). This time, however, I suceeded. I'll be honest: it was one of the best parts of my day. And everyone seemed to enjoy it, which was nice.

Bible study itself is a whole other story I'd rather not go into....

Sometimes It's Better to Laugh at Yourself

For starters, my computer died. Yep. Just like that. Wes thinks it's the motherboard, which means I should be able to (eventually) retrieve all the stuff I was careless enough to not back up somewhere. Mostly pictures and music.

So I'm writing from Dad's computer. And trying to get used to the fact that when I get a new computer (I'd already determined to save for one before mine kicked the bucket), it won't be anything like my old one. These new, shallower keys and funky mousepads tick me off, especially when they have invisible scroll bars my hands too often settle over.

Either way. That's not why I'm posting. And yes! I did have more of a reason to post besides the old "It's been a week, so it's time to post" reason.

I didn't work yesterday. Not "work" work, that is. I babysat from around 9 to 11:30, and then rushed off to join Mom on paper routes. Thus far, work has not prevented me from the Thursday route routine. Not that I'm complaining.

As usual, we had to wait for papers. Good thing I usually have a book with me. This sitting around waiting in line is another part of the routine, and I don't know why we keep expecting it to change.

Mom has a new route in the downtown area of...town. There's about 40 papers, and it takes around 45 minutes to deliver them every day. Lots of businesses and official buildings and stairs and hallways and poor little people suffering in their cubicles. I think I've mentioned this before now, to some degree. Oh, well.

The last part of the route involved me speedwalking/jogging a couple blocks to deliver to four places. One is a congressman's office, and there's always one guy in there who's really nice. It also tends to smell strongly of coffee. Another place is a jewelry store, and the old lady who owns it is quite the character. Her moods are unpredictable and entirely unrelated to the weather as far as I can tell, so that some days all she does is scowl and other days she is very polite, though I've never seen her smile.

After I walk/jog these four deliveries, I meet up with Mom to run the last few papers in one of the coolest buildings downtown. The outside is mundane, but inside is skylights and bright colors and patterns. It's a collection of organization offices, like the Red Cross and Cancer Association or whatever it's called. The people are always nice (and usually the same people every time I see them). It also has a cool staircase. (Cool enough that I still enjoy it though there are 30 steps.)

Wow. Sorry. I totally didn't intend to write that very long preface to this very short story.

Typically, Mom and I stop for a pitstop here before continuing to her driving routes. Yesterday, I decided to grab a drink at the water fountain outside the restrooms.

I don't really like water fountains. I don't like having to bend over them and contor my face into strange shapes and slurp just to get a decent drink. Also, the only drinks I like ice cold are milk and iced tea, and the water in water fountains tends to be very cold. I did have a waterbottle in the car, but, for whatever reason, I chose the water fountain.

It was absurdly low, and I pitied anyone taller than myself who happened to pass it in desperate need of a drink. Then I bent over it and casually touched the button.

I'm used to having to apply just a little pressure to get the water going. Not with this fountain. The next thing I know, there's a stream of cold water shooting up my nose. I recoiled, snorting and spluttering and trying not to inhale any more water because my nasal passages were already burning. As I was wiping at my face with my paper route hands, a woman came out of the ladies' room.

I kept my head bent over the water fountain as she inched past me. "The water fountain attacked me," I muttered, attempting a chuckle. She just kind of smiled uncertainly and gave a little laugh before hurrying away.

Not wanting to bother with the fountain again, I went into the restroom to clean my face. By the time I'd scrubbed off the ink from my hands, my nose was all red.

But I decided it was better to spend a few minutes laughing at myself (and then plan a blog post and give you the chance to do the same) instead of moping over an attack from a water fountain. If only I'd apply that principle to the bigger things in life.

Flying, Short Stories, Kid's Books, and a little more on Dreams

Ever since my last post about dreams, that subject seems to have come up a lot more than usual. Probably part of the reason is because I did write about dreams, which means Mom and Dad got the e-mails of my blog and read the post like the loving, caring parents they are. (Oh, and I had yet another wedding dream. I'm starting to think talking about them makes them occur.) Somehow, on the way home from church on Wednesday, we were talking about dreams. In particular, flying.

I don't remember ever having a dream about flying. The closest I've ever come is falling, and that happens a lot. Usually from a treehouse, though sometimes I'll be stumbling downstairs (I've lost my breath twice doing that in real life, and it was one of the scariest experiences to me) or be leaning too far over something and tumble off. Dad and Heather said they both have had flying dreams, and went on to describe them.

Heather said it was the coolest thing, because it literally felt like flying. From the way she described it, I was jealous. Why don't I ever get those sort of dreams?

Dad said flying always took a lot of mental effort, and on occasion a cardboard box. When I asked him to elaborate, he explained that it was less like soaring and more like floating, and he really had to concentrate on it, with varying results.

I think I read somewhere that flying dreams are some of the most common. Don't quote me, though. We know how great my memory is. That notion seemed a little odd to me because, like I said, I've never had any such dreams that I can recall, and I haven't heard many other people say that they have (and there are days when the whole family has spent the previous night experiencing strange dreams, and we discuss them [except Wes who, apparently, doesn't dream]). But maybe it's just me. Actually, it probably is just me. I wonder what that says about my subconscious compared to my dad's and sister's?

I suppose the topic of flying was more fascinating to me because I have a character in a little short story I'm working on ("short" being a tentative term) who's a dragon who can't fly. Yes, a dragon. I tried writing "normal" fiction, and I just can't seem to manage it. And I like dragons.

In any case, the idea of a dragon who can't fly might be in part inspired by the Wyvern (or "wyverary") A-through-L in The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, which I read recently and greatly enjoyed.Of course, in A-through-L's case, his wings were chained to his sides because the law states, "Aeronautic locomotion is permitted only by means of Leopard or licensed Ragwort Stalk." In the case of the unfortunately nameless dragon in my so-called "short" story...well, I'm still undecided as to why he can't fly. Probably something as boring as malnutrition and having been in captivity all his life, unable to properly use his wings. I had the vague idea before reading The Girl Who...etc, but I'm just now fleshing it out. That's the one problem with all this reading nonsense: I have an idea for a story, continue my bookwormish life and discover a story with a similar idea, and then worry that I'm unconsciously copying that story, even though  I'm consciously trying not to.

I found it characteristically strange that I have this dreadful fear of heights and yet I love the notion of flying. Under ones own power, that is. Must be all this finally-reading-of-classic-children's-fiction, Peter Pan included. "I'll teach you how to jump on the wind's back, and away we'll go." How do unimaginative people live. You know, like, really live.

"Oh, but Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, you haven't left me any time at all just to-to live!"

"To live, child! What do you mean? As if you weren't living all the time!"

"Oh, of course I'd be BREATHING all the time I was going those things, Aunt Polly, but I wouldn't be living. You breathe all the time you're asleep, but you aren't living. I mean living- doing the things you want to do: playing outdoors, reading (to myself, of course), climbing hills, talking to Mr. Tom in the garden, and Nancy, and finding out all about the houses and the people and everything everywhere all through the perfectly lovely streets I came through yesterday. That's what I call living, Aunt Polly. Just breathing isn't living!" (Pollyanna, by Eleanor H. Porter, my most current read)

The Dark Side of Dreamland (AKA my subconscious)

How does one distinguish between dreams and nightmares? While many of the dreams I have can get pretty dark in content (Doomsday is a popular topic in my subconscious, apparently) upon waking I realize they're more ridiculous than anything.

I've talked about my dreams before, but just the purely stupid ones. The wedding dreams. Yeah, I had another of those a month or so ago, I think. Still no face for Mr. Groom. Stink. But I'll not go into that. 

The last time I had a dream that haunted me for weeks afterward seems silly now: weasel-like rodents racing around an apocalyptic world, gnawing through 2-foot thick metal and taking down whole buildings; sick and injured people stumbling around in the streets and taking refuge in makeshift hospitals in libraries and such; and the only way to stay safe was to carry some sort of talisman that surrounded you in a circle of light that acted as a shield. (I felt certain it was a Bible. Hmmm.) Yeah. But man, those creatures were creepy. They had teeth like rats, and they were big, and I don't really have an aversion to rodents but I hated these.

For a while I was plagued by bad dreams. Just a couple years ago, a while after we moved into this house. I don't remember what they were about; probably some of them involved people I loved dying. (In one, people tried to console my grieving self by tempting me with a trip to an amusement park. Right. Like that would ever make me feel better in any circumstance!) I once had a dream were both Wes and Dad had died (and possibly Hershey), and I woke up in the middle of the night and was desperate to be a little kid and stumble into Mom and Dad's room for a hug. I felt fine after a late night shower and some time in my Bible, but Mom was at a loss as to how to console me. It wasn't even a realistic dream.

That's the worst part about some of my dreams. In the dream, I'm struggling to figure out what's reality and what isn't, and when I wake up I'm overwhelmed with sorrow and spend the next few minutes trying to figure out if the bad parts of the dream were memories or pure fiction. (Like when I was little and dreamt about having telekinesis. I spent the better part of the morning trying to bring various objects to my side with a wave of my finger before I was finally resigned to the fact that I couldn't do it.)

And then there are the dreams where we're running from something. When I was little and Wes's obsession with Bionicles filled my subconscious, it was some creatures in an underground land filled with lava, and my favorite Bionicle heroes came to the rescue and got me out. Last night, it was a tornado.

Of course. Always a tornado. I can't count how many times we've had to run from tornadoes. I guess I'm glad now that most of the characters in my dreams lately are human and stay that way. (Have you ever had a dream where someone keeps shifting from human to animal, all the while the same "person"? Hate that. Can never keep up a good conversation.)

I can usually trace parts of my dream to things I was doing before I went to sleep: that stupid zombie show I watched, the book I read, on occasion the food I ate, though no lumps of mustard or undercooked potatoes. I'll venture to guess that the end of last night's dream - where some guy who'd been following us in our escape from the massive tornado proposed to me - can be traced to the fairy tale book I was reading before bed. I was only half-way through when I put it down and already anticipating a proposal.

And yes. Dream guy had a face. Hurrah!

No. I didn't recognize him. No, I won't tell you what he looked like, either.

And to think that my subconscious begged me to stay asleep long enough for the bumbling idiot to just get on with it. Of course, I woke up before that.

And then there's the moment when you're between sleeping and waking and your conscious starts fabricating a quick ending to tie everything up satisfactorily: give me the ring, open the door, kill the beast, stop crying and get out. 

Some people say they don't dream, which I refuse to believe. I think they just dream like me and not like the "normal" style of dreaming where it's harmless and dumb and boring, and they're afraid to admit they're haunted by rabid rodents or getting proposed to when there's a cyclone on the horizon. That, or they do dream normally and it's too insignificant to remember. Poor people; even in their sleep, their lives are so boring.

How I sometimes wish I were they! But, as far as dreams go, it's probably my own fault, considering the wild and adventurous stuff I read, most of it fantasy.

And then there are the recurring dreams, where I'll have a dream and be certain I had practically the same one a few years before. Or the series dreams, where I'll have one dream and then a while later another one that seems to pick up right where the first left off.

The annoying ones are where I'm wandering through some creepy place and keep coming upon things from horror stories. Although, Heather gets those more than I do. In those dreams, I berate my subconscious self for being so stupid hanging around those dark, creepy places instead of running while dream-me has the chance. I really hate horror-style movies and dreams alike.

But then, what can be described as a "normal" dream? They all have those stupid twists and dark moments, at least in my experience. And in answer to the question I posed at the beginning, about the difference between nightmares and other dreams: I really don't know. 

I once had an idea for a story where a girl was cursed to wander the land of dreams. It wasn't a happy place, and she was one of the most miserable characters I've ever tried to write. She must have been spending a lot of time in my dreams.

The Search for a Title Continues

Why do I want to change my blog title, you ask? I've asked myself the same question. It took me considerable effort to come up with "Breathless". I know I have a bad habit of switching up my blog as it is, but here's the deal: what I have right now still isn't the style I want to go for.

I want something a little more personal than "Breathless". And perhaps less quietly poetic and more perky. Something that suits my personality and the style of my posts a little better. However, I absolutely detest coming up with titles and slogans and whatnot. No thank you.

Looking around at some of the blogs I follow, I notice that girls my age often like to have their name in the title along with a word (an adjective, a lot of the time) that usually has the same first letter as their name. It makes the title catchy and simple, and I like alliterations. I liked this idea, but it's hard to find a decent "a" adjective. 

I went through dictionary.com and looked at the words starting "amb-". Not much there, really. I did discover "ambisinister", which, evil as it sounds, simply means "clumsy or unskillful with both hands". There's also "ambition", "ambivalence" (uncertainty or fluctuation, especialy when caused by inability to make a choice or by a simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things), "amble", and "ambry" (which is simply, "chiefly British dialect", a closet or pantry). Not really helpful, all in all. 

Some people make the title a simple definition of what their blog is about, like "Magical Moments". However, I don't keep my posts to one general subject or theme. It's just me.

Then there are people whose title is simply something they like, like my sister's "Stained Glass". I like a lot of stuff, from writing to gardening to my mom's new bike.

Some people just try to be as catchy as possible. My other sister has "Locket Full of Fairydust". (Like "pocket full of stardust". I helped.)

As I do in most predicaments of this kind, I started making a list. (Don't judge. It helps me organize my thoughts.) Here's an idea of what I came up with:

Definition of Me (as I mentioned previously)

(insert word here) A la Amber

The World Through Amber-Colored Glasses (I know, sooo cheesy. I'm rather ashamed)

Abstract(ion)

(insert word here) Yours, Amber

Absent-Minded

Misadventures

Note to Self

Those are just the ideas I am still considering. There were more, but I'm not so big on them now.

In another vein of thought, I started browsing through all of the quotes I've collected on Goodreads.com. And then I got stuck on this whole "carpe diem" idea. (Latin for "I seize the day".)

I know. "Seize the day" is quite cliche. (Ha ha. Rhyme.) But the fact that it's a song in "Newsies" means I associate it with lots of energy and boldness and some of the best choreography I've ever seen.

I found a number of quotes related in one way or another to "seize the day":

"Life is an adventure: dare it." - Mother Teresa (or possibly part of some Hindi proverb. I saw it attributed to both.)

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all." - Helen Keller

"Do not dare not to dare." - Aslan, Chronicles of Narnia (though I'm not sure which book)

Obviously, "dare" is a theme in there as well. So I looked up the definition:

"To have necessary courage or boldness; to be bold enough to meet defiantly. Dare emphasizes the state of mind that makes one willing to meet danger."

Okay, so I only dream of being "daring".

As much as I found this whole "dare the adventure" idea intriguing and inspirational, I also had the feeling that it was a bit.... I don't have the right word. It's sort of a battle-cry for an unsaved person, I guess. Sure, we all ought to make the most out of life, but "seize the day" almost has the idea of just "living it up", getting all the thrills you can. It's a different sort of "making every moment count" than I prefer. For the Christian, we have to live in the knowledge that "this world is not my home" and we're living for something more, so we can't sit around wasting time when we could be doing something that will matter. (That last bit is courtesy of my dad.) So I kind of put away the idea.

Currently, I'm most stuck on the "(word) + my name" style of titling, but I haven't really found the right word. I do like "abstractions" and "anecdotes", but I don't know how to make them flow in a title.

By now I'm sure some of you, if not all, are thinking, "Good grief! All this for just a blog title? Just pick one already and get over it!"

I know, I know. I agree. And I'm working on it. But for now, this is all you get. Haha!

Hey! Three posts in a week isn't bad. Now let's see if I can keep up the momentum.

A Life with Dogs is Never Dull (at least, when it's my life)

Recently we've been forced to put bark collars on our dogs when they go outside. I'll admit Sasha has a bit of an attitude bark - where she barks at anything that moves, just because she can. For Hershey, it's whenever he sees a squirrel, deer, or other dog. No matter the size of the dog.

Anyway. We have an old one from when we just had Hershey, and Wes had to replace the batteries. Hershey had been wearing that one, while Sasha had a new one, but the old one didn't seem to be working, so Mom suggested I switch around the collars.

This morning, I went to put the dogs out. This is a serious process now. Sasha doesn't sit still, especially when it's morning and she really has to go. When I do get her to sit, she tilts her head back to eye me so I can't get the collar on. And then, because it's the old one and was set to fit around Hershey's neck, I had to adjust it. Then the new collar isn't snap but buckle, and I think Hershey does something to his neck muscles to keep me from making it tight enough. Rather like a horse and their saddle.

Finally, they were ready. I had the leashes twisted all around my right hand so I could use my left to open and close the door and kennel gate.

And then Sasha spotted a squirrel. She isn't so into them as Hershey, but it's something moving, which means she should chase it. And then Hershey noticed. Commence dragging Amber across the yard.

When the dogs want to go at something, they dig in like they're pulling a sled. I'm surprised my arms are still so wimpy with all this pulling against the dogs. I grabbed the jumble of leashes with both hands and muttered at the dogs. Just past the kennel gate, I managed to pull everything to a stop and start my own dragging. Sasha's ADHD is actually very helpful in these situations. I called her to come to the kennel and she came. She figured she could watch the squirrel just as well from there.

When Hershey gets to pulling, he chokes himself. Then he has to stop and cough and gag for a minute. He was doing this while I was detangling myself and undoing their leashes. And then he coughed hard.

I knew what happened immediately, when he froze. Then, without a sound, he bolted for the gate.

I grabbed him on his way out, trying to console him. Any rough throaty noise the dogs make leads to being zapped. It's happened before when Hershey has coughed. Now, apparently, he'd associated the kennel with the shock, because he didn't want to go back in. He wanted to go to the house.

Meanwhile, ADHD puppy thought it was a new game. I think her brain goes like this: "Look! Something moving! Let's chase it! Oh! That annoying girl is yelling at me again! Okay! Let's go! Hey! The stupid dog is leaving, and the annoying girl is, too! Let's go!"

Out the kennel she runs. I didn't manage to grab her in time, and in a second she discovered her freedom and realized what it meant. She didn't bolt, but sort of trotted off happily to discover things.

Meanwhile I'm yelling at Hershey to stop being an idiot and just get in the kennel. Finally, he's in. I close the gate and call to Sasha.

Naturally, anyone would chase after the little creature who got away, but if any dog gets the game of keep away, it's Sasha. You run, she runs. If you're chasing her, she runs away. If you're running, she's chasing you. Actually, the rule is that if your dog is loose, start up a game and run away from them, contrary to natural impulses.

So I called her. She was casually sniffing around past the garden, starting to move off our property. She looked up, tail wagging. Would she come. I slapped my legs to emphasize my point, and then spun and raced toward the house.

Instinctively, I knew she'd followed. ("Oh! Annoying girl running away! Play!") Before I'd reached the door, she was skidding up alongside me. Now I just had to hope the second part of keep away wouldn't start: where, just as she's within reach, she runs away and makes me chase her. She didn't.

Praising her all the way, I led her back to the kennel.

Sometimes, I think she's like the dog on "Over the Hedge". Of course, Wes says she's the spitting image of Scrat from "Ice Age", including how she acts.
I know, the next post was supposed to be about the blog title. Oh, well.
Before I go, I had one more dog-related anecdote. From yesterday.
I was getting ready to leave for work. I can't remember why, but I'd brought Sasha in from the kennel and left Hershey out. Actually, I think I was just bringing Hershey out and Sasha looked cold, so I let her come in. In any case, I was rushing around making sure everything was set. Then I went to get Hershey, right before I had to go.
The gate was open. I'd left it open.
Yes, I've done this before. Out of habit, when I bring a dog in, I leave the gate open. Hershey has got out before. Luckily, we always have a good idea where he'll run off to. So I got in my car and started up the street.
I'd planned to head to the next street over. There're so many dogs around here and Hershey likes to flaunt his freedom in front of them. However, I wasn't five houses up the street when I saw him sniffing around in a yard.
My windows were already down, and I said the one thing that will get his attention no matter what: "Hershey! What to go for a ride?"
Once you say that, his brain is committed to "car ride". He raced over to me and paced around the car until I opened the door.
I'm not supposed to drive with the dogs in the car. We're all too easily distracted. However, for Hershey's sake, I drove most of the way up the street before turning around and heading home.
And...yup. That's all I got. Hey, at least I posted! But I plan on returning tomorrow. It's just that I really need to wash some dishes before routes.

Adventures of an Abnormal 18-Year-Old: the "living alone" test and a new job

I'm back!

Quite a lot has happened since I last posted, but I'm not going to talk about most of it.

Two things: I have decided that I like the whole "single living at home" part of my...life description? For a while I fantasized about living on my own, but no more!

I determined this when I dog sat for some friends. Thursday evening to Monday morning. I stayed at their house the whole time, except when I went church Sunday morning (not that night, and my excuse is the deer running rampant on the roads between their house and church). 

All alone all day with no internet. Just the dog, a bunch of movies, and my spazzy computer. I set off with the wild idea that I would spend my time writing. Ha! 20 movies later.... Not hardly.

And I about went mad with loneliness. No human interaction at all, all day long, was depressing. I'm not a huge fan of humans on the whole, especially in large groups, but being a human myself, it's only natural I need a little human-to-human socialization. As good of listeners as dogs tend to be most of the time, there's a point where I've talked enough and want a response. In English.

So when I got back and Dad asked how I liked living alone, I snorted, rolled my eyes, and said "Hate it". No hyperbole. I didn't feel as epic and daring as I thought. I just felt pitiful.

Of course, I wasn't working then. Now...I am!

And y'all already know that.

Yup. That's the second thing. First day was yesterday. Boy, I was sure it was going to be one of the scariest moments of my life. Surprisingly, it wasn't. While part of the reason for that is probably because I jumped right into the lunch rush, I think most of it is because I actually took time to do my devotions and pray about the day before starting it. Yeah.

Dad asked what I learned. I didn't really have an answer. So much, but at the same time, very little. This was because every other employee trains the new guys. Which means I got as many opinions on how to do every little thing as there were workers.Ah, well. I didn't make any deathly mistakes, I didn't make any huge messes, and none of the smoothies exploded in the blenders. I only worked a few hours (got off early), but I actually enjoyed it. And then I had to help Mom and Heather deliver the paper routes we're subbing, and my sense of elation deflated.

I worked again today. By last night, I felt very tired, and I didn't want to get up this morning. I loafed around, didn't walk Sasha (because it's that transition between warm and cold and I hate it!), washed a load of dishes, and headed out.

New faces today. Good thing each has an accompanying name tag. I got to jump right back in again. Yesterday, one of the women described working the smoothie line as a dance. I'm not even a dancer and I'm figuring this "dance" out. Points for Amber! Of course, with a thousand and a half recipes to memorize, I'm slower than everyone else. Good thing I just make the smoothies and usually someone else works the blenders. I hate that part. Invariably, every other smoothie will refuse to blend, and then it's stop the blender, shake the smoothie, put it on a new blender, run it for a few seconds, take the lid and pound the blender cup, stop the blender, shake the smoothie, put it in a new blender, etc. Yuck.

All I do mostly is the smoothies. There's also food (wraps, flat breads, sandwiches, etc.) and the register (yikes!) but I think it will be a while before I get to those. Thank goodness. When I'm not working (orders come in in cycles, it seems, and then there are the boring breaks between each) I'm restocking or cleaning. Or cleaning. Or washing dishes. Apparently my non-OCD self is in the minority among the employees. Maybe their obsessive habits will rub off a little. We all know I could use just a little.

Again, I was let out early when we hit a lull and everything had already been scrubbed. I stepped outside to sunshine and a rather chilly breeze, and noticed it was also raining. On the way home, I mused about what that sunshine/rain combo should be called. "Sundrops"? "Rainshine"? But it turns out "Sundrop" is a soda and "rainshine" is everything from a farm to diapers.
My musing was interrupted when, at the stop light by our house, I noticed steam coming from my hood. Only then did I recall Mom's earlier warning about the radiator overheating. No light on the dash, though, just a funny smell and a little steam, so I begged the red light to turn green.
It took forever, and when it did I only got to our street before I had to stop again. For a school bus.
I've been dreading my first encounter with a school bus since school began. So far, I've been lucky. I've only seen one, and I was four cars behind it. This time, I was in the turn lane right by it. But I survived. Another stupid fear relieved.
Of course, while I was waiting, my car started steaming again. Grrr! Move it, you sad little public school children! Stop looking at your phones and get off the road! I have come to believe that this so called "distracted walking" phenomenon exists.
Finally, the road was clear, the bus was on its merry way, and I could go. When I pulled into the driveway and parked the car, I did what any loving car owner would do: I popped the hood.
I think it was only for some personal need to feel like a normal person. When I finally found the latch that released the hood, I just stared at the engine and hemmed and hawed for a couple minutes, leaning around to look at nothing in particular from every angle. And then I took that long to figure out how to put the hood back down.
Right. Sense of self-importance and general intelligence: not satisfied.
So now I'm writing this. When I have a boatload of laundry to sort and fold and sort and put away, dogs that probably should be walked, if only for their sakes and not mine, and my real life to get on with. Namely, working that silly little hobby I still dream of making my real job.
Up next (being...by Friday, if I'm good), I'll continue to discuss that notion of changing my blog title. I have given it more than a second thought over the last few weeks. I even started to blog about it at Grandma's, but never finished. Big surprise.