It's Been So Long, I Can't Think of a Title

Well, my friends....

I think my long, impromptu hiatus should come to a close now.

I couldn't tell you what prompted that abrupt disappearance from the blog sphere. The hardest part, as I know well, is breaking the silence. I'm sitting at a coffee shop right now and I'm determined to get this thing going again.

So here I am. Just after my last post (way back in September) I started a new job. I'm still at it. It took a while to adjust, because said new job is vastly different from the smoothie shop. It involves sitting at a desk for seven hours a day, four days a week plus Sunday afternoons, typing into a computer and talking on the phone. Most easily described as a secretary kind of job, though it entails a little more, it's the kind that rated second on my list of jobs I never wanted; the first being fast food.

God has a beautiful sense of humor, doesn't He? I think He's trying to teach me something. Maybe, "Never say you won't do that," or, "Keep yourself open to anything"?

So that's the biggest news. Everyone knows about our arctic winter. Our Floridian friends called a snow day, and the Chicago Zoo's polar bear had to be moved to a climate-controlled room because he was ill-prepared for the chill. Ironies abound.

For our family, the biggest issue is the wind. It comes whipping across the fields and drags the snow into huge drifts that narrow the roads to one lane and help us girls perfect our windblown look on Sundays. It has also helped to turn our driveway into a sheet of ice. It's a wonder none of the vehicles have any new dents.

That's about it for news. Most of the animals are still alive (though I've lost count of the chickens), we've managed to survive the worst of the flus and stomach bugs going around (minus Heather, who developed pneumonia in December), and we've all adjusted to Wesley no longer living at home. Christmas was a little bittersweet because we could sleep in rather than deliver papers but we didn't get tips to look forward to. I tried no poo with my hair (you know, where you don't use shampoo but baking soda) and it worked great for a while before it killed my hair. Life has been quiet.

And now I'm not sure what to say. I'm wishing I had brought my headphones. My muffin is kind of dry. And I picked the wrong place to sit (the table is too tall for the chair) but I don't want to move.

There is a topic I've been planning to blog about for a while, but I'm not ready to do it justice just yet. So I think I'll sign off now and work on guilting myself into returning later.

There's something wrong with my dog. (Also, my impending birthday.)

I should be cleaning my room, packing for the retreat, washing some very dirty pots and pans, and a load of other things, but no. I'm here instead.

Who's complaining?

Not I.

Actually, I'm currently trying to will away one of those horrid headaches which somehow affect the stomach. (I call it a migraine, but considering how some friends experience migraines, it seems a little rude and unfair to do so.) And also, for some reason, eating "Cap'n Crunch's Oops! All Berries" cereal in hopes that food will force out the headache. Don't ask.

I should also be writing furiously because tomorrow is my birthday and - oh, look! - it's been 16 months and counting since I started that *cough* book and I still have six or seven chapters, 20,000 words, until completion and  two weeks ago I thought I could get it done by my birthday. (16 months to write 70,000 words. What is wrong with me?)

And all I want to do is talk about my dog.

Last day as an 18-year-old. How creepy/weird/unnerving is that?!

Around lunchtime tomorrow, I will have been alive for 19 whole stinkin' years. (And what boggles the brain is taking into account that I'll be stepping into my twentieth year in existence.)

I was once again bemoaning the trials of growing up the other day. Used to be, my biggest dream was owning a horse. But, growing up and all, I've had to learn some hard lessons about life: horses cost money, and require space in which to house and exercise them, and the average American is hard-pressed as it is to make money enough to sustain themselves and a 50-pound puppy when the weather turns to snow and their place of employment caters to people who prefer sunshine to entice their appetite, thus cutting short said average person's expected weekly hours.

Not that I'm bitter.

Back on the "Why growing up is kind of emotionally painful" subject:

When you're a kid, you haven't lived long enough to discover the limitations and expectations and unfortunate truths about life. It's all open and full of possibilities. Anything can happen. And then, like an internet test to judge which occupation is best suited for you, the longer you continue, the more things get whittled down, and suddenly you can't incorporate plants and storytelling into one lifestyle. And one day, you're forced to choose which dreams to pursue and which to let free, only to be recalled when you're telling your kids, "Once, I used to want to...."

But life is also exciting, because sometimes things happen far different than you could ever have imagined, and in some ways the unexpectedness is a pleasant surprise.

Yes, my brain is stuck on surprises because people keep suggesting that that's what I'll be getting lots of for my birthday. Or maybe I'm just reading into all of my recent conversations way too much?

True, I've never been truly surprised for my birthday (Mom likes lists so she has some idea what we would like so we don't get disappointed or she doesn't guess way off or something) but I've come to learn that I don't really like my friends' idea of "surprises". (If you're reading this, Jordan Dear, I'm thinking specifically of you, and in the case of Christmas, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I felt scandalized. Just so you know.)

I was supposed to be talking about my dog.

Well....

Last week, she went to the vet for her skin issues. Bye-bye paycheck.

But no. First, she came to church with us. Because Mom had to take her to the vet so I had to take over Mom's co-op class for the day, and Mom wasn't going to drop us off and then go back home for the mongrel.

And I have decided that, as far as my dog ownership goes, I am a colossal failure. (I was doing to go with "abysmal", but....)

We were the first ones there. Fine. Sasha ran and played and chased and wagged her tail.

People.

Good heavens, people.

My dog turned into a monster.

I was on the verge of tears.

My habit of appologizing profusely when I'm upset or embarassed came out in full force.

Mom left early, dragging the snarling dingo behind her.

And the same display of attitude was presented at the vet.

I will probably never be able to convince my dog that it's okay for me to live with other people, should I ever move out and get a roommate (or get married...).

The vet said it was probably overstimulation or something (new place, lots of new people) and misery from an apparent yeast infection. And I felt like even more of a failure.

Why does my dog have to be bipolar?

I mean, at home, she's generally...well, not quiet, not sweet, but not a monster either. Just weird. But that's her normal. She's almost endearing for it.

Or she has us all deceived.

But she doesn't snarl and snap unless you try to use her for a foot rest. And she loves being petted and doted upon and talked to. She loves playing chase and abusing her teddy bear.

And tomorrow four boys will be arriving to spend the weekend and my darling idiot will be moved to another room while I, her mistress, will abandon her.

I have a very bad feeling about this. Downright foreboding.

So I didn't take my dog to training classes for socialization, and now.... She's hopeless. Good-bye, loving family dog who's so easy going and friendly to everyone and the picture-perfect American household.

And good-bye to "Oops! All Berries". My headache is still present and accounted for.

So the dogs have been begging for more time outside since the weather has changed. We don't have any sort of fense, invisible or otherwise, so I had to cave and get a run. (Even though now we're getting a proper fence soon, which means I wasted $20.) I put Sasha outside on it about 20 muinutes ago.

Apparently she needs me to hold her...paw when she's outside.

I snapped on the lead, took off the leash, and turned back for the door. Sasha didn't move. She just looked at me, waiting, expecting me to pace beside her while she did her business and then frolicked along getting all tangled.

I told her, "Too bad," and went inside.

I've checked on her three times.

She hasn't moved.

She has remained sitting at the end of the lead, watching the door and looked all excited when I appear.

How can this dependant little creature turn into such a horror?

What have I done?

Or is it, What haven't I done?

Well, there. I posted on my last day as 18. Mission accomplished.

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.

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.

And just like that, it's over.

I'm having a hard time believe Christmas is already done.

Strange.

I spent a good part of Saturday out doing last minute shopping with Mom (she had all of my gifts already and there were some small things I still needed, so it worked well). Then we went to the Christmas Eve service and proceeded to squeeze all of our family and the Wrights into one pew. (Well, Dad was working, so not everyone, which is the only way we managed without moving a few people onto laps.) That was exciting. Mom said we didn't need to bring our Bibles because it's a candlelit service and we can't see them, and by this point we all have the Christmas story pretty well memorized. So we didn't, and I still felt stupid for not having mine.

A few special songs, the reading of the Christmas story, and a brief message, and then back home.

Then, due to paper routes, as well as a general disregard for normal traditions, we decided to open gifts on Christmas Eve and got our stockings Christmas morning before church. Soon after Dad got home, we all gathered in the living room. Allenna set up her video camera, Mom had her camera, and for a while we had Sasha in her crate while Hershey sat quietly by Mom.

We girls passed out the gifts, and then we debated about how we would determine the order in which the gifts were opened.

I suggested Dad use a die like he did a few years ago. He would roll a die and, based on the number rolled, one of us would open one gift (Dad being #1, Mom #2, and so on). Some didn't want to do it that way, but eventually we pulled Monopoly out from under the couch and Dad was given the die.

My number didn't appear much until the others started coming to the end of their presents. I've been wanted some colored socks so my sisters wouldn't take my socks, mistaking them for theirs and consequently wearing them all over the house and on missions involving paint and dirt. My wish was granted. I think I ended up with a dozen pair of socks!

I also good a fair amount of chocolate, which I didn't expect but was happy with, as well as some jewelry and a watch, fingerless gloves, a hat, polka dot rainboot-style boots, an uber-fuzzy blanket, and an upcoming year-long subscription to ancestry.com!

Apparently I'm usually quite boring to get gifts for. (While I think notebooks, wind chimes, and books are great gift ideas, most people don't seem to agree. Perhaps I'm too specific?) So I tried to branch out and suggest some things that haven't been on any Christmas list before.

I tried to get to bed at a decent time Christmas Eve, because of paper routes. However, Wes is trying to get in a lot of gaming time so he can make progress on his new games before his Christmas vacation is over, and he seems to have forgotten all about the trial of Sunday morning papers, and I have a hard time going to sleep when my room isn't dark, so that plan didn't work too well.

Maybe the whole idea of Sunday being Christmas felt surreal because I was up at 3 to deliver papers, just like any other Sunday. Either way, I was up by 3:30 and not home and in bed for three hours or so. The routes we're subbing didn't go quite as quickly as they should have.

By 8:30 I was back up and trying to get ready, but the skirt I had planned to wear was missing and the only other one I could find that would work with my new boots was dirty. (Pastor had recently mentioned that if the kids wanted to bring a new toy to church, they were allowed to, and I was determined to wear my new boots.)

Eventually I got everything settled. Aside from my shirt, leggings, and skirt, everything I wore was from Christmas: new socks in my polka-dot boots, my fingerless gloves, my new watch, my pink elephant necklace, earrings, and my slouchy hat. (I was informed by one friend that I looked totally hipster in the hat.) 'Twas delightful.

If I decided to wear all my favorite clothes (accessories included) at once, I would look certifiably dorky: blue-striped Peru pants, multi-colored polka dot boots, teal fingerless gloves, and...well, I haven't found a shirt yet that I call my favorite. All I know it is would really clash worse than all the rest. And I'd be happy.

We had intended to have most of the food made and ready to go on Christmas Eve, but we only managed to get the turkey cooking and the potatoes peeled, so we didn't eat as soon as we got home. Mom got the rolls ready (we didn't eat them with dinner but after) and I made apple crisp and helped make a pie. Later in the day, Heather helped Mom make fudge. Now all we need to fulfill the traditional list of holiday snacks is chex mix, but that might have to wait until January.

After we ate, we spent the holiday like any other: quietly, most of us in the living room watching movies and/or napping. I don't know what Christmas is for everyone else, but that's pretty much how it always goes for us.

And I still can't believe it's already over. Crazy. And we still don't have any snow. There's a 60-70% chance of some tonight and all through tomorrow. We'll see.

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

Whether we'll actually have one remains to be seen.

I can't believe it's Christmas Eve.

Granted, I sometimes live a little disconnected from reality and the occurrence of most holidays seems a bit surreal to me. Usually all it takes are some fireworks or songs or a church service to make it sink in, but I'm really having a hard time getting in the Christmas spirit without snow.

We've been listening to Christmas music since mid-October, I had most of my shopping done probably a month ago, we had the Christmas program at church two Sundays ago and the choir cantata last Sunday, we have a tree, we've watched A Christmas Carol, White Christmas, Holiday Inn, Polar Express, It's a Wonderful Life, and so many other classic movies.... All that would settle the "Christmas spirit" firmly in the minds of a lot of people.

But what exactly is the "Christmas spirit"? Here's the part where a loony fuddy duddy would go into a rant about the commercialization of the holiday and how Christmas is a time of giving and loving and peace on earth and all that. In some areas I agree, but that's not my point.

As I said, I tend to live a little disconnected to reality. I'm not in any way condoning my habits. It means I'm behind in school, I can't finish a book, I didn't rake the yard once this autumn, the hose is full of frozen water, there are months-old rotten watermelons in the garden, and a wealth of other things. My mind tends to wander through a hazy fantasy world far too often, and when someone pulls me down for a breath of fresh air, I get mad at them. When a holiday comes along, I do all of the outward things right to try to get that magical feeling everyone else says they have. I don't have a clue what that's supposed to feel like. Sometimes I wonder if I've ever known what the true, honest, original meaning of Christmas is.

Most the time I manage to keep my head above the clouds because I'm riding one giant of a high horse. It really hurts when you fall off one of those, believe me. Matter of fact, I think I may have tied, glued, and duct taped myself to the saddle just to avoid falling.

This is going to sound cheesy and cliche, but I think this Christmas spirit everyone's talking about is something we are supposed to have all year round, but the holiday reminds people about it and brings them back to it for one month out of the year. It is the mindset of giving and love and laughter and family and hope and peace and beauty and the warm and fuzzy feelings we all want in our lives, but it's being crowded out by rushing and cooking and traveling and other holiday activities, at least in my mind.

I started a rant in a post I never finished and published on this blog. It was about how I could really go for a sabbatical of indefinite duration at some cabin way up in the boonies with nothing but my Bible, a notebook, my dog, and silence. As the song goes, I feel like I'm running just to catch myself. People demanding that I have my order ready as soon as I reach the counter rather than letting me peruse the menu for two more seconds; people swearing up a storm and revving their engines when the light doesn't turn green a whole second after they got there; people whining like children when they don't get exactly what they want, or arguing immaturely because they aren't willing to get off their own high horses and listen to each other. In the midst of the rushing around, we can't stop to collect our thoughts and say a prayer or we'll lose our place in line.

I think the Christmas spirit is an attitude that's completely contradictory to the human nature, and that's why it's such a novelty when people are reminded of it every December. They may not know why, but they know it's something they should strive to get. As much as we want it, though, it takes more than some snow, some movies, and a special church service to get it, and most of us aren't willing to spend more than a month a year in the effort.

Some people would puff out their chests and say, "The reason I don't have a change of heart around Christmas is because I already have the Christmas spirit all year long!" Yes, I want to be one of them. Someone please rip off this duct tape, take a firm hold of my boot, and drag me down until I'm tasting solid earth. Yes, this Christmas spirit is a mindset, but the real thing moves beyond the mind to the heart, and then it comes back out in our actions, in our everyday lives. No one is perfect, and as much as I love the thought I don't think peace on earth is possible when it's man trying to create it. We all have our own varying versions of the idea, and trying to define it could launch us into another world war. But that doesn't mean the individual can't strive to live with the hope of peace in their hearts.

I realize I've yet to say anything about the real reason for Christmas. Some people refuse to celebrate it because it has pagan origins. I like to think that the Christians of the time looked around and saw their drunken Roman neighbors praying to whatever gods they had and decided to take the Roman celebration and turn it into another reminder of the True God and His love, so they chose to honor Christ's birth in the midst of pagan revelry.

I'm also of a firm belief that no one can know true peace, true hope, true joy outside of a relationship with God. No amount of man-made peace on earth, of gift giving, of gathering with family, can creating an imitation that can hold a candle to the real thing. For those who have believed the truth, Christmas is the symbol of the spirit they ought to live with in their hearts all year long. God left all and came among His hateful, ugly, proud creation to give them peace and hope like they'd never known. He showed us beauty we'll never find beyond the light of His glory. He gave us love undeserved, unmerited by the best of us; love without limit, without cost, unconditional forever without anything required in return; because what on earth could we possibly give to God, Who is the very thing of love?

The Christmas spirit is not a mindset, but a heartset, defined by the act of a merciful and loving God in giving Himself for creatures who weren't worth it, who will never be worth it. It's an emotion that provokes action, and it cannot be mimicked or recreated by any amount of generosity and peaceful living, of music and empty prayers, of snow and decorated trees. I only pray it doesn't take a special day of the year to bring me back to that knowledge.

I'll get off my soapbox now. None of this was running through my head before I sat down to write this. As usual, writing gets my mind working better than anything. I didn't mean to preach; I just had to get it out, even though I wasn't quite sure what it was until now. I suppose it's kind of a self-evaluation and mental beating-head-with-Sunday-newspaper.

All that said, I would still like some snow, and not just on the 24th and 25th like so many silly friends say. If we're going to have winter, let's do it right and have snow. As it is, we got a very light dusting last night (it took five hours of "flurries" just to stick and layer the ground) and there's something like a 47% chance of more today, and maybe tomorrow. We'll see.

Christmas party, Christmas trees, Christmas time...but no snow.

Hershey is sitting proudly in his chair by the window, watching the world come to life. Sasha's restless in her crate, moaning and grunting because, for once, Hershey is out of the girls' room before 9 and she can't be up to "play" with him.

It's a nice change to the morning routine, if you ask me.

For the last...probably at least the last month, maybe more, I've had my alarm set for 7. I don't think I've actually been up by 7 more than 5 weekdays in the past month. I keep hitting snooze, and then that's deactivated I reset the alarm a couple times. (Usually my excuse is that I'm in the middle of a good - or at least interesting - dream and want to see how it ends. But after a few hours of being awake, I wonder how I could think it was that interesting.)

Sure, sometimes I climb out of bed around 7, but that's only to take Sasha outside so she'll sleep a little longer.

Today I got up to take Sasha out, as usual. When I put her back to bed, I went to the girls' room to get my computer cord, thinking I might make an effort to stay awake. (I really should clean my room, but that's beside the point.)

Hershey was wide awake and standing by the door expectantly: not normal for him. Usually he's curled up as tightly as possible on one of the beds and refuses to move.

I got the cord and decided to let Hershey out, thinking he might just be thirsty and would go back to bed after I gave him some water. He downed nearly a gallon of water, then asked to go out. After that, he wouldn't go back to the girls' room but wandered into the living room.

Sasha wasn't happy, and waited for me to let her out. When I didn't, she barked a few times to remind me she was there.

I went upstairs to get dressed and grab my phone. When I came back, Hershey was gone. No where in the kitchen, living room, bathroom, or girls' room. I briefly wondered if he'd gone stealth mode and sneaked past me on the stairs and was hiding in Wes's room, but quickly dismissed that idea. Hershey can't be quiet about anything.

Then I remembered Mom's light had been on. Sure enough, he had pushed open her door and was curled up on the bed. She didn't let him stay for long.

So I gave him his medicine (buried in a heel of bread slathered in peanut butter so he couldn't pick it out like he usually does) and sat down to check a few of the games I had downloaded to my phone yesterday. Mom came out and cleared off Hershey's chair, opened the curtain, and invited him to hop up. He stared outside for a while, but now he's snoozing. And Sasha's quiet, too.

And yes, I said all that both because I wanted to change style a little and because I don't have much else to say. Even living in a family with comparatively eventful lives, sometimes those lives can feel pretty unremarkable.

I'm trying to remember everything that's happened since my last post.

Oh. Christmas party. It was fun. I'm glad we girls got the chance to get dressed up, and we ate something besides paste or taco shell-wrapped Mexican food. It was a big change from last year, when we all collapsed on the floor in jeans and colorful socks and drank dangerously bright Kool Aid and messy enchiladas.

This time, we pretty much sat around. After all of the pictures were taken, that is. (There were a grand total of 2 Sr. High guys there without girlfriends, and at least a dozen girls, so the youth pastor's wife suggested the girls pair up for pictures and the guys be in every one. Some girls were not in favor of this plan, but we did it.) I know this group of Sr. Highers typically does just sit around at activities, but usually we can lounge or sit on each other and throw pillows or something.

Anyway. Even gift time was quiet. I started out with a cool stationary set (stolen, because I was 23 out of 30 people and there weren't any exciting-looking gifts still wrapped) but that got taken and I ended up with a set of juggling balls. I could have had the pancake maker (a tube with a special tip on the end, which you fill with pancake batter and can use to make neat designs) but the girl who had it wanted to keep it and I'm nice like that.

And yes, my hair stayed curly the whole time. I was happy. And now I have a new technic for styling my hair. Yay me!

After that....

Well, on Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day ancestry.com offered free viewing of their WWII records, so I went and searched for a bunch of my relatives. I couldn't find my dad's dad anywhere, which is really strange, but I did find his dad, who enlisted when he was 63!

Searching those records prompted me to finally transfer the rest of the information from the family tree booklet I have onto the one I started online. It's done at last! Now whenever I decide to use the free 2 week trial of ancestry.com I can start filling in the past 40 years.

I can't really think of much else. Co-op and Institute are out for Christmas break. I failed terribly at memorizing Ephesians, so I'll have to deal with it and pay for the classes and look for a job (or because a best selling author in the next 6 months).

Last night we got our tree. We got a real tree last year, too, our artificial one finally so old and worn that we got rid of it.

It was cool and really windy last night, so we weren't in the mood for browsing every tree in the place. Mom wanted a tall, slim tree, but we couldn't see any of those. Heather found one she liked and was determined to have it, whining anyone else even looked at something different. "Mine doesn't cost as much as yours does" and "Mine's prettier than that one". Eventually we gave in and let her have her tree.

Then, courtesy of some nice route customers, we went to Logan's, and I made a note to never get Balsamic vinaigrette for a salad ever again. Sweet dressing on salad = yuck.

I can't believe we have 9 days until Christmas! Since our first snowfall, we haven't had anything. It's been gray and rainy this week. We got a dusting of snow last night, but it didn't stick. Tomorrow Mom's taking us girls shopping, so maybe a few hours pushing my way through a crowded mall to the sound of Christmas music will get me in the spirit. (I doubt it, but we'll see.)