Igor.... It LIVES!

The sad thing is, this blog is probably an accurate depiction of my life.

Moving on, because I've been silent too long and I have things to say! 

Thank the springtime rain. The shift in weather seems to have awakened my deeper sense of the world. Or something. 

Firstly, I stumbled one step deeper into that dark, cavernous realm called "adulthood". I'm pretty sure I stubbed my toe, and what on earth is that dripping sound? Am I the only one who hears something very large breathing?

My Monday last week started off like this. Yes, that is self-inflicted. Thankfully I'm able to keep the greater life lessons contained to my work place so I at least have someone around to help me pick up the pieces. 

Long story short (because frankly it's embarrassing) I swallowed my tears and replaced the impaled tire with my donut, arranged for and paid to have the tire replaced, and, with the help of a new jack and tire iron, replaced the tire. 

All this with only a little muscle and prodding from my parents. Despite the pain to my pride and my savings account, I'm proud of how I handled myself. (Also, one of my co-workers said I got farther by myself than his wife would have and, coming from him, that's a true compliment.)

2) We have 30-odd eggs about to hatch. 

Item three: there's also a guinea pig now (not mine). No pictures, though. Chubs is extremely shy. We now have poultry (too many to count), canines, reptiles, rodents, and fish. All we need is a house bird and a pony and we will be complete. (Mom also wants goats. We're holding her at bay for now, but no promises. (We don't even like goat milk.)) Someone may try to add felines to that list. I'm dubious of the wisdom of that plan. 

     3.5 - we are also now the hosts of our own hoarde of little cannibals. 

Do not be fooled by their fluffiness. Do heed the warnings of the red light. These are meat birds. Their sole purpose in life is to grow big and fat really quickly and then...! *mimes slicing throat* This picture is a little old and they're already well on their way to the dinosaur stage. They eat, they sleep, they drink, they eat, and if their food isn't constantly full they will turn on your...or each other. If regular chickens are the sharks of bird-kind, these are piranhas. 

Four, as most of you know, is that I have discovered a new artistic outlet which has lasted longer than a month: painting on canvas. Mostly words, because I love those, but a few are just awesome patterns. 

It's all very trial-and-error but I'm catching on quickly. Now master calligraphy.... (More pictures on my Instagram account [the_magicmirror] , because they be many.)

And speaking of social media and the like, (5) I broke down and joined Pintrest. (That's how I broke into the canvas gig.) No, I will not share. The last thing I need is encouragement. Next up: Etsy!

VI. I have managed to sustain a houseplant for more than a month! 

It got a little withered at one point but is surprisingly resilient and perked back up overnight with some water. I looked for one labeled "low diffused light" and "light watering". That is the key. 

7) I haven't washed my hair since Monday. Be jealous. I have rediscovered dry shampoo, and it feels a little like cheating, but my temples get greasy. (You're welcome for the random fact you probably never wanted to know.)

Ocho - my favorite word at the moment is "embrace". Think about it: not only does it mean acceptance and open arms; but is also means safety, arms wrapped tightly. It's a warm hiding place against the world; it's a place of rest; it's a promise of support. *pulls out canvas* plus, it rolls rather nicely off the tongue. 

That really is all I have for now. The goal was to bring everyone up to speed. Can't say as I covered everything, but it's the first step that's always the messiest. I wanted to get over that one quickly. 

Bible Heroes

This past Sunday morning I was a substitute teacher for the 1st and 2nd grade class. After Sunday school, all the classes for kids 1st-12th grade are divided into two segments: church kids and bus kids. For my class, the church kids were first.

I wanted to share some of the life lessons I've been learning lately. Before I got to class, I was thinking my audience would be a little older. When I walked in and saw half-a-dozen 7 and 8 year olds, I hesitated. How am I going to knock this down a notch so they actually get more out of this lesson than my babbling?

Turns out it wasn't that hard, because I also forgot that, after roll call and songs there isn't much time for more than a simple lesson. I dove in with all enthusiasm, though.

My text was out of I Tim. 4:12, "Let no man despise thy youth". We looked at the youngest kings of Israel (Josiah is the second youngest king, by the way, and contrary to what everyone in my class thought), David, and then the Fiery Furnace.

Even the "church kids" weren't all that familiar with this story, which was a blow. How do kids not know the staple Bible stories? So I spent my precious 10 minutes pacing and waving my hands and adding inflection when the Chaldeans tattled and the king raged. I threw back my shoulders when the three men, far from home and years removed from any godly influences but each other, boldly and respectfully declared that they would not bend their knees.

When I was done, I asked the kids what their favorite part of the story was. All agreed it was how God brought Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego through the furnace without a mark.

I grinned. "That part is cool, but that's not my favorite part."

And then I showed them something I picked up a couple months ago during a Sunday night service:

they didn't know God would protect them. They knew He could, but they had no guarantee He would preserve them.

The most powerful point of that story is not the part where they refuse to bow to the idol, or when God brings them through the furnace. 

Shadrach, Mechach, and Abednego, answered and said unto the king, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to delivery us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. But if not, be it know unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up. (Dan. 3:16-18)

Those three young men, probably little more than my age when they came to Babylon, and so far removed from everything familiar and godly, stood up to a king and declared that under no circumstances would they bow to his idol. There was no way they stood up to him confident that they would walk away alive and well. On the contrary, they had to acknowledge that they very likely would die that day. From what we know of them, I seriously doubt they stood there in denial of the danger they faced.

And on top of everything else, look at how respectful they remained toward the king. I know things were different way back then and people in general had better tact, but even so, they called him by his title and politely but firmly told him they wouldn't obey his command. It paints a stunning picture.

God doesn't promise to bring us through every struggle unscathed. Rather, scars are evidence of the storms we've survived. They're proof of living and overcoming. They're reminders of the lessons we've learned. And some people enter storms they don't come out of except into Glory.

According to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life, or by death. - Philippians 1:20

I ended my lesson with a reminder that being a kid doesn't mean a person can't still stand up for God and ushered those kids on their way.

The second step in the schedule was to pick up the bus kids at their previous class, wait while all 13 of them used the restroom, and bring them upstairs to discover their incentive of a quiet seat prize wasn't available. To their credit, most of them listened well anyway.

I skipped David and Goliath and took a quick look at Joash. When I mentioned off-hand how his grandparents were Ahab and Jezebel to demonstrate the brilliant legacy he had to look up to, I was met with blank looks on all sides (except those who were staring at the floor). And I hesitated, then asked if they knew who Ahab was.

Nada.

Elijah?

Who?

Much as I wanted to facepalm and then turn to that portion of the Bible, I brushed it aside and moved on to the lesson I did have planned.

And none of them knew about the Fiery Furnace, either.

"I think my brother learned that one," a boy in the back offered.

So with time winding down, I repeated my enthusiastic storytelling and prayed they were listening. At this point I didn't really care if they took away the deeper lesson, though that was important; I just wanted them to know this story. I wanted them to be able to turn to their friends later and say, "Hey, remember that gold statue that was ninety feet tall? And the guys who wouldn't bow to it and got thrown in the fire?" 

Because we need these heroes. We need stories we know are true about people who stood for God and saw extraordinary things done as a result. The fact that these stories are incredible and also true is in itself an encouragement.

The Fiery Furnace has come to be one of my favorite old Testament stories. It is not, however, my favorite.

I had a moment similar to this past Sunday several months ago when I was helping Wesley with his class. This time, none of the kids knew who Ruth was. We were looking at the kings of Israel and Judah, but when I found out none of them even knew about Ruth, I switched gears.

Ruth is one of my favorite Bible stories. She didn't really do anything amazing. She didn't see anything supernatural happen in her life, apart from God allowing her to have children (and I'm not trying to downplay that, but that's the only true miracle in her story). She is one of those background characters whose presence turns a tide.

Ruth was just a Moabite girl who married an outsider when his family left their home because of a famine. She didn't see God do amazing things and come to Him as a result. Her father-in-law, her brother-in-law, and her husband all died on foreign soil, leaving penniless widows behind. But for whatever reason, when Naomi heard that the famine was over and decided to go home, Ruth went with her. Ruth stayed by her, despite the shame of poverty and the burden of now being the foreigner.

She wasn't too proud to gather the leftovers when the harvesters worked the wheat fields. She didn't complain when a day's labor in the sun yielded barely enough to eat. And for Naomi's sake she sought out Boaz to be their kinsman redeemer. (By the way, Boaz is pretty cool, too.)

She traveled, yes, but it was to a place far from home with no hope of returning to what she knew. She didn't perform miracles or command nations with her words. But she has a whole book int he cannon of Scripture dedicated to her. God honored her quiet faith by giving her a son and placing her in the lineage of King David and of Christ. I have to wonder if, when David was a boy, he talked to his great-grandmother about her life, or if his parents told him stories?

And my lunchbreak is winding down. I'll be back!

Plank Update: Day 10 and I'm still alive and able to walk. Yesterday my abs were absolutely killing me but I feel better today. Also, my legs no longer give out when I stand up, so that's a plus.

The Truth Behind My Name (Also: Planking)

I was sitting at my desk this morning wondering what I was going to blog about today, since it's Tuesday and I'm trying to make that a post day. I have a few posts "in the works", but they're either in-depth or extensive rants and aren't ready for sharing.

I don't believe in karma. I do, however, hold a great appreciation for coincidence and irony. A few minutes after pondering this blog dilemma, I received a voicemail from a customer. It started out, "I was talking to a young lady at your office yesterday," and ended with, "could you please have that young lady call me?" I called her back, and the first thing she said was, "You said Amber? I couldn't remember your name when I left the message, but it's such an unusual name I should have been able to."

Thus contradicting my life-long belief that "Amber" is a fairly ordinary name.

(Counts number of Ambers I know....)

Congratulations, Dad. Not only did you help in choosing nine names collectively for your kids, you managed to pick ones that were relatively unique! Who knew? I certainly didn't.

I suppose now is a good time to share with you the history of my name. Wesley's name story is Mom, Dad, and friends in a car shouting out boy names until they hit upon one they thought sounded nice. Mine? I have the honor of being named after a character in "The Running Man".

Y'know? The Arnold Schwarzenegger movie?

Imagine my delight when I learned that tidbit.

At that point I had never seen "The Running Man". A couple years later, I walked into the living room while Mom and Dad were in the middle of it.

All that hard work learning to appreciate and accept my name started to peel around the edges.

This is why:

Don't even get me started on the suits. Nah, what gets me is that my namesake (or am I her namesake???) spends a good portion of her screen time screaming.

I mean, I probably would spend most of my time screaming if I was in her shoes, but.... Just no. It doesn't help that she plays in a Schwarzenegger movie. (For those of you who can't sense sarcasm through the screen or who haven't already learned this of me: I don't like Arnold Schwarzenegger very much. The fact that I've had to spell his name three times already isn't helping.)

<end rant>

I actually had thought of another topic to amuse you with before the aforementioned phonecall, so since I have the time I'll move on to that!

In the wake of my first post of the year, I sat back and reevaluated several aspects of my life. The conclusion at which I arrived is no surprise: certain things need to change. And unlike some people who are rational and tackle on thing at a time, I've gone for the overhaul approach.

I have a working budget in place and am trying to remain aggressively dedicated to it because, if nothing else, I need a car. I'm already doing OK with my eating habits but they could stand to be adjusted. And I'm trying to stay fit.

Since I miss my 1/2 mile jog at work every day because of the snow, I was starting to get worried about what to do in place of that (not to say a 1/2 mile jog everyday is all I need to do to keep fit, but it's a start). Browsing facebook around the New Year, I came across a post for the 30-day Plank Challenge and thought, "That looks my speed. I do need to strengthen my core. Why not?"

I actually started it Sunday morning, and this is what I have learned so far:

1) My thighs are already killing me. Everything else feels fine so far, so either it's too early to for the rest of my body to get on board the "good kind of pain" train or I have my form all wrong. Possibly both.

2) Never judge a workout routine based on the pictures. I should know this by now. I really should.

3) Never do anything like yoga with my dog around. The moment I lie down on the floor she's in my face. Either she's worried about me; she sees a perfect opportunity to snuggle; or, in her twisted way, she thinks I am finally submitting my authority to her. In any case, I have to ban her from my room when I do my morning stretched.

4) "The secret to getting ahead is getting started." - Mark Twain

5) Half of my problem must surely be the face that I'm trying to plank on a laminate floor.

I've never been very fit. (I ceased being able to touch my toes when I was, like, ten.) The idea is exciting, but I tend to lose my drive pretty quickly. We have Wii Fit and for a while I was going pretty strong on that, at least with a bit of yoga. But have any of you ever had the Wii give that shocked little "Oh" when you wobble on the board? Yeah, I got sick of that. I was walking my dog pretty regularly, but then winter hit and I'm at work sunup to sundown. So planking it is, until I break something or find a better alternative.

I'll keep you posted.

It's Spring...and I have Nothing to Say

I think it's finally safe to say spring is here.

I have never before been so ready for winter to go away. Yes, around February I will hit a phase where I'm impatient for the weather to turn, but this winter I about went stir-crazy. Usually I force myself to tough it up and remind myself how much we need the cold and snow, but not this year.

And now, at long last, the snow is turning to rain and I can abandon my winter coat. Woot!

In honor of the warmer weather, I've been forcing myself to get out more and walk my dog. (Her energy level from being cooped up all winter is half of what drives me up the wall.) I had intended to get myself a membership at the gym for my birthday. I even bought myself some neon-colored running shoes and promised myself that if I could keep it up for a month I could get some real running pants. (Yes, I have a self-bribing system I enforce to make myself perform. You clearly have never seen me in a gym.) I walked in, all ready to slap down my debit card. I took one look at the line of treadmills and shuddered. Then I saw the actual price for the membership and promptly left.

I'm not that dedicated.

So springtime! Of course, it would be easier to believe if all those bulbs I planted last autumn would sprout. Not a single crocus, no sign of my hyacinths and tulips.... Not one green tendril.

We did get more chickens. It's already been established that we are crazy, but just so no one forgets. And they are new breeds from the kind we have. I've officially lost count.

Soon most of the roosters will be gone, except for Rocky (our nicest Buff) and Gerard the Brahma because he's too funny to kill. Mom is hoping to hatch some chicks from our flock, but we kind of want to separate the chosen hens and Rocky to avoid any spawn from Gerard. Funny as he is, he has enough quirks that we don't want to see what sort of creature would result from crossing him and a hen. (If it happens, we're naming the thing Napoleon.)

The ducks have been loving the mud puddles. Poor Alfac injured his leg on the ice in the winter and it healed wrong at the ankle, so he has a permanent limp. Our driveway is a mess now due to the flooding, and I put my rain boots to good use.

Clearly I'm rambling. It has taken an hour for me to get this far. I'm working on a more "deep" post, but it's not finished. However, I knew I kind of needed to say something.

After the murderous winter season we endured, all I want is to see something green and living. My aloe plant just isn't cutting it. I have plans for a flower garden on one side of our yard. Hopefully we'll also get in a vegetable garden like we didn't last year.

We had a spring cleaning session among us girls a couple weeks ago, and I discovered two things: 1) the color of my floor, and 2) the fact that I apparently do not clean my room during the winter. Oops.

Ok, I'm done blathering. With any luck, I'll be back later this week with something more worthwhile, now that I have gotten spring out of my system.

How I'm Slowly Coming to Grips with Adulthood

I'm sitting in another coffee shop this evening, polishing off some hot chocolate and contemplating the wrap and pie I just ate, which almost filled my meal budget for a week.

Yes, it was delicious.

Per usual, I don't really have much to say. I'm trying to work myself back into the blogging rhythm. Bear with me. Or, conversely, come back in a month and see how I'm doing.

In a month, I'll be 20. Yikes.

I'm not ready for that, guys. Mostly mentally, though a little emotionally as well. 12-year-old me was sure I would at least have a boyfriend by now and be halfway around the world on some grand adventure, or autographing my latest best-seller.

I miss childhood. The world felt so much bigger then. Now I'm settled into my adult job, doing my best to budget and dealing with the responsibilities of maintaing my own car, buying my own clothes and food, and not having to run every social engagement by my mother for approval. (Seriously, she is insisting I be the independent little adult she raised me to be and plan stuff without her ok. It's weird.)

Most days I struggle with my lack of time management skills. I get the feeling this may be a life-long practice. Bother it all, but I am bad at it. Once upon a time, I was that little girl in the corner stuck in her book with a bag of chips. Now I only snatch enough time to read right before bed or in the morning before work. It hurts.

Also, I forgot to mention that over the winter (starting in September, really) I went on something of a health kick. Suddenly I found myself enjoying hummus (which I once swore I would never eat), buying essential oils at the health food store downtown, craving organic granola, and snubbing potato chips and pizza. What? Part of it can be attributed to the fact that by September I had been working a real job for a year. A job that required me to be on my feet and moving around. Turns out what I wanted during my beautiful childhood was a little more activity and a little less curling up to read. Much as it pains me to admit. (Come on. One fencing class made up the whole of my school sports career.)
When I switched to my desk job this September, I had a small moment of panic. Suddenly I was back to sitting for most of the day.
In short, I'm more conscientious of what I eat now. I'm even contemplating a membership at the gym. (Please contain your shock.) But I'm still learning, still adjusting. I'm slow like that. My biggest struggle right now is the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I can't quite explain it, but it's like I just can't manage everything in my life, like I'm missing something in the chaos. Not that I have a lot going on, but I'm trying to figure out how to arrange everything so I can still do the things I love, the things that matter.
I think part of it is this horrible weather. Usually I love winter, or at least know how to endure it, but this one is making me feel a little stir crazy. I'm daydreaming of my garden this year. We didn't get one in last year, and that was rough. Which is silly, because before then I had a grand total of two years as a gardener. I put in a load of bulbs around the front of the house, and I'm eager to see how they will look. Mom is making plans for the vegetables we will have. Mostly I'm happy that the chickens will be contained to their run and I will be able to enjoy the fruits of my labors in peace without worrying that someone's beak will destroy them for a snack.
I'm also hoping to get into a good walking/running habit with Sasha. She's been driving us all a little crazy lately with her boundless energy. It's embarrassing what a terrible dog owner I turned out to be. Live and learn, right?
The beauty is that I can only imagine the ways God is going to use all of what I'm learning. I'm just trying my best to make the most of it while I'm here. My inner child whispers that somewhere there is a lesson that could save my life one day. That annoying mature, practical part of me groans.
I came here tonight with Mom, who had a Search and Rescue group meeting. Wanting to meet the people she and Dad always talk about, I joined them in their separate room for a while. It got weird when I choked on a bite of lettuce and realized if I showed signs of distress, I'd have half-a-dozen people jumping to offer assistance. Wesley and Heather know how well I handle the suggestion of CPR. I carefully and slowly swallowed that lettuce and soon left. And now I'm waiting, because I didn't expect it to take this long.
At least here I don't have the distractions I'd have at home. Like chores and a dirty room and a cuddly puppy and one of Allenna's shows on TV. That's the problem with me and time management: I have time, but worrying about how to manage it leaves me tired and I end up wasting my time.
And I'm just rambling. I should probably go. I will say, before I do, that my goal is to blog Fridays and Tuesdays as often as I can manage. I never realized how much of a stress relief blogging is to me. (Well, the stress mostly came from guilt that I wasn't blogging, but....) So until Friday, I hope!

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.

Breaking the Silence

So that was an unintentionally long absence...of a month.

Right.

Not that I'm not busy and have nothing to say. On the contrary, I have plenty to say. But I got stuck on a Peru-related post and writer's block is an obstacle with which I still struggle. I plan to return to the Peru topic  after a while, but I'm going to let it rest for now because my life remains ever eventful and I don't want to miss that.

I think the hardest part of blogging is picking it back up after not writing for a while. Followed closely by figuring out what to write.

I don't want to do a recap. Not a full one, at least. I don't want to jam this post chock-full of ramblings.

High on the list of "important things happening in Amber's life" is that I got a new job! It came in a round-about way after I'd given up on a different job opportunity I'd been pursuing. The company is owned by friends of ours, and Wesley worked for them a couple summers ago. Our family histories met years ago when Mom was worked at a pizzeria owned by the wife. (Ah, such found memories....)

A very basic way to describe my job would be along the lines of "office administration", though it entails more than it sounds (and I now know what it feels like when someone says their head is "swimming"...). It's a (mostly) desk job, though my new dwelling with not be a cubicle. Actually, at the moment my area of operations is right next to a big window.

Mom worked this same position in a part-time capacity a while ago, so she's able to help me (or sympathize, mostly) as I adjust. I don't officially start until the week of the 22nd, because I have to work through my last two weeks at the smoothie shop. However, I've already run a few "practice rounds", so I have a very basic understanding of what I will be doing. Very basic.

Let's see....

We got more hens a while back. Two Ameracaunas (or Easter Eggers, as I believe they are in truth), some true Rhode Island Reds (decidedly darker and more red than our original batch), and some more White Leghorns. It took them a few days to get adjusted to the rigamarole of life among the Royce flock, as well as a couple nights hiding under the coop or in the trees, but they're pretty well integrated now. Soon we will bid adieu to most of our roosters, and for most of them we couldn't be happier to see them go. Presley, one of our Polish roosters, is maniacal and lives solely to torment every living creature he comes in contact with. Some of the Buffs (who all turned out to be roosters) are almost equally evil, and are the epitome of everything I despise in chickens. We have one guy who's decent and for the most part ignores us, which I guess is the best we can hope for.

Oh. And the ducks are both drakes, unfortunately. They are dubbed Aflac and Waddles, and they remain ridiculously endearing.

The only other thing I can think of right now is that Autumn is nearly upon us. Last week we had one day in the high 90's with lots of humidity, and a few days later we woke up to temperatures just above freezing. The trees are on the brink of turning. We're all thinking a road trip is in order.

I pulled out my collect of scarves and fingerless gloves and am eager to return them to use. Spring is still my favorite season to experience, but Autumn is my favorite for the wardrobe.

Okay. I have nothing of use to say, so I'll cut this short. Now that my reintroduction is over, I can move on to more important things. Good grief.

Packed and Ready to Go

Our family is ready for Peru!

I surprised everyone including myself when I was pretty much completely packed by yesterday. ("Pretty much" because I still had a couple articles of clothing which needed to be washed, and my carry-on wasn't sorted.) This afternoon, Mom, Dad, and Heather worked to get their stuff together and I finished with mine. We're now all packed and ready to go. I wrote instructions about pet care for the friend who's coming to tend to the animals (and whom Sasha will hopefully love instead of hate). I have a list of last-minute things to do in the morning. Now I'm sitting in bed trying to decide when I should turn in.

I don't think the reality of this trip will hit me until I'm on the plane. At least, it hasn't truly hit yet; not the whole, "Yes, this really is happening" feeling. It's more of a vague anticipation and curiosity, I guess. That, or I'm handling it extremely well. The part of my brain claiming to be the rational part is trying to convince me I need to be a little more worried about the plane ride, while the part which is supposedly the more bold, irrational part is getting excited for the new experience. The former side is starting to gain ground. By the time I'm fastening my seat belt, hopefully I'll be shaking from excitement and not the onset of a nervous breakdown.

The group is meeting at the church at 9:00 tomorrow, and we'll drive from there to the airport a couple hours away. Where we'll eat and then wait for hours to board our plane. I packed books. Whether or not I'll be able to read them remains to be seen.

I had so many people tell me at church and over the last few days that they'll be praying for our trip. I can't begin to describe how encouraging it is to know my friends are lifting me up and keeping me in their thoughts. Perhaps that has something to do with my sudden calm mindset regarding airplanes?

As this missions trip looms just in front of me, I have to say the gravity of this opportunity is beginning to sink in. I only have a vague idea of what to expect, from stories Mom and Wes brought back and what we were told we might be doing while we're there, but I have high expectations: expectations to bless and be a blessing, to serve and to minister, to touch and to connect, to impact, to see and be affected, and to carry that back with me. I have a journal I plan to write in as often as possible. I know it won't be enough to capture everything we experience, but I hope it will help.

I will not be taking my computer, though it was an option. It's one more thing I have to worry about, and I don't want to deal with that.

Like always, I keep thinking I'm forgetting something. Odds are I'll realize what it is around Day 5, and by then it won't matter. I hope.

Well, I should probably go. Big day tomorrow!

More on the Poultry (naming, the coop, and the neighbors)

I started writing this post a couple weeks ago but got distracted. I figured since I need to keep at the blogging and since I haven't mentioned much about our poultry (yes, I'm still stuck on that) I'll share.
Chickens are turning out to be a great way for me to use names I've always liked but would never attach to a cat or dog, much less a child. A person can name their chickens anything they jolly well please because 1) they don't have to worry about the chicken learning to answer to a name, 2) few people are really going to care what the chicken is named and even less how to spell it, and 3) practically anything goes, because it's a chicken. Name the members of your flock Nugget, Fried, Grilled, Rotisserie, and Crispy; name your soon-to-be-dead roosters after your ex-boyfriends; give them all names from characters in your favorite book or movie or TV show (and now I want a chicken called "The Doctor"...). It all works.

All of our unique chickens (meaning all the ones we can tell apart from the rest, which is about half) have names: Lobelia, Rex, Betsy, Ginger, Euroclydon "Rocky" II, and Crooked Beak are just a few. It makes it easier to care for them, I think, because there's a little fun in doing roll call and screaming names when they bite you instead of, "You blasted chicken! I'm going to have your legs for BBQ'ed drumsticks!" (though that's fun, too).

As I mentioned above, one of our chickens is called Crooked Beak. She's one of the four Americaunas, all of whom we can manage to tell apart. Crooked Beak's name is self-explanatory: her beak is askew. She has to get food down to the back of her beak to grind it up. Despite this deformity, she's actually very sweet. Probably the nicest of the Americaunas. However, when all of the other favorite and prized chickens were getting named, Crooked Beak was excluded from being dubbed something funny or outlandish or cute.

Mom hates the name and wants us to change it, but no one can think of anything better. I tried pirate names (because they have names like Black Beard) and we've considered trying to find Native American names (because of descriptive names like Sitting Bull) but nothing works. Then I found it: Prunaprismia.

Yeah. Caspian's aunt in Prince Caspian. 

I haven't even suggested it to the family (I know Heather would flat out refuse, though Mom seemed to think it was funny when I pointed it out for a prospective future poultry monicker). They wouldn't even let me name my own dog, and I'm surprised Lobelia is still thusly entitled. But it's worth a try, and it's nicer than Crooked Beak (as if we're all looking to be loving and humane to our chickens). We shall see.
In other news, the coop and run is finally coming together. Dad and Mom have both been busy and away from home a lot, so it's been getting done in stages. We got the fence up a couple days ago. Now the ducks spend their days outside and nights inside in the old chicken house, and the chickens are supposed to stay in the coop or fenced area at all times. (I'm still marveling at how difficult it is to corner a chicken. And none of the roosters like me, so it's even harder because they bite me.) However, some of the chickens (mostly the Americaunas, those pesky things) are natural escape artists. The surest way to lure them back is with food, and it usually works; and they also come back every night.
But talking about the ducks, they've kind of adopted our neighbors' flock, especially the two little mallards. For a while the mallards were coming over every day, usually early in the morning, and yelling for our ducks to be let out so they could socialize. I think they were also hoping to beg for some food. Now the ducks all take turns having play dates at each other's homes. Again, they do come home at night.
Oh, yeah. Probably a month ago now, Dad found an egg by the "duck pond". At first we though it was a chicken egg, but Mom declared it too large for a young hen to have laid. So apparently it's a duck egg. This is good because it means we don't have two drakes and also because we have a duck hen to call Jemima, per Heather's desire. (If it turns out both are hens, I want to name the other Daisy, just to be equally unoriginal and cute.)
That's about all I have to say right now. Hopefully I'll exhaust the chicken topic soon and move on to bigger things. We shall see.

Preparing for an Adventure

So, you know.... We're halfway through July. It's been crazy. I've had stuff to write about but just haven't had the motivation. Fireworks fundraising is over, Independence Day is obviously over, and in honor of my parents' wedding anniversary we just had a vow renewal ceremony. I was an emotional wreck. (You know, because any extreme emotion moves me to uncontrollable tears. It was horrible.)

Next up (in a week) is our Peru missions trip.

Can you say "Freak out"?

Airplanes.

I'm uber excited for everything else, but...airplanes. *shudder*

I was telling some friends that I'm nervous about that part. (I feel rather like this when I think about it.) One of my friends asked if it was because I was scared of the possibility of dying in a plane crash, nervous of the heights, or nervous because of new experiences. New experiences can make me nervous but, on the whole, I'm usually open to them. I can handle the thrill of adventure. And, as a writer, I try to seek out new experiences when the opportunities arise. (Though I'm not really the best at trying new things, my curiosity can overrule my caution.) It might just be the unknown that bothers me when it comes to planes.
One of my friends asked if it was because I was scared of dying in a crash, afraid of heights, or nervous by new experiences. I'll admit new experiences
(*in a deep, mysterious voice* THE GREAT UNKOWN)

My youth pastor's wife was telling me I had nothing to worry about. I laughed (and swallowed those stupid nervous tears that always well up) and told her more people die by donkey attacks than airplane crashes every year.

She gave me a weird look and said, "Okay...so avoid donkeys!"

I wonder what the danger rating is on llamas?

A couple Sundays ago (and yes, it has taken me that long to get around to writing this), one of the young men in church did the afternoon service. (Afternoon instead of evening because it was supposed to follow the annual church picnic, which got rained out.) As ever, he did a wonderful job, and what he talked about was something I needed, particularly in light of our impending journey.

The text was Joshua 1:1&2:

1) Now after the death of Moses the servant of the Lord it came to pass, that the Lord spake unto Joshua the son of Nun, Moses' minister, saying,

2) Moses my servant is dead; now therefore arise, go over this Jordan, thou, and all this people, unto the land which I do give to them, even to the children of Israel.

The key is in verse 2: "arise, go over this Jordan"

He described "arise" as a call to action. Then he pointed out how it said "this Jordan", as in the river right in front of them and at hand. They were called to get up and get moving, because they were standing on the bank of the river they needed to cross. They were right there, standing around (or even sitting), and they needed to get moving.

The idea was about being proactive.

Proactive: tending to initiate change rather than reacting to events.

We're urged to act, but by fear of failing or being rejected by people we're trying to serve, we don't move at all. We satisfy ourselves with not doing anything outright bad and don't worry that we aren't doing anything good, either. The only action we take is preventative. Over time we develop a routine of passive living, and we simply react to the world around us. We don't do anything to impact it.

Meanwhile, we ought to be stepping out and demanding change. We ought to be performing the actions that stir others to react. And we have to keep going, keep growing. In my mind, it isn't the first step toward productivity that's the hardest; it's the second. It's the building of momentum.

That was only a portion of his message, but it's what stood out most to me. And in light of the coming Peru trip, I realized I had been anything but proactive: my Spanish rots because I haven't practiced; I had no idea what I was going to pack; I wasn't emotionally, mentally, or spiritually preparing myself so I can get as much as possible out of this trip. All I was doing was dreading the airplane ride, when there was a whole adventure beyond that waiting for me to accept it.

Since that message, I have made some progress on my Peru prep. Most of my packing is planned and I purchased most of the items I needed. I was going to have to buy a suitcase (for a family who travels around so much, you'd think we'd have more) but some co-workers offered to let me borrow theirs. I'm still not mentally ready, but I'm working myself up to that.

I'm planning on keeping a journal. Whether or not I'll have much time for sitting down and writing in it remains to be seen. I hope I'll have enough to share on here when I get back.

So that's my life right now. I'm still freaking out about Peru, but I'm trying to get in the mindset that this is a great opportunity and I need to be open to it so I can make the most of it. And so I can do as much as possible while I'm there.

"I'm going on an adventure!"



Though hopefully not of the same kind as Bilbo's.

Changing Gears for Summertime

I think a personal summer challenge should be to write more than three posts a month. Even that will be a challenge with the way our summer is shaping up.

It isn't really warming up, that's for sure. We're somehow still in spring mode, weather wise, including the rain. We don't even have our garden in the ground yet because of all the rain and cloudy days. No corn this year.

I'm trying to think what happened in the last couple of weeks. Well, for starters, I came home one day by bus, skipped up the front steps greeting the chickens, and was met at the door by my grim-faced mother. 

"Before you come in, I need to tell you something."

Naturally, my first thought is, "Great. Who died." My bus driver no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor. I know my shoulders drooped and I tensed up.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

"Sasha was hit by a car."

Commence meltdown.

Most of you already know the end of this story. Mom had warned me because Sasha was in miserable agony and on edge. I came in quietly and knelt beside her where she lay on a towel spotted with blood. Mom explained that she'd just put Sasha out and was painting when she heard a noise outside and looked out to see a dog lying on the side of the road across from our house. Some older lady had been driving a van (which hadn't reached the speed limit for our stretch of road, as evidenced by the fact that my dog was still alive) and Sasha, who had mysteriously escaped from her run, had darted in front of the vehicle. Mom went out calling to Sasha, who didn't respond at first, and the lady turned around in a neighbor's driveway and came back, hysterical.

"Is that your puppy?"

By this time, as I understand it, Sasha had stood up on her own and dragged herself into our yard. Mom got her inside and called the vet. They said it wasn't safe to sedate her in order to x-ray her while she was so alert and still so much in shock. Mom was afraid her leg was broken.

I'd heard the nasty stories of people with broken bones, and how sometimes you can see the broken parts pressing the skin. Sasha's right front leg, the injured leg in question, didn't look mangled or twisted or unnaturally positioned in any way. She also had a cut lip (as in you could see how her tooth had bit right through it) and a few small-ish open wounds on her other legs. She was quiet and still, which in and of itself is startling. Mom said when she'd first brought Sasha inside, Sasha had been hyperventilating and thrashing around.

A little while later, Sasha started that back up, and I about broke down, wondering why on earth we had to wait for tomorrow morning to help her. We couldn't give her any sort of human pain meds in case there was internal bleeding (which, Mom warned me, the vet wouldn't be able to deal with).

However, as the day worn on, Sasha started rolling onto her back to encourage me to scratch her belly and even hobbled a bit when I carried her outside. She didn't drink much and wouldn't eat, though.

Fast-forwarding to the vet visit the next day:

Thankfully, no one else was there. Sasha's last vet visit was a nightmare, as you may recall. However, miraculously, Sasha didn't turn into a slavering beasty when the vet and his assistants appeared. She just maintained her miserable appearance. The vet had me walk her around (I'd carried her from the car and up the steps) and decided her leg wasn't broken or fractured, because no dog would walk on a leg in that condition (although, this is my dog...). Then he took her into the other room.

I cowered in a corner, afraid of the moment when Sasha would snap and show her dark side.

She growled darkly for a while as Mom stood beside her and the vet checked (or tried to check) her mouth. Finally, the vet asked Mom to step outside. Like children, animals act differently when their "parents" are around. He said a soothing owner reaffirms an animal's suspicions that the situation merits fear and retaliation. Good to know. If I want my dog to behave, I'll just step out of the room.

Fast-forwarding again: in the end, the diagnosis was bruising and nerve damage on her right leg and shoulder and some cuts that would heal on their own. Huzzah!

For the next few nights, while she still was having trouble walking, I slept in the living room with Sasha. She wasn't supposed to get excited (and for that we had medicine, which turned Sasha from her hyperactive self to a semi-normal dog). Oh, and we were warned that "in rare cases some dogs will up and die a few days after an accident as a delayed reaction from the shock, even though they looked healthy. I don't want to worry you, but I have to warn you." Comforting, no?

So my obsessive self eyed my dog nervously for the next few days, wondering if, true to character, she was one such rare dog. I know: morbid. I don't know what to tell you.

And that was that. She's still hobbling, but her spirit is back.

Mom thinks her mysterious escape ("mysterious" because she didn't break any part of the lead or her collar) was brought on by the presence of a certain rooster who had been stalking our house for the past week. No one will claim the stupid bird, and he kept strutting up crowing like Peter Pan and attacking our chickens to assert his authority. He even had the ducks scared. He plucked poor Presley's head feathers and chased some of the others under the cars. It took days, a lot of rocks, gardening tools, and other flying projectiles and eventually Dad with a disc to convince him that this was our territory. We haven't seen him since.

Our own roosters (and we have at least six, and one crowed once at me but which Heather still believes is a hen) are starting to work on their crowing. Rex (formerly "Arexi", the little Bantum) is the loudest. He's still by far the smallest, though one of the Polish (Elvis, the girl) is close, but Rex knows how to strut his stuff and crows defiantly at anyone or anything who questions his authority. The ducks are bigger and still as nervous and clique-ish as ever. We had some friends over a couple days ago and the girls wanted to catch one of the ducks. At one point Heather was following them and they came around a car not knowing the ducks were there. One of the ducks was so startled that he fell over like a fainting goat.

I can't think of anything else right now except for VBS, which I am helping with this year. (I haven't attended or helped with VBS in a while.) It helped me make up my mind that the theme is "The Great Western Round-Up". I am working with the kids on the Green Team to memorize their verses each night. While they eat.

Do you know how hard it is to get hyper, excited, hungry children to pay attention when there's food in front of them? It's a study in patience, I will say. And I think I may already be losing my voice.

The kids are split into three age groups after the opening assembly and penny offering. The groups rotate throughout different activities and classes before returning to the main auditorium for a final lesson, songs, and a couple group games. We were all singing along and I was repeatedly poking the shoulders of misbehaving children in front of me when one of them turned around and informed me that I had "the voice of an angel." And I don't think it was a compliment. 

I'm just trusting that someday I'll be thankful for all my voluntary work with children. I'm already thankful for past experience. I only uttered one dangerous word (being "butt", as in "those workers are busting their butts *cough* to get you your food, so please be nice to them") and I don't think I really lost my cool, though I was almighty close.

We return again tonight. I wore my only decent Western outfit last night (and it turned out better than I'd hoped). I might go into town later and check out some thrift stores, it being my day off. Can you believe I only have one decent denim skirt? Me, the former homeschooler. I know.

Oh! We also had our annual BBQ Fundraiser Dinner. I forgot about it because it wasn't the usual tiring day for me. I worked the money table. Well, before that Mom and I and a lady from church spent all day baking 45 cakes at the church. We had a decent turn-out, and I always love helping. 

Well, I need to go. Hopefully I will return tomorrow....

Return to the Windy City (posted a week later...)

Well. Grandma has come and gone and I didn't utter a word about her visit outside of Chicago. Not sure how I managed that one.

It was a quiet couple of weeks, as far as Grandma being here. Mom, Dad, Grandma, and the girls did fun stuff some of the days (miraculously choosing the one day of decent weather as their all day driving tour). I, of course, worked. Oh, the life of an adult. We played dominoes some nights, watched movies and ate junk food others, and overall kept Grandma is tears with our antics (and chicken round-ups). We perform well for an audience, especially when they feed us as well as Grandma insisted. Even on vacation she had to spoil us.

I spent every night sleeping in the office. On the few warmer evenings we had it was nice because the office doesn't get nearly as hot as my upstairs bedroom. For the most part, however, I was curled up under two blankets listening to the rain fall. Weather was not a highlight of the past few weeks. We've been overwhelmed with rain and thunderstorms, even hail in some areas, the last few days, and it's supposed to continue. I'd say "Well, at least it's warming up at last" but now it's just sticky and humid.

We returned last Thursday to Chicago to send Grandma back home. Her train left at 2:00 (prompt, unlike her arrival) and Mom, Heather, and I decided we should do a little sightseeing. Mom headed for the car, intending to drive it around rather than walk, but I reminded her and Heather, both wielding cameras, that there were more photo ops to be had on a walking tour.

My first visit to Chicago involved nice weather, unlike this second time: chilly temperatures (41 degrees at 3:00 PM) and high winds. We'd been planning for rain, because we'd driven through it most of the morning and it was in the forecast, but we didn't have to deal with that. Good thing, too, because we were miserable enough longing for ear muffs and mittens.
Of course, one of the first things we had to do was find the Sears Tower for Heather.
"Oh, look! There it is! Tallest building in America*. Who could miss it?"
"Which one?"
"That big brown one there."

Mom was on a hunt for letters. Yes. She keeps working on this project to spell out our last name using abstract objects. Eventually she settled for finding real letters in cool fonts on the buildings. I don't know if she ever got "y", and all of the "o"s were very plain. Heather busied herself with her preferred style of up-close photos of brickwork and walls and flowers and such. At one point we passed a really cute old couple and Heather said Mom should have taken a picture. After a second's debate, Mom spun around and chased after the couple. Heather and I spun the other way and feigned we were total strangers to the exuberant photographer, much to the amusement of a hotel doorman. I heard the animated conversation behind me and peeked over my shoulder to see the lady smiling and making big gestures, then grabbing her husband's arm and posing with her head titled toward his.

Mom came back grinning, and we passed under the overhang outside the hotel and greeted the doorman formally. The lights under the overhang were surprisingly warm (standing there too long would probably make me start to sweat) and I wanted to stop there for a break, but we pressed on.
Mom started counting Starbucks. (Starbuckses? No, that sounds like Sméagol.)
Our final destination was the Bean in Millennium Park. First off, it's a good thing Mom and I hadn't tried walking there in the hour we had to spare a couple weeks before. Mom was trying to find a pedestrian bridge going over the park, which she'd seen in a GPS or some other map picture. We found the Nichols Bridgeway through the Art Institute across the street from the park. Three stories up, suspended over the road, with a clear view back down into Chicago one way and out to the lake the other. Swaying in every little wind and with every footstep.
And I had to stop right in the middle, over the road, for Mom and Heather to snap their pictures.
Around that time, I was wishing I had a camera for the sole purpose of covertly capturing pictures of some of the funny things the foreign tourist were doing when they posed, often stone-faced, for a photo.
Of course, judging by the looks on a few men's faces, myself and my energetic companions were the best attraction on the bridge. Like I said, we perform well for an audience, and we usually do it subconsciously (and boisterously). I'm surprised I haven't heard of any Royces taking to the stage. Or perhaps Mom's side of the family is to blame?
We finally found our wandering way to the Bean. About the time we hit the bridgeway, we only needed to follow the noise.
Of course, there were a few busloads of school kids touring the area.
Again, I wish I had a camera to capture the funny things people were doing for their picture in front of the bean. Or maybe a video camera to capture one girl face-planting into the highly-polished, stainless steel sculpture when she was trying to perform a cheerleading pose and lost her balance. Priceless.
After Mom dragged us forward to get our own picture, the unsociable side of me was longing to get somewhere less crowded. My wandering eyes spotted the Chicago Public Library, and Heather practically growled at me.
We took a short tour of the park (short in part because a portion of it was closed) and then started back, taking a slightly different route. We had just started when we saw a line of people on Segways crossing the street. Heather said, "Oh! I was a Segway!" and Mom cracked up. (I mean, honestly, picture it: a neat line of nicely-dressed, helmet-clad people gliding not-quite-upright on their clean, little black Segways across a street while the leader spins around, waving at trees and pointing out the next turn.)
Nearby we found a sign advertising Segway tours. Who knew? Then we found the price of such a tour and continued on. The return walk was uneventful. At one point we came to an otherwise unassuming corner and saw the Skydeck. Oh, look. And Heather rolled her eyes at yet another sarcastic comment about happening upon the Sears Tower. (Sorry. Willis Tower.) Soon after, we were leaving Chicago behind.
It's taken me about a week to write this silly post. I'd started out last week intending to write just a little about our second trip to Chicago and say something cool about a recent bus ride, but I'll save that for later. I just need to post this before my procrastination kicks in.

*Technically, I thing the One World Trade Center now holds the title of "Tallest Building in the U.S.", but we'd missed that part in our hasty research after our last trip.

Springtime, true to form

So, I sat down to blog today after my inexcusable absence and discovered a short draft of a post I'd started a week ago and completely forgotten about. Right. So here's that:

Jessi informed me yesterday that you cannot have a dream involving people you've never seen before. I have to wonder how that works for writers, because we often vividly imagine fake people.

Any way, I'm still trying to decide how I feel about that fact, because what brought it up was me telling her about my dream Sunday night.

As you may have guessed, it was another wedding dream.

This was has just cause. One of my cousins got married on Saturday.

My groom had a face! I just can't remember it. I do remember the hair color, which has been pretty consistent. But the ceremony wasn't even a key part of the dream. Nope. We got stuck in the Canadian wilderness in a blizzard. Go figure.

And on with more recent junk!

We've been getting a literal flood of true spring weather. The main road we take into town has been closed the last few days and we've all had to adjust our routes. Irritating, to say the least. However, I haven't even had to worry about driving lately, because.... I've been taking the bus.

Yes. This lovely city of ours has a bus system. (Actually, I have to use the county bus system because of where we live.) No one in the family really even acknowleged the fact until last week when Wes's van went ka-poot and suddenly I had no way of getting to work. Until my boss reminded me of the bus, which a co-worker uses.

Mom grabbed the idea like it was a life line and she in a hurricane.

I about had a nervous breakdown. It was pitiful and childish. I am ashamed.

In short, I've had...eight bus rides now! Yay me. On the first one, I actually sat with notebook in had and scribbled out every random thought, intending to turn it into this long blog post. Obviously, that didn't happen, and I am so glad! In short, I toughened up and managed to get through, though inside I felt like a piece of Jell-O at the mercy of a fork-weilding toddler. By God's grace (and yes, I mean that) the driver of my first-ever bus ride was super nice. Awesome, really. As was the old man who drove me home. (And I've never had the same driver twice, as yet.) The old man could be a tour guide with how much he knew about my neighbors. (Not that our stretch of road is really worthy of touring.)

So yes. That's about the only exciting thing. The chicks and ducks are growing (and, in the chicks' case, growing ugly). I kind of neglected them for a few days, being so busy with work and life in general, and when I returned the ducklings were about twice their former size and more obnoxious than ever. And I discovered it was pointless to name the  Buffs. I can't tell them apart at the moment. Sigh. Lobelia was getting to be so adorable in a chicken sort of way, too. She had this habit of hopping onto people's hands and trying to climb up their arms. She might be the chick who keeps flying up and perching precariously on the edge of the box. Regular daredevil, that one.

Um....

Well, crazy weather, bus rides, growing poultry, weird dreams. I can't think of anything else. It's been a rather unremarkable April. Some people will contest this, saying the weather is horrible, but hello! It's spring. Despite the name, it isn't all skipping through a field of flowers under a clear blue sky with a warm breeze blowing along. It's wet. And sometimes cold. And windy. And muddy. And we need it. Remember last year?

<end rant>

Man. I thought there was something else blog-worthy I wanted to write about, but I can't think of what it was. Guess I end here for the day.

Oh! I'm considering a sort of challenge to myself to post everyday. Not forever, obviously. Maybe a week at first, to see if I can do it. We shall see.

Retreat! I have tea!

I sat down to blog this morning and, for some reason thinking next week was Easter Sunday, that's what I started talking about.

I almost finished the post before I realized my mistake. So that will be posted next Wednesday. Then I had to figure out what on earth I'd write about instead, and I remembered I never talked about the retreat!

Short story: it was fantastic. Great teaching (hard to call it "preaching" when it's 30 people crammed into the lounge section of a hotel suite), good fellowship, lots of fun and craziness, and even a mini birthday party in my room the first night.

The entire time, Jessi and I were marvelling over how we survived an entire week like that during youth conference. Because I felt dead by noon on Saturday.

We went to the mall, where there's a Teavana store, but I only bought a tea canister for some tea I already have at home. (My friends know me very well, because tea is also one of the gifts I got.) The only other thing I got was a scarf to match a bubble gum pink skirt I picked out when Wes, a friend and I went to our mall before leaving for the retreat.

We played laser tag Saturday night. 3 rounds, and I think they were each 15 minutes long. The group was split into two teams and it was a free-for-all getting the colored vests. Jessi, myself, and our roommate managed to grab green, which was the team with all the hardcore gamers like my brother. We won all three rounds.

No thanks to me. My maximum accuracy was 29.7% and my highest rank out of 27 people was 11. I mostly helped guard the base and provide a human shield of sorts so Jessi wouldn't keep getting hit and deactivated. One game, she got second. Yes, I'll take my credit.

By the end, my thighs were killing me from crouching on an angle and leaning around corners like a wannabe commando. And who knew leaning in and out could be so intense and sweaty? I was getting pretty good by the end of it. Definitely something I can enjoy. So long as my team has people on it who know what they're doing to make sure we win.

I learned afterward that black tea to me is like someone on crack. Who knew?

Here's what happened.

The first night we went to a restaurant. Their main thing is BBQ, but I got a salad and soup combo. And sweet iced tea.

I haven't had black tea in a while. I prefer green or herbal. However, I was kind of craving it. I ended up downing three full glasses (and they didn't go overboard on the ice like some places).

By the time we got back to the bus to go to the hotel, my head was buzzing and I felt dizzy. I wasn't sure why; I figured it was fatigue or something.

Then, of course, we had a service in the hotel suite. Still thinking the light-headedness was me being tired (I'm usually settling into bed by 10), I just wanted to go to sleep.

Then we had the mini party. That was fun. Next time, I need to insist my friends not get me something that I actually really want. Maybe it'll avoid homeschool awkward me from cropping up. I mean, come on, I'm 19. It wasn't that bad.

Around that time, I realized what was wrong with me. (The dizziness, I mean.)

"Jessi, I had sweet black tea."

"So?"

"So...that stuff has caffine in it." (Like it's a drug or something.)

(Starting to laught.) "Yeah?"

"And I haven't had black tea in forever. I haven't really even had soda in, like, two years."

I told Wes later when I wandered down two floors to say good night. (Unlike youth conference, our whole group was neither all on the same floor or on two adjacent floors dividing boys and girls. I felt so grown-up and lost.) He just gave me his, "Really? You're kidding me," look.

The next morning, I wanted to try out my new tea. I decided to skip the black tea flavor and go with a pomegrante one instead.

That's about all I have to say without rambling, and it's almost time for church, so I'll leave you with this: have you ever noticed that the clouds look darker when you're standing under the sun?

No, I don't know what that's supposed to mean. Just one of my poetic observations.

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.

When I lack inspiration, I can always recap!

Just a warning: I really don't have anything important to say. It's just that I realized it's been a week since I last posted. That's pretty much the only reason I'm posting right now. At 10 PM.

We got more snow! It was coming down so hard this morning that I was told not to go to work. So what did I do? I read. And watched some Netflix. One day my muse will return and I'll finish this stupid book. *headdesk*

We've been in our new house for just over a month now. Only last week did I finally work up the initiative to completely unpack my room. (Okay, not "completely". Just mostly. And I shoved the remaining boxes in my closet. So glad I had a proper closet.)

We still don't have a working dryer. We're using a clothes rack in front of a vent. Works well enough, so long as people remember to bring down their laundry on a regular basis.

Also, last week the cat got his first taste of outside since the old house. He wasn't out long before he was crying to come back in. I think he was overwhelmed. I just hope, with all of the extra space, he'll conduct his hunting away from the house and I won't be stepping on bird bones come spring.

While the neighbors on one side of us remain a relative mystery, the ones on the other side are decidedly less so. Let's just say they make life interesting. And by "interesting", I mean spinning donuts in their car in their yard while blasting country music after 10 PM; having bonfires and drinking beer and singing loudly and off-key to their country music; shooting at targets set up in the cornfield.... And their chickens like to come wandering into our yard. Hershey and Sasha hate that. At least their dogs know their boundaries.

I'm almost starting to miss our old neighbors.

Almost. And then I remember all the facts that came to light after we moved, and that feeling goes away.

Uhg. I know I'm rambling. I'm sorry. As usual, I did have something important to say a few days ago, but I can't remember what.

It's definitely a different world out here, even though we're only 10 minutes further away from most of the places we usually go. Strange how 45 MPH can now feel so slow when it used to feel like speeding.

I've been getting in my bad weather driving practice over the last couple of weeks. First driving at night in a rain/snow mixture, then driving in high wind conditions, and of course plenty of normal night driving.

Maybe if I finally started posting pictures I wouldn't feel so bad when my posts are so short. Ah, well.

One thing I do miss is how warm my old room got in the winter. Maybe part of it was because it was so much smaller than my new one, so it was definitely one pro amid many cons, but.... And now that my room is clean, I find myself in the rare position of needing furniture to fill the empty space. Even a rug or a proper bed for Sasha would help!

So, I just spent 20 minutes writing about nothing relevant. My work here is done.

I'll try not to make it a habit. (Again)

February Snow

Most of you know this already, but I got my glasses! And the main color is chocolate brown, not purple.

I picked them up on Tuesday before work. I had a little time to spare afterword and wandered the mall. For most of that time, I had a headache because my eyes (especially the left) were adjusting. But now I can see again!

The only other "big" thing is the snow. Finally, real snow. The "storm" started later than predicted. Right about the time I had to leave for babysitting last night. Mom dropped me off and I got a ride home with the parents.Talk about nerve-wracking, because while the roads weren't terrible by that point we were almost in white-out conditions with the wind. It was a light snow.

When I first took Sasha out this morning, she was ecstatic. I think winter is her favorite season. The wind had caused some snow drifting, so Sasha would be prancing along almost bare ground and then land in over a foot of snow. Of course, that only made her more excited.

Later, Mom and I shoveled part of the driveway. I must really be out of shape. The stuff isn't even heavy. And then, of all things, my right middle finger got numb with cold. Still, it's a beautiful day. Mostly blue skies and sunshine, with a little wind. It doesn't even feel very cold right now, though it's supposed to drop throughout the day.

After I'd warmed up (and ate the chili Mom made last night) I took Sasha back outside to play for a bit. I wish she would stay close to me without a leash. She's rather clumsy and kept getting tangled. Not that she really seemed to mind.

Our neighbors on one side have three dogs. Right now I'm watching them caper around in the yard. One of them found a stick.   :)  Of course, Sasha and Hershey aren't happy about that.

Man, I'm drawing a blank. I almost posted something a little more serious yesterday, but I'm having trouble framing my thoughts into words. Maybe I'll try it again later.

First Post of the Year (true to form, three weeks late)

Happy New Year?

Seems I do everything belatedly. Ah, well. I have a good excuse this time: we moved!

And I'm sure y'all know that already.

Dad just set the computer up last night, so this is the first chance I've had to really sit down and use a computer in probably two weeks. Yes, I know we're in the third week of January, but it's been a busy month.

Whoa. Three weeks into the new year. Yikes!

I don't have much to say right now. I just needed to blog, especially with it being Tuesday. If any of my devoted readers have noticed, I changed my title, as I said I would. I don't remember when exactly I decided on it. I remembered this post, which I didn't realize until now was the first post ever for this blog! (Also, the song mentioned in that post has still not been written. It may never get written,  unfortunately.)

Around the time I settled on my new title, a friend shared this with another friend on facebook:

Life is But a Weaving
Corrie Ten Boom (The Tapestry Poem)

My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
... Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.

 

It's not exactly the idea I had behind "Tapestry", but it's very close, so it deserves sharing. It's also just a good poem.

My right pinkie is getting numb in this cold office, so I'll be wrapping this up. (I know. Me being brief. Weird, huh?)

The new house is great! Okay, so it has its quirks, but none we can't deal with. Probably the biggest for me (yes, bigger than tricky doors and weak heating upstairs) is the well water. At least, the hot water that smells like sulfur.

The first morning here, I woke up, and in my semi-conscious state* I thought someone was cooking eggs. Then I sat up and realized that wasn't quite right. Then I realized it was someone running hot water in the kitchen.

But we're surviving. More space (I mean, way more than we've ever had to my knowledge), the ability to look out of any window and now be looking into the neighbor's house, and being surrounded by cornfields has its perks. We're not much furthur from everything, though we're trying to develop the habit of getting all of our in-town errands done in the fewest runs possible (which means I do a lot when I go in for work). Oh, and we don't have a dryer yet, because ours is gas and it's electric here. We make do.

I feel guilty having the largest room in the house, but it comes with conditions. Namely, Mom and Dad get it when guests come over (and we will be getting more guests) and I bunk with one of the girls. We raided a friend's garage when we first moved in and she shared some of her old furniture, which resulted in a bed and bookcase for me and almost a chair, but it was too wide for the stairs.

Oh, and the stairs could be implemented in a training program for hiking the Machu Picchu trail. (In that they're steep, not that they're carved out of a mountain.) (Also, I was going to use a picture with a human in it, but felt funny posting "Claire's" picture on my blog, even though it did put things in perspective as far as the stairs went.)

I'm losing feeling in my entire right hand now, so I'm going to leave. I'll be back soon, I promise.

*I didn't want to insert this into the body of the post with parentheses:
I get the dictionary.com Word of the Day, and this one came up a few days ago: hypnopompic \hip-nuh-POM-pik\, adjective: Of or pertaining to the semiconscious state prior to complete wakefulness.
As if even I would ever use this word. I'm still stumbling a bit over the pronunciation. I was going to use this word instead of "semi-conscious", but thought better of it.
Then there's Peter Pan: "You know that place between sleeping and awake, that place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always think of you."