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. 

Living vs. Existing

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." - Oscar Wilde

It's been over 6 months since my last post. While I thoroughly enjoyed the hiatus (including the one I took from Facebook), I've developed quite a list of topics I have wanted to blog about. Also, a few southern friends requested I restart the blog so they could keep up with the family. Mom covers the chicken topic enough now, so maybe the reading will be better than before.

For the last few months I've been wrestling with the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I go to work, work 8-9 hours a day at a job I enjoy, come home and try to find something creative for supper, tap out a few words of one of my current stories, and go to bed to start all over again. On the weekends, I sleep in until 7:30, read a book, eat one meal, maybe go to town, and tap out a few more words.

Maybe it's just a phase. I don't really buy into the whole "young people finding themselves" mentality, but perhaps this is just one of those life transitions where I'm finding my rhythm. Maybe.

Something with which I have always struggled is being anxious. By now anyone who has read this blog knows this. I worry too much and over-think things and second-guess myself, and I know a lot of what I'm working through is managing that aspect of my brain.  But then I sit still and try to count all the things I accomplished in 2014. It doesn't really amount to much in 10 minutes' hard consideration. Drawing it out, my life is pretty colorless. Again, maybe it's just a stage. Maybe I'm in a quiet place where all I'm supposed to be doing is sitting still and learning, listening, developing. Maybe.

I found the above quote from Mr. Wilde quite a while ago and it often comes to mind when I hit one of these contemplative moods. Much as it scares me to admit, I'm not really living my life so much as muddling through it with as little effort or involvement as possible. I'm so caught up in the personal struggle to find my place, of learning the steps, that I've sunk deeply into myself and blocked pretty much everything else out. (I'll be the first to agree that my social interaction is at a level which is undoubtedly detrimental to my health.)

And then I pop out of that shell, take one look at the world, shiver, and withdraw again. Back to the anxiety.

I know I'm here for a purpose. In my family, in this city, as the particular job I hold, in the certain church where we've found a home. In this time, these circumstances.

Another quote which I hold close is from J. R. R. Tolkien and The Fellowship of the Ring. It's more like my life quote at the moment:

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. 

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

God picked me specifically for this location so I could do something for Him. More and more I'm coming to terms with the fact that it may not be very grandiose by the world's standards or even by Christendom's standards. But it's my role. I may be that supporting character who meets one of the key players ten years down the road and has traveled just the right path to know how to nudge them back onto theirs. When I look at it that way, I can't help but get a little giddy.

It's not about finding a springboard to move one from a quiet town to a big adventure. It's about making the most out of whatever circumstances in which one finds oneself. We can't all be world explorers or geniuses or composers. Those people need the clerks and babysitters and nurses. They need the girl behind the phone whose name they can't remember who relieves one small distraction on their plate by informing them that the timeframe they need will work just fine, and who bids them good day with a smile in her voice and doesn't correct them when they get her name wrong again while saying good-bye. (It's not that I'm bitter, but "Amber" is not an unusual name. I can't count the times I've been Amanda, Amy, Andrea, Samantha, or Heather. At this point I just smile and choke down a laugh.)

It is about making what I have been given count in more ways than monetary. It's about loving sleep a little less and hanging out with a lonely friend instead, or meeting for a Bible study. We're here to interact. We're meant to touch, to see, to hear, to speak to, to sing, to guide, to hold. Not to just revel in a sunset, but to glory in Who painted it. Not just to catch our breath after wrestling with a kid, but stopping to read a Bible story and talk about it before helping them crawl into bed. Not just giving candy to an orphan, but the truth as well.

We may not live expansive, bold lives, but we are meant to live on purpose. Wherever we find ourselves, we are meant to make the most out of it for the glory of God.

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. - Romans 12:1

It's reasonable, after all God has done for us, for us to surrender our lives to Him. 

So this post isn't all I had hoped for it to be. They never are. But I think I've said what I set out to. And here are some other quotes and verses which contributed to the concept:

"The fear of death follows the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." - Mark Twain 

"Just breathing isn't living!" - Eleanor H. Porter, Pollyanna  

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot 

"Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength." - Corrie ten Boom, Clippings From My Notebook 

"You're not here on accident; you shouldn't live on accident." - Hugh Taylor

To My Family: Thank You for a Beautiful Childhood

Today I turn 20.

"Bittersweet" seems appropriate.

It's not really bidding farewell to my teenage life that bothers me. I'm fine with moving forward into my 20's. It's just weird. I had barely adjusted to saying "19" when someone asked me how old I was.

I can guarantee the little girl I babysit won't know the difference. As far as she is concerned, I'm not an adult until I'm married.

So now it's time to be reminiscent. I've been planning this post for two months, so I intend to make the most of it. This post is not going to be about me (not really). It's about my family. Because if there is anyone you should be congratulating today for surviving these past 20 years, it's them.

I was the trouble child. Ask anyone, even people who didn't know me as a child. Word gets around, and I am saddled with the reputation of being "the Terrible Twos" poster child. It used to bother me, but now I roll with it. "I was a horrible child. The good news is that I got all of that out of the way right off."

It's mostly true.

Mom still takes one look as a child who is screaming, being obstinate, pulling an attitude, or heading toward a spanking and says, “Yup. Must be a second child.” I’m her living proof of overcoming trials and tantrums, of persevering through moodiness and contrariness; proof that spankings work.

Admittedly, I had my rough spots. Still do, and I'm learning to accept that I always will. I've taken to praying that though bumps in the road don't cause any serious damage. So first off, congratulate my parents, because I don't know how they did it. People who know us have an endearing habit of making my parents out to be model parents. People who really know us know what a miracle Mom and Dad truly are. Yes, they are human, but I can say with absolute honesty that there was never one day in my entire life where I believed they did not love me and want the absolute best for me. Sure, some days I was convinced they hated me, but it was a superficial feeling brought on by a well-deserved punishment.

Every day Mom and Dad push us to be the best and to do the best we are capable of. They see the potential in us that even we ourselves ignore. They are our greatest cheerleaders. And they lead by example.

We were raised to be self-sufficient. When I was about 6, I asked Mom in all innocence to teach me to wash the dishes. She jumped at the opportunity, and it paid off, because never once have we owned a dishwasher which worked for longer than 6 months. We were raised with the understanding that being their children did not mean we were entitled to a free ride. We have always had chores, and any money we had we earned (though sometimes it was purely by virtue of turning a year older). It has always been very plain that we live in their house, we add to the dishes and the laundry and the mess, and so we are required to contribute to keeping it clean and in working order.

We know how to tell when something is wrong with our cars, we know how to work through problems to find resolutions, we all have a keen sense of how things work - and even an intuition for how people work.

I will always be thankful for how my parents trained me to be independent (though I sometimes hate it) and engrained in me a work ethic (though some days I prefer to ignore it).

As I said, we all had rough spots. One night they gave up trying to make us eat squash and declared that Heather was their favorite child because she was the only one who could swallow it. When one of us had pushed Mom to her limit, she would throw up her hands and tell us that Dad could deal with us when he got home - which worked in her favor, because that kind of threat was a punishment all its own. I remember the looks when I fainted from a breath-holding contest or a bout of hives; the looks when - twice in my life - I tripped over my own feet and skinned only the bridge of my nose; when I finally caught on to riding a bike at 8 years old but missed the bit about stopping and ended up launching myself onto the grass; when I lost control of my scooter going downhill and chipped my front teeth.

It was never about being our best friends; Mom and Dad are more than that. They are our confidantes, our counselors, our comforters, our coaches. I can always count on their experience to be a guide when I'm stuck.

So here's to my parents, my highest heroes by virtue of getting me this far by whatever means possible.

And then there are my siblings, and there are simply too many memories to put into one post. Wesley and I always had a hard time getting along. I can't pinpoint it. I'd like to say he was jealous of me as a kid. For a little while, my legs were longer than his, and I was the first to achieve three steps running up a tree on paper routes. I bucked up and ran both sides of routes on the winter morning when he was too cold. My vocabulary contained more large (albeit useless) words than his. I had a habit of nit-picking and correcting him, which drove him to insanity some days.

But I was also jealous of him. He could ride his bike with his eye closed and no hands while he ate a sandwich. He wasn't as scared of Death Alley as I was. He was quicker to jump to adventure, and he always got the cool pets (and he had two gerbils at one time!). 

But the more I see of life, the more grateful I am to have such a brother. We both misunderstood each other a lot growing up, and for a while we couldn't stand to be around each other, but somehow we worked past that. He understands me better than most people. He has a sly sense of humor and sarcasm that sometimes even my carefully honed skills can't detect. He has a head for machines and puzzles, for which I am exceedingly envious. And come on; not many girls can pull a popularity card like "my brother has a fake eye".

Then there's Heather, and right about here words fail me. You really would have to see it to believe just how crazy awesome she is. Her talents range from musical to comical. She's the first to pull out a TV, movie, or children's radio show quote and effortlessly incorporate it into the situation at hand. She isn't afraid to be spontaneous, and more than once we've caught her rocking out to a spatula over a grilled cheese sandwich or practicing her mental patient impersonation on the dogs. She can imitate a wide range of accents and characters, one of my favorites being the bat from Anastasia. Yes, she can sing very well, but she also has that special ability of purposefully singing very badly.

Allenna is the biggest dreamer I know. Nothing is impossible to her, and she inherited the family habit of quickly making a talent out of the hobbies she sets her mind to taking up. She has a special way of seeing the world when most people glance over it. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with her, because her mental track runs a different course than the rest of us. She's a creator, a builder, an artist, and she is never afraid to embrace who she is and disregard what the world decrees.

Jealous yet? That's ok; when people give us strange looks for our antics in the grocery store, I know that secretly they are, too. My family makes a point of being ourselves, in home and in public, though we do try to tone down the awesomeness around other people so we don't scare them off with the sheer wonder of it. My mom was the adult teens wanted on the activity. My friends learned not to confide stupid secrets in me or say things they didn't want repeated, because I always ended up passing it along to Dad for us to muse over and chuckle at (sorry, guys; he trained me well). Mom and I rarely have complete verbal conversations anymore because our minds are working too fast for our mouths to keep up, but we always know what the other means. Dad's sense of humor can be the greatest balm for a rough day, simply because we all understand it more than other people, and that alone is comforting.

Even through difficult years, I have always felt safe, secure, and loved. Mom and Dad daily live out that love toward each other and toward us. With them, I have learned that it's best to be honest and simple about myself, to accept myself, and the let the world see me exactly as I am. 

My memory is teeming with memories, both fond and cringe-worthy. We are all a little accident prone: Heather falls down stairs. I fall down stairs. Allenna was always losing one shoe. Heather was always tripping over nothing. Wesley got a lot of bumps on his head.

We have a bad history with animals. Ebony the cat stole the hot dog pieces out of my mac 'n' cheese and dragged a dead snake into the house. Calamity got stuck in the dryer while it was running. Duke the cockatiel loved to fly but was no good at it, running into the window and landing in a sink full of soapy water or crash landing into a table leg. Duchess couldn't fly, and the one time she tried she ended up in the laundry basket. One morning I found Duke sitting on the top of the fridge with Blare the cat inches away from him, both innocent as could be. Ivy the dog was an escape artist whose attitude put Sasha to shame. There was Bunny, the mean cat Mom thought could be sweetened by motherhood, and Ghost, the smelly undergrown cat with six toes on each foot. We had the goldfish, including Cyclops and Fin and the fat one who ate them; and the guppies Robin Hood, Marian, Little John, and Sarah.

The house went through a rodent stage where we had the hamsters, including Tom Thumb the dwarf albino and Bowser, and the one who drowned in a bucket of water; and then the guinea pigs Trixie, Claire, and Frankie; and finally Poka and Dot, the gerbils.
Now we have chickens and ducks.

Trying to put it all into one post makes my childhood seem colorful and full of adventure. Not to say it wasn't. Thing is, it's everyday for me, and I'm so used to it I don't stop to think anymore how blessed I am. And if you ever wondered why my family seems to strange, maybe now you can understand a little better. I haven't even got started on the rest of the relatives. For starters, my mom's sister married my dad's nephew....

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!

In the Wake of VBS

So that plan didn't exactly work. To be fair, it's been a long week; and, for me, the week can't even begin to be wrapped up until today is over and done and I'm curled up in bed with my breathing and heart rate back to normal.

VBS was phenomenal! Even though myself and my amazing assistant teacher were tucked up in a hot corner room where half the time the food workers forgot about us and the other half of the time they were avoiding us for the sake of their well-being, I enjoyed my job. (Plus, I got to play dress-up as a cowgirl all week. No complaints there!) I've had plenty of practice teaching memory verses thanks to Mom and Dad, and despite the fact that the kids were far more interested in their food than in me, I think we accomplished something. And I had enough wonderful, angelic, attentive kids to almost outweigh the not-to-good ones. Almost.

I'm not sure if the fact that every night but one we had to call in the reserves for crowd control is a testament to my poor ability to handle children, or testament to poor judgement with placing kids on teams. I was ashamed.

There were deadly dog-piles and the handing out of "men" and children whose vocabularies were temporarily reduced to "no" and "why", but we survived with our sanity only slightly damaged and some fun memories. And I reminded myself that it doesn't matter if it feels stupid; sometimes I need to play along and laugh at myself, because the kids will love it.

Yellow Team won the overall points for the week. And that's historic at our church. Yellow has had a losing streak for longer than my family has been attending, I think. Some years they may have won third instead of fourth; once I think they got second. But I've never seen them whip everyone else like they did this year. Even though my own Green Team fell in third, I was happy. Even better was the amount we raised in the penny offering for some beloved missionaries of ours. I think we're finally getting the hang of the penny offering.

One of the youth workers, who's more like the "All Youth Activities Director, Supervisor, and Supreme Overseer" at church, is not only brilliant, but I think a little crafty. Our verse for last night was Colossians 3:23: "And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." I explained to my kids what "heartily" meant: quickly, happily, and with excitement, the way your parents want you to do your chores. I also reminded them that the verse is saying it doesn't matter if man praises you; man's opinion doesn't matter. All that matters is doing right because it has to be done.

When the Supreme Overseer pointed to a vacuum parked in the middle of the sanctuary and said, "That's yours", that verse rang in my head, and then this sneaking suspicion developed: I bet she picked that specific verse for tonight as a reminder to the workers who get stuck cleaning in the aftermath. Halfway down one row of pews and three banged knuckles later (have you any idea how difficult it is to vacuum between church pews?) I was convinced. Smooth.

I like getting recognized for my work. Who doesn't? And I try to make sure I recognize others for their hard work and when they are honestly putting in an effort. Which is why I incorrectly used the box of candy given to me for prizes in class. The candy was intended for kids who could say all four of their verses. When the head Cowboy for the week came in and suggested a quiet seat prize, I jumped on it. I can do bribes, too. In my last class, I extended it, and all eight of the kids left with candy in their hands (except one who, for reasons I still can't quite figure out, gave his piece to another boy because "I know you worked really hard on your verses"). I had four problem kids in that class, and the last night they all worked harder than I could have hoped, and most said at least one verse. Victory!

Anyway. People did tell me "thank you, Miss Amber" (what is with this "Miss" stuff? Boggles my brain, I tell you) and I sang back over the whine of the vacuum "You're welcome!" But I kept telling myself that, though the praise felt good, I would have put in the same effort if everyone else had all gone off to bed or (because few people my age make a habit of going to bed by 10) out for ice cream. Right? Of course right.

In short (because I have to get going for the longest day thus far in my career), I learned a lot this week. And I'm convinced I'll need every lesson down the road, from child care to knowing the right balance of discipline and bribery to doing what needs to be done simply because it needs to be done and there's a vacuum standing in front of me, even though some silly person will probably come along in 10 minutes leaving behind a trail of dust and garbage. But it's okay.

If I'm still alive and sane, I shall see you...probably next week. Tomorrow is going to be a long one, too.

A Ramble about the Weather and Books, Mostly

It's days like today that make me resent the resposibilities of adulthood.

It was a beautiful day. Temperatures hit the high 60's. Sunshine, a nice breeze...and I was stuck inside most of the day.

Last year, I would have been outside, breathing in the fresh air and plotting my garden. (Okay, so I might have spent the day curled up in the sunlight with a book.) It's a little maddening to know what a nice day it is but not to be able to enjoy it as I please. Ah, well. I drove with the windows down and didn't put on a coat until just now when I took Sasha out.

Oh, and that thing about blogging late at night? Yup, still doing it. It's hard when I'm gone most of the day. I rarely find decent blogging material in the morning.

So the flood waters have receeded and the temperatures are rising. We still don't have any leaves in the trees, and there's still a chance of light snow one or two nights this week. I'm ready for the cleaner part of spring to get here. I've had enough of mud and gray days and chilly nights. I'm sure I won't be saying that in July, but I'm saying it now.

We have other things to look forward to around here than just warmer weather. Our missions revival at church is coming up. Actually, our youth pastor has been making an effort to get everyone's mind on that track over the last couple of days. That's what Bible study was about tonight.

Missions Revival is always one of the highlight weeks of the church calendar. I'm excited for this year, because I actually have a job and an opportunity to give a little more, or at least in a different way, than in past years. It's a week full of challenges and encouragement and a healthy dose of reality. I'm really looking forward to it.

Stink. If you couldn't tell, I don't really have anything to blog about tonight. I need to work on that part about taking the little things in life and writing about them.

Um...I'm reading Big Red right now. Dad gave it to me years ago to read and I remembered really enjoying it. Then I foudn it at the library and decided to revisit it. I'm glad I did. It's a very simple book, but still solid and good. And smaller than I remember. And I don't usually enjoy reading severely accented dialogue, but it doesn't really bug me in this book.

One of my sister's guy friends is a huge dog person. I found him tonight at Bible study (he comes with his sister to the singles' study after teens') when he was playing with our youth pastor's dog and told him he needed to read this book. He gave me a skeptical look and asked, "Does it end like Where the Red Fern Grows?" I quickly assured him that it didn't.

That's one thing I really like about reading good books: sharing them with other people.

Ok. I give up. I'm going to bed. I'll try this again tomorrow.

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.

It's My Birthday (also: Braids)

It's my birthday.

Tada!

How am I going to spend it? many of you wish to know.

Pack. Clean my room. Maybe wash some dishes and write. Go to a hotel two hours away and commence a weekend retreat and constantly be on guard for unpleasant "surprises" from well-meaning "friends". (Or not so well-meaning.)

I know. Lame. I already raked dog poop this morning. Then I ate the last of the ice cream. And I was awake by 8.

I was awake by 8 mostly because my phone kept buzzing with facebook notifications because people were posting "Happy birthday!" on my wall. (My phone is demonic, because I turned off the facebook notifications and I still get them.) Thanks, guys! You're awesome.

We aren't doing any huge celebration A) because we aren't big on over-the-top party celebrations, and B) it's kind of a bad day for us because Dad works and I have to leave this afternoon and my youth pastor's sons will be over (which is why I need to clean my room (and by "clean my room", I mean "put away most of my clothes, organize my desk and night table, and shove everything else into my closet")).

So that's the plan for my birthday.

Be jealous.

Ever since I finally taught myself how to French braid my hair a couple years ago, braids have been one of my favorite hairstyles of choice. Diverse, able to be dressy or casual, and fairly easy. One style, however, I have not been able to master: the milkmaid braid.

Yesterday, I found a video tutorial on how to achieve such a braid. (Did you know it is possible to get "addicted" to Pinterest without even having an account. Indeed. I know.)

It was easy. Like "oh, duh" easy.

I used to think the only way to get this look was to braid from one side of your head, by your ear, to the other side. Maybe French braid it. And I just couldn't do it that way.

This method has you do two normal braids and pin them on top of your head.

Duh!

(Yes, I did misplace the video link.)

I tried it yesterday. I had to. Finally, I had a hairstyle which completed my "bookish" look.

Okay, make that more like dorky homsechooler trying to look indie or something. If the stares at Wal-Mart are any way to judge....

Yes, I am very self-concious. I wanted to slap those boys. With a belt. And then hand them the belt and explain it's proper use and their need of it.

(Why, you may ask, were you worried about the opinion of that kid of person? I don't know.)

But it doesn't matter, because after my trip to Wal-Mart I babysat, and the kids loved it. And also my feather earrings. The little girl kept blowing them while we were reading books. These kids also presented (with their parents) cupcakes for my birthday! And they sang to me. So I was happy.

Whatever. I'll try again and again until I find a way to make this style a little more...something. And in the meantime, my plan is to use it when I'm spending all day in my garden in June and want my hair off my neck and out of my face.

I will also never again sleep with my hair still styled this way. 1) It's a little uncomfortable and 2) my hair is a disaster this morning. I unbraided it and poof. (Jessi, it was kind of like you sleeping with mousse at Youth Conference. Only not quite.)

Well, I should go. I don't know when those boys will be here and I still have boxes to shove and clothes to pack and dog hair to vaccum. And then perhaps I shall read a book.
(Also, I'd be pretty freaked out if my day went anything like Rapunzel's.)

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.

Someday, my prince will come?

My cousin is getting married tomorrow.

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

Meanwhile, I'm home alone. Again.

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

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

Oh. Right. Weddings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm back!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And y'all already know that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the Love of Books

"The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read." - Mark Twain

After a surprisingly relaxed trip (including playing on a teeter-totter at one of the rest stops and getting 47 vehicles to honk at us [mostly semi trucks but at the end we were so desperate to get to 50 we held up a "HONK" sign to every car that passed]) we arrived at Grandma's. It's been a quiet visit so far. A little sightseeing today and some shopping, but not much else.

Usually a visit to Grandma's would include one day spent at my friend's house. However, she just left for college. Sometimes, I really hate growing up. I've said that before, right?

Anyway. I brought three books with me. After I finished the Ranger's Apprentice I was reading, I picked up The Secret Garden. This is my third time reading it (I think). It's one of my all-time favorite books, and partly for this reason: it's the book that got me reading for real.

It was while Dad was away with his training and we were staying with Grandma. Mom got me a few books from Wal-Mart, The Secret Garden being one of them. At the time, I was a very slow reader, though I did sort of enjoy it. Secret Garden took me less time than most books of its size previously had. I fell in love with it.

Somehow we girls (being my youngest sister and her buddy, who joined us on our trip) got on this subject. For my sister, that magical book was Because of Winn Dixie. For our friend, it was Charlotte's Web. They were the simple books full of adventure and wonder that finally pried open the door to our imaginations and showed us what was possible.

"No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally - and often far more - worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond." - C. S. Lewis

I read something recently that described coming to the end of a good book was to bookworms like getting a high. Wherever this was, whoever said it, they called it a literary high. That's a pretty apt description.

I pretty much always have a book with me. The times are rare when I'm not in the middle of one (though I can't manage more than one at one time, unless one is something like Jane Eyre or The Silmarillion). Goodreads is one of my favorite sites because it is solely devoted to books; the love of books, tracking the books I'm reading, book authors, and helping me find new books.

When we were getting ready to leave on our trip down south, I stuck my bag in the car and Heather said, "What could you possibly be bringing that would take so much room?" (or something to that effect, and referring to myself and our sister.) I replied, "Uh...books!" She rolled her eyes. ("Well-read people are less likely to be evil." -  Lemony Snicket)

Yeah, this is the girl who is content to take a year to read one book. I kid you not. Needless to say, she doesn't "get" my book passion. I don't really "get" people like that.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one." - George R. R. Martin

I've mentioned before that I'm just now working my way through a lot of the old classics, especially childrens' classics. I tend to enjoy them more than most modern books I pick up (especially modern teenage paranormal romances). With a few exceptions, I don't much appreciate the average modern children's book. Too blatantly educational for my tastes. When I have kids, they're getting Whinnie the Pooh.  It's been proven over and over that reading helps a person's learning ability and intelligence (as well as music and being multi-lingual, which are other things I'd like to teach my kids [and yes, I, too, feel a little strange talking like that]). In my opinion, writing books all about the characters counting pennies or reading clocks is a bit redundant and takes away part of the fun of the readin experience.

But that's all I have to say on that subject. That's all I have to say right now, actually. Is it obvious I'm a bit distracted?

One last thing: "I can't imagine a man really enjoying a book and reading it only once." - C. S. Lewis

(Goodreads is also a great place to find quotes.)

The Purpose of this Blog....

Before I get to the actual point of this blog:

I totally forgot to mention another thing from our trip down south: I decided that I want to learn to play the spoons. Right after I achieve ambidexterity. Then again, all my practice to become ambidextrous may be the only thing that will enable me to have the coordination necessary to play the spoons.

I'm not kidding you. We saw a hillbilly band during our touristy touring. Washtub, banjo, guitar, and spoons. Of course, I'd probably end up with bleeding hands and arms for the first two weeks of practice before the calluses developed, judging by the way the woman played those spoons. 'Twas fascinating, truly. Good thing I don't have nice, dainty hands I want to keep in flawless condition. Wonder what it would do to my fingernails, though....

Onto the real subject: I'm thinking about changing the title of my blog. Indeed. When I titled it "Breathless", I'd set out with the idea that I'd take what I saw and did in my everyday life and write about it, similar to One Magical Moment Per Day. Clearly that plan didn't turn out the way I'd expected. I'm still trying to find my blogger's voice (if you couldn't tell), because rambling on and on and recapping all the time irritates me to bits. The original idea of "Breathless" isn't quite what I'm going for any more.

I'm thinking about maybe "The Definition of Me", though that doesn't really flow. The idea behind it is that, lately, I've started "discovering myself", if you will (I know, I don't like the New Age connotations, or whatever that's related to, either, but I can't pin down the proper term). It's hard to put into words. It's all about this growing up process, and how I'm stepping away from being a child defined by the authority figures around me - my parents, especially - and changing into the person I'll be the rest of my life. I'm trying to capture the idea of that journey from child to adult, I guess. I don't know. That doesn't really make sense, even to me.

Let me try one more time. Much as I dislike the phraseology, the idea is a journey of self-discovery, in the simplest terms. It's what I've been struggling with for the last year or so: trying to figure out where I'm headed, "what I want to be when I grow up", and, deep down, the sort of person I'm becoming. The struggle with a new sort of independence and existence that kids my age face. That transition between child following parents to adult stepping out based on the guidance of those parents. If you get my meaning, and it's okay if you don't, because I hardly do.

"The Definition of Me", or "Defining Me", just sort of came to me a few days ago, along with that whole confusing concept I just failed to put into words. I don't know if it fits, but neither does "Breathless", either. Basically, the goal I have for this blog is to allow people to share in my journey by looking at the little things that define me as a person; like my love of gardening and cooking and writing, my brat dog, hopefully soon the stage of life where I start my first real job, etc. Less of me rambling about nothing in particular like I would in a private journal, talking about what I did in general, and more of a story highlighting the things that are special to me.

That's the dilemma, in a nutshell. Concision is not my strong point in writing! I'll mull over the one, but if anyone has any grand ideas, by all means, do share! "The Definition of Me" doesn't really roll of the tongue all that well, and, really thinking about it, I don't much care for it. Help?

The Absent(-minded) Blogger Returns!

Updates are sooo overrated.

So I'm not doing one.

Actually, they're rather depressing, because they remind me 1) how many good things I could have blogged about in detail but am now cramming into six paragraphs and 2) how poor of a memory I have. I've tried writing a post probably three times now. I even got the Blogger app on my phone thinking it meant I no longer had any excuse for not blogging. Nope. My new excuse is that I hate, despise, detest virtual keyboards.

So Youth Conference was good, I got my driver's license, went to another job interview, had some church activities, voted, read a few books, didn't write much, and then everyone but Wes went on a short trip to visit some friends down south who moved away this past May.

That's not really a recap.

Actually, we just got back from that short trip. Just Friday to Monday, and it was a long drive. We did a little touristy stuff, ate lots of good food, hung out, and avoided the humidity as much as possible.

What I totally didn't expect, but what has become a personal highlight for me, was the preaching on Sunday. God worked it out so that much of what was said was exactly what I needed to hear. It spoke right to some of the deep, personal issues I've been dealing with lately. For that alone, I truly do feel blessed. God's just amazing that way.

Life's been crazy. I'm stepping into a new stage: unemployed single living at home. I hate that stage and am desperate to get out of it. At least as far as a job goes. I have an interview this Thursday, and I'm praying hard this one works out. It's at a cafe owned by some people we know, which opened up sometime last year (?). As soon as we heard they were opening, Mom told me to put in an application. Did I? No. Of course not. Even though I love that sort of job and it's pretty much exactly what I've been looking for. Well, this is my second chance.
As far as the "living at home" part goes, I'm quite content. Most kids my age are like "Yay! Independence!" I'm like, "Um....No, thanks." I'm pretty sure whenever I do eventually leave home, I'll be reduced to a puddle of tears and nervous stomach acid before I turn off our street. Only in my head am I a bold adventurer doing new things.
That, and part time at a cafe probably won't be enough to sustain my wannabe Bohemian self and my brat.
Also, there's that part where I want to get into missions, and somewhere down the line (hopefully at the next stop) I'll be applying the concept of saving most of what I earn to my good, healthy habit-filled lifestyle I'm trying to develop.
There's also the concept of a schedule. Yeah. Well, I would attempt to stick to that as far as this blog goes, but we (being Mom, myself, the girls, and a pal) will be heading out West to visit Grandma on Friday. So...perhaps I'll return on Thursday? I'll definitely try blogging (okay, I should use a word more committed than "try") while we're gone.
Whatever. I should go. Lots to do!

It's not what I wanted to say, but it's better than silence

I've been avoiding this for too long. Believe me, at first I did try to write, but it ended up being a jumble of thoughts that I couldn't and didn't want to sort out, so I gave up. I'm still struggling to find something to say, though there is a lot I need to say.

But I think I'll be a cop out and not say much, because everyone who reads this pretty much knows how my life has gone lately.

I think this is one of those stages of change in life. Transition is definitely how it feels to me. School is done, I had my first job interview (I didn't get the job, though), and I'm trying to figure out just what I'm supposed to be doing.

Mom told me a while ago that this age was the worst. It's like everything is happening and yet nothing is. It's that pause between acts, when the stage goes dim and everyone is changing outfits.

Clearly I'm feeling far more mellow than normal. I can't usually manage that kind of metaphor.

I don't mean to make it sound like life hasn't been busy. We've kept moving from one thing to another. I've had plenty to occupy my mind. But I still feel like the actor who can't remember their lines or their position on the stage. I know I need to be moving, but I'm scared stiff.

At the graduation ceremony at church a couple weeks ago, I said I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grow up, but for the moment I planned to continue at our church's institute and help Mom and Dad with their missions work. That's all fine and dandy, but Institute doesn't start for what?, three months? And there isn't really very much I can do to help Mom and Dad right now. That's all just in theory at the moment.

Change. A part of me dreads it. The sane part of me likes feeling settled, knowing the routine, knowing what to expect - demanding to know what is to be expected. That illogical, hyperactive, colorful part of me screams for adventure, and adventure requires change. That part of me wants to keep moving, keep trying new things, and has very high expectations. And tends to wrestle control of my brain out of the hands of the sane portion.

I'm supposed to be looking for a job. More than that; I'm supposed to already have a job. But I've come to find out that - lately, at least - I'm the sort of person who isn't very self-motivated. Not that I'm making excuses. It's just another bad habit I need to beat. But how does one who procrastinates and lacks incentive find the willpower to tackle those two faults? That's almost irony.

Now I'm really babbling. Hopefully once I get this mess out of the way I'll be able to blog more clearly.

I suppose the struggle I'm dealing with is finding purpose. I've always had that struggle, but it's become far more evident lately that I seriously need some purpose. I'm dissatisfied with the life I'm building. I need to find something worthwhile. Don't worry; I'm not going to rush off on some sort of self-discovery type of adventure. I'm just trying to get a better perspective of life.

The sane part of me keeps urging me to settle down and get serious, to find something to do and just do it. That part of me is heavily influenced by my wise parents and my well-meaning youth pastor, who may not even realize how deeply their words hit me. However, that uncontrollably wild side of me refuses to accept that I have to choose just one path to take in life; refuses to believe that I might possibly have to accept a job I couldn't like without forcing myself; refuses to accept any responsibility for the choices I'm making. That part of me wants to believe anything is still possible, I can do whatever I want, and I have all the time in the world to do it.

How? asks the sane part. By dreaming? Unfortunately, this world requires at least a little money to fulfill dreams. And, as much as I still plan to get published, that process takes a while and I kind of need something to happen right now.

Wow. This post turned into an inner battle. Lovely. But there: there's my struggle. There's the truth to what I haven't been able to find the words to say. Maybe I'm looking for some outside support, some peer pressure, I don't know. Like I said, I don't really know what I want to say. As well as feeling panicked by this rush, this urge to change, I also feel lost in the bustle. Maybe I wrote this because I needed to, for my own sanity's sake, because I seriously need a reality check. I don't know. I can't believe I'm actually going to post it, too, but I need to so it's all out of the way and I can get back to some semblance of regularity.

So here goes.