The Windy City

I've been ready to write this post since last Friday, considering it was about last Thursday. However, life has been busy (we're all gearing up for summer 'round here) and then I was sick, so.... Here it is at last.

My grandma is up (or over?) for a visit. She came by train on Thursday. The nearest place we could pick her up was Chicago. The girls had their final day of classes, but Mom didn't want to go alone, so I said I'd go. After all, I've never been to Chicago.

Good thing I'm a morning person.

Mom had warned me the night before that she wanted to be out of the house by 7:30. I like to have about an hour in the morning to run the morning routine before I leave, so I set my alarm for 6:30. Naturally, my phone decided it didn't care about the alarm. I jerked awake just before 7:00 and truly hit the ground running.

I skidded to a stop when I came upon Mom still in her robe and making breakfast. She'd abandoned her ambitious plan of leaving so early. Fine by me.

I think we left around 8:00. I had a book, my notebooks, and a bracelet I've been braiding since last summer. I always bring lots to do on road trips, though I rarely pull any of my stuff out. (And it had hit me only the night before that'd we'd be driving the equivalent of a usual road trip.)

Mom needed to run by the ATM before we headed out, but the one in town was out. Mom said we'd find one on the route, and off we headed.

We had our old GPS set and ready to go. Perhaps we should have considered a back-up plan, but of course we didn't. About 2 hours into the drive Mom pulled off the highway and set the GPS to find a bank. Turns out the bank in the GSP's system no longer existed, and I'm sorely lacking in navigational abilities. We ended up getting lost in tulip country before Mom got us sorted out.

After that, we grabbed a drive-through breakfast at Starbucks (the only thing on their menu I care for are the muffins) and made a couple pit stops.Then it was smoggy skies all the way to Chicago.
I know understand why J. R. R. Tolkien named his dragon Smaug (and the following links have no relation whatsoever to Chicago).
Whenever we travel back west, we always see who can spot the capital building first. This wouldn't work too well for Chicago, even if your landmark of choice is the Sears Tower. Not that Mom and I could have spotted that anyway....
We hit the traffic and had to fight our way across five lanes to get to our exit, after sorting out the detour because our original exit was closed. And dear old Gladys the GPS wasn't helping. She kept shutting off. When we finally did get into the city, we circled around trying to find Union Station and then the parking garage. Then we had to find a parking spot in the garage and wonder about what we were supposed to do with our ticket.
We were a few hours early and spent that time, after finding the gate Grandma was coming in on, wandering the streets and gaping like true tourists (though penniless tourists.) Pretty soon my pocket notebook was out and I was scribbling and walking at the same time. (Which makes my writing more difficult to read than normal, but still.) In the few square blocks we wandered (didn't want to be too adventurous and run out of time) we could almost always hear a street musician playing his saxophone. He had a diverse, if kind of limited, repertoire, including "If You're Happy and You Know It", "Baby Mine", and "These Are a Few of My Favorite Things". I marveled over the old, distinguished architecture mixed with the sleek and modern. Mom  tried to come up with an onomatopoeia for the sound of cars going over a lift bridge (or whatever that's called). The din of the city - car horns, murmured conversation around street cafes, the PA system from Union Station - mingled with the less-than-clear air gave me a bit of a headache. Or perhaps it was my habitual self-dehydration?
At one point early in our amble, some sort of white blobs hit us. Mom cried rain and I cried bird poop, and we duck-n-covered. I examined the moisture on the ground and couldn't quite identify it. Mom looked up. "Oh. Window washers." We'd been so lost in our site-seeing that we hadn't even noticed we'd walked right beneath a lift crawling up the side of a glass building. Someone somewhere had to have been chuckling at us.
We mmmmed over the variety of restaurants, though we ended up stopping as good ol' Mickey D's for lunch. Then we settled on a stone wall to munch, within sight of the saxophone player. It started spitting rain, and he started up "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head".
After that we wandered a little more. I wanted to see "the Big Bean", but it was too far away for us to safely walk, enjoy ourselves, and come back in time. Instead we explored a few more blocks. I wondered vaguely about the location of the Sears' Tower, but we couldn't spot it.
Mom stopped to get a picture of a big metal globe in front of one building. I noticed a man dressed up in a fancy suit with a hat kind of like a chauffer's standing outside the building talking to people. As Mom and I continued past him, he asked us something about a Skydeck. Not sure what he was talking about, Mom shook her head and we continued on. As we passed the main door of the building, I noted the name "Willis" over it. (Anyone who has been to Chicago or knows anything at all about Chicago is probably rolling their eyes. We don't make good tourists.)
Soon after that, we headed back to Union Station, where we got a snack as Cinnabon. (I know. We went to Chicago and all we ate was McDonald's and Cinnabon.) Then, thinking we didn't have long to wait, we wandered down to the gate where Grandma was coming in.
Turns out we had to wait for nearly an hour more. We found an underground path to the parking garage, which meant no crowds to deal with and a more direct route. Then we waited. In that time, we saw a number of curious (and in one case suspicious in a stalker-way) characters coming and going. That was almost enough amusement for me, after I toned out the automatic voices declaring "Gate 12", "Gate 14", "Gate 16", and so on, non-stop.
Grandma's train finally arrived, and soon we hugged her hello and got her bags. Then Mom had to deal with an impatient lady as she tried once again to learn what she was supposed to do with her parking ticket. Then we headed off. We made a stop at an automated machine to pay for the ticket and then loaded up. (And I noted that the government vehicle we'd parked next to was still there.) Turns out we could have paid for our ticket at the exit. Ah, well. We tried.
As we were leaving, I commented that we had never seen the Sears Tower. Not even sure what it looked like, I googled it on my phone. Oh.
"Mom. It was the one with that big globe outside that you took pictures of." Yeah. The one with the Skydeck. Turns out it was no longer called the "Sears Tower", but the "Willis Tower".
To be fair, it didn't look that big standing at the base of it. I turned in my seat and squinted at the Chicago skyline. Yup. That big brown one there, so obviously taller than all the rest. We were right there and didn't even notice.
The ride home was pretty uneventful. Supper at Panera Bread (I've never been) and then quiet conversation for most of the drive. I fell asleep at one point, jerking awake when Mom slammed on the breaks as a deer crossed the road. We got home late, and I was forced to sort out my sleeping arrangements. Mom and Dad get my room because Grandma has theirs. I was going to bunk with one of the girls, but neither really wanted me to (mostly on account of my dog), and me not liking the idea of having to sneak around in the morning because they sleep later than me. I spent that night on the couch, and now I'm in the office, my mattress atop the uncomfortable hide-a-bed. It works. I guess.
So that was our trip to Chicago. I reaffirmed my dislike for big cities. Also, after Nashville and now Chicago, I've discovered that big cities never look or feel as big standing on their streets as they're made out to be. But it was an experience. Now I can say I've been there.
For Doris Day fans, this is the song stuck in my head all that day: Windy City.

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."

The Songs Stuck in My Head

I still haven't finished that song.

Actually, it's more like four or five songs. A few weeks ago I sat down to collect and organize all of the bits and pieces I had accrued over the past year or more. I ended up arranging them a tack board (see the picture above) in hopes that if I had something visual to off of which to work I might have more success.

It didn't work, and I'm still where I was weeks ago.

For some reason, the words aren't falling into place. It's rather frustrating. But I'll try again and again until they do.

Mom and Dad took their missionary training this past week. We're now working on putting together our presentation, which includes a video. Mom commented yesterday that she wants me to write a song for Heather to sing at some point during the video.

I'm sure the song we could use is someone in that jumble of words on my tack board. If only I could find it.

I've always balked at forceful creativity in the past. Mostly from stubborn foolishness. I don't have an honestly decent reason. Lately I've been trying to train the creative part of my brain to work whenever, not just when I feel like it. I suppose this is a great opportunity to teach myself to just be creative at will.

It might sound silly, I know, but I used to think that I could only turn out something creative if I was in the mood and "felt inspired". I'm learning that all it takes is sitting down and doing it and I can usually find the creative mood in the process.

I have a favorite quote by Frank Tibolt: "Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action."

So I'll force myself to take action and finally get these songs out of my head and onto the page. Hopefully I'll soon be able to post them.

In other news, we have revival meetings at church this week. If yesterday is any indication, it's going to be a fantastic week. Also, because of meetings, we don't have Bible study or Institute, which means I get an extra week to study for the biweekly test we have in Ephesians class.

I know it's a short post, but I can't think of anything else to talk about at the moment. I guess I'll stop here.

Four hours later... (Or: Writer's Block: My Recurring Nightmare)

WARNING: RANT!

I've been dealing with Book 2 for years now. To me, this story is the epitome of writer's block. No matter what I do, I can't find a way to get over it. Once upon a time I actually liked the story, but now I'm scared of it. It's like I'm being haunted.

Whenever I sit down to work on it, I end up with a page full of scribbles or nothing on the page at all. My mind just goes blank.

I've suffered one serious writing slump for a good year or more, and I'm starting to think Book 2 deserves part of the blame. It's cramping my creativity. So I decided recently that I'm not writing anything else until I take care of this frustrating book.

I know. It's bad for a writer to hate what they're writing. Thing is, I hate hating it! But I don't know how to view it except with extreme loathing for all of the trouble it's putting me through.

Maybe it's just that I'm still trying to find my writing style, and my issues with Book 2 stem from the fact that I'm not really sure what needs to be done about it. I don't know.

So last night I decided to see if morning writing could help. If I woke early enough and forced myself to write while still half-asleep and not thinking completely rationally, maybe I could clear some headway so when I finally became coherent I could get some work done.

That plan bombed.

I set my alarm for 6:30 and woke to find myself too tired to get out of bed, so I reset the alarm for 7. When 7 rolled around, I hit snooze 5 or 6 times before finally rolling out of bed. (Not like this is unusual or anything. I hit snooze a lot.)

Maybe I should have started writing right then, but I didn't. First I took a shower. Then I went to retrieve my computer cord from the girls' room. (My cord is now the only working computer cord between mine and two of my siblings' laptops.)

Of course, Heather had it plugged into the outlet beside her bed. In the wall against which her bed is set. So I had to devise some way to get around her to reach the cord. Meanwhile the dog took my appearance to mean it was time to wake up, and he was begging to go out.

I finally got the cord, started to ignore the dog and felt bad about it, then fed him and took him outside.

Finally, I returned to my room. 8 o'clock now. I started up the computer and pulled out my Bible to do my devotions. That done, I thought to start writing. But distraction after distraction came up.

Now it's 4 hours since I woke up and I haven't made any progress. I wrote a 300-word story for my Word a Day thing I haven't done in forever, but that's as far as I've got creatively speaking. I've checked the mail, eaten a salad, listened to music, stretched, brushed and brushed and brushed my hair, slammed my head on the desk, checked facebook three times, glared at the blank page in my word processor, braided my hair, and written a mini-rant to myself. So I decided to come on here and share my writing woes with you. Don't you love me?

Now Mom's awake and I'm being reminded to take care of the laundry I've been neglected. Just a minute.

....

I'm back. Everything I've read about dealing with writer's block (if that's what I really have) has offered different suggestions on ways to get rid of it, but on two points most of them agree: take a shower and go for a walk. I've already done the shower thing. Maybe I'll take the dog on a walk. Or perhaps I should wash some dishes.

Or maybe I'll just slam my head on the desk again.

However, these things are suggested (except for head slamming) as a way to clear one's head. Considering my mind is already blank, perhaps they'll just serve as outlets for my procrastination. Though I don't think I'll hear any complaints if I procrastinate by washing dishes.

Have I bored you long enough? I'm sorry.

I think my song for the day is "Knee Deep" by the Zac Brown Band:

Wishing I was knee deep in the water somewhere

Got the blue sky breeze and it don't seem fair

Only worry in the world is the tide gonna reach my chair

I'm going to go wash some dishes now.

This Beautiful Life

Foreword:

This is not my first blog. I've been blogging since I was 12. (I think. I lost track. Maybe before that, maybe after, I don't know.)

It's pretty pathetic, but I have a bad habit of changing my blog. And I can't just change the title. No. Gotta change the whole thing.

Actually, this is the first blog I've had that's not utterly privatized. And I'm hoping I don't get the urge to change to a new one in a year or so.

For more information about this, check the "About this Blog" page.

I've had this song stuck in my head all year. Well, not the whole song; it's a song I've been piecing together for a long time. A line scribbled here in my sermon notes, another on a computer post-it note, a few in my story notebook. One time I sat down and collected all of the scribbles. There are actually a few songs there waiting to be written. I just can't make sense of most of them.

The one that's most often in my thoughts is about moments. I'm not sure how it started out. Maybe something a preacher said, maybe an idea that just came to me in the middle of one of my deep thinking sessions. Slowly, bit by bit, the words are falling into place. Usually in church. Something will be said that reminds me of this song and I'll write it down, wondering how it will fit.

The idea behind the song is personal. This past year, I've taken time to step back and evaluate my life. Looking back on my 17 years, I feel regret for the time I've wasted in useless, temporal things. My priorities have gradually gotten out of order.

This song has risen out of this struggle to make my life worth something. And not something great by man's measures; something great for God. It's not about living my life for Him. I've come to think of it as living every moment for Him.

(The song isn't finished yet. One day it will come together. One day the words will fall into place. When it's finally done, I'll share it here.)

I've developed a different perspective for looking at life. I'm starting to dig deeper. Rather than the whole picture, I'm looking at every thread. Now I think of the moments. Every moment is another opportunity to do something for God. Every second can be spent in so many ways. We forget about the seconds, the quiet hours, the single moments right in the midst of our crazy lives, and how each one can be a turning point. At each moment we have choices to make. How will we spend this precious life we've been given.

It sounds elementary, but think about this: this is the only life we have. This is it. No second chances. I know I tend to live in a fantasy world. My mind goes high above reality. This isn't a video game where you can pause, or restart, or get another life when you make a mistake. There will be opportunities that come along that you may only get once. We have to be right in the middle of reality, doing what we know is right, so we don't miss them.

This has been a growing year for me. Anyone who read my past blog knows one of the things at the forefront of my mind has been growing up. It's a strange notion, and a scary undertaking. I don't want to mess it up. I'm standing at a crossroads in my life, and the choices I make now are big ones. A hundred paths are laid out before me. I can't see where they will go. They are made up of millions of moments, countless opportunities and choices. How I spend those determines where I will go. How I spend my life is determined on how I live now. What I'm doing, where I'm at.... No matter how much I dream about where I want to go, what I want to do, I'm not going to just wake up one morning and find myself there. This isn't a fairytale. I have to choose wisely and do what's right in every moment if I want to get there. Otherwise I'll look back and not only wonder where my life has gone, but I'll see how all those threads wove together and I'll feel regret for how I wasted my time.

I want to look back and see a beautiful tapestry. Dark and light, color and shadow, pain and joy all weaving together, but strongly, because I was determined to live well in every moment. When I stand on the edge of eternity and look back at my life, I want to know, to see, that I didn't waste it. I want to deserve my "Well done". I want to be found faithful and true.

Sorry if this all seems like babbling. That's kind of how I blog. It's just my thoughts pouring out, my heart on the page for all to see in hopes that it rings true with somebody else. This blog is where I highlight some of those threads for others to share. It's a tangible record of my life, in all the ups and downs. It's a way for me to keep a clear perspective and appreciate this life I have been given. Sometimes I don't know what I want to say, so I have to write to sort out my thoughts. It's a confusing mess, but a beautiful one. Sometimes it might just be a story, or a song, or a moment I want to capture. It all blends together into my life. Every piece is a part of who I am and who I'm growing up to be. I step back and feel...breathless. Thank God for this beautiful life.