Take with you words

The other day at dinner/Bible reading (yes, supper still lasts for like four hours at my house.  Okay, well, that's a slight exaggeration--it's more like two hours) we were reading Hosea 14.  We got as far as verse 2 before we digressed wildly (as we are often wont to do).

"'Take with you words, and return to the Lord'--hey, Joanne, this should be your verse!"

That was my dad, who in the split second it took to read the first eight words of the verse decided that when I write a memoir (because, you know, why not), I should call it "Take With You Words."

Honestly, it sounds like a good idea to me.  Not that I'm planning on writing a memoir any time soon (or ever), but if I do, at least I have a title.

It's a start.

(PS, not to toot my own horn or anything but I'll be honest--I've read memoirs before and thought that even within my limited 25 years of life I've probably acquired enough stories to write a more interesting memoir than some of them that are out there.  And for whatever stories I don't have, I could totally just write random things I thought about.  I could do this thing, people.  I'm not going to, but I could!)

(PPS, NO PICTURE TODAY.  I'm such a little rebel.)

I've been hibernating

A sister who supposedly doesn't read this recently gently reminded me that I could possibly write again.  Because, you know, that's what you're supposed to do when you've committed to a blog.  (Though I recently read my first-ever blog post and saw that I had wisely and honestly been pretty pessimistic about my ability to keep on blogging regularly.  So, if anyone read my blog in 2009, you'd know not to expect too much.)

I could.  And I am.  Right now, in fact.  But I don't want to.

Guys, in the spirit of full disclosure, 2014 has been an awful year.  A friend lost twins.  My sister lost her young son.  I lost a friend my age.  Another friend just lost her son.

There have been good things.  Bright things.  But every time I've even thought about writing here in my blog, I keep logging in and looking at that last post I wrote and thinking, "Ugh, I'm not ready to move beyond that."  I didn't know, obviously, when I wrote that, how much I'd come to appreciate the story of that woman who lost her son, how much I'd come to rely on those around me when all I did was cry for a month when my nephew died.  How exhausted and upset and mad I felt when yet another friend lost her child.  So every time I looked at the post, it bespoke even more grief.

Because it's all good and well, to grieve in unity.  But I HATE that we have to grieve in unity.  Or at all.  I hate that by loving so many people, ones heart gets broken afresh with every good-bye.  I think I've cried more this year than I ever have before--even counting when my own brother died.  I even almost cried at a wedding this year, and I have never cried at a wedding in my life before, so that is saying something.

And this is why I haven't written.  Because I can't think of light and fluffy things to say.  Because even though I still have random interactions with people around me, and I meet strangers who become friends, and I think vaguely interesting thoughts, they get pushed around and reorganized in my brain and at the top, always, remains the dull "ugh I can't even" and then, you know, I just don't write for ages and ages.

I'm not trying to make it sound like I live a wholly depressed life.  I have a new sister-in-law, a new nephew, and another new niecew on the way.  There have been weddings, and engagements, and babies, and changes, and happy things, and all the rest other wonderful things there are supposed to be in life.  But someone (a weird dude.  The strangest people talk to me sometimes) recently was like, "So awesome that you're so young and full of optimism!" and I straight-up told him that I thought it was rude that he assumed young people had to be full of optimism.  I look forward to the future.  I expect wonderful things in the future.  But I think it's stupid that older people think it's okay for themselves to not have optimism, because us younger generation has got it covered.

Maybe I was PMSing that day.  I just looked up the official definition of optimism, and it is in fact what I have, in spite of everything.

op·ti·mism

ˈäptəˌmizəm/

noun

1. 1.

   hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something.

   "the talks had been amicable, and there were grounds for optimism"

   synonyms:

   hopefulness, hope, confidence, buoyancy, cheer, cheerfulness, good cheer, sanguineness, positiveness, positive attitude "I wish I had your optimism"

Whatever.  We're going with optimistic though without a spirit of optimism.

So.  Here I am, for whatever it's worth.  Thankful for all that is past, and trusting the Lord for all that's to come.

Things I learned in 2013

This feels like deja vu.  I literally just did a "What I learned in 2012" post, but, as we all know, that was a whole year late, so...  I'll just do this, and maybe my "What I learned in 2014" post will seem normal, presuming I do it in 12 months instead of waiting till 2015 is over with.

Yikes.  2015 sounds frighteningly close.  It's a good thing I know the Lord is coming soon!  I won't have to worry about silly things like "What I learned" lists.  Especially when my lists are as subjective and vague as mine typically are.

As always, this list is in no particular order.

1)  Rice bags can catch on fire in the microwave.  In other news, microwaves still function even with holes melted into the side of them.  That is truly something I didn't used to know.
2)  People can still surprise you.  I'm not that old, but I have a habit of thinking that nothing is unexpected.  Well, it's not true.  Unexpected things can (and do) happen.
3)  God is a lot more gracious than I am.  I knew that, but I was reminded again this past year.
4)  I'm kind of emotional.  I used to mock my friends who teared up at the slightest provocation, but I'm not much better these days.  I don't know if it's age or event related, but I cry a lot more often than I want to.
5)  When I look around I realize that the Lord has a way of using substitution in my life.  In a good way.  For instance, there are things I think I want but instead of giving those to me, He gives to me things that feed the need perfectly for where I am in life.  That probably doesn't make sense, so I'll elaborate.  All I ever wanted to be from my youth up was to be a mom.  I never had career aspirations or even life aspirations, truth be told, outside of marriage and family.  And I still would love to be a mother, but at the current, that's not in the cards for me.  But what I do have is a passel of Sunday School kids, and a job at a daycare.  Almost every day of my life is filled with sticky smiles and heads of hair to braid.  So it might seem like a silly something (and I'm not trying to say that what I do is mothering, because you mothers out there know that it's way more than just making sure kids aren't choking on plastic bags or whatever), but I have been so thankful this past year to realize that the Lord knows my heart and keeps my lap filled with children who want to listen to me read story books.  It's a gift.  And I'm thankful for it.
6)  I should never be so dogmatic when I say that certain things won't happen.  Turns out #2 on my list applies to all kinds of areas.  Sometimes things that seem like they'll never happen do.
7)  Life is made of moments, not milestones.  I mean, some people get milestones, and I obviously have milestone-ish things in my life, but I've been learning not to look to milestones for contentment.  Life passes me by when I'm constantly looking ahead for events over which I hold no control.  Life is the every day, the mundane, the mealtimes and conversations and friendships and the shared memories.  Life isn't always about moments that are scrapbook-able.

I could go on.  But 2014 has already been overwhelming with with things and I'm afraid that if I finish this list (which I started a few weeks ago, but, as per usual, left in draft format for a while) it'll be subtly influenced by 2014.  And then what would I put on my list next year?  If the Lord doesn't come, that is.

Happy Thanksgiving!

This year Thanksgiving is a little different than usual.  We had a family celebration a week or so ago, and then we all went our separate ways and are having individual Thanksgivings.  My brother and cousins are supposed to be arriving in a bit for our Chinese food Thanksgiving (read: best idea ever) but before then I just wanted to publicly say how thankful I am for...  Basically everything.  I sometimes have issues not being content (what am I doing with my life?  Why have I accomplished nothing in the past decade?  Ahhhh!) but...  I have a remarkably wonderful life.

This morning I got up and (after cleaning the house) went on a run.  And then went to the cemetery.  Maybe not the cheeriest Thanksgiving but a good one.  I loved having the quiet.  The time to pray, to be thankful, to simply...  Be.  The Lord has given me so much, and in a holiday that is usually filled with chatter and coffeecake it was nice to have a morning of just me and the Lord.

So.  Happy Thanksgiving.  May yours be as awesome as mine!  =)

My type of book

This is a photo from Guyana.  I'm sure you're jumping wildly about with excitement thinking, "Hot dog!  She's going to tell a story from that trip she took where she didn't tell us any stories?  She's finally thought of one?  And she's going to share it and show us that she loves her blog readers just as much/more than she loves her facebook friends, even though she usually dislikes facebook and loves Google, thereby we infer that she should love her (Google-powered) blog readers extra-much and eschew her facebook friends?  This is that time?"

Uh, no.  You should probably stop over-thinking things.  I still don't have Guyana stories.  And why would you use the expression "hot dog"?  That seems a little outdated.  Not like I'm judging you, I'm just pointing that out.

Now that it's established that this story doesn't actually relate to Guyana (except to say: this picture was taken in Guyana), allow me to continue.

This is a photograph of my brother and I, reading.  Is this unusual?  Indeed, it is not.  We tend to read all the time.  Stop light?  Time to read!  Family gathering gone long?  Book!  Airport?  Bound and printed is how I like my material, thanks.

So anyhow, we read.  The whole family, really.  My younger sister has a love/hate relationship with reading (I know, WHAT?  I just stop at the love/ and pretend that the slash is part of the word.  Oh me?  I have a loveslash relationship with reading.  You?) but recently I got her hooked on The Mysterious Benedict Society books, and she's nearly done with the four books (three plus the prequel) and she only started the series on Friday.  It makes me so proud.

Anyhow, the book she was reading in Guyana was some book published by Reader's Digest a while ago about the human body.  Seemed like a book I'd probably not rather read, though my brother and I both read books of my choosing while in Guyana, and they weren't exactly a laugh a minute.  I thought her book seemed sort of boring, she thought my books were boring.  Figure that.  You can't really see in the photo (see?  the picture actually has a purpose) but we're both reading books that you may not have perused yet.  Mine is called Just My Type, and his is called The Elegant Universe.

I have to go on record as saying that Just My Type was a quicker read than The Elegant Universe.  Just My Type was a book about fonts, and it was very well written.  The author went through the history of fonts ever since Gutenberg made them popular, and it even has a section on the interrobang.  My favorite ever.  The Elegant Universe is about the string theory, which I find quite interesting, however... it gets a little long.

Confession time.  I'm still not finished reading The Elegant Universe.  I got it out from the library around Easter time, but didn't have time to read it, so I returned it and got it out again before Guyana.  Seeing as my brother didn't think to bring a book (WHAT?) on the trip, I lent him mine, and I read my other book--the font book--and he read the string theory one.  He didn't finish it either.  But I still intend to finish it.  It really is a good book.  Honestly.  I actually laughed out loud in one part.

I'm such a nerd.

But anyhow, that's sort of my whole point in this story.  I sometimes weird myself out.  Here's the thing:  I (sadly) fall prey to reading Karen Kingsbury/Beverly Lewis/pick a Christian author and I've probably read a book by him/her thing.  But I've been trying to read more informative books and less pointlessness recently.  Not that I think there's something wrong with Christian fiction (I'm... not one of those people.  I understand that Philippians 4:8 says "whatsoever things are true," but I still read fiction, even in light of that), but sometimes I take stock of my life and think, "Hm.  I don't have a lot of education, but I do read.  So I should educate myself via words.  That much I can do."  So I read things like The Elegant Universe.

But I don't always like reading books like The Elegant Universe.  I get halfway through and think, "Brian.  Oh, Brian.  WHY ARE YOU ONLY NOW GETTING TO THE PART ABOUT STRING THEORY!?"  (May I just interject that this would be a perfect place for an interrobang?  Do you see why I miss it so much?  Seriously, I cannot believe that it didn't take!  It sorrows me!)  Because seriously, the author (Brian, in case you somehow missed that, and thought I fondly gave the actual book a name) spends the whole first half of the book discussing either the theory of general relativity or quantum mechanics.  I understand why he had to lay so much groundwork, but after a while it got to the point where I just wished he'd, well, get to the point.  So anyhow, when I'm halfway through such books, and furrowing my brow and making solemn promises to myself that no child of mine will ever have the name Brian I think what am I doing?

And then I get all guilty.  Am I reading nerdy books because I actually am tired of Karen Kingsbury and cohorts?  Or do I just like to read smart books because it's a nifty conversation starter?  Or do I just really like to learn things?  Am I being pretentious?  Does Brian Greene really have to go into so much detail?

Sorry.  That last question clearly isn't in relation to most books.

I just have to evaluate my motives every once in a while.  I've pretty much decided that I actually want to read the books, and I'm not just being pretentious.  Because I've tried having conversations about nerdy things, and it never works, and then I just feel awkward.  Actually, I take that back.  I have a cousin who actually understands the string theory.  I was talking to him about it, and I was like, "Sweet!  Give me the condensed version!  It'll save me from finishing the book I started!"  And... as it turns out, he doesn't have a condensed version.  It was rather lengthy, and just as we got to the actual string theory part (which is to say, he laid the groundwork, the part I've actually gotten through in the book I'm reading)... our conversation got cut off.

And he lives many hours away from me.

So now I have to finish my book.

Ugh.

Thing is, technically I could just read the wikipedia article about it and call it a day.  But... I'm obsessive.  I can't not finish a book I've started.  Actually, I've actually been able to not finish books in recent years, which I count as being a very grown-up thing to do, but it sort of hurts me.  And at this point I think I'll probably go crazy if I don't finish this book.  I've been working hard on it.

How did I start this topic?  Oh yes.  I saw the book on my dresser (conveniently under my stack of Bible, Kindle, and journal) and furrowed my eyebrows at it.  And figured that I would talk about it (a lot) in my blog, and maybe that would count as reading a few pages or something.

Doesn't usually work that way.  Sorrow.

In other news, I must disclaimer this message.  Thing is, these books are interesting.  I have learned a lot thus far in The Elegant Universe, and I learned a lot while reading Just My Type (the author is from England, so he talks a lot about the fonts they use on signs around London and stuff, and he would have photos of said signs in the book, and I would feel well-traveled because I'd seen those very signs.  Even though every person who's been to London or traveled even a few miles on the M1 has seen those signs, which technically makes it way less cool that I've seen them.  Though let's be honest.  It was cool that I'd seen those signs), but I must admit that neither author is a Christian.  The science book teaches evolution like it's a fact.  Scientists.  Pfft.  The font book casually references typographers traveling about with girlfriends.  Sinners.  Pfft.

Problems I didn't have with Karen Kingsbury, bless her heart.  (And I'm really not trying to pick on her.  She's just well known, thereby an easy reference point.)

Maybe the moral of the story is that I should finally buckle down and read Darby's synopsis.  My mother had read it by the time she was my age.  Virtuous woman.

Food for thought.

Suddenly I realize that I didn't have a point with this rather lengthy post.  So I'll make a point.

.

Haha, get it?  Periods are points.

I... need more sleep.

It's about time

I've sort of been procrastinating recently about getting caught up here.  Not because I don't want to talk about Guyana and how wonderful it was, but because I've pretty much explained how wonderful it was to pretty much everyone I know.  It's one of those things where after a while you dread hearing, "How was it?"  I just picked random stories and would tell like one story to each person who asked, so people now know random little things about it.

Also, not only did I spend a lot of time telling everyone about it, but I also spent a long time captioning my facebook album so as to cut down on the explanations.  So I wasted all of my residual Must-Tell-Everything! feelings on facebook.

Crazy social networking.  (PS, I apologize to everyone I ever scoffed at for being addicted to Pinterest.  You were right.  It's addicting and awesome.)

Anyhow, so what happens to my blog readers?  Basically you got the raw end of the deal.  I'm not going to copiously go into details of everything.  I'll say some things (still thinking of what stories I'm not tired of telling, give me a minute) and show you some pictures and then move on to my regularly scheduled rambles (well, as regularly scheduled as I know how to be).

So, we'll start with a family photo of, well, our family.  We're standing on a savanna.  Randomly.  In Guyana.  So... yeah.

Next is a photo of me standing in front of St. George's Cathedral.  It's a really tall wooden building.  The only of it's kind, which being interpreted is to say, the tallest wooden freestanding structure.  I'm not really sure what the significance of that is, but anyhow, it's white and wooden.  That much I could see with my own two eyes. 

 Finally, some palm trees.  We were technically (I think?) in the jungle or something, so there were a lot of palm trees.  Also, coconuts.  Also, pineapples.  The pineapples (they call them "pines," though why they can't say the apple, I'm not sure) were literally the best I've ever had.  We cry when we see pineapples in the States now, because they just aren't as good.  Sob.

So you know how I said I was going to think of a story to tell?  Still nothing.  If anybody is interested in my facebook album (complete with rather lengthy captions) please let me know, and I can send it to you.  If we're not already friends on facebook.  Otherwise... I'll think of something more inspiring to say next time I deign to update this blog.  Sigh.

So many countries, so little time

I haven't posted in a while, but it's because I've been busy.  Besides the usual things of life, we are also preparing for a trip to Guyana.  We're going next week, staying for almost a week.  Our whole house has been consumed with Guyana-related stuff.  When I go to our weather homepage, Guyana is on top, because apparently we search the weather down there more than the weather where we actually live.  But things are coming together, the Pepto-Bismol is purchased (not by me.  I don't believe in the stuff.), the mental preparations for their rainy season (which is to say, rain rain and more rain) slash regular weather (which is to say, 95-100% humidity) is sorted, and we all picked shoes we don't mind wearing in the rain and/or using for a lot of walking.  Everyone worried about this, but I fetched my trusty Nike flip-flops.  People, I am ready to go!

Anyhow, do pray for us, if you like.  We plan to sort of... missionary about, I suppose.  Meet the locals, hand out candy/gospel tracts.  That sort of thing.  We shall see what comes of it.  No matter, I trust the Lord uses this trip for blessing.  For those we meet, as well as us.  This is, incidentally, our family vacation for the year, so I'm sure much happy bonding will ensue.  Good times.

Also, this is my first official Third World country.  That's kind of cool.  When I went to Romania the first them I was sitting at the breakfast table at the house where I was staying and the man of the house leaned back and said, "So, how does it feel to be in a third-world country?"  I had no idea what to say, because Romania's not actually a third world country (these days it's based on the average annual income, if I have my story straight, and there is discussion as to whether or not there is such a thing as a second-world country.  If there is such a thing, Romania is that.  And not to get too wordy in this parenthetical phrase, but going by that classification, technically we have fourth world countries these days.  My sister informed me the other day that Malawi is such a country).  So anyhow, Guyana is the winner of this round of travel in terms of new experiences (sorry, Romania.  You're not poor enough).  Kudos, Guyana.  I look forward to many happy times on your fair coasts!

And when I say fair coasts I really mean it.  Apparently it's a beautiful country.  Maybe tourists would actually go there, were it not for the rampant pick pocketing, malaria, and yellow fever.  I guess every silver cloud has to have some dark lining.  Or, um, something... Cough.  Anyhow, Guyana will be beautiful, I'm sure.

I'll let you know when I come back.  Lord willing.  : )

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother

I read a super interesting book recently.  Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua, to be precise.  I read it at the urging of my sister.  Well, more specifically, because my Chasm's Lady sister told me that my other Until-Recently In Denial About Reading My Blog sister liked it a lot, and it "revolutionized her life."  So I read it, and really liked it, but must admit, it didn't change my life.
Then again, I don't have kids, so...

The general idea of the book is as follows: a Chinese immigrant marries a Jewish guy and they have two girls--Sophia and Lulu.  She wants to raise them in the traditional Chinese manner (which is to say, all work and no play makes Sophia and Lulu very smart and focused children), and thinks the kids will be happy all working and no playing.  They learn musical instruments and how to do math and excel at every school subject.  These girls were set up to be the next Chopin/Supreme Court Justice.  Whatever they wanted.

Only...  the girls were less than enthusiastic about the fanatical practice sessions.  Less than warmed when their mother out-and-out rejected poorly made birthday cards and called the girls "garbage."  Not so thrilled that they couldn't have sleepovers, or go on vacation without their musical instruments in tow.  Even irked that they were taken out of school all the time so they could get "real work" (read, more musical practice) done.

Eventually Lulu, the younger daughter, figured out that her mother could be broken.  So, she broke her.  After enough times of refusing to practice her violin, and then even more times of refusing to practice her violin, her mother, Amy, let it stop.

And that, basically, was the end of the book.

That review sounded less than glowing, but, as I said earlier, I really liked the book.  It was well written, thoughtful, and easy to identify with (well, inasmuch as I know how to identify with either the parents or children in this situation).  Amy Chau was candid, and you could tell (she mentioned in the follow-up portion of the book, in fact) that her daughters had a say in what went in the book and what stayed out.  Not like I know what's not in the book, obviously, because, well, I'm not Amy's friend, and she didn't tell me.  I have no idea.

Besides all that thought-provoking stuff, the book was downright, genuinely amusing.  Between the discussions of why they had a dog--and then got another one--you'd find a paragraph containing a rant about school.  "...there's nothing I hate more than all these festivals and projects that private schools specialize in.  Instead of making kids study from books, private schools are constantly trying to make learning fun by having parents do all the work."

For some reason, I find that very amusing.  I was reading this book on a bus, by the way, and got some strange looks because I would inadvertently allow a laugh to audibly escape every once in a while.

The book came under a lot of criticism.  Which I partly understand.  I mean, calling your children garbage?  But on the other hand, I'm pretty sure that most of the people who hate it passionately (and the people who sent the author death threats and such--which actually happened) maybe didn't actually finish the book.  It's divided into three sections.  The first section: background story and stuff that went on when the girls were young and everyone got along well.  Section two:  when everything went horribly, terribly wrong and Amy realized that Chinese parenting maybe didn't work so well after all.  Section three:  Amy explaining why she wrote the book, and how the household dynamic changed now that there wasn't quite the same level of tyranny, as it were.  So yes, I cringed several times as I read it, but I also was impressed at the willingness of the author to bluntly share her faults and walk us all through what worked and what decidedly didn't.

I'm glad I read it.  It's true, I don't have children, but it was an interesting read if only for the things I learned about Chinese culture.  It was valuable for the things I learned about parenting (not just Chinese parenting, but general parenting) and, quite frankly, I found it an interesting study in human nature in general.

And now, in my opinion, the author owes us another book.  A book about her poor husband, Jed, who got basically no say in the parenting.  There needs to be an ode to Jed.  I feel sorry for that man.  But that's not the subject.

Anyhow, if, like me, you've ever read the articles about the book (first I heard about it was from Time magazine--both girls say, by the way, that as far as they know, they're going to turn out fine), or had it recommended (possibly even by my sister, haha), you should read it.  And then we can all discuss it.  I'd very much like to hear what other people have to say about it!

Pathfinder

I love Chinese Checkers.  Seriously, best game ever (besides The Next Tetris.  Or other fun games).  Our family played the other night.  There are only four of us at current, alas, but we still manage to find enough pieces to jump over!

I think it's important to note that in each one of the photos there is a book showing.  It's the Klutz Book of Inventions, which I had from the library.  Which is a HILARIOUS book!  Book reading is an important part of game time at our house.  I mean, besides the Klutz book (which everyone was fighting over, haha), we had The Chronicles of Harris Burdick, On Fortune's Wheel, and two Muse magazines.  Three books and two magazines for four people?  Not bad.

I don't even remember who won.  My dad, perhaps?  Either way, it was fun, and our family felt well bonded by the end of the evening.  Also, well read.

Spring hath sprung!

For some people, spring means flowers and birds and other happy things.  That sounds good.  I mean, those are spring-like things.  There's this bird that has it out for me and chirps outside of my bedroom window starting at 3:30 am (my family argues that it could be different birds, but I know better.  It's one bird, and for some reason it hates me and wishes me great harm.  It accomplishes this great harm by chirping SO LOUDLY that not even a pillow over my ear blocks out the sound entirely.  True story), so trust me, I'm getting well acquainted with every aspect of spring, but to me spring is about other things.

For one, weather (which admittedly leads to things like flowers and such, but if it's still snowing, it doesn't matter if the 20th has come or not, it just doesn't feel like spring until the warmth arrives).  I love when the crocuses decide it's warm enough and pop up.  When I can finally sleep with the windows open again.  When I feel like I'm getting a sunburn just by sitting on the back porch.  In the spring we have supper outside nearly every evening, which is swell.  Also, on Saturday we have breakfasts outside.  And most lunches.  Anyhow, yeah, many meals outside.

So, besides the weather and all of the holidays (Dr. Seuss's birthday, Pi Day, St. Patrick's birthday, the Ides of March, first day of spring, etc.) there's one other thing that signals spring.  That is... Reuben Sandwiches.  I love Reubens.  Which is odd, because I think rye bread is gross.  Ditto Swiss cheese.  Also, most things on a Reuben.  But I LOVE Reubens and was so excited when we had our first Reubens of the year.  And when I say "first of the year," I mean that we have them about three times a spring.  Mmm.



Slightly burnt Reuben with a side of fresh tomato.  DELISH.



We had our Reubens on the first day of spring, actually, and I could pretend it was a happy spring celebration, but really, we just happened to eat them on Tuesday.  Spring just happened to start on that day.  After supper we were going to go to our local ice cream place, because they were giving away free ice cream in honor of the first day of spring, so after supper (and after my dad showed me how to charge up the car battery--it had died and my sister and I just sort of pushed it out of the way until my dad could come home to show me how to fix it next time) we piled in the car (the newly charged battery getting a chance to feel useful) and went down to the ice cream place, only to discover that about 100 people had thought of it before we did.  So... we came home.  And made our own crushed ice creations.  Basically we crushed up ice and put on random flavors (lemon, vanilla, cherry, lime, any other flavors we could find) and ate it.  We had some misses (the almond was gross) and some hits (lime.  mmm), and in general had an amusing time standing about in the kitchen flavoring cups of ice.

Our array of flavors.  Also, my family.

We were going to have leftover pie from Pi Day celebration times at eating meeting on Lord's Day, but we forgot.  Also, we were full of Reubens and... ice.

Oh, spring.  How do I love thee.  Thee minus that bird who hates me, but you know what I mean.

PS  I see, thanks to the Google Doodle of the day, that today is Juan Gris's birthday.  If you all recall, he was the one who made me realize that I was okay with Cubism after all.  So happy birthday, Juan.  Thank you for expanding my horizons.

Oh little town of Awesome

In our house we have a "winter snow village," kept on the buffet between the microwave and filing cabinets.  The little houses have lights in them, and on dark evenings it actually looks quite cozy.  It's a replica of the one of maternal grandparents had for years, and we have many fun times setting it up and admiring it from Thanksgiving through January and fondly remembering seeing the same snow village at their house in days gone by.  There are different designs, and when we were kids (also... now) we had it all worked out as to who had which house.  There's one that is for my parents, and each of us kids (and their respective families, whether or not they know it, haha) "have a house" so that we refer to it as theirs.  For instance, when a bulb goes out, it doesn't just go out in "the yellow house," but rather we say "Oh, the bulb burned out in Dad and Mom's house!" and we all know what we're talking about.  The village had been unchanged for years, until...

My mom was at CVS last year doing regular-type shopping, and happened to see some buildings that looked enough like the regular village to put with them.  They weren't just regular houses, though, one was a hotel thing (for our overflow company), and one was... my house.  As you can see from the picture, my mom got a library and now we just call it my house.  Fare thee well, houses with turrets and bridges.  My Christmas Village house is a Library.  Sweet!

Eshcol's Grapes

The other night at dinner we were reading Numbers 13, and it took us quite a while to read through the whole chapter.  We kept getting very distracted (nothing unusual) and eventually my dad pretty much fell asleep at the table.  That was when we decided we'd pretty much exhausted every possible avenue of discussion about the chapter.

First I had to remark that I thought it was weird that Moses just sort of renamed Joshua in verse 16.  Then my mother was a tad appalled because it was adding the word Jehovah to the name, which is a good thing, and not weird.  My poor parents.

Then in verse 22 there's a random addition regarding Hebron.  It goes, "(Now Hebron was built seven years before Zoan in Egypt.)"  So then we had to discuss for some time why exactly this was important.  I mean, Egypt is a picture of the world in the Bible, and seven is a much-loved number of perfection, but when you put those pieces together, does it mean something deep and important?  We didn't decide.

We took a break partway through dinner to use the dictionary to look up something about gifts, though I recall not what.



Then we got to verse 23, which is a verse about Eshcol's grapes, and we had to all share our story of when we first had the eureka moment as to what this hymn by Mary Bowley actually meant.  Pretty much when I was young I didn't get it, because, the line goes, "The manna and the springing well suffice for every need; and Eshcol's grapes the story tell of where Thy path doth lead," and as a kid that was not enough.  Because Eshcol's grapes were telling a story about where the path did lead, but let's be honest, unless you know the story of the grapes, that doesn't make the most sense ever.



My friend and I aren't eating Eshcol's Grapes,
but rather grapes in Romania one time.  Mmm.



Anyhow.  I just wrote a bunch of stuff about God's way being the best way etc. but then when I tried to add that nifty picture of my friend and I eating Romanian grapes it deleted my last paragraph.  So now I'm done.  But anyhow, pictures make a blog much more spruced, so I figure I should try to put pictures up from time to time.  At least enough so my blog isn't so blase... 

Already?

I love Thanksgiving.  It's my favorite-ever holiday, but this year it seems to have come out of nowhere!  I can't believe it's already that time of year!  We were making the lists today of what dishes we were having and I just feel like I haven't savored it enough.  But a roaring fire, some even-more-than-usually-long meals with the family, some wassail, and the smell of turkey (blegh) will doubtless cure of me of that.

Yes, remember?  I'm the weirdo who likes neither turkey nor pumpkin pie.  But being as Thanksgiving has an overabundance of food, it's not like I could possibly go hungry.  : )

Today I'm thankful for my memory.

Airborne hogs

Pigs flew last week.  Honestly they did.  Just in our own household there were two reasons that caused that old proverb about pigs flying come true.

First.  Our family got *drum roll, please!* Air Conditioning!  If I knew how to make the font all glittery and do a little dance, I would.  My parents have notoriously held out on getting A/C because we like fresh air and such.  But over the summer as the temperature climbed to the high 90s with at least one brief foray into the double digits, and the humidity topped 100% more than once, it was just... not a fun summer to rely upon the power of fans and fresh summer breezes.

So.  We have A/C.

Second piece of mind-blowing news.  I discovered a piece of Cubist art that I liked!  WHAT?  After years of shuddering at the very name Picasso (we were once going to name a cat Picasso and my brother and I vetoed it in favor of Billy Josephus because we couldn't stand to have a Picasso in the house), I found an artist whose work not only could I stomach, but enjoy.

Yes, please.  Take your time.  Let it sink in.  I said it:  I enjoyed the art.

Wow.  It's hard to even write.

Anyhow, Juan Gris is the artist who turned my anti-Cubism work upside-down.  Not all of his stuff (I looked him up after I came home from the museum at the which I saw some of his artwork), and in fact, the two I saw were two of my favorites of his work in general, and I certainly don't prefer a lot of his stuff.  But I saw the work called Pen and Pipe and really enjoyed it.

So.  There's that.

Also, I have a whole new level of respect for Alexander Calder.  I read a book about him once (well, sort of.  Some kids like his art and have adventures based on stuff about mobiles) and thought, meh, he's not that cool, but recently had seen a bunch of his stuff and liked it, in that "Oh goodness, I actually know what I'm looking at!" kind of way, but over the weekend when I was at the museum there was a display where you could create your own mobiles a la Calder, and it was a lot harder than it looked.  I am officially impressed with his vision.

I'm sure you all really wanted to hear about art today, right?  Ahem.  Yes.  And now I leave you to your own life.

Judge not

This has nothing to do with judging in the traditional manner.  It's just that sometimes I need to examine my own beam before I look at my sibling's mote.  I have a sister who has some unusuually named children.  Which is fine.  I'm just saying.

However, you know Thomas?  Remember him?  One of his train pals is a friend named Skarloey.  And... I like the name.  I'd spell it differently, and use it as a name for a girl, but honestly, I kind of love it.  Say it a few times.  It grows on you.

So anyhow, it's just a good reminder for me to, you know, stop raising my eyebrows at all the Apples and Moons of this world.

No, seriously.  Say the name again.  Skarloey.  Mm?  Also, Skarloey is a very helpful train, and a good friend.  Good role model right off the bat.  Yay!

Something borrowed, something new

There's that phrase that an apple a day keeps the doctor away (I guess if you keep throwing it at him he'll eventually never come back, so it could make sense?  haha, just kidding, I know what it means), but my dad is a firm believer in the "learn one new thing a day to keep the old age and empty mind away," philosophy.

In fact, he used to ask, "what's something you should do every day?" and up until probably six months ago my siblings and I would confusedly answer, "pray?  read your Bible?  brush your teeth?" and now we're finally smart enough to know the answer.  Phew.  But anyhow, it's a good philosophy.  I approve.

Which makes it nice when I read my magazines.  I know I've gone over this before, but yes, I read children's magazines.  Muse and Cricket are my go-to publications, especially now that I've decided that Time and Christianity Today probably weren't worthy ways to spend my time.  True story.  

I've been feeling recently like maybe I'm growing out of Cricket (it's aimed at 9-14 year-olds, if that's any sort of clue), but this month's issue had a really interesting article about Louis Braille.  Everyone knows who Louis Braille is, and I always thought he was pretty brilliant (when I was a kid, braille seemed like the best thing ever: reading in the DARK?  how much better could life get!?) but I didn't realize until I read the article that he was basically shunned for inventing such a "travesty."  After all, thought the world in those days, wouldn't a series of dots just magnify the differences between the seeing and the sight-impaired?  The sentiments were so strong against braille that the blind school where Louis was taught as a child (the same place he developed braille between the ages of 13 and 15) and taught as a teacher in his adult years actually banned braille.  True story.  The school had a book-burning and said that braille was absolutely not to be used.

Yikes.

But after years of championing his method, the school finally allowed braille to be used, and the world at large became more accepting thereof.  Of course, Louis died shortly thereafter of TB, but hey, at least he saw it happen in his lifetime, right?

Anyhow, I thought it was fascinating.  And it made me glad to be reading magazines for small children, because they have useful information packaged up in easy-to-read articles.  Oh, and last month?  Muse had an excerpt from a book about that computer, Watson, who won Jeopardy.  It was really good and did a good job of explaining how algorithms work.  Never thought I'd be able to say that.

So anyhow, my piece of advice is this: if you're aiming to learn one new thing a day but haven't a lot of time or motivation, learn from those who have already dumbed it down for children.  It's more fun that way.  And, in the case of Muse, just might involve a hefty dose of pie-throwing.  It's just their thing.  Trust me, it makes more sense then their obsession with hot pink bunnies!

Blame it on September

September started out very, very warm.  Like, 90s warm, plus 90 per cent humidity.  True story.  But then we all complained, and so September went all March on us, and right now it's low 60s and sort of rainy all the time. 

Weather is so confusing.  On the plus side, my dad always taught us that the first rule of driving was to leave the windows up, so we're pretty good at making sure we don't inadvertently let rain in the car as the weather turns odd for the fiftieth time.

Also, I'm planning on a cross-country road trip with my aunt and grandma come December, Lord willing, and while I'm sure a lot of folks wouldn't prefer to travel across country with their aunt and grandma, I think it'll be hilarious.  We tease my grandma that we're going to hit up every casino across country, just to get her all riled up about it.  At this point I think we have to lay off the jokes, because now she's getting worried that we'll be inveterate gamblers in no time.  Oops.  Either way, it should be fun.

Raindrops on Roses

Some of my favorite things, in no order, and certainly not a complete listing:

Puddles
Pineapple
Bibles.  I'd probably have 50 if it didn't seem excessive.
Pciture books
Libraries
Bookstores
Actually, anything having to do with books
Appropriately swift internet connections
Bags.  I'm not an accesory girl, but I love purses/bags.
Upbeat music
Also, melencholy music
But only if the music is good.  I super dislike naughty music.
Friends
Bibleing with my friends (you know who you are)
Mail.  When it's for me!  and... not a bill.
Nieces and nephews
Come to think of it, pretty much all family.
Fuzzy things
Speedlimits that are reasonably high.  For instance, not 55 mph.
When the doctor's office has cool magazines (aka, not celebrity gossip, but Bloomberg Buisnessweek or something)
Babies
Fairy tales
Couples who are happily married
Well-behaved children
Traveling
Also, traveling buddies
Also, road trips
Fryingpans (who knew, right?)
And, obviously, the upcoming Rapture.  Yay!

Adios!

Dear 2010,

You were actually a really great year.  I must say, sometimes I wish I didn't have to learn so many lessons, and this past year was no exception, but in general, you treated me well.

I grew closer to my family, and I deepened my relationship with my friends and the Lord.  You can't really ask for more than that.  There were times when I was down, and days seemed long, and life seemed complicated (2011, I hope you're listening--I hate complications!), but the Lord was always there, providing.

Soon you'll be history, 2010, and, providing the Lord doesn't come first, we'll look back on you fondly.  So thanks for being willing to devote every single one of your 356 days to those of us who used them to enrich our memory banks.

Love,
Me

Upside-up

When our family reads the Bible in the evenings, we have some rather odd traditions.  Well, I guess only one truly odd one.  Our Uno-like fashion of reading has mostly been relegated to breakfast readings, and in the evening we do nearly everything regular-type except for the fact that we read with our Bibles upside down.  And when we have company we let them choose for themselves, but we still read upside down, as there's no reason to change just for the sake of company.

So Monday night we had a friend of the family over, and, come time for Bible reading, we explained that we read upside down and he was welcome to join us.  So he did, no big deal, and read quite well.  Afterwards, he told us that he was pretty sure that it was easier, due to his dyslexia (I agree!  You see the word more clearly as a whole, and have less chance to mix up the interior letters).  I had no idea he suffered from dyslexia, but he said that it was so bad he was pretty sure that he would have gotten into Heaven even without getting saved.  : )  This may or may not be an exaggeration, but he and I had an amusing conversation about our dyslexic tendencies.

I've always claimed a little dyslexia.  Try to get me to tell my left from my right and you'd be hard-pressed to get a quick answer.  I mix up words and write backwards and when I look at the letter "s" I still don't know if it's forward or backward.  But I'm pretty sure that reading was just so important in my house that I never got the chance to be dyslexic.  Other kids would have been diagnosed and fretted over, but not us!  When I was quite young (I learned to read by the age of five or something, so it had to have been before that) I remember saying that I was special because I couldn't read yet, and all of my older siblings could, therefore I was special.  My logic has never been all that sharp.

So I'm thankful that reading was just something that we learned to do, somewhat akin to walking and holding a spoon correctly.  I can read just fine (mostly...) and feel that I'm not handicapped in any way.  And the knowledge I glean from reading is well worth the occasional mix-up of "scarred" and "scared."

Plus, if it ever gets confusing, I guess I could start reading everything upside down!