I have been sitting in silence for the past forty-five minutes extremely disoriented. After two wedges of this gingerbread-cake-type-thing I made, and the afore mentioned silence, I have finally regained enough composure to write --

Word of advice: avoid the mall at all costs for the next three days.

I got up at ten of eight, which could be considered sleeping in. As usual, I awoke in somewhat of a frenzy; I do that often. It's as though I wake and suddenly realize all the interesting things there are to, attempting to jolt myself out of sleep in seconds. Usually this is not as graceful as it sounds.

After completing a huge vat of plain yogurt with honey and apple spice tea with egg nog (in lo of the the Christmas spirit), I put in Julie and Julia, to settle down for some quality background noise while I began my homework. Following this I scrubbed the kitchen floor and worked my hands (literally) dry in the kitchen, trying to get it to my level of sanitary, but even with Christmas music on, my cleaning flair bunt out after a couple hours (which isn't too bad, I suppose). Feeling productive, feeling good ... about myself ... about my morning ... about the impending holiday. But, oh, then it happened --

A knock at the door (never good when you're indesposed). Let me define indesposed: loose tee-shirt, pj pants, wild-child hair, and well ... I'll stop there. I ran to cover up with a sweatshirt and opened the door to see a lovely boquet of Christmas flowers. "My" I thought. "Flowers for meee, you shouldn't have!" Well, they didn't. The man at the door told me to hold onto them for my neighbor who at the time wasn't home. Yes, if you're wondering, I said it: "I was hoping those were for me." Perhaps had a looked less like a creature and more like a lady he might have had pity, but he just said sorry and left.

Oh well, who needs Christmas roses?

I just finished doing what my Educational Psychology book would refer to as, self regulating. I wrote a list that covered everything I need to accomplish between now and Friday, bullet pointing everything short of this blog. Though I have to admit, accomplishing my list is pretty refreshing. While the completing the list feels Merry and bright, the tasks in themselves are quite the opposite. Personally, I would prefer a list that read:

-Go buy the Steve Madden boots you cannot afford
-Eat lot's of holiday treats!
-Lay around as much as possible
-Buy a plane ticket to Korea (even if it's 2,500 dollars)
-Take a bubble bath

... Well, you get the point. But (aside from buying the boots ... and maybe Korea ... OK, and the bubble bath) the list would not lead to a very fulfilling life. So, I remain a slave to my current master of discipline: the list.

I don't want to feel dread about the week, or section it off in cookie-cutter days, I want to enjoy the here and now, especially this Christmas season. It's just that this week is especially difficult. Mainly because Eric is on a business trip and I miss his company terribly when he's gone. I used to be (pre-boyfriend days) good at being alone, but once you've experienced the wonder of being with that special someone, it is hard to go back. Normally, this would be a good way to feel, but not this week.

I suppose I can look at the bright side (as opposed to the what, the dark side?) I have a place to live, a room to decorate, and in a week I'll be singing "Fa-la-la-la-la" as Christmas will only be a few days away! I don't care if it's silly, even at 22 I am giddy about Christmas.

So, here's to a week of (fun) lists!

Until tomorrow --

Sail away, sail away, sail away ...

So in the last twenty-four hours I have constructed the brilliant idea of going to Korea (or Thailand) in two weeks. You might be wondering how this came about?

It all started a couple weeks ago when I found out I got the last week in December off -- not just off, but paid and off. It's something Mariner's Church does for its employees. I also found out that I was out of school that whole week. The wheels in my head began to turn: Who can I visit? Where? How? But I talked myself out of my silly notions and concluded that I would use that time to study for the CSET.

Of course, this all changed yesterday when I found out I had the Sunday prior to that week off. Something that only happens three times a year. This, of course, led me to the belief that I had to go somewhere. It is my duty; I owe it to myself ... to my youth, to my unmarried life. And since three of my friends are in Korea -- Wallah!

After finding a flight for 600 dollars I was making travel arrangements in my head. Hopes were thwarted when I found out two of my friends were going to be in Thailand that week, but this was quickly remedied upon the new realization that I could go to Thailand. Ocean, jungle, beaches: better. But let me tell you, this excitement died a pitiful death, as both Wholesale Flights and ASAP Flights told me that the cost was really about 2, 000 for the dates I wanted. I still am confused why they so terribly misrepresented themselves. I guess Christmas is popular when it comes to trips to Southeast Asia. Go figure.

What's a girl to do? The world at my fingertips, adventure in my soul (or in this case, Seoul), and no where to go?

Until tomorrow --

I am so tired I can hardly function, but I made a silly promise to myself to blog every day or so, and while I could break the promise, seeing that the only person I'd be letting down is myself, or I could just skip a day, at this point in the game -- one day after I said I'd blog daily -- it would be bad form.

My thoughts tonight are on sleep. Why does not enough sleep make it hard to think? It also makes me grumpy. And restless. I really should get enough sleep.

I don't sleep well, though, I really don't. I toss and I turn for nearly an hour before I fall asleep and I wake up with the roosters. 8 a.m. is a serious sleep-in day for me. Oh, boy! What does this mean? I can see it now, 60-years-old and awake at 4:30 every day. But getting up early can keep a person young. It is a discipline, for one. It shows, or at least assumes, some sort of enthusiasm and zeal for life. And, it's pretty in-tune with society, seeing that businesses generally wake-up early, and successful adults don't usually lollygag in bed.

But, I'm done thinking about sleep. I'm ready to actually partake in it.

Hopefully my post tomorrow will be more thrilling than mumbles on sleep. But I cannot make any guarantees.

Until tomorrow --

I have decided to blog everyday. Yes, this goal sounds lofty, considering my last post was in October and it is now December, but I have very good intentions. While the challenge to myself is to blog daily, if I miss a day I won't really mind (but if I miss two ...), and if I'm on vacation then I am off the hook. Aside from that, here's to starting off the new year early with daily blogging!

Post I

I love to grocery shop. I know I've mentioned it before, but it really does get me that excited. I'm sitting here, in a home that is icy cold, drinking hot chocolate with a snuggly blanket and feeling excitement that I get to grocery shop. Grocery shopping is a very big deal for me. First, I allot a budget for myself to spend at the store, then I think through meals, ingredients I will need, sometimes I even make lists that I rarely use. When I'm there I almost always try to fit flowers into my budget (probably not the best habit), and I find myself excited by things like berry flavored sparkling water for 99 cents or food samples that leave a fragrance to, or not, be desired (depending on the sample that day). The other day I got enough cilantro to open my own Mexican restruant for 50 cents, naturally, this was exciting. I've had better cilantro, though ...

Either way, today is grocery day! (Don't worry, I don't shop on the exact same day every week). Now, if only I didn't have a ton of reading for my 1:30 class and two hours of work to fit in. That's the problem with grocery day, there's rarely time.

Because I'm always looking for good recipes, let me know if you have any!

Until tomorrow --

There's really nothing like something hot to drink. When I wake up, no matter the weather, a hot drink sounds appealing. At night, when the sun has set and the house is quieting down, that same idea comes into my mind. The only problem is: caffeine.

Coffee makes me so jittery that I can feel my heart almost bursting through my chest. On the outside I'll smile at coworkers, friends, really whoever I'm around, pretending I'm not effected, but they know it. They can tell. My eyes get bigger, and at least one leg has to move up and down, I sigh a lot, because caffeine sets anxiety in which makes it hard to breathe. Then there's the talking, when I have caffeine I can't stop. Anyone who knows me well knows that these times are scary ... or annoying. Yet time after time, I always consider coffee in the morning.

You are probably wondering: has she tried decaf? I have, yes, don't worry. But it has the same effect, though fortunately a much lesser degree of it. And while I only try to drink decaf coffee, and only decaf coffee on super early mornings or special occasions, I still can feel that it probably isn't the best tonic to start my day.

I do much better with tea. Not all tea, mind you. The black teas, though they are probably the favorite, have a similar effect (perhaps slightly better, depending upon how European the blend is). But what am I to do, drink herbal tea every single morning? I mean, herbal blends are prefect for nighttime but the morning too? It's a thought. Right now I'm drinking French Vanilla tea, and so far I feel a jolt, but nothing to write home about.

So here's to drinking to my idea of glorious mornings and cozy hot drinks! Even if in reality it makes me revved up like one of those power boats that has their engine shinning for the whole world to see, I still find the thought of it -- and of course the process of drinking it -- more than enjoyable.

Well, three weeks into school, five weeks into work, and I'm already hyperventilating. When I get stressed, which unfortunately has always been something that I'm prone to, I have a hard time catching my breath. No, there are no ridiculous small paper bags involved, though to be honest, one might help. Just deep labored breaths that turn out to be shallow sips of air. I get these weird knots in my neck; weird because they are so hard that I would almost bet it's new bone growth, and I start feeling overwhelmed by even the smallest of things like, "what am I going to have for dinner." It's interesting because I like to be busy, anyone who knows me well, would probably say I thrive off of some level of busy. But, like anyone, I fizzle when I've reached my limit. One thing's for sure: I am definitely being stretched. Here are somethings I've learned about myself recently:

- I can handle a full plate, but not a stuffed plate (there is a difference).
- I need time to be alone and think during the day.
- If I go weeks without exercising I become significantly moody.
- There's an ugly element that comes with school, almost a selfish entitlement of "I need to do this now," and it can quickly make a person neglect relationships.
- Even if you have a lot to do, it's ok to do nothing, actually, sometimes it's the best thing.
- I really like school, and I really like being busy (note, I said "busy," not "swamped").
- God's in control (I've known this, but it's amazing how often I seem to forget it).

There's no place like living out of your suitcase ?

Lately I have been busy -- not just busy -- zapped. I went from a nothing that was such a lack of something that you could reread this sentence five -- ten -- twenty -- who cares! -- times and not feel guilty because you have all the time in the world on your hands. But now, it's quite the opposite. The fact that I'm even writing this blog feels decadent. If time were a meal, this would definitely be in the dessert category (see my jokes are even getting weirder).

I like being busy -- I do -- perhaps, in many ways, I love being busy. And I went into this Fall with a "Carpe Diem" attitude, however, like I said, I'm zapped. How quickly I forgot the time it takes to do school. The labor one puts into a paper, the agony one using when scrutinizing over the syllubus, it can be all consuming. Then starting my new job (which is a HUGE blessing) is still time consuming, even if it's a good thing. But both those things have not been my real challenge. My real challenge rests in the fact that I have been living out of a suitcase -- this lifestyle can quickly make a person "zapped." Actually, I am quite astonished I have fought it out this long.

While I am forever thankful for the families that have let me stay with them, and know in many ways I'll look back with fondness (?) on this vagabound -esk living situation, I want a home. I want a place where I can put my groceries and clothes, I want to light scented candels, and complain about how "I really need to clean the floors or dust the cabnets." I want my nest, that's safe, and warm, and well-earned. Even if it takes over half my paycheck to live there, I have decided that a woman needs some place to, as Eric's mom says, "hang her hat." Though I don't have a hat, I have shoes, and I would like a place for them.

I know God will provide, and like I said, I'm thankful I've been able to save money, and blown away by the generousity of others who have reached out to me. But I think I'm ready to "go home." :)

Yesterday I made a big pot of spaghetti, garlic bread, salad, and brown butter blondies. The week before I made enchiladas, chipoltle style rice, beans, and chocolate chip banana bread. The list could keep going, because I LOVE to cook. I love the way everyone gets excited when they can smell it, the way food makes a place feel more like home, how all the spices, though I don't often times measure, somehow turn into an exceptional blend of flavor that makes what was once tomato sauce hearty and fragrant. Cooking momentarily consumes me, that of course is before I consume it; something about it shuts out the busyness and takes me into a place of peaceful productivity. I love cooking for the holiday's with special recipes, the recipes of friends long after I've seen them, or for some, long after they have even been in my life. There's something so reliable about that favorite biscuit recipe, or Grandma's lemon pancakes. And, of course, I add my own flair to each recipe, trying to mold it to my own. Naturally, there are the cooking disasters, the bread that needs to be scraped of burnt char and the pancake that tastes like butter masked baking soda, but the disasters are overshadowed by the victories -- the victories, yes, they are far better than any individual victory because you can see the contentment on people's faces as they're eating something that has been prepared for them. It is a simple, yet profound satisfaction to know that your food has brought together family, whether it's family by blood or by spirit, and in that there are laughs, and honesty, and sharing, and rest; this is the cooks reward.

Below:

The house of my dreams ...


(Images from the movie,"Stepmom." The house is located in, I believe, Upstate New York.)

You've probably heard it time and again, "think before you speak." It's not that novel, I mean, obviously you're going to think before words exit your mouth -- it's physiologically necessary. But obviously that's not what it really means.

I've never been an angry person, I mean, common, I certainly don't have the physical means to be angry, and personality-wise I am afraid to be vulnerable or "off the handle" enough with most people to even show a hint of anger. It's not that I bottle things inside if I'm upset, I confront them, even if it's with dragging feet, but for the most part, I think I'm easy going with most people. I recently realized something, though: sometimes I feel downright angry. Now, anger in itself isn't bad, I mean, it's good to recognize when something is unjust or manipulative and to keep your boundaries, protecting yourself. Yet what about anger in everyday conversations? What about anger -- that realness of negative emotion, shown to the people you're closest to. I mean most people don't get angry at their grocer, or the guy down the street. And on a deeper level, most people don't even express anger to the general circle of their relatives or friends. But most people have been openly angry at their best friend, their spouse, parents, or someone significantly close in their life. Why is this? It's there because those relationships are real, they're important, and they're safe enough to be vulnerable and open. However, is anger really the right way?

As I had said before, unless someone does something unjust or manipulative to you, is anger the right way of expressing yourself? Probably not, actually, it can be the worst way. Yet it's not that simple. I mean, feeling as though injustice or manipulation or something boundary shattering is taking place is all a matter of perspective. Classic example (sort of classic): in Father of the Bride (Part I, if you'd like to know specifics), Annie's fiance, Brian, decides to get her a blender as a wedding gift. This gift, which to me would have been slightly dull, but extremely useful and appreciated, was a statement to her that screamed 1950's housewife. To her it was downright manipulative and a slight injustice, but honestly, to me she was overreacting. In all reality though, who cares what I think, that's how she felt, to her it was valid, and therefore she was angry. Because she was close enough to Brian she was able to express this frustration, instead of bottling her negative emotion inside, and in the end this made them stronger. Or, at the very least, they pulled through it in less than eight hours and then resumed to happy. In a sense, her frustration was good, because it demonstrated that their relationship was safe enough to share unhappiness, and in the end, it taught her that Brian was not trying to manipulate her, but he just wanted to give her a useful gift (for the milkshakes she likes). However, did she really have to throw such a fit ... call the wedding off, have to have her father intervene to patch things back up? No.

What I've learned about anger, which is hard to do when you feel as though injustice has befallen upon you, is to stop, think, and then speak. Sometimes the stopping or the thinking takes a little time, but it's neccessary because once you say the angry words, they're out, they hurt, and they can't be taken back (though you can appologize, of course). What I'm trying to come to peace with, is that it's ok -- normal -- to feel angry, but the true test is how you handle that feeling. The key is to ask yourself what the person is really saying, then ask yourself what's really bothering you. Often times you'll find you might not even be angry, or it might not even be about that person, but it could be another feeling, like stress or fear, overtaking the moment; because we all get frustrated, it's something worth asking yourself.

Last night I saw an outdoor showing of Casablanca at Chapman University. They are doing a black and white movie series where they basically put an old, acclaimed movie on the screen (black and white as previous mentioned), pop some movie theater-esk popcorn, put out some store bought cookies, lemonade, and ice water, and people convene on blankets and lawn chairs at 8 p.m. on Friday night. Did I mention it's free? Yes, well that does add a certain charm to it.

It was the perfect evening, not too hot, not too cold, with a calm breeze floating all around. I had forgotten how: 1) confusing Casablanca can be, and 2.) once you get all the details how crazy good it really is. I mean that movie is truly an epic. And I'm a fan of anything epic-related.

What I thought was interesting was how the theme song for the movie, "As Time Goes By," talked about how the world will always welcome lovers ... how falling in love, though good and right, is always in some sense, the "same old story," time does not change love. This was an interesting theme song for the movie because Casablanca was sort of a place where time stood stagnant, a place where there was little certainty in anything, and amidst a war, which Igrid Bergman mournfully claimed to hate, there was little good. Yet there was that simple, time-tested, age-old thing called love, and that seemed to be the film's redeaming color. It was love that saved the couple in the game of roulett, love that ended up getting Ingrid and her husband on a plane out of there, love that, somehow, despite it's painstaken and jiltish ways, seemed to redeam Rick into wanting to vacation from Casablanca in the end, and love, even the influence of it, seemed to soften the bad guy. It seems that despite all the war and agnoy, that "same old story love" still rang true. I suppose the song was fitting then.

If you haven't seen it, or it has been awhile, I'd recommend watching it.

It's Monday again and I find myself looking ahead at the week wondering how it looks so short. It seems as if week after week flies by, and while I'd much prefer a breezy flight than a painful lag, sometimes it feels too fast.

This month I'll be starting school in what might be considered 17th grade. While I don't start for another three and a half weeks, I'm already getting the "back to school jitters," which I literally have gotten every year of my academic life. It's sort of silly to get the jitters, seeing that most of my education will be done in a distance program, but meeting new professors, having them assess my work, and student teaching all seem scary -- exciting -- but scary. For those of you who don't know, the program I'm doing is an accelerated Master's degree at USC. By the beginning of January 2011 I should have a Master's in Teaching with a single subject credential in English. What's cool about this program is it has an emphasis on urban education and closing the "achievement gap," something that I feel passionate about.

I'm glad that I finally have a clearer direction, though there are still lot's of little pieces floating around. Like finding a solid part-time job and the living situation. I think If I've learned anything in the past six months it's that life tends to be lived with lot's of little pieces floating around. In college the pieces were set in place for four years, than growing up, your parents seem to fix them in a stable state for you, but maybe, in a way, the pieces have always been sort of loose. It's just that now I'm responsible for them, I'm fully in charge, that's what's so new. True, a job and a house are essential, at least I have a place to live now and a little babysitting income. Something, after all, is better than nothing,

Lately I have been babysitting a good amount. At first it felt a little weird, seeing that I never babysat while in college, but with the current economy and all, babysitting suddenly seems a lucky profession because it pays (not to mention the cute kids). Although, upon my new venture in the business I've had some thoughts:

Why is it easier to get a babysitting job them pretty much any other occupation? Why, in the field of childcare, is the pay alarmingly low (say below minimum wage, not to name any names)? Both these questions become haunting if the statement, "my kids are the most important thing to me is true." Take scenario 1:

"Hi, I'm Debbie, Lisa, Carrie's mom, said that you babysat once for her old neighbor Tommy, can you babysit for my kid?" Now to work at Cosco you have to go through an application process that makes you think you're joining a Fortune 500 company, but uh-ah, not to babysit. Ok, so sure there are the sitters who do require documents, but not in the through the grapevine knits. My concern is, when I'm a mom, I'll probably be the same way, but isn't it a little odd, seeing that your kids are your highest valuables?

Then the pay, personally, I think the pay should be astronomically high. Afterall, watching your prized children should never be seen as a small or insignificant task. There should be overtime, sick pay, insurance ... so maybe I'm going a little far. But seriously, don't you think of all professions this one should be among the upper echlons of serious?

But that's just me. Maybe I'm bias.

Do you ever feel lonely in your world? Caught in the prospects of "what could be's" and "what should have been's," lonely in "now." I mean, what is "now" anyway?

The way I see it:

Now is the phone call that you can't put off another day ... the load of laundry that is three days waiting ... the dishes that aren't doing themselves ... the thank you note that just has to be sent ...

But now is also, the love of those close to you that will never be the same as it is in this very season ... a relationship with God that pours grace upon your mistakes each day ...

Now, is so many of the "I wish I had's" or "please God's" that you've been hoping and praying for much of your life ...

Hope for tomorrow, by all means; rejoice and mourn in the yesterday's, for that has a time too; but "NOW" (and I'm not referring to the embarrassing "Now" CD epidemic); Now is the time to live.

The Greek Philosopher, Epicurious says, "Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for."

The last couple of weeks have been trying ones, but it's hard to complain when there's so much good in my life. I came down with a pretty bad head cold, which I didn't even know could happen it July, then had some mysterious health problems which no doctor could really figure out, and got stung by a bee, which turns out I'm pretty allergic to, which means I've been laid up in bed all day today with an icepack on my foot watching "Boy Meets World" reruns. Then there's been my being out of work all summer, which has had it's perks, but I would definitely rather have a job. On top of it all, there's the fact that my lease it up in two weeks, and, I decided to apply to USC's Master of Teaching/Credential program for the Fall, and any one who's applied to college's know, it's a job in itself. Of course, being a lover of structure, none of this has appealed to my personality, which has been a challenge. Honestly -- I'm exhausted.

But as I first mentioned, there's so much good. I have had time this summer to decide what it is I really want to do, time to think and relax, and all this mayhem in my life has taught me patience. I have good people in my life, good opportunities, and I can feel God working now, more than I had in past months. With all that said, I really hope a little more structure is near, and that my patience can calmly wait out where I need to be.

So, if you want to know what I'm going to be up to ... we'll see! (but on a side note: your prayers would be good too!)

Lately I've learned something about relationships: you have to appreciate the small things. While I've always had a knack for mastering this in life, in relationships I tend to strive for "over perfection." True that spontaneity and originality are essential spices in life, but, as with any spice, a dash is all that's needed in the recipe.

When I slow down and breathe life in I find that the things which strike me as most beautiful are oftentimes the everyday. In all my relationships I am beginning to recognize a pattern in the seemingly mundane, and it's this: it's not so mundane. Some of my fondest memories are going to the grocery store with a friend and just being goofy, or cleaning up the room with a roommate and having a contest to see who can find the best junk on the floor to make a new invention (hey, I never said mundane had to be dry). Even things as simple as studying or running errands can in time develop a unique friendship. Maybe, I'm learning, it's when you're with people in their everyday, and in your everyday, that you can learn to truly appreciate both their simplicity and their intricacies -- creating a genuine intimacy.

I am lying here somewhat flatly on my bed this hot summer evening waiting for a breeze. But it will not come. Instead, an unusually humid desert heat has been boiling all of me from what even feels as the insides of my toes making me edgier than normal, but mostly, just uncomfortable. Sometimes, but not often enough, and never very powerfully, a sickly wave of air will teasingly graze past me. Yet in this heat "sometimes" is never enough. I have hope, and because of past experiences know that this air will eventually cool and engulf the room (or somewhat fill it), but it's hard to be patient when I have this much discomfort.

This is how I see parts of life like. This is reality. Sometimes we are uncomfortable -- dreadfully so. Everyone around is getting jobs or boyfriends, maybe it's the best grades in the class or their figure looks nicer. We may struggle with one given thing until we feel like all the air is out of us, until we can't imagine a time after that particular struggle; sometimes this battle happens for so long, we almost become numb.

Have hope! Please, if you have nothing, have hope. And if anyone tries to drain you of your hope, don't let them. Stay strong, because you are strong. God will see you through, and when he does it will not only be a testimony of his sovereignty and grace, but a testimony of Christ in you. My prayer for you -- whoever reads this and needs encouragement, is not to fall through the cracks of discouragement, but hold your chin up high. God will not fail you.