Dear Abby,

I have been doing a lot of thinking lately (a dangerous pastime ... I know) -- ok enough "Beauty and The Beast" references.  

The statement "I've been doing a lot of thinking," should not be a shocking one coming from me.  I have been told on multiple occasions that I "think more than anyone"; a ridiculous statement, as I find it hard to believe that I think more than the rest of the world.  Regardless, after years of denial, I have grown to embrace -- even appreciate -- my over-thinking side, it makes me uniquely analytical.  Or tightly wound.  I'll go with being the former.

My volleying thought has been: what are dreams?  Now when I say dreams I don't mean the mismatched storylines that float through our heads nonesensically in the late hours of the night.  I mean passions, hopes, aspirations.  To refine my thought further: is it acceptable to go for our dreams?

I am at a crossroad right now in my future.  I can choose the path of quick success (perhaps success is too strong a word) and find a job in journalism or a related field.  There I can work day in and day out climbing a corporate latter that I really wouldn't mind never tackling in a lifetime.  I would have a stable paycheck, sound successful in social settings, and make a meager difference in the world.  It would be a career that I worked for.  It would also be a career that I didn't much like.

Option number two is to become an English teacher.  This option would require more schooling, which I'm comfortable with.  The main issue is that I'd have to wait until Fall to begin the endeavor, and I have quite a chunk of time until then.  The other issue is where would I want to go to school.  If I was a teacher I could share something that I love.  I would also run the risk of failing to show other people how to love or at least appreciate what I love.  Though chance and risk are present in anything, so I suppose I should embrace that factor in all my decisions.  As an English teacher I could also influence people on an individual level, this being something I know I'm passionate about.

My final option is to become a writer.  This is what every fiber of the deepest part of me wants.  This is also the most unrealistic, risky, and unstable option.  But to be honest, this option -- my dream -- is the only of the three options that feels truly right.  If I were to be a writer I would get my masters in creative writing, but this really couldn't happen for another year and a half due to application deadlines and timing.  Which leaves a year and a half of my life vastly open.  The good thing about a creative writing degree (one of the few stable things) is that it could most likely allow me to undertake some form of a teaching job; it would also be useful in publishing and some forms of journalism.  To be candid, this whole dream terrifies me.  What if I'm not good enough?  To fail in something you like is bad enough, but to fail in something you love ...  However, God did give me this love, and there's a pressing in me that feels like it will never rest until it tries.

Do I go after what I want, or do I pursue security?  

- Confused in La Mirada

I was planning on continuing my day-by-day job updates -- really I was -- but the realization that blogging about the stress was only adding to the stress has made me decide to avert topics.  At least temporarily.  

I find it hard to believe that I'm not starting school tomorrow.  This is the first time in seventeen years that I have not experienced a first day of school.  It makes me dizzy with a surge of mixed emotions.  I wish I could let it feel good.  No homework, no dull introductory lectors, no awkward experiences when looking for my classes.  But, sadly for me, I like school.  I like having goals to work toward, the constant sponging of knowledge, projects to submerge myself in, and the perpetual feeling that I'm working toward something that might some day make a difference.  Maybe, after great lengths of time, I'll grow nostalgic about work, but right now, I miss school.

As a highly sentimental person (I have little shame in outright admitting this), firsts have always been hugely special to me.  Along the same vain of thought, so have lasts.  And I suppose, in piecing it all together, the outpouring of sentiment that change evokes, makes me highly nostalgic in times of transition.  So perhaps it's not really school that I'm missing; in fact, recollecting my chronic "senioritis" just over a month ago, I can almost guarantee that's not the case.  Honestly, I think I'm feeling sentimental toward the change in my life.  In a sense, I think I'm grieving the loss of college.  Really, what I need to do is embrace adulthood, because being a "working-woman" is good.  Here's a meager, fairly un-vibrant list to prove it:

-No homework -- blah.

-On a better note: no busywork.

-A paycheck.

-Money for bills, entertainment, travel and lovely purchases (or more education).

-Cool work clothes (well I suppose that's a matter of perspective, I mean if you're a police officer wearing a uniform may or may not seem cool to you.)

-Stress free weekends.

-Benefits: paid vacation, health insurance ... common', how is that not alluring.

-Respect.  Adults usually generate more respect from society.

-Stability.  This one is debatable.

As is evident -- why grieve the loss of college?  As is also evident -- I posted about something similar to jobs.  I guess my attempt to avert in subject matter was unsuccessful.  

Day 2 of the job search -- a documentation:

Dreaming about being hired at Anthropologie, I awoke in a fury to find work -- any work that is.  After toying with the idea of acting and modeling for about five minutes (sketchy websites and the realization that I have little in common with Kate Moss made me quickly reject Michelle's idea of modeling.)  I then proceeded to look into basic jobs: a receptionist at a hair place, a pilates instructor (this could be a problem seeing that I don't know how to teach pilates), perhaps waitressing at The Yardhouse?  Soon I was calling up local cities, only to be told that every city they knew of was on a hiring freeze.  I sent out roughly five resumes to marketing firms that I found on monster.com, then proceeded to convince a woman that despite my lack of education in early childhood development, a liberal arts degree was basically the same (she argued that I was wrong -- how dare she). 

Push and pull, time passed and soon I had an interview at a marketing firm and a preschool.

Marketing is basically the same as journalism, right?  Preschool teaching ... I mean who doesn't like little kids? 

We'll see.

As of lately I have been unemployed.  Yes, incase of any confusion from the last statement, I am completely and utterly jobless; my income is zero.  Being unemployed, though rarely impressive to say about yourself in really any conversation, does have its perks.

Being a jobless citizen I first and foremost have the luxury of being a statistic.  I am, in its essence, aiding in Obama's moral for change by upping the unemployment rate, hence heightening the incentive for that very change.  Secondly, on a much more personal level, being unemployed allows me the luxury of doing whatever it is that I want.  I, of course, am encouraged to fill my days with mindless job searching (which much of the time I do) but job searching can really start at 8 a.m. or 4 p.m; essentially job searching can mold around my sleeping schedule whatever way I please it to.  Then there are social engagements, no longer am I too busy for my friends (a lot that I have suffered for the majority of my life), as of now I'm so available, that really, if someone wants to hang out at 3 a.m. two hours away, why shouldn't I be game?  (Granted they pay for gas money, seeing that being jobless would imply that I also have no money.)  

Sure I could fill my time with educational novels, self-betterment podcasts, and potentially successful novel writing, but believe it or not, being unemployed -- the very thought of being unemployed -- leaves less time for the arts than one might think.  Really, the very thought of attending a job fair is enough to take up at least a week of creativity.

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Alright, so rant over.  I suppose I'm just hyperbolizing in a slightly satirical fashion the last month of unemployment.  Deep down I know God has a plan for me, and really, I should look at this post-grad time as a blessing more than anything.  It's just so terribly hard when you've spent your whole life somewhat atop the academic float, then suddenly your wallowing in success-less-ness.  I guess it's a good lesson to be had, and I'm eager to see where God brings me next.

Three sweatshirts, two long sleeve shirts, one undershirt, a jacket made for the sketchy sport of snowmobiling, long johns (a.k.a. "long underwear"), jeans, three pairs of socks (one wool, one fuzzy, one designed for cross country snow skiing), HUGE boots, one pair of gloves, one pair of mittens, a scarf, and a hat/headband designed to warm one's ears.  Sweatshirt hood up.  I think I'm ready to go to the grocery store.

I spent the last week in Berlin, New Hampshire, nestled in a picturesque home in the, well, dead of winter.  Accustomed to temperatures that range from 60 to 80, I thought surely a sweatshirt and jacket would be suffice in the New England climate.  I was wrong.  Very wrong.

The introductory layers that I listed where not only the layers that I sported for merely quick trips to the grocery store, but they also insulated me during heater blasting car trips and the rapidly familiar kitchen furnace.  Long story short: I've spent the last six days frozen.  

True, choosing to venture to New England when temperatures range from (-)10 - 20 degrees (on average) was not the smartest thing I have ever done.  Especially considering I get "the shivers" in 50 degree weather.  But coming to this part of the country was certainly not the dumbest thing I've done either.

Birch trees, silver maples, majestic pines, and streams powdered with snow, made this trip feel as though I was living in a snow globe -- it was breath taking.  Sure LA is warm, but let's admit that the smog laden "City of Concrete" is only breathtaking in a literal sense.  Though I would argue that however fresh the New Hampshire country air may be, -7 degrees shooting through ones lungs with the gust of a wind chill isn't exactly gentle on the lungs either.

Regardless, the thought of New England in the Fall is enough to make me consider braving such a winter.  Driving through Maine, Vermont, part of Canada, and New Hampshire introduced me to some of the most beautiful countryside.  Oh, and the white farm homes with the green or red shutters.  The porches that view the expansive fields .  The creeks that run through the forest in acres of backyard.  Makes one feel a little sick to be living in Southern California.  I'm convinced such foliage, nature, and space found in New England is far better for the soul.  But then again, I'm convinced the frigid cold is detrimental to the soul.

But what do I know.

I think I'd like to purchase a "fixer-uper home," possibly in Maine (by the sea of course), and rent it out during the year, but vacation there frequently -- of course being sure to avoid winter exposure.  

Ten Helpful Tips To Know Prior To Visiting The Hartwig Household:

1.) If you want coffee it is imperative that you order it the night before and consume it prior to 10 a.m.  If you do not request the coffee my father, master of the coffee, will not make enough for you as he only makes the exact amount needed.  However, if you do request coffee yet do not drink it by the self-made expiration time of 10 a.m, Dad will assume you no longer have interest in the coffee and it will be thrown out in a tidy manner.

2.) Bring pajama's.  Yes, when you spend the night anywhere pajamas are assumed to be required (though airports, train stations, and bus deport night visits don't give people the luxury to wear pajamas).  Here at the Hartwig house, the necessity of pajamas ranks at a higher level.  How do I put it bluntly -- my family (girls in particular, a.k.a. Mother and I) love cozy sweats.  In order to not feel left out, upon visiting expect to put on your sweats directly after dinner and not need to take them off until you shower the following day.

3.) Bring a book.  There's not a whole lot to do in Kelseyville, so unless you are like my mother and like reality TV and vigorous cleaning on your days off, you may want a book.

4.) Be prepared for early dinners.  Mom likes to clean the kitchen well in advance to bed, Dad has to go to bed extra early for work at 4 a.m., henceforth dinner is the "early bird special."

5.) If you want to use the spa my dad or mom will need to be informed at least a day -- maybe two -- in advance.  The little pool of relaxation not only takes a good amount of time to heat up, it is often times drained for practical purposes of water conservation and tidiness when not in use.

6.) Be able to tolerate a cat and dog.  This sounds simple, but you have not met Casey and Trixy.  (Yes, I named both pets).  Casey is old, overweight, perpetually smelly, and slow; she will keep seeking ways to escape from her bed no matter how many times she's continually shot down, and those escapes will usually be to get as close to human contact as possible.  Trixy, though runs from guests, sheds cat hair like it's a full time job.

7.) Like cheese.  Charissa made this observation when visiting my house at Thanksgiving.  Apparently we are a family that likes cheese.

8.) Be willing to watch pretty wholesome films, none of that sketchy stuff.  For reasons no one knows, my mom especially has a love for racial comedies.  Old movies, strong moral enforcing stories, animal movies, and any C-Class film that contains all the above, my parents eat right up.  As for me, not so much the animal/C-Class film lover.  

9.) Liking tea in fancy teacups is always a plus among my mom, grandma, and I.

10.) Expect frequent visits to the grandparents.  Living right down the street, they insist upon meeting most of the Hartwig's guests.

I have a new blog to keep track of my thoughts on books and writing:

http://everywritermusthaveadiary.blogspot.com/

Don't worry, this blog is still first on the priority list (just in case you were in a panic).  :-)

I was just reading Michelle's blog "The He Man Woman Haters Club" and it made me think of the movie "The Little Rascals."  Not only did they sport such a club in that film, they also were sure to represent their junior-high-age distaste for woman in creative ways such as putting kitty litter in the lovely Darla's sandwiches and writing love notes consisting of: "Dear Darla, you make me sick."  I would imagine such a female alienating club is every 11-year-old boys dream. That is until they hit about fourteen and realize there is nothing sickening about a woman -- frustrating maybe -- but most definitely not sickening. 

It goes without saying that the lines of men and women are clearly divided in many regards.  Gender difference roots right to the earliest days of childhood.  Little boys like to hit things, little girls want to make things pretty.  This mysterious division, tension if you will, presses on right through childhood until one day it suddenly becomes as clear as the crystal glasses I can never use in my mom's china cabinet -- boys aren't so gross, in fact, perhaps the opposite.  Still, regardless of this newfound desire to impress the opposite sex, tension remains.

In Michelle's last post she elaborated on mutual labels that quickly become gender stereotypes and are inevitably hurtful.  Lines like "boys never get it" and "girls are too sensitive" really don't get people anywhere, yet they unfortunately float through conversation and pretty soon a "He Man Woman (or Man) Haters Club" is borne.  

As I've stated in posts before, and as I firmly believe, God created gender differences as beneficial, not as destructive.  It is true many women are sensitive, but isn't that a good thing?  Isn't it wonderful for a woman to be loving, caring, and gentle?  Just the same, while most men don't get many "womanly whiles" isn't that good as well?  Men are generally tough, resilient, and fairly stable.  Though I suppose there are some women not too loving and caring and some men not so tough and resilient, and to avoid stereotyping that's alright too.  Regardless, sure a woman need not be a drama queen and a man aloof and detached, but the essence of our personality differences is a very good thing.

I agree with Michelle: stereotypes are, well, lame.  That is unless you're pulling a hilarious prank on Darla. :-)

I've been meaning to post about my half marathon for quite sometime.  Though I've moved on, I still feel a tribute to that day is long overdue.

13 (for the 13 miles I ran) things a half marathon has in common with life:

1.) It's hard.  Always hard; and though there are easier parts, it is still tiring and trying.

2.) Sometimes you feel like you are ahead of the whole pack and everything is going according, if not better, than planned.

3.) Sometimes you feel like you are lagging significantly behind the whole pack, and quite frankly it's not only discouraging, it's embarrassing.

4.) When you've got to go, you've got to go.  Though I didn't suffer this issue, nature called for many of the runners and they found it fitting to, well, "just go."

5.) The hills seem to come at the worst times.

6.) When you think you can't make it anymore, God always gives you another push.

7.) There has to be "a focus."  If you have no goal in a marathon or life you get off track.

8.) You also have to have an "end goal" to know where all the hard work is headed.

9.) Sometimes God surprises you in the best ways.  I found this in the delight that I was able to use an Ipod during the race, the mist of rain that periodically hit me, the lovely clouds that were perfect for running, and my favorite song ending at the best point as I crossed the finished line.

10.) Sometimes you surprise yourself.  My goal was 12 minute miles, and I did 9:50 minute miles for the whole race.

11.) It helps if there is something or someone good to look forward to at the end. :-)

12.) The accomplishment is worth working hard for.

13.) It's over before you know it, so enjoy!

In light of my outdated poll assembled in the right corner of this screen for far too long, I felt it best to address what the readers have suggested before deleting it forever.

It has come to my attention -- with a sure-fire sweeping eight out of eleven vote victory -- Fritzwilliam Darcy is indeed the readers choice.  

In honor of his victory as "suitor select," it is fitting to leave a link to a taste of Mr. Darcy.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47rJGeLdQlE

Today I graduate from college.

I am sitting on the floor of my room (because I have no desk) facing a closet door mirror that is in dire need of cleaning, examining myself. I look like I've been hit in the head with a pole -- no joke. My eyes are half-awake with huge dark circles beneath, my hair hasn't been properly fixed in days, and my complexion is the contrast of glowing and smooth. But I'm done. I have completed college, and maybe it proves that the race was well ran by exactly how very weary I look.

I remember first coming to Biola and feel so very different from that girl. I don't know when the exact transition began, but I really have matured in a lot of ways. It's funny to say that, because I know I'll look back on this very day and think of how young I really was.

There's apart of me that wants to jump and scream in delight, another that would like to enroll in another semester, the me that's begging to fling myself into the world full force, then the me that wants to take it one day at a time. My friend Charissa always says how she likes when Anne of Green Gables refers to the "many Anne's" in her, and I have possibly never been able to relate to that concept more than at this very time.

I guess just like anything, it's happening whether I'm ready or not. And I'm thankful for that. What an accomplishment. What a journey. A time to celebrate and be proud.

Here's my "shoot out" to my fellow graduate readers: Charissa, Rachel, Mindy, Candice (extra shoot out for your reading dedication), Morgan, and Danika.

Stormy skies

I love when the sky is stormy. When the world is full of gray and the air feels almost electric. So unpredictable. So untamed.

The sky being stormy is one thing; life being stormy is another. Lately, between the anticipation of finals, graduation, a huge job interview, and a marathon, life has been what could be called "the perfect storm." While normally I am not partial to a lifestyle that entails excessive stress, inconsistency, and an average of five hours of sleep each night, I am learning to appreciate God in the presence of a storm.

Reflecting on my college experience it is evident that God used me most not when I was at my lowest -- no, go further -- when I was about three notches below my lowest. Because I've seen God act so vibrantly in my life when I had the least clue what was going on, I can honestly say that my life in scattered uncertainty, though stressful, is a blessing. At such a time of vulnerability and uncertainty only God can answer the looming future questions; only God will move my plan forward.

In church on Sunday the pastor said something that has been repeating through my head for the last four days: "God is not safe, but he is good." It has opened a vault of thought, stirring me to continually ask myself, "is safe really what I want?" Storms aren't safe, that's for sure, and unlike God, not all storms are good. But storms are apart of life, and often times the rain in a storm can be the very thing needed at the time. God, like the storm, is unpredictable and untamed. However, because God is good he will get me through the storms in life.

I don't want safe. I want God. A good and benevolent creator that puts people through challenges, trials, joys, suffering, love ... all in pursuit of his good plan. In the midst of this particular storm that I'm now in I'm not going to choose to wait it out, but rather embrace the storm. Knowing that a good God will protect me -- even if it doesn't feel safe.

Partial to dressing in white and rarely leaving her room, Emily Dickinson was an odd one, but I like some of her poetry just the same. Here are three Dickinson quotes to spice up your day:


"Beauty is not caused. It is."

"Dwell in possibility."

"To love is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."

I love the song "Moon River" -- just love it. Maybe you'll love it, too:

Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style some day
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way

Two drifters, off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me

(moon river, wider than a mile)
(I'm crossin' you in style some day)
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way

Two drifters, off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after that same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me

(moon river, moon river)

Two and a half weeks until graduation ...

I'm sitting in my second to last "Nature of Computing" class feeling ... sentimental? Very much so -- just not toward computers. My sentiment has been evolving throughout the day, and now, at 5:47 p.m, as I sit ignoring whatever is being said about computer viruses, I feel terribly nostalgic.

This thought began at lunch. The Caf was decorated as though Santa's helpers had customized it themselves, and though I would normally find this somewhat "cheesy," I was giddy with delight over what a wonderful cafeteria Biola has. Then while eating my glorious caf salad, the one that if you know me, has been my college staple, I began to realize that my salad's were numbered ... literally. Lunch, which lasted an hour and a half, prompted my realization that such a time luxury will not be in the works next semester when I'm employed -- a luxury I will miss.

I suppose it's true that the caf will be missed, along with the "kissing trees" in front of the library, my cubbyhole mailbox, two particular benches, the sun that I'm convinced is better by the fountain, Eagle's Diet Coke, the smell of the track when I run at night, the best grassy corners, and the Christmas lights. Though, what I will really miss about Biola is being so close to my friends; some of the people I like best will no longer be accessible for pre-paid lunch or a casual conversation on a bench in just minutes.

Never will I have my college experience back -- this season has ended.

I'm ready for the next step, but on nights like tonight, when the caf is decorated and campus finally feels a bit like winter, I feel ever so nostalgic. If Biola were a person, I think I'd ask them for one more dance, but time has taken its course and I'm left with the memories. So many memories ... so, so many memories. Words cannot quite express it.

"Loose Footing"

Fog spins a tower toward heaven,
Caps of white rage below,
It's hard to remember not everything's fiction,
Such reality should have been known long ago,

Cliffs call coarse tragedies,
Wind and loose rocks toy with fate,
A dreamer cannot dismiss these beauties,
The feral soul cannot help but sensate,

Do we write our own disasters,
Or was this ordered from above?
A curious mind into the ocean clamors,
The sea swallows all but the dove.

Silence. We have to fill it.

I feel kind of quiet tonight -- in a good way -- and as I sit here on my "in dire need of vacuuming" floor, I find myself taking comfort in the silence. Yes, I can hear the consistent stream of traffic out my window, the familiar typing of keys, the murmurs from the other room ... but compared to most of my day, this is silence.

Perhaps, are lives are like this: at times in need of peaceful silence, at other times screaming for excitement. This thought sets the backdrop for my feelings on weather. Most people find sun very pleasing, and yes, this is agreed upon by me as well, but there are times when rain is needed. Think of how the imagination would suffer if it only knew sun? The wind, rain, snow, lightening (all huge concepts for LA) spur different elements of creativity, a different side of thought. Just like not wanting the sun all the time, who has the need for screaming excitement at every moment?

There is a time for silence.

Lately my life is very exciting. Comparing it to weather, it might be measured to the same caliber of an 80 degree, sun-filled day after a particularly freezing winter. This being a blessing, as life should be adventurous and exciting. But as I sit here on this Sunday evening I cannot help but bask in this silence; such space and absence of sound allowing my thoughts to settle like sand in a jar of water -- a good silence.

"Beauty and the Beast" is by far my favorite Disney movie. No contest ...

Lately I have been thinking about it quite frequently as I'm borderline in love with the featured parts of the soundtrack that I listen to repeatedly on Pandora. The issue with the music, though I adore it, is when the lyrics "work in" references regarding The Beast. For example: "Tale as old as time/True as it can be/Barely even friends/Then somebody bends/Unexpectedly/Just a little change/Small to say the least/Both a little scared/Neither one prepared ..." at this point one's thinking "epic lyrics,"then it comes ... "Beauty and THE BEAST." Ugh. Take a word like "beast" and it will ruin a love song pretty much every time.

Aside from the issue of her lover being a beast for the bulk of the film, Belle is by far the "deepest" Disney character. Cinderella is really only concerned with a ball, Ariel will forgo all family ties to be with a man she's only seen once, Sleeping Beauty falls in love in about 30 seconds and runs right into her "spindle-pricking doom," but then there's Belle. A smart girl, different from the rest of her "offbeat" town, a little unsure of her uniqueness, yet willing to be herself -- not to mention she gives up her freedom to set her father free. Belle is a noble character.

Growing up I was entranced with the film. Firstly, at the age of five I may or may not have been aware that Belle was a cartoon. Secondly, I thought she was gorgeous. Thirdly, she was smart and eloquent and liked books. Then fourthly, even at five I was a sucker for love stories, and I thought when she came down the stairs in the gold gown nothing more could have won The Beast.

To accompany my love for the movie I had a "Beauty and the Beast" clock, bedspread, sheets, curtains, pillow, Barbie, etc. Sadly, those items are long gone, but still in my heart, my love for the movie remains.

Apologies for the lull in posts -- it's inexcusable.

Today I would like to feature a recent cooking discovery:

Tortilla Egg Scramble (I made up the name)

2 eggs
A handful of cheese
1 excellent tortilla -- the better the tortilla, the better the recipe
salsa
garlic salt
sour cream

To make: Add a dash of garlic salt to eggs. Pour eggs onto a "pamed" pan. Scramble the eggs until they are almost cooked. Break the tortilla in pieces and add it into the eggs; resume scrambling. Toss a handful of cheese on top; resume scrambling. Place compilation on a plate and top with sour cream and salsa.

Best paired with cinnamon coffee.

This is a brief tribute to the world of hill rolling and dizziness:

The other day Charissa and I rolled down a small grassy knoll and it opened a door in me that's been locked for years. When I was a kid I would always play games conducive to spinning, hence creating the "dizzy effect." It was fantastic: hill rolling, repeated circle spinning, running in tight circles, shutting your eyes and circular dancing (sense a circle theme). The best part was the aftermath: getting up to find that you can't help but fall back down. Who knew that the dizzy, dancing feeling that adults get from falling in love or too much caffeine (or, er -- alcohol) could be created with a simple succession of spins.

Try being a kid again, it's great fun.

For Better or Worse

As an introvert, I like being alone. Now don't get me wrong, I love being with people, I'd much rather be with people than always be alone, but I do treasure alone time. I can sit for hours and simply watch people, nestled in a comfy corner (people watching isn't fun when you're not comfortable). This morning, while writing a paper at Panera (I promise I don't aways study at Panera) I was observing the Panera-goers of Whittier -- the 8:50 a.m. sort.

"HENRY! CALL MARGRET AND TELL HER WE'RE AT PANERA!" Said a well-dressed elderly woman to her husband who was slowly emerging from their black Cadillac.

"WHAT!" He responded in an equally tone death volume.

"TELL MARGRET WE'RE at PANERA'S!"

I laughed to myself, is that what happens after 50 years of being with someone? It starts out with soft commands akin to, "Darling, would you mind telling Margret we're at Panera" in a tone that could be used for "whispering sweet nothings," then I suppose it just evolves from there.

The thing I cannot help but wonder about elderly couples is if they realize how lucky they are to have each other -- I think about that sometimes. But as I watched a 75+ couple walking across the parking lot 20 minutes ago, holding hands, slowly approaching their car, I thought, "they must know they're lucky."

Few things are sweeter to me than elderly couples, I like how comfortable they are with each other, the trusting way they need each other. They have a "I get it" mentality. Meaning, they get that they are together, for better or worse, they've been through bad and good, and they are trusted companions. Sure, not all elderly couples are like this, but it's cute when they are -- even if they're screaming at each other about Margret.

* I took the above photo in Berlin last Fall. See, I'm a sucker for it every time.

God's Plans

This morning I was talking to a close friend about my mixed emotions toward graduation and the future, and like with most meaningful conversations, a specific part struck me.

"Really I just want to drink tea and write all day," I said with exasperation.

"Writing is really what you love isn't it?" She asked.

"Yes, with the occasional run and book, and loving -- I really like loving people."

She looked at me, "Then hold onto that."

I breathe out with uncertainty as I sit here on this mid-Monday morning. I'm listening to the "Dear Frankie" soundtrack and drinking coffee that was accidentally self-sabotaged with too much sugar-free chocolate syrup. I have a million things to do, but I have to take a moment to write, because I love to write, I love it in the way that I could write for eight hours and it would feel like eight minutes. Writing is my joy.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life, and as each day passes into my pending graduation date in December the thought becomes, ironically, considerably foggier. This semester has surprised me in ways that only God can surprise, and my life is turning in untraveled directions, yet I am doing very little to make that happen. I suppose, though I so desperately want more direction, there is nothing more I can do but embrace my dreams and hope, trusting God. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future" (Jeremiah 29:11).

Though I'm terrified, I'm excited -- soul flying, heart pounding -- the best kind. I don't have a job lined-up, an elaborate plan, and my resume is in dire need of an update; though this behavior goes against my natural inclination, I am genuinely confident God will use my passions. So, for now, I wait.

Study Spot

My current most effective study spot is a specific corner at Panera. It's the left-most corner near the door that's nestled in the back. A booth for two, this spot allows me to snuggle up in the booth's cubby and prop my feet in a very uncouth fashion on the seat facing me. I like this spot for several reasons: I can see people, but I'm under the illusion they can't see much of me, I'm near a door which calms me because I have a sure-thing fire escape (ok, so I'm half joking), and I'm partial to corners -- always have been.

Due to the amazing nature of this spot it's generally occupied, but the moment it's free I feel like a kid at Christmas. I would recommend that you come try out my spot and see what it does for your academic success, but that would mean you would occupy my spot, and I don't think I like how I feel about that.

Necessities For A Lady:

1.) A carpet bag. Maria (Sound of Music), Anne (of Green Gables), and Mary (Poppins) all had one, does that not persuade you enough?
2.) Bobby pins. Ever had a bang issue in 90 degree + heat? Whip out a bobby pin and your bangs are rescued. Not to mention bobby pins can be handy little tools in emergency situations (not sure for what, but I have faith that small, pointed, sharp, metal can have more than hair styling usages).
3.) A handkerchief. Ok, so most people think hankies are a bit unsanitary, but I find them endearing and highly helpful in many situations. Think, a hankie can serve as a Kleenex, napkin, bandage, handy cloth ... though I recommend not using the hankie for all those things at once.
4.) A book. Why you might ask? To occupy your mind in dull situations, an imaginative escape, and to make use of doctor's office or train time. Also, it's much easier to accept people being late when you're engrossed in an interesting book.
5.) Hand Cream and Chapstick. Let's face it, everyone loves soft skin.
6.) Aspirin. You can make many friends by carrying this around.
7.) Good things memorized so that you can repeat them in your head. Maybe it's a song, verse, poem, or something someone said, but it's nice to store it in your mind and recite it to yourself when the situation calls for it (I'd advise silently, or people may think you're crazy).
8.) An umbrella. This would be the part of the list where I typically fail. I'd much prefer getting wet -- really -- but, I still think if we're speaking in terms of ladies, an umbrella should be at hand.
9.) A good luck charm. It doesn't really have to be a charm, but something you always wear that gives you luck and familiarity -- something with meaning. Mine are my rings, I never take them off.
10.) Smoking hot boots. That way, when life kicks you down you can put on your boots and it all feels a little better (or at least looks better).

This list is both ridiculous and silly, but if you too are ridiculous and silly then post more ideas in the comment section. Ladies only, of course. ;)

Sometimes I listen to "Hey Jude" on repeat, I'm not sure what this says about me, except that I like the song and that I have a high tolerance to musical repetition. There is something comforting to me about playing a good song on repeat, something stable and familiar.

Like every good American I like The Beatles. ;) I mean, "Yellow Submarine" and "I Am The Walrus" really are not top picks for me, but when I was seven my tastes accepted them thoroughly. Now, at 21, I'd have to say my favorite Beatles song is "Hey Jude" (hence, why it's on repeat often).

I've always been partial to the sound of "Hey Jude." There's something about the easy beginning and soft piano cords that make me feel reflective -- in a good way. But the part that really gets me is the lyrics. As a words person I'm a sucker for lyrics, sometimes to an idealistic fault, and "Hey Jude" is up there on the lyrics chart.

I haven't quite figured the song out, but that partially leads to its allure. I take it as a guy, Jude if you will, who is afraid to be with a girl, afraid to let someone in. His friend, the singer, is giving him advice, "Hey Jude don't be afraid, you were made to go out and get her," (my favorite line). Then, the more confusing part, "Take a sad song and make it better." I guess I just interpret this as advice for Jude to make the situation better. Poor Jude ... and I have no idea why I've put so much thought into Jude's life right now instead of doing my homework.

Inspired by the Beyonce song "If I were A Boy" my friend Laura and I came up with some things we'd do if that was the case.

1.) RUN IN THE DARK (we decided this was the best one).
2.) Eat, constantly eat. What you might ask? Everything! (Everything tasty that is.)
3.) Get up 15 minutes before I have to leave and still look decent.
4.) Fight combat in the Marines.
5.) Be a fireman.
6.) Lift heavy things just because I could.
7.) Make cool designs with facial hair.
8.) Use all the Acts products.
9.) Wear boxers.
10.) Chase girls.
11.) Wear a tie.
12.) Shaving optional.

Still, I'd far prefer being a girl -- nice shoes, frilly colors, emotions welcomed, the acceptance of squealing or giggling in public places, the list just keeps rolling ...

"The Right Star"

Are the stars out tonight?
A space of black scattered with white.
Has dark ever looked so bright?
Midnight shadows filled with light.

Stars they flash dreams that have come and gone;
Can this dream hold on?
Dreams they bloom only to become withdrawn;
Is this a wish I can rest upon?

Maybe it’s nothing,
So many nothings.
Oh, but what if it’s something?
The best kind of something,

The kind that swirls black into white,
Stardust raining on night.
My heart will take flight,
Star wishing gone right.

I love this poem:

Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats

I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

Why I Love Mornings:

1.) The cool morning air that creeps through the window and hits your face.

2.) The quilts and blankets that feel so cozy and warm -- not to mention, they balance the cool air.

3.) Breakfast. Need I say more? I absolutely love breakfast.

4.) Coffee or tea.

5.) The quiet stillness of the house.

6.) Morning sunlight.

7.) The endless possibilities the day holds.

8.) Morning conversations with friends and family on the couch.

9.) Hanging out in my pj's for as long as possible.

10.) Time. There's still a whole day to accomplish everything.

11.) Having energy from a good nights sleep.

12.) Everything looks brighter in the morning. :)

I play this game (most days) where I ask myself if I could go anywhere in the world -- no limitations -- where would I go that day. This whole game was developed as a result of a huge map in our house, and really, the game's only rule is to try to pick a place that perfectly suits my mood.

Yesterday I chose Prince Edward Island in light of Fall, the day before I chose Spain because I was in the mood for somewhat of a cultural experience, then the day before that I chose Belize because I was freezing.

Today I would choose Richmond Park in London. I want to run in the moist fog, cool gusts of air pushing me along. The leaves would be all sorts of golds, greens, reds, and browns by this time of year, so I could crush through them as I ran. And, as odd as it may sound, there's this one tree that I used to run by that I really miss. Maybe it's not normal to miss a tree, but you haven't seen this tree ...

You should play this game -- I highly recommend it.

Anyone else a Tammy fan? Really, it's Debbi Reynolds at her finest. Below is the link to "Tammy's in Love" -- straight from YouTube. Yes, if you're wondering, I too sing at my window seal. :-)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4UQmi7nooLQ

Seeing that my last post was on hope, I thought it would be somewhat fitting to compose a post on patience, as patience can often times be connected to hope.

I am a fairly patient person, except when it comes to myself. When it comes to personal matters, I want answers immediately, I tend to get antsy quickly, and I doubt what it is I'm waiting for. In my defense, in my 20 years of life experience I've witnessed that patience is not a common human quality. In fact, patience, as many important things in life, has to be worked toward.

Today in my sort of "informal quiet time" I decided to focus on patience. In my pursuit, I found several notable quotes and verses. I will try to use restraint and only share a handful with you:

Quotes:

"Patience with others is Love, Patience with self is Hope, Patience with God is Faith."
- Adel Bestavros

"To lose patience is to lose the battle."
- Mahatma Gandhi

"Trying to understand is like straining through muddy water.
Be still and allow the mud to settle."
- Lao Tzu

"All fruits do not ripen in one season."
- Laurie Junot

"Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when
you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake."
- Victor Hugo

"Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. But to keep going
when the going is hard and slow - that is patience.”

"The secret of patience is doing something else in the meanwhile."

Verse:

More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

-Romans 5:3-5

Hope.

Fewer things make me more frustrated than hope; but fewer things are more essential to life, love, and faith. Without hope we are creatures living in despair, and in the words of Mirilla (Anne of Green Gables), "to despair is to turn your back on God." Hope, almost like air, truly is vital in our lives.

In a society that's transfixed on "clear-cut results" the concept of hope can seem more like a fairy tale or unrealistic idealism. To hope is to dream, and dreaming in itself accomplishes nothing tangible -- how can success be merited in that?

I think I first became disappointed with hope when I was two-years-old. Ever since then hope and I have had our battles, but at its core, next to love and grace, I find few things more beautiful than hope. I want, with every fiber of my being, for people to see me and sense the hope in me. There is so much to hope for ...

- Love.
- Heaven.
- Dreams.
- The gospel.
- Making a difference in the world.
- Being all God wants me to be.
- Showing kindness to others.

I could spend all day listing all the things I hope for; not because I am discontent or unsatisfied with life, but because I know God made us for so much more and I hope I can never forget this.

One of my favorite verses is Romans 12:12 "Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, and faithful in prayer." And a favorite poem of mine is by Emily Dickinson, "Hope Is The Thing With Feathers." Whenever I get scared that hope will fall through the cracks I repeat that poem or verse in my head, remembering that God delights in my hope.

"Hope Is The Thing With Feathers"

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

I couldn't help but put Helen of Troy's picture in the post regarding gender difference ...


The other day when driving through my neighborhood I saw a little girl on a brightly painted scooter. Her honey colored hair was neatly in a bun, complemented with a sparkling pink headband and her matching dress caught like bursts of wind as she "scootered" toward her brother. Now her brother, quite contrary in appearance, looked like a banshee just appearing from the wild. For all I know, this may have been the case -- perhaps, this was his first meeting with civilization since birth. Rumpled dirty blond locks stuck this way and that, a billowing tee-shirt, and a smile that looked like one of a crazed warrior painted his face. I couldn't help but laugh at the opposite pair.

As of last night, 10:37 to be precise, I finished a paper for my Theology of Gender class. Having been a college student for over three years this paper should have flowed like honey. Instead, it sputtered onto the page more like crusted honey that's been in the cabinet so long it's nearly become a solid. Choosing a stance between complementarity and egalitarianism was not easy. Dismissing all the bulk of the verses and commentary, I'll put in short what I've come to:

God loves both men and women exactly the same -- complete equality. As with that, salvation is completely equal among both sexes. Still though, there is a difference between the genders. Yes, the tension in this difference is attributed to The Fall, but the difference itself, that difference is part of God's intricate plan. In different gender roles one can see distinction and separation. While at the same time, just as Eve originally came from Adam, God wills for men and women to be united as they were meant to be all along. God formed men and women separate so they can come together and unite -- this unity amidst distinction revealing so much about the nature of God Himself. Isn't it beautiful that despite gender difference God has still willed there to be oneness?

Just like the two kids on my street, girls and boys cannot help but be naturally different. And I cannot help but find a sweet comfort in the "banshee" of a little boy and the pink ballerina of the little girl, not because it's a cute example of "girlish" and "boyishness," but because it reveals the naturalness in gender difference -- a difference that God intended for much good.

Today I was talking to my grandparents on the phone and my grandpa asked me how my marathon training was going. I proceeded to explain how, though it's going, my motivation is currently in a mid-training slump. My grandpa then continued to say how I needed a running buddy.

With this statement I agreed saying, "hopefully I'll find one someday."

"Yeah, Prince Charming will eventually come," my grandpa said through a chuckle.

"Maybe," I said, not entirely convinced he will.

"And when he does, he'll be a great running buddy because he'll chase you."

Now, I couldn't help but laugh at my grandpa's last statement, not because it was or was not true, but because Prince Charming chasing me would probably be the key to get me to run faster.

As I sit here I cannot help but wonder ... am I in good enough shape to out run prince charming? Shoot. I better up my training. Either that, or Prince Charming is going to have to run fast. :-)

I have this question that I've been asking people lately: "Do you like the beginning, the middle, or the end?"

It's a simple question in its essence, but I suppose if one starts over analyzing it, then it becomes not so simple. Regardless, I find it a telling question. Love for the beginning of things may be an affair designed for the optimist, the thrill seeking sort, perhaps someone who's not all that afraid of the unknown. Then the middle, perhaps the safest choice, can provide comfort and security, richness, a history and a future, something steady. The end, this selection may be for the darker sorts, but perhaps, in the right situation the end could be for lovers of closure, completion, and if a successful ending, then fulfillment.

It is entirely possible that my theory of this question is all twisted up in nothingness, but I enjoy asking it just the same. One, because I'm a question person, and two because I'm an answer person.

Now, you may be wondering what my answer is, or you may not, but I'll tell you just the same. I would have to choose "middle." Yes, beginning are so very exciting. There's such an innocence, a freedom, a sweetness to them, but I hate how fleeting beginnings can be. I don't particularly enjoy how beginnings gone wrong can transform into something you will one day miss. Something you loose. And endings, though positive in many cases, tend to be draining and a little sad. But middles, just like the delicious white center of an Oreo, seem to cushion us with the "chocolate cookie" (cheesy, I know) of security. Though I love adventures and I love the unknown, deep down, it's security that I want in the things that matter to me. So, yes, though I find beginnings and endings much more exciting, I will choose the middle.

The other day on my way to Nature of Math (G.E. class, I would not take such a thing on my own volition) I was talking to my roommate, Michelle, about silly "ways to my heart." I believe this was spurred as a result of a conversation where I claimed that she would have more of my heart if she gave me free reign of the milk (seeing that we share milk and I drink inordinate amounts). This got the creative thoughts flowing ...

12 Silly Little Ways To My Heart:

1.) Compliment me on my outfit. Yes, this may be shallow, perhaps a little silly, but if you say you like my blue shirt with my yellow cardigan or anything remotely of that nature, I am instantly pleased.

2.) Let me make you food. This is a strange one I'll admit, because it's usually the other way around, but fewer things make me happier than to cook for people.

3.) Ask me what I'm reading. It's a simple question, really, but it's one of my favorite ones to answer.

4.) Give me a spontaneous hug. How I love hugs.

5.) Tell me you read my blog. It's kind of lame exactly how happy this one makes me. It almost makes me think I need to get my priorities in-check. Should I get so much happiness from such a statement? Probably not. I just can't help it. ;)

6.) Play hypothetical games with me, such as: "what if ... "; "would you rather ...."; "if you were ... " -- you get the point. It takes a special person to take these games seriously. Thanks, Michelle.

7.) Carry out an inside joke to its grave. Things that were once funny rarely loose their funniness, if anything, they ripen in time. If you and I have an inside joke that's lasted years, odds are, we're kindred spirits.

8.) Send me a letter. The other day my friend spontaneously put a card in my mailbox (I think I refer to this a couple posts below), but it was a very exciting affair.

9.) Teasing. When my friends make fun of me I know they're my real friends. My grandpa once told me, "Melissa, someone would never take the time to tease you if they didn't really like you."

10.) Plot a ridiculous/silly scheme with me. Too old for this kind of thing? I think not.

11.) Be willing to debate about topics being fully aware that coming to a conclusion is about as likely as Ashton Kutcher dumping Demi, flying a private jet to Biola, and whisking me away, all prior to 9 a.m. tomorrow (10-3-08).

12.) Read something I've written and critique it. If I can get a person to do this, our friendship is in stone.

Dear Fall,

Please bring me back to Scotland ...






Here's to a happy first day of October, and a blustery welcome to Fall -- my favorite season!

- On My Mind -

This post was inspired by my friend, Laura. Her inspiration was found in InSyle Magazine (naturally), and where they found their inspiration, well that's a mystery.

Things that I currently "cannot" live without:

1.) My journal. I actually have two, one for writing more of a general overview of my life and the other for being more candid with. The latter, being a recent gift from my friend which she put in my school mailbox.

2.) Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds. Isn't the fact that I polish off a 17 serving, family- size box in seven days indication enough of my love?

3.) My Ipod. Running, studying ... yeah, that basically covers it, but seeing that I do A LOT of both, it's pretty much a life saver.

4.) The Dear Frankie soundtrack, solely for the piano music which always calms me after a stressful day.

5.) My passport. Yes, I realize I haven't gone anywhere recently, but the fact that I have it, waiting to be stamped again, makes me very, very happy.

6.) Ok, this may be an odd one, but my long hair. It took awhile to grow it out, and now that it's long I can twist it into a long spiral then make a bun on the back of my head. I love just sitting in class and twisting it -- makes me very glad to be a girl.

7.) Juice Stop smoothies, #27.

8.) My nine dollar Target "kick- it" shorts. Paired up with a white tank, these shorts bring comfort to evenings and Sunday afternoons that I never knew possible.

9.) Wednesday night dinners with the London girls. Experiencing a home-cooked meal, consistent friendship, and lots of laughs comes at a perfect point on Wednesday. My time with them is truly a blessing.

10.) Dreams. This may sound cheesy, but bouncing ideas in my head about where life is going to take me next, what it is I really want/what God has for me, and all the possibilities that I consider everyday, gives my life just the hope and spice it needs.

If I could grow up and be anything I'd be a piano player. I would sit at a smooth black piano with my hair in an elegant bun, my dress would be striking and black with a swooping back, and my earrings would tease the eyes of the audience as they flickered in and out of the stage light. The audience would sit calmly and dream their dreams, review their tragedies, or perhaps lean their heads back and drink it in. Words in that moment would speak to some -- it is true -- but piano music, the unsuspecting ripples and twists of the ivory keys, could capture all; a language all in its own.

It has been said that life is a dance, but to me, life is like piano music. Only does the composer really know where the song is turning next, and though the avid listener may guess, the composer can always change the next beat. This is like God with the rhythm of our lives.

Unfortunately I cannot play the piano -- not really. But, Naturally, in my daydream this is not the case. :-)

As inspired by Mindy Jane's post:

Random Things That Make Me Happy

1.) Going to bed with wet, clean hair.

2.) Really good salad.

3.) Cuddling and telling secrets with my best friends.

4.) The sound of wind or rain at night.

5.) Poetry.

6.) The way you feel after a really good run.

8.) Having the kind of conversation with someone that is so interesting you loose track of the world.

9.) Imaginations.

10.) The smell of pumpkin spice or warm vanilla sugar.

11.) Sunshine.

12.) Running in the rain.

13.) Piano music.

14.) My grandparents house.

15.) Shopping with mom.

16.) Loosing sleep over a good book.

17.) Traveling.

18.) Planning future trips.

19.) Big dreams and people who encourage those.

20.) The good kind of butterflies in your stomach.

21.) The whistle of a tea kettle and huge mugs of Chamomile tea with milk and sugar.

22.) Writing stories.

23.) Swings.

24.) Late night road trips shared with good company.

25.) Wearing an apron, listening to Christmas music and baking.
26.) Laughing so hard you have to leave the room to get away from the person making you laugh.

Paradox

Yesterday my professor made a comment that touched upon the idea that life is full of paradoxes. Perhaps I have gone through life for the past 21 years unappreciative of this truth, but fully sinking in the reality that paradoxes are part of life makes the "complicators" and "puzzlers" in my life, ironically, much simpler.

A place where paradox is seen vividly is in the Bible. A quick example of contrast that I'm thinking upon in this moment is the truth that Jesus calls himself both "the lion" and "the lamb." Can one be fierce and soft? Soft-spoken, yet roar wildly? Strong, but still gentle? On a deeper level, can you love and still hate? Fear, yet be excited? Care, but crave apathy?

Yes.

Such paradoxes in human nature are all the more a testimony of God's great complexity. Being formed in his image we have a hint of this complexity, in our fallen human nature we have a taste of such a perfect, awesome creator. This, I suggest, is one of the -- if not the -- most profound paradox in humanity.

Welcome to the house ...

Top of the line New Balance running shoes: 88 dollars
The most uncomplicated pedometer I could find: 15 dollars
Half marathon: 80 dollars
Training: Priceless?


In an attempt to put my ten year love affair of distance running to use I have decided to do a half marathon. I figured with my somewhat recent broken foot injury (last winter), my inexperience, and the stress that comes with the last semester it wouldn't be sensible to sign up for a full marathon. And though I don't pride myself on sense alone, it had weighty merit in this decision. With that said, December 13th 2008 I'll get to put a big red check mark on my "list of things to do before I die," executing the bullet point entitled "half marathon" with style.

Though 13 miles is no physical feat, training has been interesting. Thankfully I unknowingly trained fairly hard this summer, as being bogged up in a desk all day tempted me to accomplish 4-6 mile runs about 5 times a week. But now, the real game has to come into play. This morning I ran 5 miles in about 90 degree heat (because I slept in too late). I came home about ready to pass out. I thought running was suppose to make one more energized, and though this has usually been the case, my body is already feeling the training. I look as though I've been riding a horse for hours or am a victim of chronic back problems as I walk to class, but I will persevere.

I'm going to be honest, I love a challenge, and this whole new "half marathon project/challenge of 2008" has been refreshing. So, here's to youth, "Girl Power" (the slightly embarrassing coin phrase of the Spice Girl era), and good health! Wish me luck :-)

It takes my grandpa at least two minutes to pull a Saltine out of the plastic – this is impressive compared to him performing other domestic duties …

To scramble an egg can take up to 30 or 40 minutes, to heat dinner usually takes the same length of time. Grocery shopping, vacuuming, cleaning a spill, and all “more advanced” cleaning duties are not even in his job description. My mom finds this maddening, my grandma expects it, I find it endearing.

Now don’t judge my grandpa, as this has no reflection on his talents. If you want him to fix a kitchen sink, build a fence, install a water heater, construct a bird feeder, or any type of handiwork, he is your man. And for my grandparents this balance works. Never has my grandma had a broken garbage disposal without it being fixed 30 minutes later, if she wants new white shelves above the TV, three neatly placed white shelves are up the next day. Just the same, my grandpa has a hot meal three times a day, the carpet is always clean, the sheets washed, the kitchen tidy, and the cookie jar aplenty. The only time there ever are issues is when one of them goes off balance, like in the current case, when my grandma is semi-bedridden after knee surgery.

The last two mornings I’ve gotten up and first thing walked down the street to their house. I’ll scramble an egg, wash the counter and floor, possibly pull out the vacuum, start a load of laundry, start a grocery shopping list, take the dog out for some exercise -- all in under 40 minutes. Then the bigger tasks like grocery shopping and going to the bank are still done in less than 60 minutes. Tasks like these would take my grandpa days, or possibly -- and more than likely -- never all be completed. Now, as an XY chromosome, and a highly-domestic personality, I find joy in this. I can’t change a tire, I’m not the biggest fan of mowing the lawn, and if you told me to fix a toilet I would cry. But ask me to polish a wood floor, make a decent meal, and sew a rip in a pair of jeans, and I put on a little music, cheerfully getting to work. Despite this, I realize not all men and women are so keen on their exact gender roles, and in today’s society the extreme dependency on each role is more or less a rarity. Yet for my grandparents, this isn’t the case.

While I understand the frustration my grandma must feel when it takes my grandpa 30 minutes to fry her egg, she also feels lucky that she has him to try to help her when she’s sick. Though I find a flicker of humor in it all, I go back to the word endearing, as watching him clumsily get her a cracker and stiffly put the long white sock on her bad leg is real love. Sure he can’t really do it, he may burn things, under or over feed her, and scrunch her toes as he fights with the sock, but he overcomes his unnaturalness toward domestic duties because he loves her, and because of that, it wouldn’t be natural to do anything else.

Timeless songs:

I’m sitting here in my air-conditioned room, plopped peacefully on my bed, bouncing my feet back and forth to Eric Clapton’s “Layla,” thinking: "hmmm, 'Melissa' would sound even better than “Layla” in this cool rock song." In all reality, I was just reflecting on how much I love music – all kinds – classical, oldies, classic rock, hip-hop, rock, really jazzy French music, sentimental country, Christian, rap, even pretty intense rock is alright by me, just no “screamo.” Music moves, inspires, reflects, and can even tell us things (whether we should listen or not), and even though my musical talents peak at middle school choir -- nine years of muffled flute playing (trying to let the rest of the flute section overbear me), aspiring piano (?), and one month of singing lessons (please don’t go there) – I still love music.

Though I haven’t put much thought into this post, off the cuff, here are twelve favorite songs (though I have ten million more):

1.) Credence Clearwater Revival (CCR), “Have You Ever Seen The Rain” is probably my favorite song. This classic rock, fairly-lyrically ambiguous tune, does it for me every time. What drawls me to this song isn’t so much the lyrical paradox of “the rain coming down on a sunny day” or the highly Snare Drum dependent beat, but more the feeling the song invokes. It reminds me of times of chance, of the good in chance, and just like how it can rain on a sunny day, paradoxes can happen, and in change, life can take me by surprise, too.

2.) Coldplay, “Fix You.” Quite possibly the most romantic song to me; I am fully aware that no one but God can fix me, yet still the concept that someone (such as the lead singer of Coldplay -- Chris Martian) would even care to try, is just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Really, you’d have to understand me fully to get why I really like this song, but as far as I’m concerned it’s romance at its pinnacle. Not to mention a great running song during the dramatic … “dannahdunahhh!” “Green Eyes” and “Swallowed In The Sea” are also favorites.

3.) Frank Sinatra, “The Way You Look Tonight” captures classy without too much mushy. My favorite line is “that smile that wrinkles your nose touches my foolish heart.” What I like about that line is that a “wrinkled nose” is really only attractive to someone who’s completely smitten.

4.) Dave Matthew’s Band, “Grey Street.” As choice #2 unveiled, I like songs about men singing about mysterious/broken women.

5.) The Eagles, “Take it Easy,” or “Hotel California,” etc. Basically, like CCR, the Eagles can do no wrong.

6.) Flogging Molly, “If I Ever Leave This World Alive,” has a slight Celtic flair that touches my Irish roots (assuming I have Irish roots). Not to mention the lead singer has kind of a hot voice (in a funky, clear your throat, kind of Irish way).

7.) Brandy Carlile, “The Story.” As a lover of stories, this song tops the charts. “All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am, so many stories of where I've been, but these stories don’t mean anything unless you’ve got someone to tell them to …”

8.) Rocky Voloato (whoever he is), “White Daisy Passing” soars my itunes play count at nearly 200 because it evokes an emotion when I listen to it that I just plain like. Best listened to on a rainy day ;)

9.) Les Miserables, “Do You Hear The People Sing” – this song makes me want to be French.

10.) Snow Patrol, “Open Your Eyes,” made it on the list solely for the line “they don’t get your soul or your fire.” I love that line every time I hear the song.

11.) Wreakless Eric, “Whole Wide Word,” just like in Stranger Than Fiction, would you like to play this on the guitar for me? Please don’t be a Will Ferrell look-alike (fingers crossed).

12.) Elliott Smith, “All Cleaned Out;” once again, the “broken woman phenomenon” reels me in.

Bonus: My all time favorite hymn is "It is Well." I'm not sure why adding that to the list is a bonus, except for the fact that I didn't want to create a number 13.

*Note: these are not necessarily my "favorite songs” (with the exception of number one). This, of course, excludes my shallow, hip-hop indulgences that I’d rather not publicize.

What was life like before Facebook? Or, better stated -- what was love like?

Now, I'm not one to blog about personal relationships, sure they're juicy, but get too personal and it feels like a middle school Xanga -- not my target audience. But let's be honest, who doesn't love to talk about relationships? Specifically love. Personally, I think one can tackle various aspects of this topic (safer on the comedy side) with complete ambiguity. After all, romance is spice.

What I'd like to focus on is Facebook love. This very blog, being a public, easily accessible medium that'd I'd assume two to three people read a day (one who accidentally found this page on a google search, one being me, then sometimes good 'ol mom ... ok, maybe not always mom). All in all, I feel like this is a safe setting to get out my views on Facebook love. But before I continue, let me define it:

Facebook love is a proclamation of love between one person and their boyfriend/girlfriend, finance, spouse, etc. Facebook love can even go so far as to include the tormented soul who prides them self on cryptic status lines such as, "if only he'd notice me" or "ain't no sunshine when she's gone." (Admit it, at least half of Facebook users have gone here once -- if not multiple times).

How do I feel about Facebook love? Well for starters, it's about as entertaining as Saturday morning cartoons (in case you're culturally confused, that's entertaining). I have several roommates (all female, naturally) and I hear them on repeated occasions squeal with delight when a wedding or engagement album has been posted. I am guilty of this as well. But it doesn't stop there, oh no.

For starters, there's the relationship status: complicated means I'm sort of invovled but want out, single means I'm confident that I'm alone or I'd like to not be alone, in a relationship means you can know I'm taken but not with who, in a relationship with ___ (insert name) shows relational pride, married is a clear off the market, engaged is usually a giddy female, then lastly, not listed -- the crypic bunch -- often the crowd that is either A.) sick of dating B.) Been badly hurt C.) Not interested in dating (rarely this one) or D.) Un-condoning of Facebook love. Or, of course, there's the occassional, "too many relationships to list just one so I'll leave it blank" sort. And if it stoppped here maybe Facebook love would be somewhat under control, but as one could guess, it doesn't.

There's a bucket load of other aspects of Facebook love that can be fun time wasters for the "purpose driven procrastinators" (not to be confused with Rick Warren, Purpose Driven Life). Take couples wall to wall, for example. Sometimes the things people post to their beloved is stomach-doubling funny. Then there's blatant "lovestoned" about me sections. Albums, let's not forget the albums! Ahh, and messages (which no one can see) but we know we've all been there, stealthly conducting Facebook love behind the scenes.

Is there shame in any of this behavior? I don't know. Am I guilty of this behavior? Though less than some, when I meet "Mr. Right" odds are, they'll be at least a picture or two posted, and who knows what that first dropped domino will trigger.

Here's the catch, the kicker, the conclusion of this post, if you will. Facebook is about "connecting," it's designed to "share your life," and though the concept of sharing life in such a public, unpersonalized manner is a bit unnerving, it is our culture. Whether we resent it or love it, love is a part of our lives, and Facebook can only hide that for so long.

What was love like before Facebook? Between two people ;)

Honey, This Smile's For You

Every morning on my way to work I play the “radio game.” Though others may not be familiar with it, I am highly familiar with its terms, and for me, it goes something like this: change the radio station to find the best song currently on (basic). But the part that constitutes as the game for me, is the later and later I happen to be for work, it starts becoming, “change the radio station every time you’re stressed about being late for work”; though I cannot control how late I am at that point in my morning, I can control the music. This brings me satisfaction.

This morning I was notably early and because of this I was listening to almost full songs. Actually I went so far as to keep it hanging on a particular radio station 1.2678 seconds after the song had ended to hear the announcer say something, that for reasons not all entirely known to me, cracked me up. The announcer proceeded to highlight a recent study from the University of Indiana where research discovered that guys are notoriously awful on picking up on signs if girls like them.

Eye-batting, hair twirling, coy smiles, this stuff may have worked in 1926 (think pre-depression prairie days). But in 2009, the effects are much weaker.

This was cracking me up because I was thinking about how funny girls can be showing “the signs” and how dense guys, at times, can be in picking up the signs (disclaimer: I’m not saying guys are dense). I was just envisioning that girl in Bio 101, 8:00 a.m. class who laughed in her not morning volume of a giggle (yes, my laugh is loud, too I realize) at some guy who’s joke was not funny to anyone else. All the other females catch onto her attraction like a hitchhiker-weed to socks, but the guy just really thinks he’s on a funny streak.

Of course for the ego-ready male, not much more than a passing smile may do the trick, but for the shier, sweeter sorts, encouragement such as continual love-glazed smiles, may only lead them to believe “she’s a very cheerful girl.”

Looking on the actual website at the statistics, it’s evident that 8% of woman got the signs wrong vs. 12% of men; though this number is noteworthy, it’s not astonishingly significant. Besides, who am I to know, maybe it’s always been this way. Perhaps Cindy-Lou rode side-saddle on her horse 20 minutes out of her way just to pass Jerry everyday-- waiting for him to notice her. While Jerry just thought she had to take that particular route every day.

Aw, love. You can’t help but laugh at it just a little.

Here's the article: http://www.nowpublic.com/culture/men-are-daft-picking-body-language