About a week and a half ago, a young man in my ward died of a drug overdose. He was 23, and had apparently been struggling with drugs for some time, although he'd been clean for the last 6 months or so. Before Wednesday.
I attended his funeral this past Tuesday morning--the bishop of my ward asked me to conduct the music, since I do that for church on Sundays--and, by the time the funeral was over, I was really grateful for the chance I had to listen in on what this young man's siblings & dad had to say about him, about his struggle, and about what the future holds for him.
Despite the difficult & painful circumstances surrounding his death, (surrounding any death, I suppose), I don't think I have ever heard more heartfelt & poignant testimony of the healing power of the atonement. The testimony of the young man's father was especially strong--he spoke for some time about the overall plan of salvation, addressing his grandchildren in the audience in simple yet powerful words. He expressed the knowledge that his son is now safe, free from the trials & temptations that he struggled with during his life.
I was profoundly moved, and changed, just a little bit by attending that funeral. And, even now, though my regular life has since intruded & erased all but a portion of the spirit of the meeting, still that portion remains, and I find that I myself can put just a little bit more trust in my Savior, and in the all-encompassing power of the atonement.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Of Calendars & Vegetable Gardens
Calendars lie. You may not be aware of this, focusing as you do on the innocent-looking pictures hanging beguilingly above the inflexible square lines of dates & weeks. You see, calendars, when you look at them, encourage you to move your eye upwards, to gaze at the beautiful picture above where the real information rests. For instance, I have two calendars in my room. If I were a sensible person, and prone to be on-time & logical, I would have 2 calendars because, when I'm on one side of the room, I may not be able to read the dates on the calendar haning on the other side of the room. Or, I could keep one calendar for work-related activities, and one calendar for family-related activities.
But I'm not logical, and I am definitely prone to being a wee bit late for things. (My fondness for sleeping is no doubt to blame.) And so, I did not purchase said calendars to keep track of my dentist appointments, or when the next work party is coming up. No. I purchased my two calendars for the pictures, pure & simple. On one calendar, there's a bunch of artwork involving dragons in some way. (Forgive me. I just like dragons.) On the other, there's artwork done by Kinuko Y. Craft, who does the most exquisite work for book covers, among other things.
Where was I going with this? Oh yes. Calendars lie.
My point is that despite the differences in the things depicted in the artwork in both calendars, they both tell the same lie. The month, right there at the top of all of those hard perpendicular lines reads, as clear as day, "March."
Now, I ask you: does March involve wildly fluctuating temperatures, ranging from 60 degrees one day down to 22 degress the next? Does March involve starting out with warm winds & green things & not three days later having 2 feet of snow fall in a single afternoon? Does March give us hope for spring and the continuance of life and just as suddenly snatch it away? Does it???
Oh.
Well, I guess it does.
At least here. Where I live. In this place where March is both warm and cold.
So, how do vegetable gardens come into this, you may ask. (And if so, should I have included a question mark in the last sentence?) They don't really come in much--only that despite the warming & colding & raining & snowing we've had here lately, our little vegetable garden patch in the backyard still has an unvarying 6 inches of snow covering up the remnants of last year's forgotten & squashed tomatoes & peapods. I know. I walked out there on Sunday. And boy, were my feet cold.
So, it's still chilly here. Despite the tantalizing tastes of warmer weather our fickle environment has been throwing at us. (Darn the thing.) And while I'm tired, so tired, of all this winter, still there's a sense of beauty that still breaks through my anti-cold sensibilities as I watch the setting sun cast light & shadows across the snow-covered mountains, turning them from pale yellow to bright orange, to pink, and then to grey. And of course, since there's a gibbous moon tonight, there will be the best thing of all: moonlight on snow.
But I'm not logical, and I am definitely prone to being a wee bit late for things. (My fondness for sleeping is no doubt to blame.) And so, I did not purchase said calendars to keep track of my dentist appointments, or when the next work party is coming up. No. I purchased my two calendars for the pictures, pure & simple. On one calendar, there's a bunch of artwork involving dragons in some way. (Forgive me. I just like dragons.) On the other, there's artwork done by Kinuko Y. Craft, who does the most exquisite work for book covers, among other things.
Where was I going with this? Oh yes. Calendars lie.
My point is that despite the differences in the things depicted in the artwork in both calendars, they both tell the same lie. The month, right there at the top of all of those hard perpendicular lines reads, as clear as day, "March."
Now, I ask you: does March involve wildly fluctuating temperatures, ranging from 60 degrees one day down to 22 degress the next? Does March involve starting out with warm winds & green things & not three days later having 2 feet of snow fall in a single afternoon? Does March give us hope for spring and the continuance of life and just as suddenly snatch it away? Does it???
Oh.
Well, I guess it does.
At least here. Where I live. In this place where March is both warm and cold.
So, how do vegetable gardens come into this, you may ask. (And if so, should I have included a question mark in the last sentence?) They don't really come in much--only that despite the warming & colding & raining & snowing we've had here lately, our little vegetable garden patch in the backyard still has an unvarying 6 inches of snow covering up the remnants of last year's forgotten & squashed tomatoes & peapods. I know. I walked out there on Sunday. And boy, were my feet cold.
So, it's still chilly here. Despite the tantalizing tastes of warmer weather our fickle environment has been throwing at us. (Darn the thing.) And while I'm tired, so tired, of all this winter, still there's a sense of beauty that still breaks through my anti-cold sensibilities as I watch the setting sun cast light & shadows across the snow-covered mountains, turning them from pale yellow to bright orange, to pink, and then to grey. And of course, since there's a gibbous moon tonight, there will be the best thing of all: moonlight on snow.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Not even if my life depended on it.
I'm terrible at explaining things. Well actually, 'hopeless' is rather a better word for it, or maybe 'wretched,' or 'defective.' Okay, maybe not 'defective,' but still, it's a pretty darn bad situation.
That's why I'm standing here in front of this firing squad, actually.
Somebody asked me to explain exactly how you go about adding on to an order that has been sent down to shipping, boxed up & put into the UPS computer without having the shipping department hunt you down and pummel you in a dark alley. And, I said, "You know, you really don't want me to explain that to you. I'm terrible at explaining. Defective even. (Well, maybe not defective.) I probably couldn't explain it to you even if my life depended on it." Which it didn't of course, not at that point.
But the truth is that the avoidance of explaining something is actually considered a crime in the small homey city where I work, and, to my chagrin, the person that I refused to explain the, er, above situation to, happened to be an undercover cop working to root out the explainingophobes among us, of which I, apparently, am one. *Reels from the dizziness of that last sentence*
So, here I stand, cigarette clenched firmly in my teeth. (I didn't ask for it. They just kind of stuck it there.)
Of course, I tried to explain to the police, and the jury, and the judge, that the reason why I didn't want to explain the tricky late add-on procedure was that I was really, really bad at explaining stuff, but of course, I couldn't really get them to see my point of view. As a matter of fact, by the time I was done with my explanation, I had so wrapped myself up in verbal mishmash that I had a hard time seeing my point of view myself.
I've decided I don't like the taste of cigarettes. Fortunately, the unnecessarily tight binding of my wrists together does not preclude me from spitting this cigarette as far from me as possible. Ah. If only I could spit myself away from those steely-eyed young men who face me & stare me down as though they had the power of life & death over me. Er, well... I suppose they do.
So, Why, you may ask, and ask it rightly. Why does she have to suffer capital punishment, by firing squad, no less, for the simple crime of refusing to explain something to somebody else? And who came up with that law, anyway?!? It's a stupid law. I've never heard of a law like that before in all my days. I just don't know what this world is coming to...
Well, the truth is, I would try to outline the reasons for you, but as I've mentioned before, I'm
*BANG*
(Pam, I'll get to calendars next post. That is, er, if I can staunch the bleeding...)
That's why I'm standing here in front of this firing squad, actually.
Somebody asked me to explain exactly how you go about adding on to an order that has been sent down to shipping, boxed up & put into the UPS computer without having the shipping department hunt you down and pummel you in a dark alley. And, I said, "You know, you really don't want me to explain that to you. I'm terrible at explaining. Defective even. (Well, maybe not defective.) I probably couldn't explain it to you even if my life depended on it." Which it didn't of course, not at that point.
But the truth is that the avoidance of explaining something is actually considered a crime in the small homey city where I work, and, to my chagrin, the person that I refused to explain the, er, above situation to, happened to be an undercover cop working to root out the explainingophobes among us, of which I, apparently, am one. *Reels from the dizziness of that last sentence*
So, here I stand, cigarette clenched firmly in my teeth. (I didn't ask for it. They just kind of stuck it there.)
Of course, I tried to explain to the police, and the jury, and the judge, that the reason why I didn't want to explain the tricky late add-on procedure was that I was really, really bad at explaining stuff, but of course, I couldn't really get them to see my point of view. As a matter of fact, by the time I was done with my explanation, I had so wrapped myself up in verbal mishmash that I had a hard time seeing my point of view myself.
I've decided I don't like the taste of cigarettes. Fortunately, the unnecessarily tight binding of my wrists together does not preclude me from spitting this cigarette as far from me as possible. Ah. If only I could spit myself away from those steely-eyed young men who face me & stare me down as though they had the power of life & death over me. Er, well... I suppose they do.
So, Why, you may ask, and ask it rightly. Why does she have to suffer capital punishment, by firing squad, no less, for the simple crime of refusing to explain something to somebody else? And who came up with that law, anyway?!? It's a stupid law. I've never heard of a law like that before in all my days. I just don't know what this world is coming to...
Well, the truth is, I would try to outline the reasons for you, but as I've mentioned before, I'm
*BANG*
(Pam, I'll get to calendars next post. That is, er, if I can staunch the bleeding...)
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Some of you may be wondering...
I already know I'm going to hate myself in the morning for doing this. I'm supposed to be up at my sister's house in West Jordan by 9:00am tomorrow morning, so with prep time & drive time, I'll need to be up by about 6:30. On a Saturday. (I believe this may be a crime in some countries.)
But, I wanted to take a moment to explain to you, my faithful readers, why exactly I keep posting pictures of flowers in my blog. You probably already noticed, but I threw another one in, by the way. This one I played with a little. Using The Gimp. (Hurrah for free software!)
Okay. So, you really shouldn't be wondering too hard about this one. I mean, there's no deep philosophical reason why I keep uploading pictures of flowers. The truth is, I just have a lot of flower pictures that I like. And, I think that a blog that consists entirely of text is really boring. And also, I feel that it would be dangerous to post too many pics of people. Particularly if I also list their names. And birthdates. And social security numbers.
These are bad ideas in a blog.
So, back to pictures.
Last summer, actually...it was late summer, I finally decided to take my (then) new digital camera on a whirlwind morning excursion that consisted of Beth-figuring-out-how-to-take-reasonably-okay-pictures type of activites. Which excursion was relatively successful. Successful because I got some seriously not-so-bad pictures of flowers, (I found out that my camera has a really, really nice very-close-up type of shooting mode), and relatively because all of the landscape shots I tried to take invariably turned out awful.
I may post some later to prove it.
But, I do have some nice flower pics to show for the day, and I like them well enough to post them here, to liven up my blog a little. Because, if you didn't have the flowers to distract your attention while reading my ramblings, you would invariable notice all the horrible writing that comes out of my keyboard. Which, once you're duly hypnotized by said flowers, suddenly looks remarkably like good writing.
Kind of like a druk person not noticing that the guy he's trying to pick a fight with is 6'10" and weighs 300+ pounds.
Well. At least I'm doing it in self defense. So there.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
A Personal History of Valentine's Day
It used to be that when a day like Valentine's Day rolled around (i.e. a day that wallowed in its own gooey ickiness) I used to wallow myself. Usually in a dark room, listening to some sort of depressing music.
Usually I'd spend nights like that remembering, or not remembering, as the mood struck me. But, more often than not, if I remembered, I would remember in a litany--a rosary prayer running through all the lost loves of my life.
I'd start in kindergarten, with that blond-haired firstgrader that I wrote an "I love you" note to, move rapidly through junior high & into the high school years...Travis from seminary, Matt, Dan (Dan I would spend some time on), Jason... It was a litany of loss, it was me focusing on pain, on what I didn't have.
It's strange, but I don't seem to do that anymore. It's not that I've suddenly gained the things that I longed for then--I haven't. I'm still single, and rather overwhelmingly likely to remain so for some time. I don't even think I'm necessarily happier than I was then. I really spend no time at all wandering around in a rosey cloud of joy.
I wonder if I'm just better at distracting myself now. I have easy access to the tv, a laptop with high-speed internet, and my own little mini library to lose myself in. Whenever I feel a spout of pain coming on, do I switch on my computer? Watch an amusing but rather soulless flash cartoon? Grab the latest escapist novel I've purchased from Amazon?
Or maybe, I just don't allow myself to grieve anymore. I'm embarrassed when I'm miserable, as if I don't have any right to be unhappy--as if I know better. And maybe I do. Maybe I realize that, as lonely and unfulfilled as life can be, I'm still okay. I'm way better off than the child in India who works all day in a sweat-shop and comes home at night to a mat in the street. I'm better off than the girl who lives her life at the end of a needle, or under the bottom of a shot glass.
I guess the answer is, I don't know. I think it's a mixture of all of the above. Fill in the bubble for answer "D." Or maybe "E" for 'unknown.' (Man, I've taken too many standardized tests.) I suppose I'm only writing about this because I'm kind of amazed to find myself here, on Valentine's Day, still sitting upright in a relatively well-lit room, eyes & cheeks completely dry, and the only music playing in the background the soundtrack to some tv show my sister's watching in the kitchen. I don't even think I've eaten chocolate today...
And that, more than anything else, really shows me how much I've changed.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
No, I'm not, actually.
Um, just so you guys know, (yes, all of you who are currently crouching in the corners of your room, shivering with fear, wondering what horrible self-truths I will reveal in this blog), I'm not depressed.
I don't know if you thought that I was, but I suspect that it may have crossed some of your minds, but I want you to know that you're wrong.
I'm not depressed.
I'm actually quite content. Well, content is perhaps too strong a word. But I am reasonably accustomed to my life, and to its challenges, and really, in mortality, isn't that the most we can ask for? So, I'm not depressed.
Let's all say it together: "I'm not depressed." Er, except, you should say, "She's not depressed," and I'll say, "I'm not depressed," except that we'll all say it at the same time so that it sounds like a jumble of "I'masetshesstnotttdepressedsteChristopherColumbus."
Good. Now you don't have to be afraid to post a comment anymore.
I don't know if you thought that I was, but I suspect that it may have crossed some of your minds, but I want you to know that you're wrong.
I'm not depressed.
I'm actually quite content. Well, content is perhaps too strong a word. But I am reasonably accustomed to my life, and to its challenges, and really, in mortality, isn't that the most we can ask for? So, I'm not depressed.
Let's all say it together: "I'm not depressed." Er, except, you should say, "She's not depressed," and I'll say, "I'm not depressed," except that we'll all say it at the same time so that it sounds like a jumble of "I'masetshesstnotttdepressedsteChristopherColumbus."
Good. Now you don't have to be afraid to post a comment anymore.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
So What's Real Anyway?
The funny thing with being depressed is that you feel like, finally, you're facing things as they really are. (Or not facing them, as the case may be.) You've come to the realization that life really does stink--tremendously--and that the reality of existence is pain.
While depression doesn't usually last that long, when you're on the opposite end of things, (i.e. you're happy), you still have this niggling feeling underneath the surface that you're not really looking life full in the face, that you're brushing over the negative aspects of life just so you can get through the day. Maybe there's even some truth to that. Maybe being happy isn't so much seeing the positive things in life as it is ignoring the negative things in life... At least, maybe that's the happiness that most people have.
However, I don't think that this is the way that God is happy. (And Pam, I know we kind of did this conversation in email a few weeks back--I'm just rehashing it here. Hope you don't mind.)
God is happy in the face of all misery and all joy. Sometimes I wonder how that's possible. Maybe it's because that, while he sees all the sorrow & suffering & sin that exist on the earth, he also recognizes & revels with us in our joy, and in our goodness. Or maybe it's something more than that. I know He feels sorrow too, but I wonder if it's that eternal perspective He has, that He can really see that good does outweigh evil, that it really is triumphant in the end.
Bother. I really shouldn't be trying to philosophize at 10:30 at night, especially when I have a headache, and I don't even know why I'm writing about this, except that I was thinking about this today, and I wanted to put my thoughts out there, where you guys read it. Thanks, as always, for taking a moment to read my meanderings.
While depression doesn't usually last that long, when you're on the opposite end of things, (i.e. you're happy), you still have this niggling feeling underneath the surface that you're not really looking life full in the face, that you're brushing over the negative aspects of life just so you can get through the day. Maybe there's even some truth to that. Maybe being happy isn't so much seeing the positive things in life as it is ignoring the negative things in life... At least, maybe that's the happiness that most people have.
However, I don't think that this is the way that God is happy. (And Pam, I know we kind of did this conversation in email a few weeks back--I'm just rehashing it here. Hope you don't mind.)
God is happy in the face of all misery and all joy. Sometimes I wonder how that's possible. Maybe it's because that, while he sees all the sorrow & suffering & sin that exist on the earth, he also recognizes & revels with us in our joy, and in our goodness. Or maybe it's something more than that. I know He feels sorrow too, but I wonder if it's that eternal perspective He has, that He can really see that good does outweigh evil, that it really is triumphant in the end.
Bother. I really shouldn't be trying to philosophize at 10:30 at night, especially when I have a headache, and I don't even know why I'm writing about this, except that I was thinking about this today, and I wanted to put my thoughts out there, where you guys read it. Thanks, as always, for taking a moment to read my meanderings.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
An early "Happy Groundhog Day" to you too!
Okay--this post is just for fun. As my family sat together this past Monday during FHE, my mom mentioned that my brother Peter's "Hump Day" (or half-way mark to you uninitiated) for his mission was February 2nd (tomorrow). So, as part of our family discussion, we decided to send him a little something to commemorate.
Attached is what we did. (Well, I did the drawing, and my mom wrote the words. Yep.)
So, it's not deep, and it's not profound, and it certainly won't change your life for the better, but I hope you enjoy the pic at least a little.
(By the way, I think if you click on the image, it'll make it larger, so you'll be able to see the fine details of this near-masterpiece.)
Er. Yah. Hope you likes it.
Attached is what we did. (Well, I did the drawing, and my mom wrote the words. Yep.)
So, it's not deep, and it's not profound, and it certainly won't change your life for the better, but I hope you enjoy the pic at least a little.
(By the way, I think if you click on the image, it'll make it larger, so you'll be able to see the fine details of this near-masterpiece.)
Er. Yah. Hope you likes it.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Step on, Baby.
So, remember that really teeny tiny step I talked about a couple of posts ago? Yeah. I just took another really teeny tiny step. Well, this one was slightly bigger. But it was still a baby step.
I guess I'm steppin' out in style then...Baby Style, stepping things up, stepping up to the plate, taking a step in the right direction...er, I can't think of more 'step' phrases right now...
BUT, I'm very glad. Glad that I have at least the sense now of a forward direction, even though I'm still going much more slowly than I feel I should.
Anyway--enough with the vague stepping references. Methinks my future posts will need to be a bit more definite. Yah. That is, if I can remember how to do that...
I guess I'm steppin' out in style then...Baby Style, stepping things up, stepping up to the plate, taking a step in the right direction...er, I can't think of more 'step' phrases right now...
BUT, I'm very glad. Glad that I have at least the sense now of a forward direction, even though I'm still going much more slowly than I feel I should.
Anyway--enough with the vague stepping references. Methinks my future posts will need to be a bit more definite. Yah. That is, if I can remember how to do that...
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Whiney Dayz
I would like to take this moment to apologize to any of you who, despite the discouraging little "0 Comments" notations beneath my rambling blog entries, are my faithful and true (and dear) readers, and who may spend more time checking up on what I've written lately than I actually spend writing it. (In which case, I really think you should take up a hobby. (Haha. Just kidding.))
I'm sorry for being whiney. For taking up my blog-time, and your valuable time by sitting here, typing in my complaints for all the world to read. (Although, I really doubt all the world reads this thing. I don't think more than maybe 2 people read this thing on a regular basis, and one of those people is ME.)
My last entry was pretty negative. Well, I've been feeling pretty negative for the past week or so, and I was discouraged and unhappy, and I wanted company in that misery, thank-you-very-much. So I decided (with my very low moral values) to drag you all into my unhappy state. Or, at least to express to you that I was unhappy, and to say in a very circuitous and round-about manner that I hope things improve soon.
Forgive me. I didn't mean it. Or if I did, it isn't something that I'll write for every blog entry. No, you'll get more stuff that's silly than discouraged, more thoughtful than negative, and more wry than vicious.
Well, at least, that's the idea. We'll see what actually happens.
I'm sorry for being whiney. For taking up my blog-time, and your valuable time by sitting here, typing in my complaints for all the world to read. (Although, I really doubt all the world reads this thing. I don't think more than maybe 2 people read this thing on a regular basis, and one of those people is ME.)
My last entry was pretty negative. Well, I've been feeling pretty negative for the past week or so, and I was discouraged and unhappy, and I wanted company in that misery, thank-you-very-much. So I decided (with my very low moral values) to drag you all into my unhappy state. Or, at least to express to you that I was unhappy, and to say in a very circuitous and round-about manner that I hope things improve soon.
Forgive me. I didn't mean it. Or if I did, it isn't something that I'll write for every blog entry. No, you'll get more stuff that's silly than discouraged, more thoughtful than negative, and more wry than vicious.
Well, at least, that's the idea. We'll see what actually happens.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Baby Steps
(Sorry--This is a gratuitous flower pic to make my blog look more interesting than it is.)Okay. I know I keep going around this argument with myself, spinning around and around, like some crazy do-it-yourself insane merry-go-round that is also an instrument of the DEVIL...
Sigh. Here's the scoop: I need to do things that I'm not doing. And, I'm kind of semi-pleased with myself because today I did a very SMALL thing that will enable me to do a slightly LARGER thing, that will, I hope, enable me to do that thing that I really NEED to do.
Confused yet? So am I.
The truth is, I keep on just letting time slip by me, and deadlines loom, and then pass, and I'm still in the same place I was before. And I'm tired--tired, tired, tired of being in that place where I'm just carrying on because there's nothing much else to do. And I sit around & complain & do nothing. I'm so sick of my impotence, of this blockage that I seem to have that sits unmoving smack in the middle of the path I think I want to take.
And then I run at it and kick it in nothing but my slippers. (Er, I'm also wearing a bathrobe.)
Ow.
I hope, I HOPE I will have better news to post soon--news that I've taken the 'larger' step I mentioned, news that I may be recovering from my year & a half of flopping aimlessly around my parents' house while I try to convince myself to do what I NEED to do to move forward, news that I finally feel like I'm on my way to becoming a real, live grown-up. Cross your fingers.
Oh, yeah. And pray.
Monday, January 23, 2006
M&M's and Doggie Rescue
So, I'm back. I'll admit it. I recognize my addiction.
But it's not like I'm going to give it up. I mean, come on! One of the few pleasures I have in life...wait, what am I talking about? I have plenty of pleasures in life. Anyway--one of the pleasures I have in life is to sit here on this nice li'l couch and watch animal rescue shows on Animal Planet (which I know I've mentioned before--frequently).
Except now that it's a commercial break, and my mom has turned to "Skating with the Stars." Unfortunately.
Wait--we're back to animal rescues now. Thank goodness. I don't think I could've watched much more of Joey from "Full House" skating around with Nancy Kerrigan.
Where was I?
Ah, yes. Animal rescues. What I really like is that these shows focus on a few specific locations, including Detroit. I have to admit that, as a missionary, we had very few encounters with pitt bulls being used in dog fighting rings, or cats that were beaten or neglected, but they're sure out there. It's a sad, sad show. And I love it. Not because of the heartrending stories, and not because of the inhumane conditions some of these animals have to live in--it's because these animals are rescued. They're taken out of these conditions, put into homes where they can be loved, and they end up happy. (Well, most of them, at least. Some, for various reasons do have to be euthanized.)
But it's really for that reason that I could watch this show for hours on end. I think, especially now, in this time of uncertainty and depression, and even sometimes the deaths of cute little kittens, that I can use a little bit of happily ever after.
P.S. And M&M's are yummy. Yep.
But it's not like I'm going to give it up. I mean, come on! One of the few pleasures I have in life...wait, what am I talking about? I have plenty of pleasures in life. Anyway--one of the pleasures I have in life is to sit here on this nice li'l couch and watch animal rescue shows on Animal Planet (which I know I've mentioned before--frequently).
Except now that it's a commercial break, and my mom has turned to "Skating with the Stars." Unfortunately.
Wait--we're back to animal rescues now. Thank goodness. I don't think I could've watched much more of Joey from "Full House" skating around with Nancy Kerrigan.
Where was I?
Ah, yes. Animal rescues. What I really like is that these shows focus on a few specific locations, including Detroit. I have to admit that, as a missionary, we had very few encounters with pitt bulls being used in dog fighting rings, or cats that were beaten or neglected, but they're sure out there. It's a sad, sad show. And I love it. Not because of the heartrending stories, and not because of the inhumane conditions some of these animals have to live in--it's because these animals are rescued. They're taken out of these conditions, put into homes where they can be loved, and they end up happy. (Well, most of them, at least. Some, for various reasons do have to be euthanized.)
But it's really for that reason that I could watch this show for hours on end. I think, especially now, in this time of uncertainty and depression, and even sometimes the deaths of cute little kittens, that I can use a little bit of happily ever after.
P.S. And M&M's are yummy. Yep.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Lounging in Pajama Pants
This post isn't going to be long or terribly pertinent, nor will it contain those little tidbits of insight and wisdom you've come to expect from me and my intrepid keyboard.
No, I'm just writing to say that it's now 1:30pm on Saturday, and I'm still sitting around in my pajamas. My thoughts are currently vascillating wildly between being disgusted with myself for being so lazy, and really, really enjoying the sensation of being so lazy.
Unfortunately, I'll have to get up soon (approximately NOW) from my comfortable perch on my bed, laptop securely perched atop my knees, and get ready for the day which is now, literally, half-over. (My little 4-year-old niece is having a piano recital today. TOO CUTE! I'll post pictures. You won't be able to stop me.) But, at least I'll be able to relish the last few seconds before I publish this post as completely effort-free...
Ahhhhh. That felt nice. *Grins*
No, I'm just writing to say that it's now 1:30pm on Saturday, and I'm still sitting around in my pajamas. My thoughts are currently vascillating wildly between being disgusted with myself for being so lazy, and really, really enjoying the sensation of being so lazy.
Unfortunately, I'll have to get up soon (approximately NOW) from my comfortable perch on my bed, laptop securely perched atop my knees, and get ready for the day which is now, literally, half-over. (My little 4-year-old niece is having a piano recital today. TOO CUTE! I'll post pictures. You won't be able to stop me.) But, at least I'll be able to relish the last few seconds before I publish this post as completely effort-free...
Ahhhhh. That felt nice. *Grins*
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Juicy Juice
So, have you been waiting for the latest scoop on my daily life?
Have you been anxiously bouncing on the edge of your seat for, like, the last three weeks or MORE??
Have you been nearly weeping with the stress of NOT KNOWING WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY LIFE???
Yeah, okay.
So you haven't. I'm cool with that.
BUT, you're gonna hear the latest scoop all the same.
Well, last night I almost went and did something that might have furthered my plans to attend grad school, and didn't. It seems like this happens a lot to me. I'll be all geared up & ready to do something that (for no good reason whatsoever) is difficult for me, and then at the last minute, I'll find some lame excuse (like a blizzard) to not do something.
I can't even remember what my excuse was now. Ohyeah. Nevermind. I DO remember, and yes, it was lame.
So, here I am, posting to my blog, wondering when on earth I'll join the world of chordates and get a spine. Or a... a whatever-it-is thingy that makes you do stuff. Yeah. One o' dose.
Not that I'm complaining. No, it's more just a slight feeling of disgust. What is it Mr. Bennett says to Elizabeth? The feeling will pass, no doubt more quickly than it should.
(Ooh. I just noticed--can you tell I don't like paragraphs to be more than, like, two sentences long in this post? Whoppee!! Short paragraphs!)
Where was I? Ohyeah. Approximately nowhere. Which is where I'm going. Rapidly. In a handbasket. Or wait, maybe the handbasket is a vehicle to somewhere else not quite so bad...or is it? In our worst versions of Hell, have we really hit the point of what a hellish existence is? Maybe it's just simply because you're damned--literally not progressing--bound to one state because you can't move on to the next--you're not prepared to. And, even if we're lazy, (which I am), we love to feel like we're moving forward in our lives, making something of ourselves. And when we're not, where else could we be but in Hell?
So, pass the handbasket, please. I think I'm taking a ride.
Have you been anxiously bouncing on the edge of your seat for, like, the last three weeks or MORE??
Have you been nearly weeping with the stress of NOT KNOWING WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY LIFE???
Yeah, okay.
So you haven't. I'm cool with that.
BUT, you're gonna hear the latest scoop all the same.
Well, last night I almost went and did something that might have furthered my plans to attend grad school, and didn't. It seems like this happens a lot to me. I'll be all geared up & ready to do something that (for no good reason whatsoever) is difficult for me, and then at the last minute, I'll find some lame excuse (like a blizzard) to not do something.
I can't even remember what my excuse was now. Ohyeah. Nevermind. I DO remember, and yes, it was lame.
So, here I am, posting to my blog, wondering when on earth I'll join the world of chordates and get a spine. Or a... a whatever-it-is thingy that makes you do stuff. Yeah. One o' dose.
Not that I'm complaining. No, it's more just a slight feeling of disgust. What is it Mr. Bennett says to Elizabeth? The feeling will pass, no doubt more quickly than it should.
(Ooh. I just noticed--can you tell I don't like paragraphs to be more than, like, two sentences long in this post? Whoppee!! Short paragraphs!)
Where was I? Ohyeah. Approximately nowhere. Which is where I'm going. Rapidly. In a handbasket. Or wait, maybe the handbasket is a vehicle to somewhere else not quite so bad...or is it? In our worst versions of Hell, have we really hit the point of what a hellish existence is? Maybe it's just simply because you're damned--literally not progressing--bound to one state because you can't move on to the next--you're not prepared to. And, even if we're lazy, (which I am), we love to feel like we're moving forward in our lives, making something of ourselves. And when we're not, where else could we be but in Hell?
So, pass the handbasket, please. I think I'm taking a ride.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
A Window to My World
Okay, so the title of this post is nothing short of pretentious. I just wanted to show you what I'm currently using as wallpaper on my desktop background. It's a picture I took a month or two ago during the first real snow of the season. Here 'tis!
Hope you likes it! And, in case I don't post again before tomorrow, A Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a happy...night.... (I think I got that wrong...) :)
Thursday, December 22, 2005
On Being a Writer
Here's something I wrote at Magelby's Take-out the other day:
Here's a quote to chew on: "Non-writers talk about writing. Writers write." I fear that I've been a non-writer for much to long. Of course, this leads me to another quote: "Typists pound keyboards. Writers stare out windows." I think I can safely say that I'm more of a stare-out-the-window wrtier than a get-the-words-on-a-page writer, which is really where the problem is. Despite having ideas, despite the longing I have to write, I still manage to spend a whole heck of a lot of time away from my keyboard. About the only time I've made any significant venture into the writing world is when I'm sitting at a local restaurant, waiting for my food to be brought to me, and I realize that I haven't brought a book in with me. So, to use up the seven or eight minutes that I'm waiting, I whip out a paper and pen and jot down something.
But then, as they say, something is better than nothing, and I suppose that it's better to jot down a few words while waiting for Chicken Parmesan with marinara sauce (mmm...) than to spend the time counting all my credit cards (2).
Maybe my New Year's Resolution List will go something like this:
Here's a quote to chew on: "Non-writers talk about writing. Writers write." I fear that I've been a non-writer for much to long. Of course, this leads me to another quote: "Typists pound keyboards. Writers stare out windows." I think I can safely say that I'm more of a stare-out-the-window wrtier than a get-the-words-on-a-page writer, which is really where the problem is. Despite having ideas, despite the longing I have to write, I still manage to spend a whole heck of a lot of time away from my keyboard. About the only time I've made any significant venture into the writing world is when I'm sitting at a local restaurant, waiting for my food to be brought to me, and I realize that I haven't brought a book in with me. So, to use up the seven or eight minutes that I'm waiting, I whip out a paper and pen and jot down something.
But then, as they say, something is better than nothing, and I suppose that it's better to jot down a few words while waiting for Chicken Parmesan with marinara sauce (mmm...) than to spend the time counting all my credit cards (2).
Maybe my New Year's Resolution List will go something like this:
- I will write at least 200 words per day on any subject whatsoever
- I will write at least 1000 words per week on my novel
- I will reveal to at least 2 people per month that I'm working on a novel, in order to promote it before its impending publication
- I will laugh at myself at least 3 times a day for having the hubris to think that I'll ever be published
- I will chastise myself severely after each laughing session for being so mean to myself.
Er. That doesn't make much sense. And, it's not very funny. But hey, if you've come here to be entertained, you've come to the wrong place. This is just me, trying to work out how to do stuff and not go crazy. And you can take that and chew on it for awhile.
Here's a picture. Enjoy.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Why do songs make us sad?
Today while driving to pick up some sort-of-last-minute, but-not-too-last-minute Christmas presents, I spent some time radio surfing, as usual. This is one of the major consequences of not having a CD or tape player in my car. If I had a CD player, I would spend all my time rocking out to Vertical Horizon, crooning with Norah Jones, or relaxing to "The Soft Sounds of Ralph Vaughn Williams." As it is, I generally spend most of my time with NPR, at least until I get tired of having my brain bent towards liberal thought, or until I just feel like something upbeat or tuneful.
So, if I'm feeling intellectual, (and a little pretensious, or maybe just spiritual), I'll hit the preset for the local classical music station. Or, (more likely), if I'm feeling impatient, rebellious and surly, and/or if I just feel like jamming, I'll poke around on my various alternative music station presets until I find a song that's worth listening to.
I found one today. One of my favorite bands (Coldplay) has recently released a new song. I have no idea what the title is, but the first time I heard it (likely about a week or two ago), I was captivated by the song's inherent sweet wistfulness. The song was captivating; I found myself swept up into its emotion and suddenly felt a kind of anchorless longing for something, and I felt so sad.
It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to feel sad about things. I spend most of my time caught up with my 'daily grind' life, focused on how on earth I'm going to resolve an issue at work, trying to decide what the next step is for applying to grad school, spending way too much time on the computer or watching tv, or reading a purely escapist novel. I spend so much time away from myself. And even though feeling sad was, well, sad, it still gave me a chance to connect with myself in a way I haven't done for weeks. I felt something, and even though it was painful, it was strangely...healing.
So, if I'm feeling intellectual, (and a little pretensious, or maybe just spiritual), I'll hit the preset for the local classical music station. Or, (more likely), if I'm feeling impatient, rebellious and surly, and/or if I just feel like jamming, I'll poke around on my various alternative music station presets until I find a song that's worth listening to.
I found one today. One of my favorite bands (Coldplay) has recently released a new song. I have no idea what the title is, but the first time I heard it (likely about a week or two ago), I was captivated by the song's inherent sweet wistfulness. The song was captivating; I found myself swept up into its emotion and suddenly felt a kind of anchorless longing for something, and I felt so sad.
It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to feel sad about things. I spend most of my time caught up with my 'daily grind' life, focused on how on earth I'm going to resolve an issue at work, trying to decide what the next step is for applying to grad school, spending way too much time on the computer or watching tv, or reading a purely escapist novel. I spend so much time away from myself. And even though feeling sad was, well, sad, it still gave me a chance to connect with myself in a way I haven't done for weeks. I felt something, and even though it was painful, it was strangely...healing.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Customer Service is Making Me a Mean, Mean, Person
So I won't tell you how many times I swear under my breath when I'm at work. Nor will I tell you how often I roll my eyes, or groan before picking up a phone, or grind my teeth, or think of screaming. Nope. I'm not going to tell you any of that. And, I won't tell you how often, right before I walk into the office, I have to kind of square my shoulders and take a deep, deep breath before I can dive into my daily work routine.
It's not that my work is terribly difficult. I sit at a desk all day, take phone calls, print orders, and in between that try to take care of any issues that come up on our online forum. It's not even that the people I deal with every day are unpleasant. For the most part, they're usually quite nice. It's that I dread them. I dread dealing with them, and it's even gone so far that I now dislike them collectively (not individually). I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to take their orders, and I don't want to solve their problems.
In short, I have a bad attitude about customer service.
I wasn't always this way. I used to enjoy talking with customers. I was understanding and patient, and I wanted to help them get the right product, or a refund, or whatever the heck else they wanted. Now, I just freaking don't care. I just want all of those pesky, irritating people to leave me alone. It reminds me of a poster I saw at despair.com: "If We Don't Take Care of the Customer, Maybe They'll Stop Bugging Us." Classic. And oh, so true.
It's not that my work is terribly difficult. I sit at a desk all day, take phone calls, print orders, and in between that try to take care of any issues that come up on our online forum. It's not even that the people I deal with every day are unpleasant. For the most part, they're usually quite nice. It's that I dread them. I dread dealing with them, and it's even gone so far that I now dislike them collectively (not individually). I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to take their orders, and I don't want to solve their problems.
In short, I have a bad attitude about customer service.
I wasn't always this way. I used to enjoy talking with customers. I was understanding and patient, and I wanted to help them get the right product, or a refund, or whatever the heck else they wanted. Now, I just freaking don't care. I just want all of those pesky, irritating people to leave me alone. It reminds me of a poster I saw at despair.com: "If We Don't Take Care of the Customer, Maybe They'll Stop Bugging Us." Classic. And oh, so true.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Pennies on the Sidewalk
I know I was an adult when my mom told me about this--I just can't remember exactly how old I was. But my memory has that adult-feeling to it, and feels more recent than any adolescent or childhood memory. My mom and I were walking down a sidewalk somewhere, when she saw a penny and stopped to pick it up. She asked if she had ever told me what finding a penny means to her. When I responded that she hadn't, she explained: at some point in my mom's life, she decided that whenever she found a penny on a sidewalk, (or elsewhere), that it was a message from God that He loved her, or that He wanted to remind her that He was there.
I'll admit: it's rather difficult to remember all the little things your parents tell you, especially those pesky bits of advice like "Be home by midnight," and "When you're sliding on snow, turn into the slide." But, for some reason, this little tidbit has stuck with me over the past few years, maybe because it was simply something I needed to remember. Whatever the reason, whenever I find a penny now, I'm reminded, given a brief touch, a little prompt, that God is thinking of me, and that he wants me to remember that.
I love finding pennies. I found one today, and, in the midst of chastising myself rather too severely for being late to ward choir practice, it was a comfort to have a small reminder that God does think of me, and that just as He's mindful of my foibles, He's also mindful of my needs, and the good things I do, and that He loves me. It was a timely reminder, and a very good thing to know.
I'll admit: it's rather difficult to remember all the little things your parents tell you, especially those pesky bits of advice like "Be home by midnight," and "When you're sliding on snow, turn into the slide." But, for some reason, this little tidbit has stuck with me over the past few years, maybe because it was simply something I needed to remember. Whatever the reason, whenever I find a penny now, I'm reminded, given a brief touch, a little prompt, that God is thinking of me, and that he wants me to remember that.
I love finding pennies. I found one today, and, in the midst of chastising myself rather too severely for being late to ward choir practice, it was a comfort to have a small reminder that God does think of me, and that just as He's mindful of my foibles, He's also mindful of my needs, and the good things I do, and that He loves me. It was a timely reminder, and a very good thing to know.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
I'm a poet, and I didn't even...nevermind.
I wrote a poem today for the first time in months. I had forgotten what a satisfying sensation it is to take a phrase, or an idea, and spin it out into something held together with a few choice words. (Well, I guess that's more of an ideal poem-composing situation than actual reality, but you get the picture. *smiles*)
I don't write enough. I know I don't, but more than that, I just haven't been creating enough lately. I've been so focused on the little pleasures of life (like watching a good TV show, or even a really lame TV show, or playing on my laptop, or *gasp* trying to figure out this whole scrapbooking thing). It's so easy to let my time get sucked into doing these things, none of which are bad, but if they make up your entire life, then you really don't have much substance. I guess that's kind of how I've been feeling lately--like my life has no real meat, no soul. It's been a cotton candy existence. Not unpleasant, certainly, and good in small doses, but with very little nutritional value--it melts into nothing the instant it is consumed.
Maybe that's why it was so good to write again--I did it during my lunch break while I was waiting for my chicken parmesan to be cooked. (Gosh, I love that stuff.) I was treating myself to a slightly nicer lunch than usual, since today was payday, and I felt rather rich. (Well, 'slightly rich' might be more accurate.)
Anyway, about a week ago, I had the chance to be one of two attendees at a piano recital my younger sister Joanna was giving. Her senior recital is this Saturday, but she's doing a few warm-up performances to give her a chance to perform her pieces before the main one. While watching her play, I noticed that the reflection of her hands and arms on the surface of the black piano almost looked like a painting, so I wrote down the observation on a program. Today, that observation evolved into a poem. It's not a very good poem, (I'm really not a very good poet), but the mindset that comes with condensing your words into a poetic format is stimulating, to say the least. I was glad I ate chicken parmesan today. Glad, at least, that it gave me a few moments to do some needed creation.
I don't write enough. I know I don't, but more than that, I just haven't been creating enough lately. I've been so focused on the little pleasures of life (like watching a good TV show, or even a really lame TV show, or playing on my laptop, or *gasp* trying to figure out this whole scrapbooking thing). It's so easy to let my time get sucked into doing these things, none of which are bad, but if they make up your entire life, then you really don't have much substance. I guess that's kind of how I've been feeling lately--like my life has no real meat, no soul. It's been a cotton candy existence. Not unpleasant, certainly, and good in small doses, but with very little nutritional value--it melts into nothing the instant it is consumed.
Maybe that's why it was so good to write again--I did it during my lunch break while I was waiting for my chicken parmesan to be cooked. (Gosh, I love that stuff.) I was treating myself to a slightly nicer lunch than usual, since today was payday, and I felt rather rich. (Well, 'slightly rich' might be more accurate.)
Anyway, about a week ago, I had the chance to be one of two attendees at a piano recital my younger sister Joanna was giving. Her senior recital is this Saturday, but she's doing a few warm-up performances to give her a chance to perform her pieces before the main one. While watching her play, I noticed that the reflection of her hands and arms on the surface of the black piano almost looked like a painting, so I wrote down the observation on a program. Today, that observation evolved into a poem. It's not a very good poem, (I'm really not a very good poet), but the mindset that comes with condensing your words into a poetic format is stimulating, to say the least. I was glad I ate chicken parmesan today. Glad, at least, that it gave me a few moments to do some needed creation.
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