Jolly

We have a freezer full of gourmet cupcakes leftover from the wedding. They are pink with pink chocolate shavings on top and seriously send a warm glow of happiness all the way down to my toes with each and every bite. We just got them back last night from a friend who stored them for us over our honeymoon. However, the pile was not as large as I remember...

My friend admitted that they may have tapped into just a few dozen (I mean, we did leave those innocent little cupcakes in their freezer for six weeks -- TORTURE). Apparently it was all Charis's idea whenever she came over. I'm soooo not surprised and I'm a little bit proud of my friends for doing EXACTLY what I would have done.

So anyway, if I start to look fat, don't even bother to ask me if I'm pregnant. In fact, at the rate I'm going, I'll have a five month old foetus belly in no time.

The Great Invention

I teach Social Studies 9 now. These kids are fresh out of Middle School, and haven't yet gotten used to the ways of big kids.

Today I was doing a homework check with my 9s, and I told them it would only take about four minutes, so they were allowed to just sit quietly and review their notes until I was finished.

Riiiiiight.

I had to raise my voice above the din, and explain to them that high school students do this thing called "chilling." You know, where they sort of just relax, stare at the wall, maybe doodle a bit. That worked for about a minute, but then they started to get nutty again. I had about four kids left to check, when I came up with the most brilliant invention.

A new game.

In my deepest, most confident voice, I bellowed, "OK, we are all going to play a game that you are probably familiar with. I need everybody to put their heads DOWN."

A titter rippled through the class, and I heard a few ask, "Are we playing seven up?"

"Heads DOWN!"

"Are we--"

"Heads DOWN!" Most of them seemed to be following. "OK, now heads down, SHUT UP!"

"Wha--"

"HEADS DOWN, SHUT UP!" I must have repeated that a few times. Finally, I think they got the point.

And they were silent. It was glorious.

After I finished my final homework check, I raised my head and commanded them, "Heads UP, SHUT UP. Yes, heads up, SHUT UP!"

You see, I invented a wonderful game. Seven Up: High School Version.

Culinary Prowess

Andy loves to cook meat. I think it makes him feel very MANLY. What's even better is when he gets to cook it on our brand-new BBQ! (There weren't many wedding presents that made him really excited. I can't imagine why --I find platters and napkins and crockpots HIGHLY exciting). He'll get out all the fancy tongs and flippers and whatnots, carefully select appropriate bbq sauces or marinades, and zip back and forth between the kitchen and the grill with a bit of a spring in his step (those little feet are excellent at springing). He often tries to convince me of all sorts of delicious morsels you can cook on that thing (and which I should "permit" him to cook). Mostly, though, he sticks to the classics: hot dogs, steaks, chicken, and fish. When he cooks salmon he even likes to make a special little sauce for it (and it's actually pretty darn good).

When we moved in together, we melded food supplies. For a bachelor, Andy had a surprisingly well-stocked kitchen. He contributed more boxes and dishes than I did. It was kind of neat seeing that we had a similar taste in food, too. In fact, our spice cupboard is pretty funny because we each had the exact same spices, and so now we have two of everything. The freezer is now full of a much more adult variety -- meats, different kinds of breads and ice creams. I haven't had a chance to even see what all he's put in there.

On Sunday afternoon we had Charis over for lunch after church. Usually I like to have pancakes on Sundays, but the last couple times I made them they were, er, under par. We decided we'd serve the classic smokeys, pop and chips trio. I grabbed some weiners from the freezer, handed them to the bbq king, and started munching on the chippies as I visited my dear friend. We sat down to eat, and I took one bite and gave a very weird expression to Andy. He paused mid-chew, and returned the very odd look. What THE HELL is wrong with my hot dog? I started to worry that we were eating something very freezer burnt, or very poisonous and wrong (and we were feeding it to a breast-feeding mommy). Finally, Andy concluded that it was farmer's sausage. Breakfast farmer's sausage. Well, at least it's edible. And hey, I've never had barbequed breakfast sausage before, on a bun. Apparently I handed him the wrong package, and he unwittingly cooked them (I say the blame is double-sided).

Then, last night, Andy fired up the bbq again (I think to redeem our previous experience). I came home to find him mixing his special salmon marinade, with the rice-cooker steaming away. Awwwww. So, I whipped up a salad and waited for him to finish the fish. And I waited. He finally came back in looking concerned, and he apologized, saying the fish took a while, but now it feels really rubbery. Rubbery? I took one look at it and burst out laughing.

It was chicken.

Yes, with the special fish sauce.

Don't worry. Normally we don't have as many little mishaps in the kitchen. If you come over for dinner, I promise it will be yummy. And if not, well, you'll at least have a story to tell -- something worthy of Reader's Digest, perhaps?

Out with the old, in with the new

I'm not dead. Promise. However, I think the old me has died a little. I have a different name, a different house, a different ROOMMATE, and a different teaching position. I now make the bed in the morning (most days), arrive to school on time (with lunch AND coffee in tow), hand back my assignments within a reasonable amount of time, have people over for dinner parties, buy cards for people in ADVANCE, brilliantly talk about Napoleon's war tactics, and basically exude awesomeness wherever I go.

I do miss the old me sometimes. I miss the girl who would post on her blog a little more regularly. The girl screeching into the parking lot moments before the second bell. The girl with discarded coffee mugs littered throughout her classroom, and molding pumpkins lurking in corners. The girl who was a flailing disaster.

I suppose it is a natural time for reflection: I've been married one month today. Everyone asks me how married life is, and I say with a smile, "Great!" I find it difficult to put into words how truly great it is, and do what we have any justice. It's enough to change me, refine me, peace me. I now get roses on my pillow, coffee with Bailey's handed to me, someone to drive my car, an EXTENSIVE music library, whispers, and unabashed farting. But it's more than what I simply get. It's also what I get to give -- so much is in me, waiting to be poured out. I'm on a Jolly Jumper inside, not quite sure how my muscles and everything work, but givin' 'er just the same. (uh, that was a serious metaphor - no innuendo intended)

I wonder how the old me will be manifested in this new me that is now two people -- both, coincidentally, being former disasters.

setting

i must capture this setting sun

this moment of warmth

that runs over my bones

beneath blankets of light

i must dip my hands in golden water

in waves of laughter

giggling the shore

i must firm the hand fit to mine

set to draw all that is in me

out

no more drifting wood

i must keep my head thrown back

my mouth wide as i twirl in wild abandon

drinking in the miracle

anticipating the dawn

Country Mouse, City Mouse

I pretty much grew up in the bush just outside of Prince George. You know, where mud pies, bugs (mosquitos, spiders, ants), tree-forts, wildflowers, massive snow drifts, and critters are in abundance (one time we had some moose walk through our yard). I liked that we had to run down a muddy dirt road to catch the bus with our jackets half on and our lunchboxes flapping against our legs. I liked that when I was in grade five, the grade seven graduating class had three students. I liked that when you drove down the road and met a car, you gave them a little wave because that's just what you did in the country. I liked that it didn't even matter that we only had two snowy channels on the TV-- I, instead, got lost in a world where the imagination brought a whole world of entertainment. I liked the country. I liked its solitude, its simplicity, its speed.

Then we moved to the "big city" of P.G. where it smelled no longer of wild grasses and trees, but pulp mills! I remembered realizing how sheltered I had been from the world, especially city life. I can clearly recall the day when my friend Tracey taught me what J-walking was. But I mean, it was Prince George, so the hick in me was still a little bit at home. (Last night I actually dreamt of our house in P.G. and it had all been renovated. I wonder if we renovate our memories -- people give us a little bit more detail, or something triggers an additional memory and we add it to the pile.)

Kamloops was next, then Vancouver. It was a pretty big jump to go from the 'Loops to the 'Couv. In Kamloops we'd spend lazy summer afternoons floading down the river beneath the desert-like hills. Often when people drive through Kamloops they comment on what an ugly city it is, and I'm always shocked. I find its geography to be quite stunning and unique -- nowhere else in Canada is like that (people study Kamloops in Geography classes, you know). Plus, I lived there and knew its people, its hidden charms. But, when I had to leave, I was really excited to move to a REAL city -- it was like my evolution would then be complete.

The jump wasn't really that big, though. Sometimes it would hit me kind of funny that I was living in such a big place of culture and ideas and noise and speed. But I liked it. I was ready for it. I would go for walks around my neighbourhood and feel oddly connected to the people outside trimming their lawns or walking their dogs, even though I never talked to them. There's something magical about Vancouver; everyone can feel it.

I have been living on the fourth floor of an apartment building in Aldergrove for two months now. It's crazy. Again there's that sense of everyone being connected, yet we don't really talk to each other. When I'm in the elevator and someone comes in, I'm not sure what to do with myself (and I think I'm generally friendly). Sometimes we chit chat about the weather, and sometimes it's really awkward and I just look at the red numbers changing as we go past floors.

This morning my sleepy ears were met with the sounds of hammers, people laughing, screaming babies, doors slamming, and it was the weirdest thing. All of that chaos was going on at once, in the same place. I looked out my window and could see six pick-up trucks filled with possessions and a whole bunch of friends scurrying around, helping a family move. (I was reminded of when my sister and I would find the biggest ant hills and kick the crap out of them, just so we could see all the ants go nuts.) Other people leaving the building would open the doors to help the army of movers; meanwhile, people were installing hardwood floors in the apartment below me. This bustling of activity made me feel part of something. Part of a community, oddly enough. Then the theme song from Mr. Rogers Neighbourhood began to play -- and I figured it was time to end this post.

t. end.

Currently

Interpretation needed? Naaaaw (gnaw?). Just look at the date.

Lots of Urgent Right Now, It Seems

Tyrrany of the Urgent

Charles E. Hummel

When we stop to evaluate, we realize that our dilemma goes deeper than shortage of time; it is basically the problem of priorities. Hard work does not hurt us. We all know what it is to go full speed for long hours, totally involved in an important task. The resulting weariness is matched by a sense of achievement and joy. Not hard work, but doubt and misgiving produce anxiety as we review a month or year and become oppressed by the pile of unfinished tasks. We sense uneasily that we may have failed to do the important. The winds of other people's demands have driven us onto a reef of frustration. We confess, quite apart from our sins, "We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done."

Several years ago an experienced cotton mill manager said to me, "Your greatest danger is letting the urgent things crowd out the important." He didn't realize how hard his maxim hit. It often returns to haunt and rebuke me by raising the critical problem of priorities.

We live in constant tension between the urgent and the important. The problem is that the important task must rarely be done today or even this week. Extra hours of prayer and Bible study, a visit with a friend, careful study of an important book: these projects can wait. But the urgent tasks call for instant action -- endless demands pressure every hour and day.

A man's home is no longer his castle; it is no longer a place away from ugent tasks because the telephone breaches the walls with imperious demands. The momentary appeal of these tasks seems irresistible and imortant, and they devour our energy. But in the light of time's perspective their deceptive prominence fades; with a sense of loss we recall the important task pushed aside. We realize we've become slaves to the tyrrany of the urgent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True, but I still have to get my report cards done and my wedding organized. I still have to go to all the year-end bbqs and ceremonies, the wedding showers, the actual weddings, and so on.

Coffee is going to have to wait for a bit.

RSVP

So many people are planning on wearing bells to our wedding.

How odd.

1) I mean, I guess bells can be fashionable -- Santa (not Satan, although sometimes I think there is a connection between them: they both wear red a lot) has been wearing bells of all shapes and sizes for decades.
2) And, well, Andy and I are both quite musical, so it is fitting.
3) Lately I've been fiddling with all sorts of bells and whistles, too, so maybe people think I really like bells or something.
4) Plus, I'm a teacher and my entire day is pretty much determined by, yes, bells again.
5) As you may have noticed, bell is also a fun/weird word if you say (read, write) it over and over and over again. There is a labialized l sound in there, I think.

Fine [exasperated sigh]. If you want to wear bells to our wedding, I'm all for it. I love symbolism.

It might be weird if people wore whistles, though (oh, but I do whistle while I work, so I guess there is a connection there).

Licking

Remember that Seinfeld show? Well, I sure do; in fact, I find it quite brilliant. There are many episodes that I carry around in my heart of hearts.

So, I'm working on invitations, see, and one such episode pops into my head: where George's fiance (Carol??) is licking envelopes and DIES. Right. So here I am, readying myself for the massive lick-fest, and I can't help but pause. Am I willing to DIE for this? Do I want to get married so bad that I will risk DYING? (This could be the beginning of a very deep inner scrutiny, but I will save you from that for today.)

Then my little brain went a step further. I'm pretty sick right now. I'm on my SECOND day of not going to work (which is saying a lot, cuz I hardly ever call in sick). I have one of those viruses that would wipe out the motherboard of your computer, that could fill the rivers with phlegm (and be much more of a concern than the ice caps melting), and that makes a chronic smoker's cough look like child's play. And I plan on smearing this virus ALL OVER every single envelope. Awesomeness!!

So, either I will die whilst licking, or I will pass on a nasty virus to the unsuspecting innocent.

Maybe I should go buy a sponge or something. Or just make Andy do all the work and have a nap instead. Ooh, I like the latter.

M.I.A.

To Whom It May Concern,

I have lost my voice. All I seem to be able to find is a squeak (and sometimes phlegm balls). If you happen to stumble upon my voice, I'd like it back. I can be reached at 555-TALK.

Thank-you,
Bott

Blinking

Today I had my back to my class and was in the process of erasing the board. You would find me in this position many times during the day. However, this time, this time it hit me funny.

How did this (massive hand gesture) happen?

It's like I woke up one day and was all growed up. I was erasing stuff I WROTE on the board. It was MY MARKER. They were MY STUDENTS. I'm the... teacher? Weird.

I sort of paused in my erasing, and stood there blinking for a couple seconds.

Do you ever get hit by one of these moments? It's a moment that finds you maybe going over your charts at the hospital, or reapplying lipstick before walking into a board meeting, or making sure all the documents have been signed properly or the lawn mower has enough gas. It's a moment where what you're doing just seems utterly absurd.

This is ME?
Huh.
Why yes, I guess this is me.

A blink.
A breath.
A heartbeat.
A blink.
A shake.
A passing.

The Winds Beneath My Wings

When I got hired on, there were several gals who were young, single, and ripe for marriage (and naturally not an eligible male teacher was to be seen!). It was an extremely fun working environment. Whenever a new job posting would come up, I'd run into the principal's office and strongly suggest that they hire a sexy, smart, fun, musical, and generally amazing guy. I thought they should make all applications come with photo identification (yes, I have the makings of administration written all over me). However, deep down I didn't want them to hire some amazing man. I didn't want us to all fall in love with him and begin to fight and get catty and be generally ridiculous (as women are sometimes prone to doing over such things).

A few years went by. The girls got together for movie nights, sushi outings, Oscar parties, breakfasts at Ricky's, long jogs, wine tours, and marking parties. We became used to jokes by our students about us being spinsters forevermore (and, truthfully, a stab of fear would go through my heart each time). We also got used to being set up with nice young men by our students' well-meaning parents (happened to me TWICE).

The name tags on our doors remained the same, but we were content because "at least we had each other." We recognized the unique nature of this stage in our lives when we could all be at the same place, in the same place. Inevitably, things were bound to change; we decided to suck the marrow out of each moment we had together. (I'm really not meaning for this to sound so cheesily cliche -- I'm just a cheese-ball by nature.)

Then the wind shifted -- a strong wind. Last year began a serious landslide of romance. Out of literally nowhere came an onslaught of Godly, solid men! And they were attractive! Suddenly we were spending our week nights and weekends differently: some of us hopped on boats, or planes, or the Coquihalla; some of us had new friends to get to know; some of us had new family outings to attend. It was glorious and exciting, busy and nutty, but part of me was saddened.

I missed my girls. Sharing a quick update in the photocopier room, or in the hallway, or at lunch, or after school, or in the parking lot, just didn't seem the same. There just isn't room anymore, it seems, for all that we used to do together. We are all extremely excited for this new chapter in our lives (don't get me wrong), but there is still something to be said for singledom.

I look back now on all the years of opportunities I've had, friends I've made, and lives I've touched, and realize that a lot of that was possible because I was single. Man, if only I'd looked more carefully -- more deliberately -- in that place while I was in it. The grass was rich, and strong, and cushioning, and just different from the grass now between my toes.

From the Cave

All right, the rumors are true. I have, in fact, signed up for Facebook: I am a weak, miserable being. Because I've dedicated so much blog time to that particular website, I will simply say that I find connecting with old friends cool, but I'm glad I still have a blog. My fingers just aren't satisfied by a line on a wall here and there. Anyway, if you're my friend, you can add me -- and I just might accept you (however, I've been declining most students and past students -- if that's you, don't be offended).

In other news, one of my friends turned thirty this weekend. Yes, he is now part of the next DECADE, and we ushered him in with style. A bunch of us went out on the balcony (in bare feet) and puffed away on some cigars. I love smoking cigars cuz I always feel like I'm in an old movie and I keep reaching for my glass of brandy (I found none; I guess the party only had SOME style...). We attempted some smoking tricks and I pretty much coughed my guts out. And then I spit a lot over the railing -- so attractive. The thing with cigars that is not so swell, though, is that your clothes reek afterwards. I wore a new shirt that evening, and now I have to WASH IT, which I wasn't planning on doing for at least three more donnings.

I do run, run, run

Whenever spring rolls around, I usually get the itch to start working out. My idea of "working out" does not include a gym membership, however. I learned that lesson a couple years ago. True, for a few months of my fancy-schmancy gym membership I got up early, crawled into my workout gear, and sleepily DROVE to the gym. I would do my thing, get home, shower, go to work, and drink lots of water all day. It was amazing, though short-lived. I am not a morning person, and I get a little bit stifled in gyms. Tread-mills are not really my friends (one time I dropped my water bottle while running on the tread-mill, and when I tried to retrieve it, my balance was thrown off -- as was I).

I'm pretty famous for paying for stuff I don't use and/or need. If I were to add up all the money I've wasted over the years from not cancelling or properly setting up stuff, it would certainly depress me and paint me in quite the negative light. Suffice it to say that it took me until the end of my contract year to cancel my membership. Oops.

Now, whenever I get the urge to be active, I strap on my runners and hit the road. I can focus on the birds chirping, I can count stuff, I can snoop in people's gardens, run through the occasional sprinkler, race bunnies, and let my pride keep me from stopping (I hate it when cars driving by see me start to walk -- they witness me giving up on a long hill, or just a stretch of pure, hot sun).

Yesterday I began my running regime once again. Usually, though, I start much sooner in the year. I figure I've run out of excuses, so I'd better get my jiggling butt in gear.

And so I ran. And ran. And walked TWICE -- grrrrr. Then I got back to my classroom (cuz I ran right after school), plopped myself in my chair to have a bit of water. I was distracted, however, by colleagues coming in to chat. We chatted. I stayed in my chair. When they left, I got up out of my chair, and almost COLLAPSED. Some swear words may have been uttered within my sacred Christian school walls. My muscles are still sore. I guess stretching really is important.

Then, of course, comes the best part of working out: the tendency to eat healthier. Sore muscles are good reminders when being tantalized by plates of cookies. However, I've only just begun the healthy run, so my resolve is not that strong quite yet. Last night I had some cookies and a bowl of Heavenly Hash ice cream. And it was all so, so heavenly.

Final Comments

I received eight comments on my last post! Wheeeeeeeeee! I must have struck a chord. There are just a few more comments about Facebook I'd like to make:

1. Tracey knows me quite well. She taught me how to spit in grade six. If she says she will see my face in the book eventually, she's pretty much going to be right.

2. Danielle is also quite right: our society is becoming more and more connected through technology. I was anti-cell-phone for a long time; however, I had to get one eventually (and now I'm quite attached). After a year of deliberating, I got a blog (which I'm glad I finally caved on), and now I can stay connected to some of my friends from all over.

3. Danielle is right again: she knows stuff about me even though she hasn't technically seen me in three years, all because of this blog. However, I don't think there's quite as much information available on a blog as there is on F.B. Plus, only a handful of people read this blog, and a lot more people would see my F.B. (including students). If I were to sign up for F.B. I'm pretty sure I would have to be very careful what details I would include.

4. It is inevitable that I will get a Facebook account. That truly is the way it is. We are curious beings who don't like feeling out of the loop and who enjoy having fun and connecting with people. Something inside me still hesitates, though, and I will continue to hesitate as long as I can. I appreciate the Debs and Brads of the world who will stick it out with me, for however long it lasts.

5. OK, no more F.B. posts for a while.
~~~~~~
In other new, our school had its first Spring Fling banquet/dance last night. My Student Council was in charge of the program and pretty much filling in everything that wasn't already filled in. Let's just say I have eleven blisters and I was at the school until 11:30 last night. It was a NUTTY experience, but I think the kids had fun.

And today is Grad Skip Day, where the grads all skip and spend the day at the beach together. That means I only teach one class today!

Theory of a Dead Post

People aren't posting as often anymore. Don't believe me? Well, you should, cuz I swear it's true, and I even have a few reasons for the trend.

1. It's a busy time of year -- yadda yadda yadda.

2. The weather is getting nicer, so people are outside gardening, pressure washing, playing tennis, and whatnot.

3. Facebook. Those who use it are spending more of their cyber-time there and so don't have as much time to write and/or have already used up what they would say on their Facebook "wall." I have mixed feelings about this. Perhaps those who blog for a creative outlet still write, and those who mostly blog to update their friends on their lives do not (Facebook is a quicker and more frequently read medium for some people). Maybe it's good to weed out the bloggers who write about what they fed their cats that day. Maybe blogs should remain for those who actually have something to say. (FYI: I'm not saying if you haven't posted lately, you are in the cat camp -- just saying I generally miss reading good thoughts.)

As one of the few still hesitant to join Facebook (and let me tell you, our numbers are dwindling faster than a bag of Cheetos at Youth Group), I keep checking blogs and getting no love . How am I supposed to unwind if there's nothing to read, and reading Facebook is not an option? I have to blame something, so Facebook will take the heat. And, for those of you avid Facebook users, remember: Big Brother is watching you. Watching EVERYTHING. Knows ALL of your personal information, regardless of how "secure" you think you are. I recently read an email that certainly freaked me out. Ask Chubs for it (cuz I read it over his shoulder).

Be careful little fingers what you write.
Be careful little fingers what you post.
Be careful little fingers where you lead.

Classic Moments

girl
boy
island
boat
late
run
drop shoe
drop shoe
"stop! you dropped your shoe(s)!"
deck
no jacket
shivering
sniffling
sunset

wedding
bride
groom
man tears
awwwwws
beef
beets
waxing trivia
kisses
bouquet toss
farewell

rock concert
bail
boy sick
girl old
couch
parents
National Geographic channel
Saturday night
fleece blanket
contentment
sniff

Sunday morning
church
notes
passed:

Dear Cheryl
Pee + poo

Dear Tiff
Which one is yellow and which one is brown?
I forget.

Dear Cheryl
Well, most often pee is yellow... but it can be many colours, even red if you eat beets. And poo... well poo can also be colours other than brown. For example, exorbitant amounts of Matcha turn it GREEN.
Hope that helps.
Sincerely,
Tiff

Dear Tiff,
I knew I could count on you to clear up this matter. Personally, I enjoy green pee. It just looks so refreshing! (And a bit like anti-freeze.)
With thanks,
Cheryl

Sweet Cheryl,
Thank you for sharing your personal favourite with me. Your openness and honesty bring a smile to my face.
Happily,
Tiffany

Waldergrove

How in tarnation has a week passed already? Oh, right. I've had quite a run of it the past seven sleeps or so.

1. I'm happy to declare that my report cards were handed in (and I've only had a few boo-boos to rectify -- but I mean, come on, there's only so much perfection in data entry one can expect from an English teacher).

2. I moved. Yes, after hours of cleaning, loading up puny little crappy cars, packing, and whining about how exhausted I was, I finally said goodbye to Walnut Grove where I was happy for four years. I now have my bum firmly parked inside a lovely apartment in Aldergrove with my friend Larissa. I've ALWAYS dreamed of living in an apartment building. Today when I was leaving for work, I was almost giddy as I pressed the elevator button. The little bing! is such a cheerful greeting. I practically skipped out of the building to my car. Although, I am living in Aldergrove. Sunday night after Andy left, I could hear guys yelling and using the F-bomb in all sorts of never-been-heard-before ways, and my imagination started going wild... (cue the chimes)

...I started picturing Andy getting thrown into someone's trunk (he did put up quite a fight though -- don't be deceived by his slight frame. He can move a piano, you know). I knew that I would probably hear more commotion, and I would stick my head out the window (but not see anything), and then grab my phone and maybe a vest, but no shoes (no time, and really, not necessary). Then, I would take the fire escape stairs, cuz there would be no way I could calmly ride the elevator down four floors while my love was being thrown into a body bag. I would race into the parking lot, and see his little jelly bean with the door open, but no sign of him. I figured I would phone 911 and request the police station, and then at that point I would probably wake up Larissa to fill her in on what had happened...

This is all while I'm laying in my bed, trying to fall aspleep. I was getting a little nervous, so I cut my imaginings off before I freaked myself out too much. I even had my phone in my hand, wondering if it would come across as a little psycho if I called him while he was driving home to make sure he made it to his car OK. I decided it was a little psycho. For some reason.

Sigh. I love the imagination. I'm glad to know that I now have a rescue plan if the need ever arises. Safety is important when living in the sketchy bowels of the Lower Mainland.

Marking My Day of Birth

No longer must I bear the imbalance of age 27. I have graduated to age 28 and have the grey hair to prove it. On Saturday the roommate (B'Nedda) and the feeeeeance (Chubs) threw me a little birthday party at our house ("our" being me and the girls -- just for clarification, in case you were worried for a moment that I was "living in sin").

The preliminary activities were as follows: mark for report cards. Yes, that's right, I marked all freaking day long in my living room on my birthday with my partner in crime, also known as The Heavy. We waded through words, music, ink, stickers, b.s. and maybe one Trinity yearbook. My exercise for the day consisted of multiple trips to the bathroom to release the urine so kindly brought to me by tea, water, and hops. I actually have footage of our marking party, but alas, it is at home, and I am at school. Perhaps I will post it later (I'm getting quite the line up of promised videos). It was a rockin' good time, though, let me tell you!

Then, for the main event: Bottenation 28. The theme was kid candy (because, as we all know, good parties have themes). We plaqued our teeth with the likes of SweetTarts, BottleCaps, Bubblicious, Nibs, Pez, Jell-O, Reese's Pieces, Fizz, jawbreakers, White Rabbits, and some other weird Aussie things. I love candy, which is in part why I have not gone to the dentist in 6 years. There was sooooo much food, too (a very special shout-out goes to the ice cream cake -- delicious). Eventually some of the party tricks crawled their way out of the woodwork and we experienced some hilarious moments (and none of them were because people were inebriated, just so you know). I love the purity of good, old-fashioned games. Uproarious laughter was littered throughout the evening in part due to:

• Obscene amounts of sugar
• Pregnant woman trying push-ups
• Falling off of chairs face first
• Licking the carpet
• Learning that David is the most important character in the Bible and that Mohammed Ali was a wrestler
• Being smacked in the behind with a broomstick
• Unintentional comments that can be misconstrued intentionally
• More falling off of chairs
• Ripping jeans all the way up the bum
• Blowing bubbles inside of bubbles
• Bending your body in a way only professional gymnasts should attempt (or those who are married)
• Needing to put your pants back on at the end of the evening

I'm sure there are more moments, but maybe if I leave some out, people will COMMENT.

I'd like to again say thanks to the people who made my birthday spectacular! spectacular! I am truly blessed!

All right, I really should get back to marking and whatnot. Reports are due in t-minus 16 hours, and I plan to sleep for at LEAST 8 of those. And procrastinate for maybe 4.

P.S. In case you are wondering what party tricks we played, I'll just say that one involves a broomstick, another a chair with a strategically placed candy, and yet another a cracker box. See, you don't need to go out and buy the fancy games like Cranium to have fun! (I have been against Cranium ever since having to hum "Sweet Home Alabama." Try it. If you dare.)

A Peek Inside My Overflowing Basket

Crazy lots going on right now. It's true. A few minutes ago I jotted down what was whizzing through my head before bed. Here's a quick taste:

1. Photographer details -- what can we sell so we can afford him?
2. New house needed for Vanessa and Lana -- to be moved into in a week. Hmm. My problem solving skills need to kick in and be of service.
3. Need to meet with Larissa regarding me moving into her house in a week. Probably should start getting boxes at some point.
4. Need to submit announcement for Battle of the Bands before 8:00 am tomorrow. Shoot. That means I need to get to school early. Means I need to get up really early if I plan on showering.
5. Peter needs the list of kids excused for second period for B. of B's sound check. It's in a pile on top of my assignment tower.
6. Freedom Session tomorrow night. Need to look over email to understand the details of the special communion thing we're doing. Probably should have gone to the meeting on Thursday night. Need to email Abigail. Need to do homework. Oh, and crap! It's gather the garbage day tomorrow -- recycling is out of control, too.
7. Taxes. Right. Should get on that this week. Sort of counting on the return for a big chunk of the wedding budget.
8. Need to pick up napkins and roasting bins on Tuesday for bbq at B of B.
9. Bunch of kids haven't written the unit test and report cards are due on Monday. To care or not to care, that is the question. I shall mark my brains out in the meantime.
10. Need to start inviting people to my birthday party for Saturday night. Need to think of a theme. Need to make sure house is clean.
11. Must figure out how to post video.
12. Need to confirm storing piano somewhere by next week. Andy needs to see the potential place we'll live, or find somewhere else for us.

If you're still reading this, I'm impressed. Maybe I should invest in a day planner instead of posting my schedule all over the internet. Twelve seemed like a good place to stop, because I think I'd get depressed/stressed looking at over a dozen items on a list. I feel more organized, though, just looking at the screen.

It's pretty nutty when you sit down and write out all the stuff that flies through your head all day long. I bet if you stopped and wrote down everything you were worrying about, or trying to remember, or problems you were trying to solve, you would quickly come up with a whole page, too. (I promise that if you posted it, I would spend some time reading it.) Actually, that probably only applies to women. The only thing men are thinking about right now is the Canucks.

Chasing Cars

I listen to the radio in my car most days. It's true. You see, I only have a tape deck and all the tapes I have are so old they are covered in some ancient sticky muck (most likely spilled rootbeer). Now that I've more fully embraced the technological age, however, I have an Ipod Nano thingamajigger. It's great, except that I have to carefully balance it on my leg while driving (and the thing ALWAYS falls off -- sometimes under my feet and I almost die as I reach down to retrieve it), make sure the little radio transmitter thing is attached properly, and sometimes the sound gets all crackly. Plus, I'm lazy. If I'm just driving to work or the store, I don't usually bother with the whole ordeal.

(That's a long introduction. I think I felt the need to explain why I listen to the radio, because it's clearly not because they play good music. Plus, I'm a bit of a music snob and have long snubbed radio consumption so I wanted to clear up my hypocrisy -- or at least justify it a little.)

Something rare and hateful happened as I was driving home from work today. Usually I get in my car and cringe a little once I remember that the radio is playing. I mean, hearing "Sexy Back" once in a day is bad enough, never mind twice or thrice in one day. Today was a three time winner for Justin. So, when my ears did hear the sounds of ---wait for it--- a good song on the radio, I almost pooped my pants right there in my car seat. Once I recovered from my shock, a smile found its way to my face for the first time in many hours. Finally, one of those rare nuggests of bliss paddled through my ear canals ever so gently, ever so sweetly. Except, it was pretty much when I arrived at my house. Journey's end. Curses!

I did what any sane person would do when something wonderful like "Chasing Cars" finally travels the air waves. I sat in my car on the street in front of my house and listened and sang along at the top of my lungs for the duration of the song. A neighbour was taking his garbage cans back from the curb and smiled at me. The car was warm, my heart was lifted, and I wanted to just sit there and forget the world. Forget what we're told, before we get too old, and just sit in my car that's bursting with mold.

Eventually the song ended and I had to get out. I had to face the cold wind on my bare legs, realize that pee was bursting in my bladder, confront a sink of dirty dishes, and attack armies of paper with only red ink.

Except now I carried something with me. And I'm still humming.

~~~~~~~
P.S. Speaking of cars and moments, Andy and I encountered quite an event while travelling home from Easter. It's captured on video for your viewing pleasure. The catch is I don't know how to upload it to Blogger and whatnot, so I'll have to get that figured out first. So, stay tuned.

Breathe

Like many of us, I have cried so hard that my body wrenched and fell, and my hands found themselves clutching, clawing, attacking the carpet. I have cried from so far down within me, finally, that I didn't even care that snot was dripping out of my nose at the same rate as tears falling from my eyes. I have cried out in the darkness, not knowing what to do with the pain, not wanting to even move for fear it would all get so much worse. I have felt a loss so deep, so disappointing, that my pain became a veil that made it hard to see, to walk, to feel anything else.

But I am human. I expect that life will be painful. I am not blind; I see all around me evidence of fires within and fires without. No one is exempt. (Is it morbid to find that strangely comforting?) All of us recognize the different faces of our pain and could recount every detail, every wrinkle, every expression. Some of us have made --or paid for-- elaborate masks to cover them up; others have found dark places to hide them away. I would wager, though, that all of us find it difficult to look these faces in the eye.

Sometimes it seems that we should just give up. Why should we bother to live in a world where we can expect something so destructive, so horrendous, so heavy? That doesn't seem very fair, does it? This is a place where people die, sometimes over and over again. I want a place where people LIVE with every step and every breath.

But there IS hope. It is PROMISED to us.

"The thief comes only to steal and to kill and destroy; I have come that [you] may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10

Today is Good Friday. It is a day to remember that God did not leave us in our pain --did not forget us-- though we deserve every desertion. He provided a way out of this mess that we so easily create.

Silence fills a formless void

darkness spills over the deep

the Spirit of the Lord hovering

then you breathe

You spoke the word

life begins

You spoke the word

life begins

deep calls to deep wondering

then you breathe

everything begins here

but You saw more

everything begins here

You must have known

You'd shed Your blood for me

Dust to flesh

You formed a man

who falls from grace and knows his sin

but love chose redemption

love chose redemption

And you breathe

You sent Your Son and all is well

("Breathe" by Matt Brouwer and Jill Paquette)

I Really Can't Complain

Taken in Prince George on April 1, 2007

(I'm sooooo glad we don't live there anymore!!)

Pride

Reasons why I love being Canadian:

1. Beer flows like raging rivers of honey droplets.
2. We can make racially colourful comments. For example, ah shoot, I can't write down any of the examples. I made three today BY ACCIDENT.
3. Rita MacNeil (the artist and the country).
4. White Rock and gelato and fish and chips on a day with endless blues.
5. Degrassi commercials that make you cringe.
6. Canadian music scene (so hot right now). I'll never forget all the sweetness I experienced in Montreal this summer. Endless stars, live music, flip flops, people of every shape and size and so many tongues (but mostly French). And lawn chairs. Yes, lots of those.
7. People drive around with those hockey flag things sticking out of their windows. I should make some up that say Jane Austen.
8. Summer evenings that begin with some tasty food from Commercial Drive, then move into big white tents at Bard on the Beach, and end with a blanket thrown over driftwood on Jericho Beach to conclude with Symphony of Fire.
9. Tim Hortons. Oh how I love thee, oh roll up the rim. And then I hate thee, oh bastards of please play again. (I've cut back to one sugar from two in my coffee - that's my idea of a diet)

I'm gonna leave it at nine reasons, just for kicks and giggles. And cuz I want to watch TV and laze on the couch.

P.S. Andy made the most delicious ice cream concoction. I normally give him a really hard time for his, ahem, creativity in the kitchen. Tonight, however, he made me eat my words with every bite of his vanilla ice cream topped with a crushed Lindor chocolate ball, some banana, a shot of coffee (brewed this morning), and a Sweet 'n Salty peanut butter granola bar crumbled on top. It tasted a bit like that pie. What's it called again?

Deceptive Rabbits

Chocolate critters: brilliant. Pagan, but brilliant.

Today I had my first chocolate bunny of the season. I walked over to the deli at lunch cuz I was lazy this morning and didn't feel like bringing yet another can of soup to school. On a whim, I decided to add a dash of chocolate to my sandwich lunch, and purchased a cute little tin foiled rabbit. He just looked so cheerful and springy. Apparently I was so distracted by the cute lil' guy's face that I didn't notice the price tag. No matter, one would think that a chocolate bunny of not even three inches in height, and which contains no innards besides air, would cost somewhere around 50 cents. Nope. Later, as I was walking back to the school, I noticed the price tag: $1.39!! For what? That's RIDICULOUS! I felt like a cranky old lady lamenting the good old days when she could buy a chocolate bar for 3 cents. Honestly, though, $1.39?? I could have fed a kid in Africa for that! I think I went off in a rage to my friend about consumerism and inflation or something intellectual like that. (Even now, I'm working myself up into a tither. I can feel my heart racing at the injustice of it all.)

I was distracted, however, by a story she shared with me about a chocolate lover she knows. Apparently her friend liked chocolate so much that she always bit off the ears before giving the bunnies to her children. Her kids always thought they were chocolate mice. Hmmm, not a bad idea. I'll just have to make sure that I don't buy my kids HOLLOW chocolate bunnies, or they'll catch on pretty quick (and, I'm planning on having BRILLIANT children). Although, if I buy them hollow chocolates, they won't get fat (I don't want chubby kids, but I do want Chubby's kids...). Maybe I'll just stick to Mini Eggs. Yes, those are heaven in a shell.

P.S. The chocolate wasn't even good. The tradegy cuts me deep.

P.P.S. If I wanted to, I could use this chocolate bunny as an extended metaphor for life in soooo many ways.

Shoes

My roommate and I are each in our bedrooms staring at a computer screen, madly typing away. Our reasons for staring, typing, pondering, stretching, however, are vastly different: Lana is writing to learn, and I am writing to relax.

It's funny.

For a long time I knew Lana's chair all too well. The pile of essays and readings and essays and readings and exams upon exams upon exams didn't seem like it would ever let up. I had paper cuts on my lungs and ink marks on the soles of my feet. I discovered my caffeine threshold and mastered the 2 am half hour nap. Once I even decorated a documentation project while driving to school to hand it in seconds before the office closed (I'm sad to say those stick men did not display my best artistic ability). I lived in grey sweat pants, ugly old glasses, greasy pony tails, and that sweater with a hole in the armpit. Staying up all night multiple times in a row no longer phased me, nor did the image staring back at me in the mirror.

I haven't really left that world, though (perhaps a depressing thought). If I look around me, I still see piles of readings and piles of essays. I still read until the page starts talking back to me in Donald Duck's voice. I still doodle in margins. I still savagely chew at LEAST three sticks of gum and have bubble blowing contests with myself. I still have mini temper tantrums and whimper and foam at the mouth at no one in particular. Yeah, it's all still familiar, all still there.

Except for here.

Here, I have found something -- a dump of sorts. Here, I can throw away all the words I have saved for far too long, and that honestly haven't served much purpose sitting on shelves in my bedroom. Here, I can use the piles of essays as booster seats or foot rests. Here, I find application relevant, grammar handy, thoughts delicious. Here, my other foot is bare.

And free.



P.S. Ray and Jo threw the Chubs and I a SWEET engagement party this weekend (Chubby has a more detailed account). I was overwhelmed. I'm not used to being the one receiving parties and flowers and presents and so many new friends. I think I could get used to it, though! Especially the part where I got chocolate and sesame snaps!!!

Battyfield's Obervations

I'm pretty blind. I mean it. I've had to wear glasses since grade three or four -- at one point I even had the little string thing that went around my head in case my glasses fell off. So, over the years my eyes have become progressively worse and by now my prescription is -9. That means without corrective lenses I can only see about six inches from my face clearly. Yes, the little "how many fingers am I holding up?" game actually works with the likes of me. Hilarious.

In any case, after my shower today, I decided to tweeze my eyebrows. I do this without my contacts in, so I have to have my face inches from the mirror to do a good job of logging the forest. When your face is that close to your face, you notice a few things:
1. I have wrinkles
2. I have black heads
3. I have zit scars
4. I have car accident scars
5. I have broken capillaries around my nose
6. I have a couple little zits
7. I have a sty by my eye

Attractive. Now, I actually don't have a problem with most of my observations. I'll tell you why:
1. Everyone has wrinkles. They symbolize age, wisdom, laughter. Not bad. Don't mind 'em.
2. You can't really see them unless you're really close, and we have stuff called makeup to cover them up. Plus, there's always Biore.
3. Again, can cover them up.
4. Cover.
5. Cover. And, really, I've been blowing my nose for years, so I'm not overly surprised. Go big or go home.
6. Can cover. Provide hours of entertainment. There are few things more satisfying than a good squirter, too.
7. OK. This is where I stop being positive. These are ANNOYING. They DON'T GO AWAY. You can't pop the things, and every attempt hurts like Hades (and I tried again today, even with my tweezers). They are hard to cover because they are so close to your eye and always remind me of some kind of reptile. My next attempt to destroy the bugger will involve a laser pointer. Be gone inflamed skin gland! Be gone!

Last, but not lease, because I'm painting myself in such an attractive light today, I thought I'd leave you with a little picture of me enjoying my Spring Break.

Knitted Newfoundland socks, flannel, Value Village, hoodie, book. Oh, and pearl earrings (not in picture).

HAWT!

Springing into Girly World

You is sitting on a couch, staring into the fireplace. Enter Cheryl, stage left. Cheryl comes bounding into living room with an annoyingly huge smile on her face. You feels at once uneasy and ready to kick her teeth in.

CHERYL: (Flops down on the couch beside You and cocks her head to the side.) So, did you know that I'm ridiculously deep in the throes of Spring Break?

YOU: I thought everyone's break began today. Aaaaand, I'm not sure how you can consider one day "deep in the throes". It's very Anne of Green Gables of you, though.

CHERYL: No, nincompoop! (Throws fancy red pillow and You gets hit in the teeth with one of the dangly glass beads) This is my second week of Spring Break! Tomorrow will be my SECOND Tuesday of sleeping in, making fresh coffee, and going bra-less until at least 4 pm.

YOU: Arraughhhhh!! First of all, that's too much information. Secondly, I hate you for numerous reasons. I really do. Now, get off my couch -- you disgust me. (Pushes Cheryl with foot forcefully)

Cheryl obligingly gets off couch and relocates to floor, where she props herself up on one elbow.

CHERYL: You know, I'm sensing jealousy. You haven't even heard what else I've been doing over the past week.

YOU: Fine. Because I so desire to live vicariously through you, I might as well know what to expect.

CHERYL: Yes, yes, yes. So wise you are. Anyway, Andy and I have finally nailed down a date for our wedding.

YOU: Didn't you get engaged, like, over a month ago?

CHERYL: Er, yes, but... (makes a "shut up, I know you're totally right but I can't think of a good comeback" face) ... it's hard to come up with a venue. ANYway, we've booked a lovely place for August 10.

YOU: The 10th, eh? I'm so shocked. Does Andy know about your obsession with multiples of five? Cuz if he --

CHERYL: (Cutting him off) I told him all that stuff on, like, our first date or something. He finds it cute that I have a bit of OCD. And besides, if constantly counting everything in sight doesn't turn a man on, I don't know what will. And the number ten just happens to be near perfection - so fitting to begin our life of nupital bliss.

YOU: You are unreal. Does he also find your horrible obsession with puns cute, too?

CHERYL: Yes, he loves them. He told me if I stopped punning he would become a lost, hollow shell of a man. It's sort of pathetic how much he needs to hear them, actually. I often fear I'll experience performance anxiety, but so far I can keep 'em comin'. I will admit, however, to the exhaustion that constantly weaving magic out of words can bring me.

YOU: (Sarcastically) Yes, you make amazing puns. Everyone thinks so. And, you know, clearly you and Andy are meant to be together if he loves them so. But anyway, I don't want to give puns any more attention than they deserve, so what other stuff are you going to force me to hear?

CHERYL: Right. (Cheryl experiences a thought) OHHHHHHHH!!!!! (Reaches over and smacks You on the leg) I bought my dress today!

YOU: Like, THE dress?

CHERYL: Yes. And it's dreamy.

YOU: I could pretend right now I really cared about the details of your dress, but I really don't.

CHERYL: Fine. I don't want to explain it too much, anyway, just in case I start to get sick of looking at it in my head.

YOU: Yeah, I heard that you shouldn't try your wedding dress on more than three times or something -- brides have a tendency to second guess themselves. There are so many fabulous frocks out there.

CHERYL: Yeah, I heard that, too. But I can't imagine wanting to try it on a million times. It's a lot of work. Oh!! But I will tell you to really think about what underwear you put on the day you go try on dresses. Let's just say I didn't and had to apologize to the poor Italian dress helper lady. Awkward.

YOU: Yes, I can imagine -- rather unfortunately. (Thoughtful pause) You know, Cheryl, I'm actually impressed at the perfect balance of sloth and productivity you've managed to maintain over your break. I'm almost getting teary eyed, you inspire me so.

CHERYL: "You bring meaning to my life, you're my inspira-a-tionnnnnnnnnnnn."

YOU: No, that will bring on a different kind of tear, entirely!

the end.

Dancing in the Street

Video Preamble:
I am feeling a little blechhh today, and so needed some cheering up. Whenever this happens, I have a few options: play piano/guitar, read, have a bath, read Bible, go for a run, lay on couch and moan, or look up funny stuff on the internet. Today I opted for funny stuff. I'd like to share with you an oldie but a goodie of a music video that my students re-introduced to me the other day. I enjoy it immensely, and I'm sure you will too. I like to picture myself bustin' a groove in the background wearing a brilliantly hideous purple poofy polyester shirt and a housecoat.

All right, so I just spent a few minutes getting myself a YouTube account so that I could post that music video. But, well, I don't know where it went. The YouTube "people" promised me that it would appear on my blog "shortly," but I DON'T SEE IT ANYWHERE. Bastards.

So, I'm going to have to show you this SWEET video the old-fashioned way. Sigh.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO2QfSQiG70

Considering the Technology of Facebook

Apparently this new Facebook business is all the rage nowadays. Apparently I have a lot to say about it, so, go get yourself a cup of tea or something to sip whilst reading/skimming.

I first heard about it a few weeks ago when going out for lunch in Victoria with some of Andy's friends. For those of you, like myself, who are no longer in university or high school, or are not between the ages 17-25 (which is users' average age), you may have never heard of Facebook. Well, I did a bit of "research" (thanks to Wikipedia and other sources) on the matter, and so allow me to give you a brief synopsis on the seventh most popular site in the U.S., with over 17 million members worldwide.

Basically, Facebook is a social networking service that allows you to stay in touch with all your friends through minimal effort. It acts as sort of a reference book. Your profile includes a picture of yourself (the "face" aspect) and a little bit of info, plus access to all of your photos (and you can choose WHO has access to them). Actually, Facebook is the number one site for photos (ahead of Flickr) because they allow you to upload sooooo many. You then basically subscribe to your friends, and can write little update notes and everyone can see them at the same time. It's apparently much easier to organize parties, share photos, and keep people updated on your life. Plus it involves far less writing (than, say, emails or blogs, or even msn), which appeals to many people. Currently 85% of college students in the U.S. have an account. Facebook actually began at Harvard and has since been predominantly available to college students, and has recently been opened up to high school kids.

But I don't want an account.

As far as websites go, this one seems pretty harmless, and it's well laid out, but I think my hesitation towards it concerns what the Facebook craze says about our culture and my own motivations for getting an account.

If we look into the history of media literacy, we can't help but bump into Marshall McLuhan. Marshall McLuhan is considered by some to be a forefather or prophet of the electronic age. He is most famous for his book, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, written way back in 1964. McLuhan was very interested in understanding the effects of technology and how they translated into our culture, and in turn affected us as human beings. I teach my Media 12 students about him every fall, and I can't help but have his words run through my head when I think about Facebook. I am called to practice what I preach.

McLuhan came up with a tool for approaching new technology called the tetrad. He basically had four questions we should pose whenever considering a new technology (and in our case, it is Facebook). The questions are: What does it (the medium or technology) extend? What does it make obsolete? What is retrieved? What does the technology reverse into if it is over-extended? After having these questions in my mind, I have come up with far more negative aspects than positive.

Before signing up for an account, I question my motivation. WHY do I need an account? Is it to simply see how many friends I have? Am I just curious? Is it to stay in touch with friends of old and far away? Is it for entertainment? Is it to meet new people? Is it to feel in the loop, part of the conversation? Will it help me save time and organize events more efficiently? Or, will it be yet another thing to feed my procrastination addiction? Will it distract me in class? Would I join because everyone else is -- to simply be part of Chomsky's bewildered herd? Will I fool myself into thinking I'm being social, while functioning through an anti-social medium? Will it really deepen and make a meaningful impact on my current relationships? Will it feed my already inflated ego? Will I use it to glorify God... or myself?

The answers to these questions definitely reinforce my decision NOT to get an account, but that's me. I already spend too much time on the internet when I should be marking (or teaching...) or going out for coffee. I guess I'm just encouraging you to question your motivation, too, and consider the impact the technology will have on your life, and if it checks out, give 'er -- it seems fun.

But for me, I am weary/leary of speed and ease being such a strong motivator and validator in our culture. I am tired of the idolatrous mores. I want deep, I want meaningful, I want shoulders, and unfortunately I just can't have that with 257 friends, sitting in front of a computer screen.

So, sorry, you will not be able to count me among your Facebook friends. From that book, I must turn my face away.

A hot date with my fireplace

It's Friday night and I'm home alone.

There was a time when that statement would have had my heart racing like a GT down an icy hill, and you would have found me closing all of the blinds to ensure nobody noticed. Only losers stay home alone on weekends, right? I'm supposed to be out at exotic parties or listening to live music or having a movie night with the girls, and not be sitting in front of the fire with my chin on the carpet for hours on end.

But... my feet are cold and I want to listen to new music and sip mint hot chocolate and have the lamps turned low and the nail polish handy. So, I have spent the better part of the evening straddling my fireplace or becoming a starfish on the carpet (it did cross my mind, as my face was getting carpet imprints on it, how many microscopic bugs were crawling all over me, but then I remembered that we got our carpets cleaned a couple months ago, so I was probably fine). My musical genious of a boyfriend made me a mix tape (er, CD) that was so good it moved me to tears in some parts (now, imagine a fireplace, soft lighting, some beautiful music, and me sitting there wiping my eyes with my hoodie sleeve -- either really romantic, or really SAD, right?). I also made a disaster with my nail polish, as usual, but there's something undeniably special about the scent of a good polish. I'm always reminded of summer evenings, or weddings, or fun dates, or high school sleep overs, or runs in nylons. And now I'm reminded of nights home alone.

I'm relieved that I'm happy to step away from the social circle for a time. I used to go out even when I was tired, and just make sure I had a big-assed coffee beforehand. Of course, part of it was that I wanted to be with my friends, but part of it was also to appear cool and because I was afraid to disappoint anyone (a people-pleaser to the core). When people asked me what I did over the weekend, I wanted to have something to show for myself that might even make people ENVIOUS of me! Wow!

But somehow it's different now.

I think I have a definition for adulthood: A stage in life when one DESIRES to have quiet nights at home, alone, and when one doesn't really give a rip if anyone knows. So, tonight I could have done fun activities with all sorts of stellarific people, but I didn't want to. I'm tired. It's Friday. It has been a looooooooooooooooong week - a long couple of months, actually. I don't want to talk to any more people. I'm done. I'm embracing the silence like a friend I neglect far too often and whose sweater smells of all things vanilla. I think I'm going to go back to my fireplace, settle my bum into the carpet, and pick up my book that I've been halfway through for the past two weeks.

And so I say goodnight, dear Weekend. My sincerest thanks for the lovely evening.

A Clockwork Orange

What

the

HELL

!!!!!!!!!!

it's back

deja-vu, I HATE YOU

Trees and Light

I strike myself as the sort of person who would be good at taking photos. I figured there was a whole world untapped by my shutter and that I was doing humankind a disservice by not displaying God's creation to its fullest potential.

.

When I went to buy a camera after Christmas, I had a wad of cash in my fist and a dream of photographic glory burning in my heart. Now, some people are hardcore researchers and they scour the city's camera shops, read stuff online, jot down advice in their little blackberries, and drive all of their friends crazy by inserting into every conversation whispers of Nikon, Canon, pixels, zoom thingies and, oh heck, I don't even know what other jargon people who know stuff about photography would use. In any case, as you can well imagine, that is certainly not how I roll.
.

One crisp December evening, I confidently walked up to the counter at London Drugs, and within ten minutes I dropped about $500 when all was said and done. No, I am NOT compulsive or prone to salesperson pressure; I think I just knew what I wanted. It had some cool whozits and whatsits, but most importantly an idiot-proof guide. Whenever I want to do a close-up, I just have to press the button. Brilliant! Now, I know many of you who know about cameras know that for a person of my expertise (cough), I really just needed to go to Costco and I could have found something quite lovely for more like $200. True, but, well, I like my camera, so there.

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I have thus far mastered the candle light mode. Probably 70% of my pictures are shot in that mode right now, and recently we discovered the super close up feature. So rad. We went for a bit of a hike this weekend, though, and I found out that there is no mode for "forest starting to get dark but there are still bits of sunlight and the foliage still looks amazingly green." We did our best, and so here is what we came up with. It was a joint effort between me, Andy, and Luke.

This one is my favourite. Andy told me not to shoot at the sun, but I disobeyed him (hey, we're not married yet, you know).

Can you find the spiderweb hidden in this one? (Although, it looks more like a blob of light)Andy took it and I think it's magical.

Now I'd like to know how we would have made this picture turn out. I have no idea, and I think Luke did a great job considering the conditions he had to work under.

It's risky business leaving boys with a camera while you go pee in the bush.

This is the first classic look-up-the-tree picture I've taken. I almost lost my balance and fell in the mud.

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Photography is so much harder than it seems! My goal is to learn all the handy dandy pre-programmed modes. We'll see what happens.

I Love Wednesdays

This morning I woke up to blue skies and all sorts of frost. As for most mornings, today I lingered in bed until the last possible second, then had to get my butt in gear to make it out the door in time for chapel. Whenever frost has visited us in the night, it doesn't register to me that I should probably get out the door earlier to account for window scraping time. Today, however, my car was parked such that the sun was shining on my windshield, so I was spared the dreaded frost attack. I sort of haw-hawed at my roommate (who was madly scraping her car) as I quickly sauntered down our steep driveway.

Big mistake.

I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking and hit a huge patch of ice. And I bit it hard. I got air like in a Looney Tunes cartoon and landed in the classic spread eagle style. Somehow my keychain smashed to smithereens, I lost the main button off my pants, and I dropped everything (except the hefty can of soup I was holding - must have held onto that thing for dear life). And I landed in a puddle. My roommate, bless her, did not die in a fit of laughter, but instead helped me up and offered all sorts of sympathy. I had no time to waste, though, and jumped into my car dripping wet and covered with mud and blood, and raced to school. Wet clothing will dry; I couldn't be late for chapel -- again.

Two minutes away from the school I realized that today was Tuesday, not Wednesday. No chapel. I have a spare first period instead.

My elbows hurt, my bum is soaking wet, my pants are hanging open, I have blood on my shirt, but darn it, I made it to school on time today.

March of the Crocuses

Yesterday, when I walked to the parking lot after work, I felt something different about the air. This morning, as I dashed down my driveway and then glanced into the garden, I noticed something different about the earth.

It is coming. Or has it come?

I don't know about you, but I'm darn well ready for a new season. I'm ready to drive down 88th Ave. and marvel at how pink blossoms can transform a busy, grey street. I'm ready to think of rain as something that nourishes the ground, rather than something that pounds at my brain and reminds me of lead. I'm ready to tie on my running shoes and stop making lame excuses about it being too cold outside. I'm ready for light, for purple, for morning birds. And MINI EGGS!!!!

Dinner Parties

Six Months Ago
couple #1: east side
shoulders brushing
hands intertwined beneath table cloth
couple #2: west side
retrieving unwanted mushrooms from sides of plate
pinky sliding across inside of elbow
couple #3: south side
sidelong glances hidden within private jokes
warm hand resting on bulging belly
me: due north
shivering
wandering
alone

Today
me: due north
found an igloo built for me
a compelling diamond in the light
inside, thick furs and red candles
new songs and ridiculous laughter
a mitted hand within mine own

The Gradual Instant

There are those defining moments in life. Moments when you wish you could press pause so that you could soak in every last detail. Some of these moments we expect to come someday - I like to call them the classic moments - meeting our baby for the first time, holding a loved one's hand as they take their last breath, walking across the stage at graduation or walking down the aisle grasping our Dad's arm. And becoming engaged.

Ever since we are little girls we dream about the moment of engagement. When I was a teenager I used to think about all the most romantic moments possible, and I'd try to guess which one would be mine (and, I might add, I had some fantastic ideas if you need 'em). Then, when I got older and the whole marriage thing didn't seem to be happening any time soon, I decided I didn't care at all how I was proposed to, as long as it actually HAPPENED.

Well, as you've probably guessed by now, the whole proposal thing did finally happen. And, as promised, it was one of those moments that I have carefully wrapped in a silken cloth and put away in a box of gold. I have been carrying my little golden treasure in my pocket, and today I will open the lid and give you a just a peek.

Friday night we went to the school play. Apparently he had the ring in his pocket the whole time and was thinking of doing some kind of public thing on stage. He just wasn't feeling it, though, and figured he'd come up with a plan B. We went back to my place and didn't really have anything planned so we decided to read our relationship books (OK, I know that sounds super lame, especially now that I know he had a freakin' DIAMOND ring in his pocket the whole time).

So, we stood in the living room by the fire, just hugging and chatting (and maybe kissing a little). And we found ourselves stepping into something epic - into the gradual instant. It was a moment neither of us could have planned, nor could I have ever imagined something so beautiful, so true, and so real. The ring was burning a SERIOUS hole in Andy's pocket at this point, so he seized the moment and proposed.

Except, I didn't really believe him.

The moment I had waited for my whole life was upon me and I hadn't expected it at all. I didn't believe him mostly because I didn't believe that my proposal was happening right before my eyes. IT HAD COME -- FINALLY. After so many years of dreaming, so many years of heartache, so many years of searching, and so many years of living without him. Heart pounding, eyelids blinking, head savagely nodding, I told him yes!! I didn't know what to do with myself, so I danced around (which seemed like an appropriate response).

Yeah, so I have a pretty ring on my finger now. And I am getting married. And he is my beloved. God is SO GOOD.

Different Kinds of Puke

Date: Wednesday, February 14, 2007 (also known as Valentines Day)
Time: 8:32 a.m.
Location: Classroom #102, Langley Christian High School
Situation: Unlocking my room minutes before the bell

So, imagine me opening the door and being very confused. You see, it looked like Cupid threw up in my classroom. Red ribbons, balloons, cinnamon hearts, candy hearts, streamers, gaudy cupid hangings, heart stickers, a heart-shaped bell, rotating hearts hanging from the ceiling, red cellophane, and red glitter were EVERYWHERE. On every surface, on every wall, in every crevice. Apparently my special friends snuck into my room the night before and painstakingly decorated everything. I was distracted all day by both the warm fuzzies around my heart and the fuzzies on my teeth from eating so much candy. Then some roses got sent to me. Then we went out for dinner at The Keg and consumed vast amounts of red flesh and red spirits.

And I couldn't stop smiling all day.

Here is just a small sample of what greeted my eyes. And remember, the photos just don't do it justice:

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Date: Thursday, February 15, 2007
Time: 8:00 p.m. (ish)
Location: my bedroom
Situation: finally wrapping the care package I'm sending my sister in Korea (I meant to send it before Christmas - I even made her a Christmas CD, which I sent anyway)

I needed a better box to put everything in, so I decided to look under my bed where I sometimes store boxes (back in the day I used to have a shoe box collection under my bed, mostly becuase I didn't have the heart to throw them away - some o' dem boxes is nice)

Well, I looked under my bed and started screaming, and laughing, and shaking my head, and clutching my blankets. This is what I saw:


For those of you who have read my blogs as of late, you may remember a certain incident with a certain mysterious substance on my backpack. (I also store backpacks and duffle bags under my bed.) I was ecstatic to discover that the orange substance on my backpack had not, in fact, been part of an old moldy orange, but was rather an old, moldy PUMPKIN. Yes, yes, I've had a pumpkin under my bed since November. And, I like to think, it completely encapsulates one of my life's mottos: go big or go home. Thank you, little pumpkin, for not simply becoming half-assed moldy, but absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt beautiful in your ability to make me gag, and feel itchy, and be completely grossed out and incredulous, all at the same time! I have since thrown away the beautiful turquoise and purple Avon duffle bag the little pump was attached to. If you are wondering how in the world a pumpkin got under my bed in the first place, first ask yourself how well you know me, and then check out Andy's post from November 27.

(By the way, what does one use to pick up a moldy pumpkin, anyway? Why, a soup spoon, of course!)

i'm hot.

people are sometimes ascared to admit this about themselves, but not Tyra and not me.

ok. thank you. bu bye.

Metathoughts

Do you ever have thoughts just whiz around in your head without ever finding rest?

Not that this is a bad thing, of course, it just makes for frustrating writing material. For instance, I've been chewing on thoughts of justice and mercy, pain and joy, gratitude and creation, and, well, a lot about my own defects of character, actually. But they have remained just those: thoughts. My problem comes once I consider writing some of my thoughts down.

I think I like looking above me, or inside me, and seeing a glittery, polychromatic swirling of ideas and images that are free and constantly in motion. Sometimes they sashay their way closer to me, and sometimes they wiggle themselves into the crowd. We reach into the beautiful mixture and grab greedily for one of these dazzling beings. Perhaps that is where the phrase "grasping for ideas" comes from. Sometimes we are successful and manage to hook something, and sometimes we keep coming back with more elaborate nets and traps. Maybe that's what happens when I write. Maybe I finally score one of those thoughts, but then I try to trap it in words, too. And maybe words are boxes far too small. And maybe I just can't stomach the tragedy and those sad, lifeless eyes looking back at me on the page. So I let the little guy go.

But what's the point of that? I can't just let thoughts fly forever -- I need to draw conclusions! make arguments! be persuasive! form an opinion! be concrete! grow some balls, already!

But not today.

No, today I will let them fly a little longer. I have tucked my net away for a time when I am desperate. For a time when the thought-tease is too much for me and I am forced -- no, COMPELLED -- to hunt again.

Coming Clean

Some people shower daily. Some, every other daily. Still others, every other every other daily. I am of the every other daily camp, but mostly because I dilly dally daily.

I love to linger. In my bed. On the toilet. While brushing my teeth. While stirring my tea. Most times there just isn't time in all of that to shower, especially since (as we all know) the shower is a WONDERFUL place to linger. Sometimes it's important to quit while you're ahead. Plus, I have a whole theory on soap, but I will save that for another time.

Sometimes I tell people a little too much about myself. This trend sometimes raises its nasty wee head while I'm teaching. I remember a few years ago I explained my showering schedule to my students (yeah, yeah, I'm still not exactly sure WHAT compelled me to do that). I told them that they could always tell what day of my showering schedule I was on by my hair style. I was somehow born with the inability to create funky or beautiful hair styles, so I pretty much only have two. My rule of thumb goes as follows: clean hair worn down, dirty hair worn up (well, sometimes it's up just cuz I'm lazy and/or need it off my face). So, as usual, I went on with class and forgot all about that tidbit of information I had shared. A few years later, one of my students commented on my hair style, (which just happened to be a pony tail, and yes, was a little on the nasty side) and then proceeded to explain to me how he remembered all about my showering schedule, and asked me if I still adhered to it faithfully. Um, uhhh. I couldn't believe he remembered!! Yikes. I love how kids remember the important things we teach them in school.

So, where am I going with all of this? Oh, yes, showering. So, because of my report card heinousness, I especially did not shower this morning. I though nothing of it though, as this is quite common with me (and, let's face it, our head doesn't need all that nasty chemical crap, anyway).

In class today:
Student in back row says to girl in front of him: "It looks like she just rolled right out of bed and came to school."
Me (having overheard): "What!!! Did you just say I LOOK like I just rolled out of bed? What are you implying? That I look HORRIBLE?"

And then I went off for a bit, concluding with, yes, I did just roll out of bed and then come to school, but a woman NEVER wants to hear that people actually notice.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Two Words

report cards




It's amazing how so little can say so much, no?

Don't you just

love it when you eat something, swallow it, and then still get to enjoy the bits that remain stuck in your teeth?

Right now I'm still experiencing the aftermath of my sea salt & HINT OF LIME tortilla chips. I would wager, however, that they are not nearly as enjoyable as the lingering hints of: candy canes, blue whales, caramel, Swedish berries, or butterscotch Livesavers.

Even now, minutes later, I'm still finding chips in my cheeks and my many molars. Seriously, how much stuff can be hidden in this mouth of mine? (don't answer that)