Musings

I've been writing lately again. Not the scribbling I do here; I mean really writing. I haven't done it in years...

I used to write pages and pages in my storybook every day--I would carry that thing around with me everywhere, I was never seen without it. When I was younger, some of the things I wrote were not very nice... Let's just say I was definitely too young to be writing about them, but I had an even worse outlook on life than I do now (imagine that! --This was all B.C. of course.). Then, I got serious about God, and grew disgusted with myself as I realized what I was writing. And I made Him a promise: I told Him that I would never write again unless it was something He gave me. And so I haven't written in two years.

You have no idea how much that hurt--it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I felt like a sculptor that had only finished half of a statue, then didn't complete it. I had five or six major stories on my drawing board at the time--and I was more than half way done with many of them. But they all went into my filing cabinet of stories, and I haven't thought about them since. (Well, not too much...)

Until now.

God has been giving me, in little glimpses, pictures. And the pictures are telling me how I can still finish my stories--but with different endings, that glorify Him.

One of my stories that I started about five years ago when I was learning to play guitar is about a kid who can play, but is stuck in a group home, and is roomies with a kid who has Down's Syndrome. Originally, the main point of the story was the guitar; that was before I got a baby brother with Down's. Now, I'm getting all sorts of ideas...

Another story was about a Deaf girl and her hearing mother who do not understand each other. The hearing girl becomes friends with a hearing girl who has a Deaf mother. I've met more Deaf people now, and I understand the culture better--I wouldn't have been able to finish the story adequately if I'd have finished writing it seven years ago when I started.

And poems have been coming too. On Christmas night, I told Jesus that I wanted to give Him something, but I didn't know what. Then I realized that I wanted to write Him a poem--but I told Him that I couldn't do it without Him giving it to me (Funny how that works, isn't it?). It normally takes at least fifteen minutes for me to write a poem, and then I fix and finagle with it some more. I was done in five minutes, and I haven't touched it since.

God is good, even when it seems like He's trying to take something beloved away from us; maybe He's just holding it back until the right time...

And maybe I'll post some poems here, if I get the chance.

Merry Christmas, DARN IT!!!

There. I said it.

Slap a lawsuit on me.

Go ahead: I dare you to.

I don't care

"I don't care what you say about me, just so long as you say it good an' loud and spell my name right."

~P.T. Barnum

People Probably won't Peruse this Post of Preposterous Ponderings

My friend and fellow blogger Elisabeth tagged me in a game...I must blog about ten things that start with the letter "P". Well, here goes...

Pickerel; Apparently they're some sort of fish <>< --it jumped into my mind, because I've been teaching Walden to my students, and Thoreau is constantly talking about pickerel--don't believe me? Go read the section entitled "The Lake"--though I recommend that you're good an' bored and have a long afternoon of nothingness stretching out before you if you want to attempt it.

Pluto; The nineth pla-- ...no, wait. It's not. Which is quite inconvenient, because all my life the acronym has been "My very educated mother just served us nine pickles." But now some scientist with nothing to do decided to make trouble for second-graders across the continent, and now it can't be nine pickles, and it can't even be pickles, because there aren't nine of them anymore, and there's no "P" for Pluto!!!! [*pant, pant*] Why did they have to pick on poor little Pluto anyways? Because of its size? Granted, it's so small that sometimes we couldn't figure out which one was the moon and which one was the planet, but, hey! if we went around with the philosophy that anything that is small is unimportant, we'd be in a heap of trouble; Case in point: can you imagine if we decided that--say--dimes were unimportant, just because of their relative smallness to the other coin forms of legal tender? What the heck would we have to lose between car seat cracks--what would keep the old french fries company? What would we put into gumball machines? And, most importantly, what would we play poker with? (Quarters? No way--I'm not that good at poker...). Or Rhode Island--what if we decided it wasn't a state just because it's the smallest? Who would take away all the garbage of the poor people of R.I. if the federal government refused to do so because it was no longer part of the union? Who would repair traffic signals? MILLIONS MIGHT DIE FROM THE STENCH OF UNCOLLECTED GARBAGE AND ACCIDENTS CAUSE BY BROKEN STOPLIGHTS--it would be a CATASTROPHE!!! So; I hope I've made myself clear--it wasn't fair to plutoize an entire planet... (And yes, that is a legitimate word.)

P-Wood;

This is my dear friend Peter Elwood ("P-Wood")--yeah, he's a little weird, but I have to say that my life would probably be a string of one monotonous event after another if it wasn't for him and his randomness (uh, yeah, on that note, don't ask about the purse...); For example, the other day I was in the mall with a bunch of friends--mostly guys--including Peter. We went into Claire's (yeah, guys in a girls' boutique is kinda weird, but we were bored). When we went to check out, the girl at the cash register just looked at Peter and started laughing. Not a polite laugh that you might be able to cover up as a cough--I mean a full, belly, double-over-uncontrollably kind of laugh. None of us knew why--we all just kind of looked at each other, Peter was like, "Uh, did I miss something...?" Pretty soon we were all laughing--except Peter was kind of venturing uncertain chuckles. I told the lady not to worry, because things like that usually happen to people when Peter walks into a room... We still don't know why she was laughing--even though as I was walking out of the store she told me to tell Peter that she wasn't making fun of him or anything--she was just laughing at him... (Whatever that means!) Sure. "It's okay," I tossed behind my shoulder. "You weren't making fun of him, but I was!"

Pictures; I love taking them, I hate being in them. 'Nuff said.

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis: The longest word in the English dictionary. What is it? Well, to be specific, it's Black Lung Disease... Now couldn't they just say "Black Lung Disease"? (...Well, the answer is obvious--No! because then I wouldn't have anything to blog about. It's not like I have much now...)

Philemon; Good book. Read it some time when you have ten minutes--seriously, that's all the time it takes. A very convicting mini-message about forgiveness.

Pursuit of Happyness; Ok, I cheated a little on this one, it is The Pursuit of Happyness. But if you were to look it up in an index somewhere, it would probably be listed as "Pursuit of Happyness, The", so I think I'm safe. One of my favorite movies of all time with one of my favorite actors of all time (and it's because Will Smith is an amazing actor that he's one of my favorite--let's not get any ideas about me thinking he's "hot" or any such nonsense. Some of the "ugliest" people in Hollywood are my favorite actors--because of their ability, obviously, not because of their looks; just wanted to straighten that out.) Anyways, I just revisited it last night. I love movies where the acting is not distracting because it's phenomenal. That is also the movie that got be obsessed with the Rubik's cube two years ago. Who'd'a thunk that the title of one of my favorite movies would be misspelled? Go figure.

"Puh-puh-puh...GOLFCART!"; This is how my little three-year-old sister "sounds out" words (she hears her big five-year-old sister learning how to read, and wants to join in the action.) So she'll pick a random sound, and say it before a word that in no way, shape, or form begins that word. "Luh, luh, luh...TREEHOUSE!" she proclaims triumphantly as she swings up the rungs of the ladder into our mullberry tree. "Zuh, zuh, zuh...ZBANK!", "Puh, puh, puh....PNEUMONIA!" ...Well, not really. :-P But it's impossible to convince her that the sound she says before the word has to be the first sound of the word. Guh, guh, guh...WHATEVER!

Pre-paid Tracfone; What I got my father for Christmas--he really needs one. A phone for ten bucks? How cool is that?! I had to get one with really big numbers so he can see them, and the biggest buttons I could find so that his round somewhat arthritic (yeah, I think he punched too many brick walls in his B.C. days...) fingers can actually press the correct buttons... ;0)

Pearls of Lutra; This is the saddest book in the Redwall series--I almost cried when I read it, and anyone who knows me knows that I don't cry. I don't understand why he made the ending so sad... You know Brian Jacques is a good writer if he can get me to cry about talking otters, hares, and moles, of all things.

Well, that about does it for me--that wasn't as easy as it sounded! Thank you, Lizzy for tagging me--I really got a kick out of it, even if no one else did... ;-P

Our good ol' pal Handel

My Christmas is complete. Two nights ago was the dress rehersal for Handel's Messiah; Mr. Davis turned his signature cartwheel between Part I and Part II, and we bounced our way through the enitre piece in an hour and change.

Last night, we sang it; I've always thought that the feelings felt while singing "Worth is the Lamb" must be somehow akin to the feelings being experienced by those in Heaven who constantly sing "Holy, holy holy...".

Mr. Davis almost started crying during "Surely He Hath Bourne Our Griefs"--it was all I could do to not break down as well.

Today we sang at the Cadets' Chapel at West Point--as a concert, it was terrible (the soloists were...oh, don't get me started; all I have to say is that, if you're ever considering going into classical music, please learn how to control your vibrato so that it's not able to be mistaken for sixteenth notes... :-/). This is all of course in my humble opinion. However, as an experience, it was wonderful. Though we couldn't see the conductor (didn't really matter--he really wasn't very helpful as a conductor anyways), and though the tenors rushed us through some spots (okay, a lot of spots), and though the organist was generally half a beat behind everyone, we had a barrel of laughs. After we ended the night at a diner, who could ask for anything more? ;0)

I can't wait 'till next year--364 more days!!!!

Amazing quotes

Last night I revisited one of my favorite movies, Amazing Grace. There were just so many good quotes, I have to put some of them here...

John Newton: Although my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly: I'm a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior.

Thomas Clarkson [To the baby in his arms]: "Strange treasures in this fair world appear, strange all, and new to me." That is a poem by Thomas Traherne, and I have absolutely no idea what it's about. But, when I was small I was made to learn it by heart so I don't see why you shouldn't suffer too.

Pitt: ...We're too young to realize certain things are impossible--which is why we do them anyways.

Richard the butler: He's an optimist. Bloody incurable.

(And my favorite:)

Wilberforce: It's God. I have 10,000 engagements of state today but I would prefer to spend the day out here getting a wet arse, studying dandelions and marveling at... bloody spider's webs...
Richard the butler: You found God, sir?
Wilberforce: I think He found me... Do you have any idea how inconvenient that is?! ...In my heart I want spider's webs.

Where I Belong...

Yesterday was probably the highlight of my week, possibly my month.

Why, you ask?

Because yesterday a Deaf man came into Dunkin' Donuts; I could tell right away he was Deaf--he wasn't speaking, just mouthing words. My manager had no idea what he was saying. I came over and said, "Hi! Do you know sign language? Would you like a donut?" I think his eyes almost popped out of his head!!! 8-) After he recovered himself, I was successfully able to understand the six different donuts he wanted, and which separate bags he wanted them in. I told him I wanted to be an interpreter, and he said, "Great! I'll watch for you."

I was on cloud nine for the rest of the day. I haven't signed in about...oh, ten months; I can't believe I remembered so much! I really hope he'll come in again. I cannot explain the ecstacy of signing with a Deaf person--while I'm doing it, the whole time something in the back of my mind is always whispering, "This is where you belong...This is where you belong..."