Well, time does fly when you are having fun. It has been three months since I've written, lots of stuff has happened, but not not even sure anyone but me would find it interesting.
Catch up: (I have to do this with my journal all the time, weeks worth of catchup. This time it is months worth.)
*I love living with my new roommates. We have a lot of fun. We travel together: Lake Powell, Havasupai, Vegas. We play games together: Harry Potter clue, Munchkin, Cities of Catan. We eat together sometimes: cookies, indian food, Thai food. We just don't clean together. They are more relaxed with their idea of cleanliness and order. But, if that is the only thing, then I can live with that. My room and bathroom are clean and organized so I can deal with the rest.
*I have been writing, just not on my blog. But my book is coming along. I just get frustrated when I can't get everything that is in my head, out of of my head fast enough. It gets jumbled as it comes out and I'm not sure how to say it.
*I went to Vegas for my birthday and saw Ka, Cirque du Soleil. AMAZING! I can't believe the darning of the acrobats. It was unlike any show I have ever seen and would recommend it to everyone.
* Harry Potter 7 part 1 was fantastic. I decided that I always dress up as Hermione so this year I would dress up as Bellatrix. Yup. Black makeup, dress, fishnets, boots, robe with skulls. Wand waving the dark mark. Really, I was waving the darkmark.
* I am excited for Thanksgiving. EXCITED!!! I can't wait to go home and spend time with my family. I haven't visited them for 3 months and that is unusual for me. I normally go home once a month.
That was the quickest, least detailed report I have ever done, but hopefully it will get me started on blogging again. Who knows.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Moving is Lame
I finally get organized, everything finally has a spot, out of the way where I know where to find it and then put it back when I am done (a fancy new adult idea), the walls are decorated with posters and cut outs and calendars, (yes more than one calendar and yes 90 % of all of that is Harry Potter). With everything in its place I finally had a system down, methods to my madnesses. It only took me a year.
Then I decide to move. Last night I finished getting all of my stuff-and when I move I am reminded just how much stuff I really have once it's all been removed from its place, out of sight, out of mind-got it all into my new room, finished cleaning my old apartment and turned on Criminal Minds to watch while I put my new room to rights. Problem is, I didn't get done and to my new place until 11 pm, my bedtime, though I rarely make it to bed that early. I figured I could at least go to bed at 12. Nope. Too much stuff. I was decently organized during this move, but last night I was sick of it all and just stuff whatever I could wherever I could. Which meant I couldn't find my phone charger. I was too tired to continue once I found my charger and just got out the next day's necessities, then went to bed. Now I am at work thinking of all the boxes I have to go through, all my stuff I have to organize, where I need to put it all, what I need to buy to get organized. I wish I had enough money to get my own place, because I would definitely be able to fill it all up with my stuff. But then I would have to move again and I would rather not move for a while.
Yesterday I worked from 9-5, then stood in line at Comcast until 6:15 to return the internet modem, packed and moved stuff from 6:30-7:30, went to the gym until 8:30, then packed and cleaned and moved until 1 am. I would write more, but I am too tired, and I must save my energy to talk to doctors on the phone.
Then I decide to move. Last night I finished getting all of my stuff-and when I move I am reminded just how much stuff I really have once it's all been removed from its place, out of sight, out of mind-got it all into my new room, finished cleaning my old apartment and turned on Criminal Minds to watch while I put my new room to rights. Problem is, I didn't get done and to my new place until 11 pm, my bedtime, though I rarely make it to bed that early. I figured I could at least go to bed at 12. Nope. Too much stuff. I was decently organized during this move, but last night I was sick of it all and just stuff whatever I could wherever I could. Which meant I couldn't find my phone charger. I was too tired to continue once I found my charger and just got out the next day's necessities, then went to bed. Now I am at work thinking of all the boxes I have to go through, all my stuff I have to organize, where I need to put it all, what I need to buy to get organized. I wish I had enough money to get my own place, because I would definitely be able to fill it all up with my stuff. But then I would have to move again and I would rather not move for a while.
Yesterday I worked from 9-5, then stood in line at Comcast until 6:15 to return the internet modem, packed and moved stuff from 6:30-7:30, went to the gym until 8:30, then packed and cleaned and moved until 1 am. I would write more, but I am too tired, and I must save my energy to talk to doctors on the phone.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Chapter One: Dyes and Knives
Hey! Please give me feedback on what you think of this potential first chapter to my novel. I want to know if it is interesting or clear or if the dye part is too boring and detailed. Tell me what you do and don't like.
CHAPTER 1
The grind of the pestle stopped in the adjacent room, followed by the tap tap of dislodging powder residue from the end. Rish started out of her stupor to stir the bubbling red liquid in the vat she watched over. Only when the grinding resumed did she relax again.
For the most part Rish enjoyed her job but maintaining the vats was beyond dull. The simmering dyes had to soak into the cloth for hours before the colors would take. This particular color, sunset red, needed to soak for six hours, and it was one of the faster colors to take to the root weave; probably why it was the most commonly used. It had to be stirred more often though.
Rish settled into the cushions she’d propped against the wall below the window. The harvest heat was still strong outside, but cooler than the boiling room, and the bit of air that drifted down to her was a welcome respite. In another notch burning of the candle she’d make her rounds to the other vats, to stir, swirl, and add either more color or more water to even out the orange of the piculo fruit, the bright red of the piculo flowers, the deeper red of the Lastanae root’s berries, or the dark brown and black of the root itself. In the other room Naria was, no doubt, crushing the piculo flowers the two of them dried every spring. With one last dose of the powder, the sunset red would be done, cloth rung of water, then hung to dry while Rish emptied the vat and cleaned it out.
The end result was worth the effort, when the cloth was dry and displayed for potential buyers. She liked to arrange the colors, vivid red or burning orange against a black background, various browns draped together and the occasional swash of calming colors, as Naria called them. Rish’s gaze drifted to the trunk in the corner of the room. Inside were the dyes they rarely used, the colors that just couldn’t overcome the black and brown lastanae root which made their cloth. The root hairs were combed, soaked, beaten, combed again, before being spun and woven, yet with all the abuse their color would not fade.
The grinding stopped again. She looked over at the candle; time to make the rounds. Rish sprang up from her cushions, back crackling as she stretched and shook her limbs. Her rounds were quick. She’d been working under Naria for seven years and knew the art of dyeing almost as well as Naria herself.
Naria came in, bowl of powder in one hand, pestle in the other, draped in more cloth than necessary, especially in the heat of harvest time, leggings of near black, berry red cloth tied over one shoulder and falling past mid thigh, wrapped about the waist with a brown twist of leather. From each of her upper arms hung, like miniature capes, the jagged ends brushing past her elbows, two cloths of sunset red. At her wrists were straps of cloth of every color Naria could produce. The straps, with metal and bone ornaments clacking, never changed from day to day, though the outfits did, ensembles to display the possibilities in colors.
Her hair was hardly different in its cry for attention. Three weeks ago it had been red and black streaks. Now it was a deep brunette, save for the tied-off streak that was blue, the one thing that never changed. It too was tied with leather, metal, and bone.
“How are the dyes?” Naria asked.
Rish gestured to the vat she’d been watching for hours. “Sunset’s ready for another dosing, as well as the path brown.”
Naria nodded her satisfaction. With quick, efficient moves, the dye master had stirred in the last measure of the red, topped it with a lid to let simmer, and proceeded to assist Rish finish her rounds. Once done they doused the fires for the night.
“I can stay and help with the sunset in an hour,” Rish offered.
“I’ll finish up. You have your Naming tonight; I imagine you’ll want to get home and clean the dye off your hands.”
Rish looked down at her stain tipped fingers. She doubted the colors would come off any time soon.
“Unless you think someone Naming what your future will be is a waste of time. In that case you can stay and I’ll dye your hair blue.”
“How can you say that? The Naming is sacred.”
“So’s my blue. You’d look good in blue. I keep telling you, your hair is too boring.”
“I get enough attention as it is; I don’t need to draw more with abnormally colored hair.” Rish bit her lip, but couldn’t help herself. “How can you be negative toward the rituals when your mother . . .?”
“What? Was the seer before she died?” Naria wiped her hands on a rag which she then tossed aside. “Let me tell you something. You can make your own life what it is. Look at this shop.” She gestured wide, bone and metal clicking together. “Erusa Named my brother heir to the dyeing business. He tried to run away, slipped down the hills and died just about the time your parents returned to the village with you. The seer sees possibilities not inevitabilities. My mother wanted me to lead the village by becoming a sentinel. She was too blinded by what she wanted to realize I knew dyeing better than my brother and always did. She may have been seer, but she was still human.”
“Your life isn’t over yet,” Rish said.
“I hope not,” Naria replied.
“I just meant that you could become a sentinel before you died, which would mean your mother was right.”
“Hah. I lack the aptitude to become a narrow-minded, doddering old fool of a sentinel. Except Marcun; he’s smart, I’ll give you that.” Naria put her hands on Rish’s shoulders. “I know you are nervous about what you’ll be Named. I only want you to take the words tonight with a healthy dose of skepticism.”
“I’ll try.” Rish said.
“Good,” Naria chuckled. “I know that’s a lot coming from you. All that time you spent with my mother she practically was yours too, after your parents died. I’m not trying to speak ill of her, merely point out that she was limited like everyone else.”
That was the end of that. They had often argued about the village traditions, often agreeing about the villagers and their narrow views, but while Rish loved the rituals and festivals and everything about the seer, Naria did not. Though they could say more about the matter, neither was likely to change their stance.
“Before you’re off . . . .” Naria reached into her trunk where she stored the rare colors and expensive cloths she had to purchase that would take the greens and purples, the yellows and whites, and grays, and . . . the blues. Naria pulled out a long tunic of vivid blue.
“Oh, that’s beautiful, Naria.”
“Traditionally parents present their child with an outfit to wear to their Naming. I would be honored if you accept mine.”
Rish’s eyes widened. “For me? But your sacred blue and where did you get the cloth?” Rish fingered the soft, light fabric. The root weave was much coarser.
“I got the cloth when the spring trade caravan came through.” She stopped Rish’s protest. “Specifically for you. Take a look.”
The initial shock wearing off, Rish took the tunic, letting the cloth fall free of its folds. White cloth trimmed the top with two bands to wrap around the neck and tie instead of the usual root collar. A white strip cinched the waist as well. White was the most difficult dye to work with and therefore almost never used. It was also impractical since it quickly dirtied and discolored.
“It’s beautiful,” she repeated. “Thank you.” Rarely did they address each other formally, yet Rish was touched by Naria’s gesture. She bowed. “Thank you, Master Nariakii.”
Rish stepped into the evening air. It cooled the sweat against her bare shoulders before it could trickle down her back or chest.
She straightened her red tunic, a mixture of berry and sunset, which wrapped around her chest and under her armpits and fell to mid thigh over brown leggings. Her tunic was held up by the root collar attached to the middle of her tunic by root hairs woven into the cloth. The thick body of the root stretched up from her tunic and wrapped around her neck, ending on the other side just above her collar bone. Sprouting from the sides of the root were its wispy hairs which brushed against her skin with the breeze.
She hugged her new tunic to her chest. It was the best present she’d ever gotten. Tonight she wouldn’t have to use the hook root as a collar for her tunic, a clear sign that she did not have even a shred of Sai Sing ability. Though men were the Singers, who could manipulate the roots into whichever desired shape they wanted, house or bed or chair, the women were still allowed their ‘hearth tricks’ such as singing to the roots attached to their clothing, or to open the root pods holding grains, spices, and fruit strung across their kitchens. Rish was unable to perform even the hearth singing and therefore had to rely on others.
Braxton always offered to Sai Sing for her, but it was too embarrassing to have her little brother, younger by nine years, help her dress. She would rather stick with the hook root collar. Not tonight though. She had a beautiful and unique tunic, blue and white. White cloth to wrap around her neck instead of the roots.
The festival tonight was going to be wonderful. So was her Naming. Things were going well; there was no way the seer would doom her to a life stuck in the village until she died. Ojuic was not exciting.
CHAPTER 1
The grind of the pestle stopped in the adjacent room, followed by the tap tap of dislodging powder residue from the end. Rish started out of her stupor to stir the bubbling red liquid in the vat she watched over. Only when the grinding resumed did she relax again.
For the most part Rish enjoyed her job but maintaining the vats was beyond dull. The simmering dyes had to soak into the cloth for hours before the colors would take. This particular color, sunset red, needed to soak for six hours, and it was one of the faster colors to take to the root weave; probably why it was the most commonly used. It had to be stirred more often though.
Rish settled into the cushions she’d propped against the wall below the window. The harvest heat was still strong outside, but cooler than the boiling room, and the bit of air that drifted down to her was a welcome respite. In another notch burning of the candle she’d make her rounds to the other vats, to stir, swirl, and add either more color or more water to even out the orange of the piculo fruit, the bright red of the piculo flowers, the deeper red of the Lastanae root’s berries, or the dark brown and black of the root itself. In the other room Naria was, no doubt, crushing the piculo flowers the two of them dried every spring. With one last dose of the powder, the sunset red would be done, cloth rung of water, then hung to dry while Rish emptied the vat and cleaned it out.
The end result was worth the effort, when the cloth was dry and displayed for potential buyers. She liked to arrange the colors, vivid red or burning orange against a black background, various browns draped together and the occasional swash of calming colors, as Naria called them. Rish’s gaze drifted to the trunk in the corner of the room. Inside were the dyes they rarely used, the colors that just couldn’t overcome the black and brown lastanae root which made their cloth. The root hairs were combed, soaked, beaten, combed again, before being spun and woven, yet with all the abuse their color would not fade.
The grinding stopped again. She looked over at the candle; time to make the rounds. Rish sprang up from her cushions, back crackling as she stretched and shook her limbs. Her rounds were quick. She’d been working under Naria for seven years and knew the art of dyeing almost as well as Naria herself.
Naria came in, bowl of powder in one hand, pestle in the other, draped in more cloth than necessary, especially in the heat of harvest time, leggings of near black, berry red cloth tied over one shoulder and falling past mid thigh, wrapped about the waist with a brown twist of leather. From each of her upper arms hung, like miniature capes, the jagged ends brushing past her elbows, two cloths of sunset red. At her wrists were straps of cloth of every color Naria could produce. The straps, with metal and bone ornaments clacking, never changed from day to day, though the outfits did, ensembles to display the possibilities in colors.
Her hair was hardly different in its cry for attention. Three weeks ago it had been red and black streaks. Now it was a deep brunette, save for the tied-off streak that was blue, the one thing that never changed. It too was tied with leather, metal, and bone.
“How are the dyes?” Naria asked.
Rish gestured to the vat she’d been watching for hours. “Sunset’s ready for another dosing, as well as the path brown.”
Naria nodded her satisfaction. With quick, efficient moves, the dye master had stirred in the last measure of the red, topped it with a lid to let simmer, and proceeded to assist Rish finish her rounds. Once done they doused the fires for the night.
“I can stay and help with the sunset in an hour,” Rish offered.
“I’ll finish up. You have your Naming tonight; I imagine you’ll want to get home and clean the dye off your hands.”
Rish looked down at her stain tipped fingers. She doubted the colors would come off any time soon.
“Unless you think someone Naming what your future will be is a waste of time. In that case you can stay and I’ll dye your hair blue.”
“How can you say that? The Naming is sacred.”
“So’s my blue. You’d look good in blue. I keep telling you, your hair is too boring.”
“I get enough attention as it is; I don’t need to draw more with abnormally colored hair.” Rish bit her lip, but couldn’t help herself. “How can you be negative toward the rituals when your mother . . .?”
“What? Was the seer before she died?” Naria wiped her hands on a rag which she then tossed aside. “Let me tell you something. You can make your own life what it is. Look at this shop.” She gestured wide, bone and metal clicking together. “Erusa Named my brother heir to the dyeing business. He tried to run away, slipped down the hills and died just about the time your parents returned to the village with you. The seer sees possibilities not inevitabilities. My mother wanted me to lead the village by becoming a sentinel. She was too blinded by what she wanted to realize I knew dyeing better than my brother and always did. She may have been seer, but she was still human.”
“Your life isn’t over yet,” Rish said.
“I hope not,” Naria replied.
“I just meant that you could become a sentinel before you died, which would mean your mother was right.”
“Hah. I lack the aptitude to become a narrow-minded, doddering old fool of a sentinel. Except Marcun; he’s smart, I’ll give you that.” Naria put her hands on Rish’s shoulders. “I know you are nervous about what you’ll be Named. I only want you to take the words tonight with a healthy dose of skepticism.”
“I’ll try.” Rish said.
“Good,” Naria chuckled. “I know that’s a lot coming from you. All that time you spent with my mother she practically was yours too, after your parents died. I’m not trying to speak ill of her, merely point out that she was limited like everyone else.”
That was the end of that. They had often argued about the village traditions, often agreeing about the villagers and their narrow views, but while Rish loved the rituals and festivals and everything about the seer, Naria did not. Though they could say more about the matter, neither was likely to change their stance.
“Before you’re off . . . .” Naria reached into her trunk where she stored the rare colors and expensive cloths she had to purchase that would take the greens and purples, the yellows and whites, and grays, and . . . the blues. Naria pulled out a long tunic of vivid blue.
“Oh, that’s beautiful, Naria.”
“Traditionally parents present their child with an outfit to wear to their Naming. I would be honored if you accept mine.”
Rish’s eyes widened. “For me? But your sacred blue and where did you get the cloth?” Rish fingered the soft, light fabric. The root weave was much coarser.
“I got the cloth when the spring trade caravan came through.” She stopped Rish’s protest. “Specifically for you. Take a look.”
The initial shock wearing off, Rish took the tunic, letting the cloth fall free of its folds. White cloth trimmed the top with two bands to wrap around the neck and tie instead of the usual root collar. A white strip cinched the waist as well. White was the most difficult dye to work with and therefore almost never used. It was also impractical since it quickly dirtied and discolored.
“It’s beautiful,” she repeated. “Thank you.” Rarely did they address each other formally, yet Rish was touched by Naria’s gesture. She bowed. “Thank you, Master Nariakii.”
Rish stepped into the evening air. It cooled the sweat against her bare shoulders before it could trickle down her back or chest.
She straightened her red tunic, a mixture of berry and sunset, which wrapped around her chest and under her armpits and fell to mid thigh over brown leggings. Her tunic was held up by the root collar attached to the middle of her tunic by root hairs woven into the cloth. The thick body of the root stretched up from her tunic and wrapped around her neck, ending on the other side just above her collar bone. Sprouting from the sides of the root were its wispy hairs which brushed against her skin with the breeze.
She hugged her new tunic to her chest. It was the best present she’d ever gotten. Tonight she wouldn’t have to use the hook root as a collar for her tunic, a clear sign that she did not have even a shred of Sai Sing ability. Though men were the Singers, who could manipulate the roots into whichever desired shape they wanted, house or bed or chair, the women were still allowed their ‘hearth tricks’ such as singing to the roots attached to their clothing, or to open the root pods holding grains, spices, and fruit strung across their kitchens. Rish was unable to perform even the hearth singing and therefore had to rely on others.
Braxton always offered to Sai Sing for her, but it was too embarrassing to have her little brother, younger by nine years, help her dress. She would rather stick with the hook root collar. Not tonight though. She had a beautiful and unique tunic, blue and white. White cloth to wrap around her neck instead of the roots.
The festival tonight was going to be wonderful. So was her Naming. Things were going well; there was no way the seer would doom her to a life stuck in the village until she died. Ojuic was not exciting.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Well, I'll Be
Funny about how as kids you don’t really think about which parent you are more like. I grew up hearing that I looked like my mom, but I also was always told how messy and disorganized I was like my dad, who had also taught me to be the avid reader that I am-losing myself to the world around so I wouldn’t even hear someone talking directly to me.
As kids it was like this: my brother Davy and I were the most alike. We looked like our mom but we were probably more like my dad and his side of the family. We were FREAKISHLY energetic, all over the place and going going going, loudly and obnoxiously. We were impulsive and social and had lots of friends but definitely had a lot of people who didn’t like us b/c we were so social and therefore they would try to bully us. My brother and I were messy and disorganized and didn’t think things through. We were always in the moment.
My sister Jeanne and my oldest brother Jerry Ray were alike. They looked like my dad, but were like my mom, organized and responsible. They were quieter and focused on keeping things in place and organized. They took care of everyone else and were the nurturers. They protected the younger siblings. They didn’t have as many friends, but they were respected and well liked and had very few problems with people.
My middle brother Art wasn’t like anyone else.
Suddenly as an adult I am finding the pairings we had as children no longer fit. I am more apt to think things through before speaking, I am less inclined to be social and energetic until I have assessed the situation first. I still have bounds of energy when I am comfortable and with people I know, otherwise I have to reel it in. I am also becoming more organized and clean. I still love the clutter in my work area, the chaos and noise it brings to my surroundings calms my ever-going brain, but I am not dirty and I do not like dirty, I want things organized and efficient. I visited a friend's home and it was messy and all I could think about was wanting to clean and reorganize it because it was not set up efficiently. Obviously I couldn’t do that so I went home and deep cleaned my entire bathroom and organized my room. Who does that? My mother and my sister when she was younger and Monica Geller. I think things through, more so than is ever necessary. I plan every little detail and think of all the possibilities so I can plan for them. I am not so impulsive any more. I want to be able to rely on something, to know I can count on it and not be so whimsical. I am calm and rational and more like my oldest brother now. My oldest brother is 8 years older than me and I used to not know so much what to say to him. Now we get along really well. The rest of the siblings come to us for advice. When did I become my mother? That’s not insulting; she is an amazing woman, but it is very surprising.
As kids it was like this: my brother Davy and I were the most alike. We looked like our mom but we were probably more like my dad and his side of the family. We were FREAKISHLY energetic, all over the place and going going going, loudly and obnoxiously. We were impulsive and social and had lots of friends but definitely had a lot of people who didn’t like us b/c we were so social and therefore they would try to bully us. My brother and I were messy and disorganized and didn’t think things through. We were always in the moment.
My sister Jeanne and my oldest brother Jerry Ray were alike. They looked like my dad, but were like my mom, organized and responsible. They were quieter and focused on keeping things in place and organized. They took care of everyone else and were the nurturers. They protected the younger siblings. They didn’t have as many friends, but they were respected and well liked and had very few problems with people.
My middle brother Art wasn’t like anyone else.
Suddenly as an adult I am finding the pairings we had as children no longer fit. I am more apt to think things through before speaking, I am less inclined to be social and energetic until I have assessed the situation first. I still have bounds of energy when I am comfortable and with people I know, otherwise I have to reel it in. I am also becoming more organized and clean. I still love the clutter in my work area, the chaos and noise it brings to my surroundings calms my ever-going brain, but I am not dirty and I do not like dirty, I want things organized and efficient. I visited a friend's home and it was messy and all I could think about was wanting to clean and reorganize it because it was not set up efficiently. Obviously I couldn’t do that so I went home and deep cleaned my entire bathroom and organized my room. Who does that? My mother and my sister when she was younger and Monica Geller. I think things through, more so than is ever necessary. I plan every little detail and think of all the possibilities so I can plan for them. I am not so impulsive any more. I want to be able to rely on something, to know I can count on it and not be so whimsical. I am calm and rational and more like my oldest brother now. My oldest brother is 8 years older than me and I used to not know so much what to say to him. Now we get along really well. The rest of the siblings come to us for advice. When did I become my mother? That’s not insulting; she is an amazing woman, but it is very surprising.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Grand Canyon
At the last minute Thursday of last week I decided to go with my friend to her family reunion in Kanab. I scrambled to get the sacrament program done and sent to someone to print and hand out since I would be gone. I rearranged my plans for the weekend and made sure work was taken care of so I could skip out on Friday. I've been to St. George but never to Kanab or Arizona, Lake Powell or the Grand Canyon. I'm not sure why I had the expectation of red, hot, dry, and more dusty american desert (vs sandy african deserts), but when we went from Utah to Arizona, the land changed from dry and sparse to forest wilderness, more reminisce of Washington and Oregon than Utah. Forest stretched into the distance on either side of the road, bark a beautiful red, meadows lining parts of the road, glimpses of deer amidst the trees. The noise and clutter of my mind stilled while I gazed as far as I could into the forest, music and talk settled into a background murmur. We drove by at 60 MPH, but it felt like the world had slowed to that moment, the peace of nature welcoming me home. Before I knew it the grand canyon had come up on my right and I didn't even notice. I turned to look and through the trees I could see a tremendous gap in the earth of red rock and dirt, more what I had expected than a wilderness paradise.
At the grand canyon, the line of trees ended and 10 feet later the cliff sides dropped into the earth's crevice. Despite my fear of heights, I went out onto long, thin walkways, sheer drops on either side of the path.
The view was beautiful and if I didn't think about falling down the chasm I was fine. Early afternoon the weather really started to turn, raining first and lowering to mid-forties. I'd brought my wool sweater, but not any rain gear, thinking it would be hot and dry in June. We saw lightning streak across the sky above the canyon, which was awe-some and I wished I'd gotten a picture of it.
Then the rain cleared up a bit and we decided to go for a walk along one of the trails. Just as we started back to the car and had only a mile or less to go it started to snow. In June!? The temp dropped to thirty-two degrees and quickly we were all soaked. On the way back to Kanab the snow fell so hard it was a world of white around us, no wilderness, no meadows, no trees, merely snow. Not what I had expected at all. Still beautiful and peaceful though.
That was on Saturday. Friday was Lake Powell and Sunday was Horseshoe Bend overlook and the Cathedral Wash hike in Arizona. At Horseshoe Bend I got as close as I could bear to the edge, which wasn't that close and looked down on a beautiful river. The dogs found a lizard about that and chased it until it dropped off its tail to save its life. It worked too. We were all too fascinated with the severed yet still wiggling tail. We watched until it stopped moving.
This area was the Arizona I had pictured. We hiked through Cathedral Wash, going deeper and deeper into the dry river bed, watching as the rock looked more and more like strange red skeletons of what once was there, pocks and openings everywhere.
On the way home, Utah was the most green and beautiful I'd seen it, especially for the lower half.
At the grand canyon, the line of trees ended and 10 feet later the cliff sides dropped into the earth's crevice. Despite my fear of heights, I went out onto long, thin walkways, sheer drops on either side of the path.
The view was beautiful and if I didn't think about falling down the chasm I was fine. Early afternoon the weather really started to turn, raining first and lowering to mid-forties. I'd brought my wool sweater, but not any rain gear, thinking it would be hot and dry in June. We saw lightning streak across the sky above the canyon, which was awe-some and I wished I'd gotten a picture of it.
Then the rain cleared up a bit and we decided to go for a walk along one of the trails. Just as we started back to the car and had only a mile or less to go it started to snow. In June!? The temp dropped to thirty-two degrees and quickly we were all soaked. On the way back to Kanab the snow fell so hard it was a world of white around us, no wilderness, no meadows, no trees, merely snow. Not what I had expected at all. Still beautiful and peaceful though.
That was on Saturday. Friday was Lake Powell and Sunday was Horseshoe Bend overlook and the Cathedral Wash hike in Arizona. At Horseshoe Bend I got as close as I could bear to the edge, which wasn't that close and looked down on a beautiful river. The dogs found a lizard about that and chased it until it dropped off its tail to save its life. It worked too. We were all too fascinated with the severed yet still wiggling tail. We watched until it stopped moving.
This area was the Arizona I had pictured. We hiked through Cathedral Wash, going deeper and deeper into the dry river bed, watching as the rock looked more and more like strange red skeletons of what once was there, pocks and openings everywhere.
On the way home, Utah was the most green and beautiful I'd seen it, especially for the lower half.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
My Mother, the Saint
My mom is amazing. While raising her own five kids, ages 3-11, she did daycare in her home, adding 5-10 kids to the mix. She did this for 8 years, along with doing such things as teaching early morning seminary; gleaners-a welfare program where food was brought into our home (a pile of food so high in our living that I could swim in it)-so people in need could pick up food from us; she cooked and cleaned; she dealt with my brother who had ADHD, my other brother who has dyslexia, both of which ended up being homeschooled, and me and my copious amounts of energy. There were relatives that would stop by without notice, stay for dinner, ask for the last piece, my mother's piece, and when given it would just eat the whipping cream or top off of it. She dealt with a nearby mother-in-law who was controlling and not always the nicest person and who owned the home we lived in so she felt she had a say in what we did and after 8 years of us living there asked us to leave. There is so much more, it would take me ages to go through it all.
Now my mother, at age 62 1/2, should be able to relax and enjoy life with an empty nest, working in her garden (yes, she still does a garden every year). Instead, two of my older brothers still live at home and now that mother-in-law, at 82, is going to move in and be cared for by my mom. When we heard Granny had a stroke, my mother without hesitation said it would be fine for granny to live with them since they had the best layout where everything was on the same level and granny wouldn't have to worry about stairs.
There is a special place in heaven for my mother. And she said if there isn't, she'll just say "oh, hell" and swear on her way back past the pearly gates. See, she is amazing.
Now my mother, at age 62 1/2, should be able to relax and enjoy life with an empty nest, working in her garden (yes, she still does a garden every year). Instead, two of my older brothers still live at home and now that mother-in-law, at 82, is going to move in and be cared for by my mom. When we heard Granny had a stroke, my mother without hesitation said it would be fine for granny to live with them since they had the best layout where everything was on the same level and granny wouldn't have to worry about stairs.
There is a special place in heaven for my mother. And she said if there isn't, she'll just say "oh, hell" and swear on her way back past the pearly gates. See, she is amazing.
Monday, May 31, 2010
More Maui Moments
The Byodo-In Temple on Oahu is a replica of a Japanese Temple from, I think, the 12th Century. I love the mist coming off the mountains in Hawaii.
The Samoan presentation at the Polynesian Cultural Center was hilarious! And I was impressed by how quickly he made fire and coconut milk.
Tandem Parasailing with my sister.
Canoe Pageant was fun but very hot.
A temporary ink tattoo from Fiji. It would have lasted longer if it hadn't rained a half hour later and then heated up again so I was sweating.
On one of the hikes during our road to Hana my brother and I found a patch of bamboo.
Finally after 4 days in Hawaii I got Lei'd! Took long enough.
Maui Pictures
Here are a few pictures I took in Maui.
Why am I not on a beach right now watching the sun set?
Why am I not on a beach right now watching the sun set?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Missing Maui
I had a wonderful time, despite things not turning out like I had planned, not that they ever do, but my expectations of traveling with my brother and sister were a bit off. We argue and fight when we are at home hanging out, what made me think traveling would be any different?
My idea of traveling and having a vacation is getting up around seven am, going out and seeing the sights, interacting with the people, experiencing their culture and way of life, fun activities like hiking and snorkeling, seeing nature and the beach, and a bit of shopping. I like to keep a journal and have quiet time in nature to write and sketch.
My sister's idea of a vacation: sleeping in till ten, laying out, spa treatments, lots of shopping, relaxing in the hotel room.
My brother's way of vacationing: sleeping in till 8 or 9, taking hundreds of nature pictures, doing many activities I like to do-but at a MUCH slower pace, eating good food, eating good food, eating good food.
But even with our different styles we still had fun. Ate lots of good food, played at the beach, went snorkeling and parasailing, saw Ulalena and Ha: the Breath of Life, had a Hawaiian luau and feast, saw the Polynesian Cultural Center and Pearl Harbor, kissed and got kissed by a dolphin, and spent more than I probably should have.
When I returned to work, a friend asked what my favorite part of the trip was. Is it sad to say it was not being at work? All I want to do is relax, travel the world, and write. Is that too much to ask for?
My idea of traveling and having a vacation is getting up around seven am, going out and seeing the sights, interacting with the people, experiencing their culture and way of life, fun activities like hiking and snorkeling, seeing nature and the beach, and a bit of shopping. I like to keep a journal and have quiet time in nature to write and sketch.
My sister's idea of a vacation: sleeping in till ten, laying out, spa treatments, lots of shopping, relaxing in the hotel room.
My brother's way of vacationing: sleeping in till 8 or 9, taking hundreds of nature pictures, doing many activities I like to do-but at a MUCH slower pace, eating good food, eating good food, eating good food.
But even with our different styles we still had fun. Ate lots of good food, played at the beach, went snorkeling and parasailing, saw Ulalena and Ha: the Breath of Life, had a Hawaiian luau and feast, saw the Polynesian Cultural Center and Pearl Harbor, kissed and got kissed by a dolphin, and spent more than I probably should have.
When I returned to work, a friend asked what my favorite part of the trip was. Is it sad to say it was not being at work? All I want to do is relax, travel the world, and write. Is that too much to ask for?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
"Look me in the eyes . . . ."
... And tell me the truth, or tell me you do or don't love me. Those are the usual endings to that sentence. People use it all the time in movies and books, most often in regards to love. Someone will tell the person they love to look them in the eyes and say they don't love them back. Inevitably they will be told no, for reasons of great noble sacrifice, sometimes. More often than not the 'no' comes from fear. Regardless, why do they keep asking "look me in the eyes . . ." and expect to have some magical ability to know the truth? Or, every time they believe what they are told, also probably out of fear, that their 'worst fear' is coming true. I am fascinated by this. Apparently I need to work on my ability to read eyes in order to better understand why it is used so much.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Or Something Like It
I have not written in almost a month. Sheesh, what have I been doing with my life? Not much that is intensely exciting. I read a lot, I work a lot. I sleep a lot. Actually, I'm not sure I sleep enough so that might not be true. I certainly watch more tv than I should, but there are such interesting things on tv, shows like Chuck or Castle or Criminal Minds, (apparently I am into the 'C' tv shows.) I went home two weekends ago to spend time with my family and celebrate my parents' 36th anniversary.
My parents have spent more than half of their lives together, together for longer than they were apart. In the timeline of marriages in this world, 36 years is a really long time. But while we were celebrating, it just didn't seem like that long to me. In all the breaths of eternity, 36 years is one gasp. Which means my 26 years is maybe a half gasp, a shallow sniff through the nostrils, a flared testing of the air around me to figure out what is going on, a tensed awareness for just that sniff before I move on with my life. And what might happen in that split instance will determine the rest of my life. Kind of a cool thought, but I am busy enjoying my life in the stage it is in right now.
I am preparing for Maui, which is in 19 days and 17 hours. I got several ideas for stories, but I don't have time to work on them until I finish the novel I am working on now. Which was going slow for a while there because I am easily distracted and entertained, but is going faster now. My goal is to write 4 or 5 pages a week this month and next and then add more to that goal each month.
My parents have spent more than half of their lives together, together for longer than they were apart. In the timeline of marriages in this world, 36 years is a really long time. But while we were celebrating, it just didn't seem like that long to me. In all the breaths of eternity, 36 years is one gasp. Which means my 26 years is maybe a half gasp, a shallow sniff through the nostrils, a flared testing of the air around me to figure out what is going on, a tensed awareness for just that sniff before I move on with my life. And what might happen in that split instance will determine the rest of my life. Kind of a cool thought, but I am busy enjoying my life in the stage it is in right now.
I am preparing for Maui, which is in 19 days and 17 hours. I got several ideas for stories, but I don't have time to work on them until I finish the novel I am working on now. Which was going slow for a while there because I am easily distracted and entertained, but is going faster now. My goal is to write 4 or 5 pages a week this month and next and then add more to that goal each month.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Festival of Colors
On Saturday my friends from Logan came down to participate in the Festival of Colors. Though they showed up freakishly early to pick me up (I wasn't even dressed yet) we got to the Krishna Temple in Spanish Fork, got a great parking spot and hung out until the chalk got flying at 1pm. The chalk cloud engulfed us in darkness, blocking out the sight of people even five feet from you.
It took forever to get cleaned up afterwards (I was snorting out purple snot for hours), but worth every moment of splattering chalk at my friends.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
"Corner of Misery"
It started small, when I was at a different desk across the room.
We are required to bust up cds and disks when we are done with them. Broken bits, flashing in the light, gathered on my desk as I broken each piece and I thought, someone else could make a brilliant piece of modern, abstract art out of those pieces. Then I thought, why can't that someone brilliant be me? It started with bits of cds and disks and quickly incorporated bags of blood and the left over barbed wire from Halloween. After I moved to another desk and got to redo it, I added the purple tissue paper behind it. Over the months, I added the scissors I broke while trying to cut up a cd, a few marshmallows during the phase of throwing those back and forth, and some dried, crusty frog "throw-up" (that's the yellow stuff).
The flowers and figurines came later. I guess because everyone saw the "darkness" of broken bits, I got the persona of a more gothic, destructive type. People started to tease me by decorating my desk with flowers and pink and figurines, thinking it would bother me. Don't they remember that I hiked through England for two months twice? Immersed in nature and beauty and Romantic and Victorian literature? Don't they remember I write Fantasy? Anyone who writes fantasy is a romantic at heart. Haven't they ever found beauty in anything around them that isn't an obvious kind of beauty? Sometimes it's harder to find. It requires looking. The black film, closest to the light, reflects it so well, you can't tell it's black. Further down, the black mixed with the right light reflects the flower above it.
I added the flowers and figurines to my "Corner of Misery." Perhaps it should have a different name. It makes me happy every time I see it. I named the figurines: Tess, Dorothea, and Kathy. Some misery and happiness in their stories.
Monday, March 22, 2010
4 Day Weekend
Good things about my 4 day weekend.
~Went home and hung out with my family
~4 days straight without thinking of work
~Hung out with my best friend and her family
~Had indian food
~Had homemade ice cream
~Played games all weekend long
~Borrowed books and cartoons from my brother
~Planned for my trip to Maui
Bad things about my 4 day weekend
~It wasn't long enough
~I played too much and didn't sleep enough
~I lost 3/4ths of the games I played (That never happens!)
~Went home and hung out with my family
~4 days straight without thinking of work
~Hung out with my best friend and her family
~Had indian food
~Had homemade ice cream
~Played games all weekend long
~Borrowed books and cartoons from my brother
~Planned for my trip to Maui
Bad things about my 4 day weekend
~It wasn't long enough
~I played too much and didn't sleep enough
~I lost 3/4ths of the games I played (That never happens!)
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Queen
I love to dress up. Not sure why. But I do. My friends and I had a game night on Friday, so I decided to dress up because it was the same day as Alice in Wonderland coming out. I assembled my costume out of whatever I had in my house: the cardboard tube from christmas wrapping paper into a scepter, paper hearts pinned to my skirt, yellow plastic bag for a crown-under which was a small cup to boost up my hair. My bavmorda cloak. Overall I think I did a pretty good job. The picture is from my phone, so not the best quality, but here is how I looked.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lucy
I love nicknames; love giving them to people and I love having them. During my England trip in 2007 I acquired two more nicknames: Satan, because well, I am evil, like the fru-its of the devil, or so people have told me. And Lucy, because when you are wandering through cathedrals it seems inappropriate for someone to call out "Hey, Satan, look at this!" So Lucy became short for Lucifer and certainly more subtle than Satan or Devil Girl or Evil Woman. And of course who would use my actual name? That's just boring. Lucy I became.
I've always loved the name Lucy, mostly because of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, one of my favorite books. Until now I never really considered it as a potential name for any offspring I might ever have. (Probably because I don't think of having offspring very often.) But someone asked me what I would name a girl and I decided if I would like her name to be Lucy. At what point, though, do I break it to her that she is name after Satan? While she's a child I will tell her she's named after Lucy Pevensie, a partial truth, but when the time is right, I will break it to her. Maybe when she is 25 or 43. Maybe on my deathbed.
Other nicknames throughout my life: Duck, Ducky, Duckles, Chip, KD, Queen of Venar, halfpint, Skaggs, Skagget, Bird girl, Pretty Eyes, Rache, Roche (pronounced roach), Rachel Anna Maria, Ruth Ann (only pronounced with a hick accent), Rathel Lou Hucklebarns, the Energizer Bunny, the High Lord of Hell, Petunia Weed, and Nibbs because I have small hands. I am sure there have been others.
I've always loved the name Lucy, mostly because of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, one of my favorite books. Until now I never really considered it as a potential name for any offspring I might ever have. (Probably because I don't think of having offspring very often.) But someone asked me what I would name a girl and I decided if I would like her name to be Lucy. At what point, though, do I break it to her that she is name after Satan? While she's a child I will tell her she's named after Lucy Pevensie, a partial truth, but when the time is right, I will break it to her. Maybe when she is 25 or 43. Maybe on my deathbed.
Other nicknames throughout my life: Duck, Ducky, Duckles, Chip, KD, Queen of Venar, halfpint, Skaggs, Skagget, Bird girl, Pretty Eyes, Rache, Roche (pronounced roach), Rachel Anna Maria, Ruth Ann (only pronounced with a hick accent), Rathel Lou Hucklebarns, the Energizer Bunny, the High Lord of Hell, Petunia Weed, and Nibbs because I have small hands. I am sure there have been others.
Room in My Future House
"I'm hiding in the cheese closet"
-Dashti, Book of a Thousand Days
I want a closet devoted entirely to cheese. If I had a closet for my cheese, I would hide in it too.
-Dashti, Book of a Thousand Days
I want a closet devoted entirely to cheese. If I had a closet for my cheese, I would hide in it too.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Maui!
Wanna come to Maui? my sisters says.
Okay, I say.
Snorkel kit, kid's size large (that should fit my feet), $30
Switch timeshare from Las Vegas to Maui for 1 week stay, $60
Swim with dolphins, $100
Flight to Kahului, Maui, $600
Getting Lei'd, priceless.
Countdown 79 days.
Okay, I say.
Snorkel kit, kid's size large (that should fit my feet), $30
Switch timeshare from Las Vegas to Maui for 1 week stay, $60
Swim with dolphins, $100
Flight to Kahului, Maui, $600
Getting Lei'd, priceless.
Countdown 79 days.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
"I Can Multitask Like No Other"
Remember that scene in Father of the Bride, when the guy gives his fiance a blender and she freaks out, thinking it's a derogatory message of how women should stay in the kitchen? I don't remember it being that difficult to talk to and understand the opposite sex when I was a child. Yet, somehow in the space of a few years our manner of communicating goes down different paths till we've stopped at opposite sides of a chasm. For some people, at least. My sister is currently having this problem and keeps coming to me.
Boy meets girl
Boy wants to be friends
Girl wants something more
Boy and girl hang out
Boy treats girl like the best thing in his world
Girl thinks boy is afraid to admit he likes her as more than a friend
They hang out every weekend, during the week, with no one else
Boy doesn't call one week
Girl wonders what she did wrong and cries
Girl is grouchy all week and cries often
Boy calls
Girl is happy
They hang out at her apartment
Boy talks to the roommate
Girl wonders what she did wrong and cries
Girl is grouchy all week and cries often
Boy calls and texts
Girl is happy
Boy texts picture he found of a turd
Girl wonders what he means-is the turd what he thinks of her? of their relationship?
Girl texts boy and says he's a moron
Boy texts girl and says she's grouchy
Girl texts and calls boy an ass
Girl is tired of being a grouchy bitch
Girl talks to sister
Sister laughs and agrees that boys are morons sometimes
Sister tells girl the boy just thought it was funny and wanted to share
Sister reminds girl of the scene in Father of the Bride
Girl asks why sister can understand boys so well
Sister says "I can be grouchy bitch and moronic ass at the same time. I can multitask like no other."
Boy meets girl
Boy wants to be friends
Girl wants something more
Boy and girl hang out
Boy treats girl like the best thing in his world
Girl thinks boy is afraid to admit he likes her as more than a friend
They hang out every weekend, during the week, with no one else
Boy doesn't call one week
Girl wonders what she did wrong and cries
Girl is grouchy all week and cries often
Boy calls
Girl is happy
They hang out at her apartment
Boy talks to the roommate
Girl wonders what she did wrong and cries
Girl is grouchy all week and cries often
Boy calls and texts
Girl is happy
Boy texts picture he found of a turd
Girl wonders what he means-is the turd what he thinks of her? of their relationship?
Girl texts boy and says he's a moron
Boy texts girl and says she's grouchy
Girl texts and calls boy an ass
Girl is tired of being a grouchy bitch
Girl talks to sister
Sister laughs and agrees that boys are morons sometimes
Sister tells girl the boy just thought it was funny and wanted to share
Sister reminds girl of the scene in Father of the Bride
Girl asks why sister can understand boys so well
Sister says "I can be grouchy bitch and moronic ass at the same time. I can multitask like no other."
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Wingardium Leviosa to my Spirits
For years I have been saying it and now it's coming true, though certainly not because of me. They are finally building a Harry Potter land! It isn't opening until Spring of 2010, no set date as yet, but that's only a few months away. I want to go exploring Hogwarts, see Dumbledore's office, the Gryffindor common room. I want to stroll down Hogsmeade and get sweats from Honeydukes or joke items from Zonko's. I wonder if they would sell a good mug of butterbeer.
I got bored and tired of work on Thursday, tired of a job that has little fulfillment or enjoyment itself. I enjoy most of the people I work with, but I have no desire to spend the rest of my life on the phone with Dentists that demand the world revolve around them. My mind wandered to better prospects. I could dress up everyday as a witch. I would wear robes and carry a wand. Probably most jobs there wouldn't require you to wear robes, but I would if I could! Or I could dress up as a character-how about Bellatrix!? For an afternoon I pondered my prospects. But ultimately I woudn't want to live in Florida. And besides, their dress code is ridiculous. I would only be able to wear one ring per hand. I can't give up my soul and it's on the hand with the ring I never ever take off, unless that day I am feeling particularly disgusted by raw meat and I don't want it on any of my rings despite washing my hands frequently afterwards.
But for part of a day I dreamt about spending most days in the world of Harry Potter. It was a pretty good dream.
I got bored and tired of work on Thursday, tired of a job that has little fulfillment or enjoyment itself. I enjoy most of the people I work with, but I have no desire to spend the rest of my life on the phone with Dentists that demand the world revolve around them. My mind wandered to better prospects. I could dress up everyday as a witch. I would wear robes and carry a wand. Probably most jobs there wouldn't require you to wear robes, but I would if I could! Or I could dress up as a character-how about Bellatrix!? For an afternoon I pondered my prospects. But ultimately I woudn't want to live in Florida. And besides, their dress code is ridiculous. I would only be able to wear one ring per hand. I can't give up my soul and it's on the hand with the ring I never ever take off, unless that day I am feeling particularly disgusted by raw meat and I don't want it on any of my rings despite washing my hands frequently afterwards.
But for part of a day I dreamt about spending most days in the world of Harry Potter. It was a pretty good dream.
Monday, February 8, 2010
"I Want That Belt!"
I have always been a movie quoter. When I was younger and had more free time on my hands and fewer responsibilities it was easier to be the Queen of Quotes, with the ability to quote and recognize any quote from any movie I'd seen. Since I've joined, reluctantly, the adult world, I've gotten lax in my ability. But there are some movie lines that will forever epitomize my childhood.
~"Come for me G'mork, I am Atreyu!"
~"Err. Lizard! Who you calling lizard? Your mother was lizard. Keep walking hero, don't even turn around."
~"They say Aslan's on the move."
~"Starcruizer crash."
~"I told the truth, Lord. How can I learn any moral lessons, if you keep confusing me?"
~"You have no power over me."
~"You were named after the dog?"
~"How do you get so big eating food of this kind?"
~"I'll bring the dip if you bring the dostoevsky."
~"Guns, you're going to shoot guns at me?"
~"Density has bought me to you."
~"Mr. Stubbs, Mr. Stubbs."
But one quote belonged solely to my sister and I. "I want that belt." From a classic cartoon my brothers didn't watch with us. Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer. My sister found the movie online and ordered it. So yesterday we got together and watched it for the first time in years, singing along with Starlite, Rainbow's horse, as he sings "Wake up flowers, I've been up for hours, there's work to do" to issue in spring. Laughing as the greedy princess strokes her pet emerald and demands for Rainbow Brite to give her the special belt, source of all her colorful powers.
Ah, childhood.
~"Come for me G'mork, I am Atreyu!"
~"Err. Lizard! Who you calling lizard? Your mother was lizard. Keep walking hero, don't even turn around."
~"They say Aslan's on the move."
~"Starcruizer crash."
~"I told the truth, Lord. How can I learn any moral lessons, if you keep confusing me?"
~"You have no power over me."
~"You were named after the dog?"
~"How do you get so big eating food of this kind?"
~"I'll bring the dip if you bring the dostoevsky."
~"Guns, you're going to shoot guns at me?"
~"Density has bought me to you."
~"Mr. Stubbs, Mr. Stubbs."
But one quote belonged solely to my sister and I. "I want that belt." From a classic cartoon my brothers didn't watch with us. Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer. My sister found the movie online and ordered it. So yesterday we got together and watched it for the first time in years, singing along with Starlite, Rainbow's horse, as he sings "Wake up flowers, I've been up for hours, there's work to do" to issue in spring. Laughing as the greedy princess strokes her pet emerald and demands for Rainbow Brite to give her the special belt, source of all her colorful powers.
Ah, childhood.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Breathe it in, the smell of a paperback book
I love bookshelves. I finally got one for my room so my favorite worlds and characters aren't shut up behind the doors of my tv stand, crammed in the dark, out of sight, out of mind. Now all the books I have here are arranged, stacked, lined, and angled, their colors and titles displayed and eyeing me every time I walk by. Harry Potter, my England journals, Green Rider, Tom Sawyer, Middlemarch, Shannara, The Queen of Darkness, Ginny Gordon and the Mystery of the Old Barn, The Chronicles of Narnia, Scarlet Pimpernel, Poems of the Sea. About 20 bookmarks hanging from on top or under books, in them or between them, tassles dangling, some grouped so their ornaments clink together like windchimes, others solitary beacons asking to be taken along on whatever journey I choose to undertake, this time. Next time could be different.
I need more bookshelves. Even the books I have here with me don't fit on the one. And back home, prisoners in my parent's garage, are the rest of my books, stashed in 7 or so Washington Apple boxes. Someday the shapers of my childhood will be united in one place, where I can slip out one from the others and flip it open to inhale the deep breath of crisp, inked paper, new and exciting and a mystery as to what's inside, or an old and familiar smell of paper well loved and used, pages turned countless times in joy and anticipation. For now I will content myself with the one bookshelf and my small supply of wonderfully smelling books.
I need more bookshelves. Even the books I have here with me don't fit on the one. And back home, prisoners in my parent's garage, are the rest of my books, stashed in 7 or so Washington Apple boxes. Someday the shapers of my childhood will be united in one place, where I can slip out one from the others and flip it open to inhale the deep breath of crisp, inked paper, new and exciting and a mystery as to what's inside, or an old and familiar smell of paper well loved and used, pages turned countless times in joy and anticipation. For now I will content myself with the one bookshelf and my small supply of wonderfully smelling books.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
This Side of Christmas
For Christmas I decorated my desk at work. Deep blue wrapping paper with snowflakes everywhere. Then I strung tinsel criss crossing across the top with bulbs dangling from it. Yesterday I finally had time to take it down and pack it away for next year. Now my beige-topped desk reflects back at me, too bright and bare and boring. What is there to look forward to in January? I got used to frequent vacation times during November and December but the next company given holiday isn't until May.
Guess I'll have to arrange my own fun. Hmm, I could play with my Christmas presents: Munchkin and my continual need for the sneaky bastard sword, or Guillotine where I get points for who I send to the front of the beheading line, or I could whip out my blowgun and darts and practice my aim.
Things are looking better and better.
Guess I'll have to arrange my own fun. Hmm, I could play with my Christmas presents: Munchkin and my continual need for the sneaky bastard sword, or Guillotine where I get points for who I send to the front of the beheading line, or I could whip out my blowgun and darts and practice my aim.
Things are looking better and better.
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