Musings, Writings, Anything

Someone might enjoy this....a tribute to 106 Easthaven

2009-03-19T18:56:00.000-07:00

Some people talk about ghosts while others talk about ghouls, goblins, and gremlins. I still do not know where I stand on the issue when it comes to my house. Put in mildest terms, my house is atypical. It belongs in an Agatha Christi novel. With its lurid red walls, the living room would be the perfect backdrop if Colonel Mustard were to kill Miss Scarlet with the candlestick. A frosted glass light fixture hangs in the middle of the room, but its small size and low wattage leaves everything in shadow.

The dining room resembles a funeral parlor with its dusty pink floral wallpaper, brass candelabras, and heavy linen curtains. The house is quirky. Without realizing it I have fallen in love with the sea foam green laminated countertops in the kitchen and cherry wood floors. What I love most, however, are the endless numbers of doors.

One time I had a friend over to spend the night. I had gone to the bathroom and when I came back, I found her opening doors. Before I could ask what she was doing, she exclaimed, “I have never been in a house with this many doors. Not only that, but there are doors that lead to other doors. I keep expecting to find an end to them, but I don’t.” She looked half-horrified when she told me this, as if she assumed that I did not know that my house tends to lead you into closets that lead you into small rooms that lead you into attic crawl spaces.

From one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor, I can access two of these crawl spaces. One leads me to another bedroom on the second floor. The other one leads me over to my parent’s room on the first floor. I can get out into their closet by moving a board in the ceiling. If it wasn’t for the loose installation and boiling summer temperatures, I would think about making forts in them. The possibilities for freaking people out are endless.

With oddities like these, I expected the house to be a peculiar, but I did not expect it to have a personality. I should have known better. It is not a new home by today’s standards. Having been built 35 years ago, creaks are to be expected. Several flukes we have been able to write off. For instance the cold draft that is ever present in one spot in the kitchen is not the result of a dead spirit drifting by. It is an oven flue. And the silverware drawer that swings open, when you know that you closed it, is bad craftsmanship not a gremlin.

Still, I cannot shake the feeling that my parents and I are not the only residents at 106 Easthaven Drive. The man who lived in the house before us was a widower. His wife died of cancer three months after the addition over the garage was built. Before we moved in, he told us that the addition had been her dream, and she died at its completion. Prone to my imagination, I thought up lots of wild stories about his dead wife.

Despite my overactive imagination, I am not to blame for everything. When the man gave us the keys to the house, he left a leather keychain with them. We tried to return it, but he wouldn’t take it. It had his wife’s name stamped on it, JOAN, in big block letters. Seeing her name attached to the keys, I sometimes think she still owns the house. After that, we came to blame all the daily oddities that occur on Joan.

Like the time mom was walking through the garage and a glue bottle flew across the room and hit her on the head. Normally, I would say that the glue bottle fell off a shelf as she walked by, but mom was in the middle of the garage with no shelving units within eight feet of her. Because she was alone when the glue bottle hit her, she got spooked and walked around to the back to the house. By going to the backdoor, she was trying to avoid another trip through the garage. As she was reaching for the door handle, however, the door swung open by itself. Brave soul that she is, she entered the house again. We still cannot figure that mystery out.
On top of flying glue bottles and self-opening doors, the TV also has a tendency to turn on by itself. We will be working in the kitchen or upstairs and next thing we know Rachel Ray is blasting in the den. Maybe Joan likes to cook.

Lastly, voices outside the second story windows and the footsteps that are always just around the corner are commonplace. It was weeks before I was used to them.
Thinking about my house, I still don’t know if I believe in ghosts. They seem silly, but I cannot deny that my house has a personality. It is eccentric, a bit moody, and has frightened my family on more than one occasion.

I, however, love my house. It is comfortable in a macabre sort of way. Having lived there for a few years now, I have no qualms walking in the dark. I rarely turn on the lights even when I’m home alone because there are so many switches. Turning them on would be more effort than it’s worth. As a result, I walk in the dark more often than not.

Ironically, I had horrible night terrors at our previous home in Michigan. Even though that home was void of quirks, I was afraid to be alone till the day we moved when I was sixteen. And yet this home, with its copious evidence of weird, unexplainable happenings fails to scare me. I accept living with things that go bump in the night and the footsteps in my hall are familiar. It is ghoulish in a predictable way. All I can think is that the house has too much personality to stay quiet.

(Side Note: I realize the living room is no longer red...)

on a happy note...

2009-02-12T16:39:00.000-08:00

I GOT ACCEPTED TO NOLS. YAY!

In Praise of Grief:

2009-01-22T21:12:00.000-08:00

This is not an original idea, but in a pleasure-driven society, it is an idea worth re-visiting. To begin, are you happy? If you answer “yes” then congratulations. You have achieved the American Dream. If you answer “no” then walk to the nearest book store, and buy a book about achieving happiness. Lose that weight. Take that vacation. Find that lover. Whatever you do, get happy.

My next question is: why are you worried about being unhappy? Is there something fundamentally wrong or sinful about this state? No, there is not.

It has come to my attention that life would be easier if I just didn’t care. If I didn’t care that my brother and his wife had lost their first child, if I didn’t care that my grandfather died, if I didn’t care that my uncle was in the hospital not responding to treatments for pneumonia, then life would be a lot less painful. Then again, that wouldn’t be much of a life.

Have you thought about how hard it is to love? Love bears all things; love believes all things; love hopes all things; love endures all things. To love is a tall order. It hurts, but it defines life.

To end, I ask permission to grieve. Let me not seek pleasure for awhile, because that is an okay thing to do.

happy new year

2009-01-09T07:58:00.000-08:00

Well, we find ourselves in 2009 already. Oh boy, it is a new year filled with a bunch of new adventures, I hope. I've neglected my blog, and I feel ashamed. It's like ignoring an orpphaned child. I've shoved it aside and occupied myself with too many fruitless activities (like facebook---it's way too addictive for anybody's good), but I'm back!

I'm poised for action, and waiting for adventure...the anticipation is tangible enough to taste. Wheaton won't know what's hit them. Everyone on campus will know ME. bahahahhah. Not really, but this semester I am hoping to find new stories, make more memories, meet lots of people, and get my GPA up to snuff (woops, sorry about last semester mum and dad). I'll be keeping you updated as best I can. Until then, I'm signing out.

Peace.

Thought for the day:

2009-01-05T11:48:00.001-08:00

2008-11-29T09:19:00.000-08:00

So I can’t remember what exactly I was conflicted about on November 11, but I’m sure it was angsty. I can only cling onto my teenage angst for another year. Being 19, my time to use that excuse is running out. What will I turn to in my twenties? I can’t use mid-life crisis because I’m banking on my twenties not being the middle of my life. If they were, that would mean I’d live till my forties, and that’s just too short. Then again, I’m not afraid to die. Death has lost its sting, if you know what I mean.

It’s kind of sweet to live under that reality, and when I say sweet, I mean it too. I’m not throwing that term out like so many generic, over-used adjectives. For example, “awesome”—I throw the word “awesome” around so frequently that I can only come to two conclusions. Either I am easily awe-inspired or I don’t use the word correctly. To be struck with awe is something that should be reserved for incredible things not common-place events….I’ll work on that.

Anyways it is Thanksgiving break, and I’m glad to be home. I have to be honest, though. I was not looking forward to this break. I didn’t want to come home. My last time here was difficult. Attending your grandfather’s funeral is not something you want to do. He was a great man, a quiet man, a gentle man, a loving man, a generous man, a wise man, but most of all he was my grandpa. I miss him.

Despite my misgivings, however, this break has been wonderful. Rarely have I been so encouraged. I’m discovering how much my family loves me. Not only do they love me, but they also respect me. I’ve had so many projects hanging over my head, that I’ve spent half my time this break huddled in a corner, clicking at a keyboard. They have given me the space and permission to do that. Thank you.

Now for some updates: I’ve started a writing and literature group at Wheaton. Yay! As of now we only have three members (me being one of them), but it is still fun. The two boys, Caleb and Jeremy, are full of ideas. Whenever our group meets, I get all excited and start talking faster. We just finished reading Stephen King’s book, On Writing, and are now working on writing short stories.

Side note: I talk faster and gesticulate more whenever I’m talking about English. I’m a nerd. Oh I also love editing. It is invigorating, and I’ve come to a point where people are giving me their stuff to peruse and edit. Their trust gives me hope that pursuing a career in English is not a vain hope.

That’s all for now. I need to be writing Anthropology paper. Peace.

I'm conflicted.

2008-11-11T00:01:00.000-08:00

That's all I have to say right now. I hope to expound on that soon, but right now I should go to bed, and my computer is about to die anyways.

Another thing about twitter

2008-10-28T12:54:00.000-07:00

The first person I use in Twitter is not always me. Sometimes it's the voice of another character :)

Fall Break 08

2008-10-27T15:30:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know, I went camping over fall break in Southern Indiana at Hoosier National Park. It was beautiful. I never knew Indiana had topography...

The first place we camped had a cave system running right underneath it. That's the mouth to the cave.

We had fun exploring.

I had fun trying to climb up tiny creavices.

Mmm. pretty

Oh and of course there was a lot of tasty camp food (I'm not being sarcastic either)

Twitter

2008-10-27T15:24:00.000-07:00

I'm exploring a new avenue of writing: Twitter. The idea is you are given 140 characters (Characters include letters, numbers, punctuation, and spaces). Within these boundaries you can write as much as you want. Twitter is a place to update people not only on how I'm doing, but also on what ever funny thought, sentence, or circumstance I've stumbled across. There is a link on the right side of my blog. Just in case you cannot find it here is another: still_striving

Cruelty thou have no other name than....(fill in the blank with your own thought)

2008-10-26T10:38:00.000-07:00

I'm posting in hopes that it will make me post more later. That sounds stupid, but somewhere in my head it makes sense...Anyways I thank God that it is Sunday, and it was splendid having Duffy come and visit. I hope more of my family will come (hint...hint). I have more thoughts to tell and secrets to divulge, but y'all will just have to wait because I'm cruel like that.

The passionate cry of an aspiring writer:

2008-10-15T18:06:00.000-07:00

I hate adverbs. They are black mold. Once they take root, you cannot get rid of them. They breed and breed and breed until you writing things like “blindingly”. Shutter. Ugh. Gross. Adverbs are the bane of a writer’s career.

Reasons to use an adverb:
1. Your verb is weak.
2. You need the crutch.
3. Your dialogue is not good enough to communicate the bitterness, anger, joy, hesitancy behind the words. You have to clarify…John said bitterly, angrily, joyously, hesitantly.

They are awful, disease-ridden creatures. You are allowed a handful of adverbs to use in your life. Pick and choose with care. It is tempting to fall back on them. You might be able to convince yourself they sound pleasant, poetic. It’s a lie. You sound like an immature, weak writer. That being said, I’m as guilty as the next guy. I cringe when I think about the adverbs of my past. This is my hypocritical cry to rid the earth of these nasty little buggers. It is my new project. Give it a shot too. Try not writing with adverbs, and I think you’ll be surprised at how clean, fresh, and powerful your writing becomes. You do not need them. Believe me.

As Stephen King says in his book, On Writing, “The adverb is not your friend.”

On Apathy and Augustine

2008-10-11T11:06:00.001-07:00

So I was told that you write the best stuff when you are in a semi-dream, sleep-deprived state. Here I am: sleep crouches at my door step and dreams are just within reach, but I’m writing instead. I write to confess, and here are some things I’ve been thinking about. I figure I might as well place them out there in cyberspace, or they won’t get said (or should I say written?).

First, I’ve been reading through Saint Augustine’s Foundations of Faith. It is a short, straight-forward, enlightening read that makes my head spin sometimes…always a good feeling. It is also causing me to examine my own faith and values; something I rarely do deliberately. This is easier said on the web than in person. My writing is a shield of sorts. I feel free with the written word, uninhibited. It is much easier to talk to a computer screen about what you’re struggling with than a person. A computer screen doesn’t react to your words.

Lately, I’ve been apathetic. I just don’t seem to care about much except that I’m not caring. It unnerves me. I’m someone who has rarely felt apathetic, so this is a bit of a new experience. I don’t like it, and I’m fighting it, but you don’t realize how hard apathy is to fight when you just don’t care. It’s a vicious cycle. At least I recognize it.

Back to Augustine. Several things that he has said have struck a chord. First he said God would not allow evil to remain in the world if good could not come from it. At first I thought that was the most stinky load of bull I’d heard in a while, but then I started chewing on it. (Ew, sorry for the gross mental image…chewing on bull).

This summer, I was faced with one camper in particular who struggled with the question: why does God allow suffering in the world? This camper’s sister was dying from infection. I had no response to her broken heart and tear stained face when she asked me, “Why is God killing my sister?” What do you say to a child when you see more pain etched into their ten-year old face than you’ve ever seen in the face of an adult? Watching a child in emotional agony shatters your heart. I saw her break before me, and I couldn’t put her back together. I held her on my lap and let her cry and I cried with her. I was not strong enough to hold either of us together, and I had no answers for her. Why would an all mighty, omnipotent God allow a child to go through this…allow evil in the world?

Now Augustine’s answer floats to the surface, “For the Omnipotent God, whom even the heathen acknowledge as the Supreme Power over all, would not allow any evil in his works, unless in his omnipotence and goodness, as the Supreme Good, he is able to bring forth good out of evil.”

Augustine’s words are still hard to digest, but they answer part of my question. Why does God allow evil in the world? Because He is able to bring forth good even out of what is corrupted. Take Joseph for example: sold into slavery by his brothers, thrown into jail, rose to second in power to the pharaoh, and saved his entire family from famine. What his brothers meant for evil, God intended for good. Crazy. It’s radical to think there is a God out there like that. On the flip side I still struggle with not being angry about the pain in the world, but I have a little hope now.

I have more stories about that camper, but I’ll save them for another post.

Another bit of wisdom from Augustine: “Every sin harms the one who commits it more than it does the one who suffers it.” Chew on that.

Finally to end this diatribe, I’ll painting a picture of how I see sin in my own life and what happens when I try to fix it. Think of this as a creative writing exercise.

I’ve been running, hiding from God. It really sucks when I realize what an idiot, IDIOT, I’ve been. God is so faithful to me, and I am so unfaithful to him. I don’t understand how I can be so stupid. My sin hangs on me like mud. My hands drip with blood, and I try to wipe it off, but what starts as a thin film on my palms soon is smeared up and down my arms. It’s thick. My skin burns with shame. I start to panic and fall to the ground, wiping my hands. They just end up covered in dirt. I rub harder and harder, dirt now sticking on my arms, on my clothes, covering me with my shame. Tears mix with blood and dirt, turning everything to sludge. I wipe my eyes, forgetting my filthy hands, spreading the mess across my face. I cough, cover my mouth, and choke on the stench that overwhelms me. Stale rust mixed with wet earth combines in a noxious mixture. Prostrate on the ground, hope dims. What will wash me clean?

Dramatic, isn’t it? There is sincerity in that though. I found the hope for the question above (What will wash me clean?) right after writing this.

Psalm 19:7, 11-14
The law of the LORD is perfect,
reviving the soul.
The statutes of the LORD are trustworthy,
making wise the simple.
…
By them is your servant warned;
in keeping them there is great reward.
Who can discern his errors?
Forgive my hidden faults.
Keep your servant also from willful sins;
may they not rule over me.
Then will I be blameless,
innocent of great transgression.
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight,
O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.

This brings me to my next revelation. In verse seven it talks about the laws of the Lord reviving the soul. Another way to think about this is God’s commands set us free. It is weird to think that a law can be freeing. Aren’t we trained in our Western desire for freedom to think that entails lawlessness? On the contrary, it is when we are obeying God’s laws, that we will be most liberated because it is within those laws that we are most human. Following God’s commands will not screw your life up. It is as simple as that. That does not mean suffering does not come. My camper’s sister is still dying. It does mean, however, that by walking in his Way, we can be filled with a peace that surpasses all understanding.

That brings me to another story I saw reenacted countless times this summer as a counselor around camp fires. Children would stand before their peers and counselors, who were more like overgrown kids too, and share stories that were often hard to swallow. They would recount horrors from their lives. They would frequently end with something like, “I’m still don’t know why this happened, but God made me stronger through it and I feel closer to Him.” They could be crying, but they would say those words with a peace and assurance that left no room for doubt about their sincerity.
It still blows my mind.

To end this long strain of ponderings, here is where I’m at with my apathy. I want to want God again. Right now I’m dry, and it bothers me. My prayer and greatest comfort comes from Mark 9:24, Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

This about sums up where I'm at.

2008-10-10T15:21:00.000-07:00

πιστεύω̣• βοήθει μου τῇ ἀπιστίᾳ.
κατα μαρκον 9.24

a wish

2008-10-05T15:06:00.001-07:00

Do you ever want to run away? Maybe train hop?

Don't read into this much...it's just a wish.

A Favorite HoneyRock Memory

2008-10-02T23:24:00.000-07:00

The Picture Says Everything.

This one is for you, Loki...or you, Pan.

2008-09-30T09:17:00.000-07:00

Hello again,

This morning I am frazzled. I was up till 2:30 sorting out my life. I have an 8:30 class which does not sound that early, but when you’re up till 2:30, waking up at 7:30 is a lot harder than you would think. On top of that, I hadn’t finished all my homework last night, so I set my alarm for 6, so I would have enough time to finish my assignments, take a shower, and have a quiet time.

At six O’clock my alarm went off. At 7:41 I actually woke up. Crap. There went my morning. I leapt from bed…well sort of. Leaping from bed would spell disaster since it is lofted at least a good seven feet in the air, so I clambered down from my bed. I threw open my laptop and finished my assignments. With no time for a shower, I threw my hair back into a ponytail with a bandanna.

I was clothed and had finished my assignments, but I sacrificed brushing my teeth and brewing coffee…horror of horrors. Grabbing English poems, scattered thoughts, and scraps of sanity, I flew to saga where I grabbed toast, a banana, and coffee. Shudder. (I stooped to drinking saga coffee with creamer, a double insult to my morning.)

I most always drink it black, but I had to mask the flavor. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I needed my caffeine fix, even if it came in the form of burnt coffee masked with non-dairy creamer. Ugh. On my way to class I tripped twice, almost losing my toast the first time and almost losing my coffee the next. Once in my seat, I spilt coffee all over me. By this point it was just funny. If I take anything away from this morning it’s this, maybe I shouldn’t sign up for 8:30 classes.

2008-09-25T08:11:00.000-07:00

So I went camping this past weekend. It was great! Jimmy, Matt, Eric, Karen, Leslie, and I headed out Saturday morning. We drove three hours West to the Mississippi Palisades where we hiked trails. Later we got down our canoes and started out on the Mississippi River. We eventually found an island, where we set up camp and ate hobo dinners. For those who don't know, a hobo dinner consists of potato, carrots, bell peppers, celery, raw onion, sausage, and cheese. The catch is that you chew up all your food and then spit it back out in the tin foil pouch. After half an hour of chew-and-spit, you rap everything up and place it in he fire. The saliva helps cook the food. It is arguably the tastiest meal you will ever have. YUM! Later that night we shared stories and struggles about life, school, and God. The conversation was rich. With ages raging from sophomore to grad student, everyone had their own perspective. It was sweet. Before going, I didn't know Karin or Leslie at all. By the end, I was amazed at the fellowship you can find in a stranger. It seems like we knew each other for a lot longer. We slept out under the stars, and woke up to fog that blanketed the whole island.

God is good.

A funny story...well, I thought it was funny

2008-09-22T20:14:00.000-07:00

I was in Greek Class today, and the teacher had returned our quizzes. His TA, however, had misunderstood the grading rubric, and as a result had wrongly marked off points on several people's exams. (Sadly I was not one of the lucky deserve getting points back). But you can imagine the uproar those unjustly lost points caused among my fellow type-A classmates. Because of the mess up, Dr. Penney circulated the room, giving credit where credit was due.

After several minutes of corrections, He asked if anyone needed anything else. There was a pause, and I raised my hand. Frustrated that his TA had messed up again, he asked in an exasperated tone, "Yes, Meredith?" To which I replied, "Oh, nothing, I just wanting some points while you were giving them out." To which the class all broke out laughing, and Dr. Penney rolled his eyes. I might not be the sharpest marble in the box, but I thought it was worth a shot.

Discovery

2008-09-22T18:08:00.001-07:00

So I figured out that I can bike 23 miles in 2 hours today. Yay exercise!

Pillow Fight

2008-09-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

This officially confirms how sweet my school is. On Wednesday, September 17th an epic pillow fight took place. There were approximately 80 people envolved. It was incredible. Public safety came by, but they ended up just watching the battle ensue. I think they enjoyed it as much as the rest of us. Needless to say, a new tradtion has been born.

I can't think of a better way to get out any feelings of frustration than beating your fellow classmates in the dark with pillows...stupendous

The Saga Begins Again...

2008-09-16T11:50:00.000-07:00

I find myself at college once again. I write this as if I’m surprised. Well, I am surprised. What happened in between May 9th and September 16? For those of you who haven’t heard the story and for those of you who have, here it is. I’ll try to write as much as I can about what I’ve done, what I’ve been through, and what I’m going through. This is going to be an update of epic proportions which might take several posts…oh boy, I’m already feeling overwhelmed, but I’m biting the bullet and clicking the keys. Here I go.

May 9th I finished my last exam. School was out, and I was headed home by the 11th. I spent the next week at home, trying to catch my breath before I plunged into the summer. I had signed up for Wheaton’s Student Leadership School (SLS). Before this, I had dabbled with the idea of going on an archaeological dig in Israel. After prayer and lots of thinking, I instead signed up to take classes for 5 weeks and counsel for 7 up in Three Lakes, Wisconsin. Looking back, it seems fantastic/unreal that I could have been on the other side of the globe frying like a steak in the dessert…I’m so glad I chose Wisconsin, no matter how exotic an ancient dig sounds. Nothing could top my experience this summer. I have never been so emotionally, spiritually, physically, and mentally drained while simultaneously feeling on fire about God, life, love, and everything in between.

I arrived at HoneyRock camp after a grueling 17 hour drive. Did you know it takes 7 hours to drive through Wisconsin, top to bottom? That state is outrageously long. Anyways, I arrived in a state of shock, that was not eased when I realized I only knew two people in the program: Robin and Nate. Robin had been with me the previous year when I did HoneyRock’s Wilderness Passage Program. She knows me inside and out. Nate, on the other hand, I barely knew. At one point in the summer, Nate came up to me and asked if I wanted to hang out. I said sure, and then he told me, “Deanna and Frappo said I should become better friends with you. That’s what I’m doing.” And so Nate and I became best friends. Since then he’s made me pinky promise that I’ll let him be my kids’ godfather…Nate, it might be awhile.

Going into the unknown like this was somewhat horrifying. When placed in a new situation, I normally shut down. I duck my head and cover. After assessing the new environment, I might resurface and begin the slow process of making friends. This time, however, I was determined to do it differently. The moment I arrived, I began to act out the biggest lie of my life. I pretended I was confident. Hahah. I was perpetually in fear, but no one knew. In fact, people were surprised when I told them I only knew Robin and Nate. Everyone assumed I knew the whole staff before coming. It is still the greatest farce I have ever pulled.

I am still not sure the exact moment when I stopped acting confident, and realized I actually was confident. This was a new, unsettling discovery. It was sort of cool. I had found confidence in being a daughter of the Creator of the Universe. Once I realized my place in this world as one of His children, the things of this world started to fade. As I gained confidence I also lost my fears. I forgot my irrational fear of fires, bugs, and swimming in murky water. I soon heard myself agreeing to go bridge jumping, white-water canoeing, and rock climbing at every opportunity I got. Somehow I even agreed to participate in a fifty-four mile canoe race. Sadly, it was canceled…maybe next year. I had discovered a passion to test myself physically and live life to its fullest potential.

Nevertheless my biggest discovery came when the campers arrived. I have always enjoyed working in nursery or helping my mom with art day camps, but I have never been involved in intense youth ministry before this summer. After a few days with the kids, however, I discovered another passion. I loved pouring myself into these little campers. The more I gave, the more they gave back. It was not me, however, that loved them. It was God loving them through me. I discovered that I had been wired to be a tool for God. I realized that if I walk with open eyes, open ears, and open hands, there is no limit to what God can do. He will willingly make, mold, and use me for His work.

Even with these discovers, I was still often blind and stubborn to what God would have me do. I’ll never forget a particular Saturday, when I broke. It had been a trying session. Like the rest of SLS staff, I was sick, and I had repeatedly failed to give my campers the 100% they deserved. I simply was not loving them or serving them to my fullest potential, and I was kicking myself for it. That Saturday I realized that I was failing because I was trying to love these girls by my own power. In my arrogance, I had pushed God aside and thought I could do it on my own. It was not until I let God back in that I was able to serve these kids.

I might be getting a bit preachy, but I’m not going to apologize. God is a big part of my life. I can’t help but talk about Him…This summer has so many snapshots that I want to talk about, but I’m going to have to finish in other posts. (My computer is about to die).

Oh and one more thing, I got my internet working! That means I’m back in the blog world. I’ve missed y’all.

Soon

2008-09-13T11:14:00.000-07:00

It's coming...a new post. I can feel it. Just give me a bit more time.

HoneyRock

2008-06-05T16:38:00.001-07:00

Hey everyone, I'm going to be pretty much unplugged from the outside world this summer, but I'll try to write if I can. HoneyRock is amazing. That word seems utterly inadequate to describe what's been going on, but suffice it to say, I think I'll have a few stories by the time I'm done :)

P.S. The rocks here do not taste sweet.

A New Project

2008-05-01T20:24:00.000-07:00

I like writing. Stories get in my head, and they bump around asking to be let out. Anyways, I've decided to give these bothersome thoughts an outlet. I have a new project. It consists of another blog. This blog wil be a new home to my musings, writings, etc. Some of the it might be good. The majority will be mediochre. A few things, maybe even most things, will be bad. Nevertheless, I'll feel restless until I do this, so enjoy:

musings, writings, anything that strikes my fancy

A haiku for you:

2008-04-20T21:42:00.000-07:00

Haikus are quite fun,
But sometimes they don’t make sense.
Refrigerator.

2008-04-19T15:11:00.000-07:00

The infamous and beloved batman backpack. It's subtle, it's inspiring, it's BATMAN!

MMMMMM chocolate shop!

I'm back with more ramblings.

2008-04-19T15:09:00.000-07:00

I felt strangely connected to Virginia Woolf when we were discussing her in English 216 on Thursday. I say strangely because Virginia Woolf lived a life that I would never consider living. She was bisexual, crazy, and suicidal.

Nevertheless I felt connected to her because of the way she thought. Having many of her immediate family die, made Woolf retreat into the haven of her mind. She is well-known for her stream of conscience technique. She approached life as a spectator, not a participant. The life she lived was more like a script; she lived as if she saw everything through a lens. Every person, plant, animal, or situation she encountered offered a story or triggered a thought whether true or imagined. Woolf created fantasies for herself and then lived in them. She was truly a master of self deception.

The way she interpreted the things around her reminds me of the way I see things sometimes. My friends are always catching me as I space out. What they don’t always realize is that my blank stare is a mask for the stories swirling in my head. I can’t help but think about what is going on right underneath our noses.
Are the dead bugs in fluorescent lights really dead bugs? Is the buzzing of a street lamp late at night really simply an electrical current? Does that flickering light, have a short in it or is there a signal in the flashing? What if our lost socks were the result of a clumsy house hob? What if glue bottles, which fly inexplicably across the room, are the doings of a jealous ghost having a bad day? What if gremlins set off dorm fire alarms at 4:35 in the morning?

I can’t help but wonder about the World Behind the Curtain. How much does that world, bump into our world?

Have you ever had a thought pop into your head which you can’t explain? You could be in the middle of a deep conversation about disillusionment in Modernist writings when suddenly you find yourself thinking, “I was lying face down in the mud. That was the moment I realized I would never eat caramel popcorn again.”

How did those two sentences find their way into my head? Once there, they begin to bug me. It’s like a chigger bite; the bug has taken root, and now it itches like mad. I start to wonder where those sentences came from and what the story is behind them. What sort of story would bring about a character lying face down in the mud? And how on earth does that connect to caramel popcorn?

I end with this hope. At least I’m an English major with a writing concentration. English majors can afford to be a bit eccentric.

coffee cup

2008-03-05T21:41:00.000-08:00

One of Ryan's posts reminded me of a story. I was sitting in the cafeteria at breakfast. Deanna had gotten up to get some cereal, and while she was gone, I became intensely aware of how good my coffee was that morning. Before I knew what I was doing, I was singing "yum yum yum yum. yum yum yum yum," in a high pitched voice while staring intently at my cup. Then from the corner of my eye, I see someone skirting the table. I'm still singing, as I realized that they've stopped. I look up up, and a complete stranger is staring right at me. He doesn't say a word; he just turns around and walks out of the cafeteria. Needless to say, I now try to keep my coffee cup serenades within the confines of my room.

This is the title.

2008-03-05T21:12:00.001-08:00

I've been conflicted about what to do this summer. I have the opportunity to go on an archaeological dig this summer to Ashkelon, Israel. I also could be a counselor at Honeyrock.

Reading the three sentences above, from an objective point of view, I would tell that person to go on an archaeology dig. After all, it seems much more adventuresome, but I'm not objective. I'm conflicted.

First off Ashkelon is getting bombed by Gaza. Secondly, I'm not sure if I want to major in Archaeology. In fact I've been thinking a lot about my future. What should I invest my time in? People tell me that I have time to decide, and that I have the next three and a half years ahead of me to enjoy college and seize different opportunities. The truth of the matter, however, is that time flies. It's gone before you know it. The flip side of the coin, however, is that if I look too much to the future then I forget to live in the present.

When you're cooking, your primary focus is on the front burners; what's boiling right then. You're not as worried about the back burners. If my future is the back burners then I have been way too focus on them, and the pots at the front are going to boil over soon.

I'm also questioning my motives behind going to Ashkelon. I have a sinking feeling that they are very selfish. So much of my life has been about trying to "better" myself through better education, better traveling, better experiences, better books, better teachers, etc. I'm starting to think that digging up pots that are thousands of years old is not the best use of my time. I might better serve as a counselor. What is more important than a human soul? This is not to say that I have any power to work great changes or influence people, but I might be better used at honeyrock. Then again, who am I to dictate to God how I think I would best be used. It's not my place. I'm called to walk in the center of His will; I'm just having trouble hearing what His will is. I'm afraid that I'm going to make a mistake.

Well, after that tirade, I have one last thing to say. How many people could sit at their computer desk fretting with the question: should I do an archaeological dig or be a counselor? Really, it's not that earth shattering of a question. I'm very blessed if this is the hardest choice that I have to make right now.

Honeyrock

2008-02-20T21:00:00.001-08:00

Since I don't have time to write a decent blog, I'll take the easy way out and post pictures.

Here is part of my wilderness group. We traveled over ninety miles through the wild woods of Wisconsin and the UP.

The sweat, blisters, isolation, and tired legs were completely worth it.

I'm the one in the blue hat on the far right.

hm.

2008-02-18T22:15:00.000-08:00

It's definitely been one of those days.

leaves at chapel hill...i was feeling artistic

2008-02-04T22:04:00.000-08:00

Now that I've figured out that it's easy to post pictures, there will be more to come.

Just to say.

2008-02-04T20:06:00.000-08:00

I'm only posting to say that I have the day off tomorrow, so I hope to write a really good/entertaining post. Pray that I'm feeling thoughful when Tuesday rolls around :)

Let's kick the dog while it's down!

2008-02-04T16:53:00.000-08:00

Yet again another bash on Mississippi. Click HERE. Once you've gotten to the site, click on the map on Mississippi. Scroll down the little information bubble where it talks about who the state is likely to vote for, and read the second-to-last statement. Is that really needed? And exactly how wealthy was Mississippi?

You know you're at wheaton when...

2008-01-30T19:03:00.000-08:00

I was just looking at Ryan's blog about swapping communion bread recipes and it reminded me of something that happened today. I was walking toward the cafeteria when I suddenly burst out into "Thank God from whom all blessings flow..." And suddenly I thought: You know you're at Wheaton when you have the doxology stuck in your head :)

Here it is...the update that you have all been waiting for. I apologize before hand for its length. I'm also sorry this title is so long.

2008-01-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

I’ve fallen behind in blogging…again. It’s funny how once you stop it’s hard to get into the swing of things again. But I have been reading other people’s blogs even if I haven’t written anything myself. Anyway, I’m not sure what to post, so I’ll give an update, and I’ll try to throw in a few “fun facts” I’ve discovered in the last month. So here it goes: I’ll start with a fact.

*Scientists are estimating that redheads will go extinct in as soon as 100 years. Yikes! That means me! I’m practically an endangered species, so I’ve been seriously considering writing the government and requesting some sort of pension or protection. People pour thousands upon thousands of dollars into saving endangered species such as ¬seahorses. Aren’t redheads important too?

Another thing I didn’t realize is that redheads only make up about 2% of the world’s population. That makes sense if you consider that there are over a billion Chinese aand over a billion Indians. Nevertheless, I thought there were more redheads out there than that. Well, I should say that I thought there were more natural redheads out there than that. Thanks to Loreal and Herbal Essence, we can sleep easy, knowing that even if the redhead gene dies, Hair dye will live on.

There is fun fact number one. Now, I’ll fill y’all in on some of the mischief I’ve gotten myself into since Christmas.

On December 27th, I got my four wisdom teeth extracted. Overall it was a very painless (and dare-I-say-fun) experience. The pain killers did start to mess with my head a little. Most likely my combination of prescription pain killers and Unisom was not a wise choice, but it did knock me out cold. Besides getting my wisdom teeth removed, my break was fairly uneventful. I had some quality daddy-daughter moments at the movies and tromping around Brandon. It was also fun to cook with mom. In fact, I was surprised how easily I fell back into step with my regular routine. Every morning I would fix myself oatmeal and work the puzzles in the newspaper after reading Apartment 3-G. (There’s an embarrassing confession, but I’m going to own up to it. I read apartment 3-G. There. I said it! It’s all out in the open now…) It is one of those guilty pleasures in life. One that, deep down, you know are pointless and lowering your IQ, but you turn to them anyway.

It’s kind of like coffee. Coffee is a bad taste that you get addicted to. If I think about it, I realize that it isn’t very good, and yet I still love it. In fact, I’m a bit dependent on it. Not only do I notice when I haven’t had my morning cup-of-joy, but my friends notice too. If I seem out of it, they automatically ask, “Have you had your coffee?” If I say no, they sigh and say, “Should we go get you a cup?” I think psychiatrists refer to them as enablers. Anywho, I also want dad to note that I’m now drinking my coffee black. Strong and black, and I like it so much more. I had gotten in the habit of adding a bit of cream because the coffee offered at Wheaton is so awful that I was desperate to mask the flavor. Now that I’ve gotten some travel mugs, I don’t have to worry about buying coffee. I can brew it in my room and have it to-go. It really is a pleasure. Ahhh. Now I want a cup, but it’s after five, and it will keep me up. Well, it doesn’t keep you up , but it doesn’t let your brain shut down when you finally get to sleep.

Speaking of simple pleasures, I’ve also gotten into the habit of using a fountain pen. Daniel is the one who converted me, and now I don’t know if I could go back to using ball point. I’m not sure whether to thank Daniel or be miffed at him. Most likely I’ll choose the former because fountain pens are a pleasure to write with. I’m working on converting those around me to using them. I think I already made good head-way with my geology teacher, who happened to see my pen case on the table and asked out of curiosity what it was. I then showed him my fountain pen and let him write with it. He seemed impressed. Bruhahahah. Little does he know that I have introduced him into an expensive hobby that can cost you hundreds of dollars!

Oh, that reminds me. I haven’t said what classes I’m taking yet. Right now, I’m enrolled in Geology, Greek, British Literature from the 17th to 20th Century, and the History of Music. So far, I’m loving all of them. I’d like to take this moment to say, I love being at a liberal arts school. I think I was born for the aristocracy of the Renaissance. Not only would I have fit in better with my pale skin, but I would have loved to spend my days pouring myself into music, art, language, and the classics. Ah well, I guess I’ll just have to settle for Wheaton if I can’t have 16th century Italy.

Speaking of Italy, I’m seriously considering, Wheaton’s Summer in England program for next year. The courses they offer include Creative Writing, Travel Writing, Shakespeare, and Theatre. I have this unnerving feeling that I might be leaning towards a classics/literature major. AAHHH. But the problem is I can’t get a job with that. Ugh. If only someone would pay me to critique books, write books, and read books all day long. I need to get my head out of the clouds, but I do love gallivanting about with Dumas, Donne, and Dante.

Actually I’ve never read any Dante, but it was another author whose name ended with “D.” Now that I think about it, I’m appalled that I’ve never read Dante. What have I been doing these past 18 years? Probably reading more fairytales than I have any business doing. Although I’ll will give myself some credit. At least I was reading Grimm and Anderson. None of this frilly Disney junk that always demands a happy ending. Give me some tragedy with a bit of irony thrown in and I’m happy! Ah, Oedipus.

Sorry, I’ve started to ramble, and I just realized this post is ridiculously long, and I haven’t even mentioned my trip to Michigan or my exciting stolen wallet episode or my new aspirations to be a camp counselor or my tiramisu baking extravaganza! Boy, am I behind….

More to come soon! (I hope).

nananananaaaaa BATMAN!

2007-12-19T23:04:00.001-08:00

I've been writing a research paper on Batman. Yes, you read that right. I've been writing a research paper on Batman,and something has recently struck me. Part of what makes Batman such an amazing series is the villains. They are as fascinating as the Dark Knight himself...He's a long quote from an article I found online. The quote captures what I'm trying to say:

"Batman's nemeses tend to reflect some aspect of Bruce Wayne's character back at him: Two-Face, for example, represents the dual nature of the hero's personality, and the Scarecrow puts Batman's choice of fear as a weapon against evil into contrasting relief. The Joker embodies the madness that surrounds (but does not rule) the Batman's world, and the Penguin is a distorted, disarmingly comical figure representing the corruption (glazed over with a veneer of elegance) that is rife in Gotham. The Riddler challenges Batman's intellect, and Mr. Freeze his humanity (particularly, his pursuit of revenge). Ra's al Ghul, a man of boundless ambition, ability and resources, is an image of what Bruce Wayne might become if he were evil."

I'm crazy...crazy...crazy...mutter...mutter...not...crazy...dolphins!

2007-12-19T22:47:00.000-08:00

First, I want to say that I have never seen such a short post receive such long responses. It has been wonderful. I made people think! well, at least I'd like to take credit for that...Anyway I'm coming home on Friday for Christmas.

It is overdo. In fact I've been hysterical these last few days. (I mean hysterical in the crazy sense, not in the humorous sense. Although my antics have earned me a few laughs). As I was saying, I've gone the route of the mad hatter, and completely let myself go. Everything feels a bit out of control. Kind of like being tossed overboard and being told, SWIM, but not knowing how to. Only instead of continuing to fight, I've given up. I'm clinging to the back of some dolphins I bumped into, so I'm staying afloat, but it is not my doing.

Alright, that is a bit of an exaggeration. It hasn't really been that bad...maybe just half that bad. Ask Jamie about the recent conversations we've had over the phone, and you'll hear what I mean when I say hysterical.

Note to Jamie: Thanks for the advice on the Archeology exam and life in general. Although I was not able to mention Indiana Jones in any of my essays, I have unstressed myself a bit after you told me that stress automatically leads to cocaine addictions. There is nothing to fear in that regard. The craziest Wheaton gets is Welch's sparkling grape juice. woot!

A question for you

2007-12-09T19:02:00.001-08:00

Last week, I was interviewing a man who works for Pro-Life Action League. Something he said in the course of the interview really struck me. I wrote it down as a side note to think about later, but being the scatter-brained child I am, I just now found that little side-note. Reading it over I’m still not sure what I think. He said, “Morality is all about intention.” Is that true? Is morality simply about intention? I can’t even remember how his statement related to what we were discussing. I just remember sitting there, and when I heard that, it struck a chord.

Morality is all about intention. Morality is all about intention?

What does that even mean. Looking back, I should have asked him. Well, I’d like other people’s thoughts on that phrase. I’d like to know: what you think it means, if you think it is true, and why or why not.

A book rejected me.

2007-11-25T10:19:00.000-08:00

Have you ever met someone who reminded you of a character from a book, and not just any book, but one of your favorite books? You seem them from across the room, and think "Hmm, I really want to get to know them." When you do meet them, you are shocked to find out that they don’t want to get to know you. It’s not even so much that they don’t want to get to know you; it’s more like you’re the annoying piece of toilet paper stuck on their shoe from the bathroom. Humph. You feel put out, but you are resilient. Has that happened to you? It’s an experience that builds character. I should have known that even if I don’t see my brothers every day, I’m surrounded by people who are willing to build my character. After a while, I found the whole situation rather amusing. I mean, it’s not that I was simply rejected; I was rejected by a person who represents a well-loved book character. Ouch. That hurts.

I’m thinking that maybe I get too involved with the characters in the books I read. Maybe my imagination is too active. There have been times when I have imagined something so vividly that I would bet I had seen a movie based on that book. It’s only when I realize that there is no movie based on that book that I know my imagination has gotten the better of me once again.

Then again, I would rather have an overactive imagination that no imagination at all. This summer, my little cousin visited us. I was encouraging her to play pretend, but she was holding back. When I asked her why, she replied, “My mommy tells me not to use my imagination.” I was in shock. I looked at her and said, “Don’t listen to your mother.” After saying that I was even more shocked because I’ve never told a kid to not listen to her mother. Well, I’m more than willing to get in trouble for telling a child to use their imagination. After all they might one day see someone who reminds them of a character from a book, and when they go to meet them, they may also get rejected. Who would want to miss an opportunity like that? It builds character :)

White Ninja Comics

2007-11-09T19:38:00.000-08:00

This made me smile...a lot.

White Ninja

P.S.

2007-11-03T09:10:00.000-07:00

I forgot to mention a "fun fact" that I found out. Before I can reveal my fun fact, however, I need to give a short background story.

This whole week has been up and down as far as emotions go. All I can say looking back is: I love hormones! ha ha ha not really. Anyway, on Tuesday, I was having a particularly good morning. In fact the whole day I had had this unaccounted-for amount of energy. Granted, I did have three cups of coffee that morning, but even with that I usually don't have such high energy all day long. It was not until I examined my vitamin bottle that I found the source for my energy.

I had bought the One-A-Day vitamins that were captioned "All Day Energy." It turns out that the secret to their all day energy is that one pill contains the equivalent amount of caffeine as a cup of coffee. Woot. That's right, I had actually had more like four cups of coffee, and then I had two cups of sweet tea for lunch, so that by 4 o'clock I was literally shaking with caffeination. Needless to say, I highly recommend these vitamins. They really work.

A New Goal

2007-11-03T09:00:00.000-07:00

I think I've found an excellent study abroad program in Oxford, England. It's rather competitive (applicants must have a GPA of at least 3.5 to even be considered). But it gives me a goal to work towards even if I don't make it. Here's the link.

The specific program I'm interested in can be found by click on the "Academics" button at the top of the page, and then clicking on the "Tutorials in Classics" under the "Shortcuts" menu on the left-hand side...I don't think those instructions were confusing enough--next time, I must try harder :)

Building Character

2007-10-28T10:51:00.000-07:00

I don't have any time to write a good post, so i thought I would share a paper I wrote for English. I enjoyed writing it, and I thought someone might enjoy reading it. The assignment was that we write a cause/effect paper. (i.e. tell about some event(s) that changed our life). Well, here it goes:

I’ll never forget the cold January day I found myself standing on top of the monkey bars looking down at a pile of snow. James was nearby egging me on, “Jump Meredith, Jump. I’ve done it; it’s fun!” To me the monkey bars were already high off the ground. Add an extra three and a half feet from my toes to my head, and I was practically attempting to jump off Mt Everest. The wind whipped my face as I debated whether or not to take the plunge. With a final prayer I leapt to my certain death. I don’t remember the fall, but I remember my surprise when I found my nose filled with snow; I had face-planted into the pile.

Thinking back to that day brings to mind hundreds of other stories. Back then my three older brothers were the heroes and the villains of my life. Everything they did, whether it was telling me tall tales or tossing me about like a beach ball in the pool, was what they termed “character building.” Whenever their teasing went too far or their noses grew too long from their lies, they would smile serenely and simply say, “Meredith, we’re building character.” If that answer didn’t satisfy me, they would launch into a long explanation about brotherly duty and some contracts they had to sign when I was born. Years later, I realized these contracts were fictional. (Hospitals do not require older siblings to sign contracts solemnly pledging to make their sister’s life difficult with the ultimate goal of building strong character.) What amazes me most, however, is how good they were at what they did. I don’t have many memories of them working together against me; it was all independent. Even though their approaches were different, their goals were the same, and together they successfully pushed every button and found every pet peeve. I still marvel at their skill.

Daniel, my eldest older brother, is ten years my senior. With this much of an age gap, his favorite things usually involved me being tossed into the air. Around him, I felt like I could reach the clouds. My small size did have disadvantages, however. For instance, I was the perfect height for my head to act as an arm rest. Not only that, but there was no way my tiny legs could out run him. If he was determined to catch me, I could do nothing about it but try and fight back. That did not work well either because he would simply place a hand on my head and push me back so that my flailing arms could not reach them. I remember one day, Daniel was successfully staving me off with that technique. For a few minutes I persisted in my fruitless attacks, but stopped when a brilliant plan hit me. I thought to myself, Why am I trying to hit his body? I should go for the arm. With that plan, I began to hammer away at the hand that held me at bay. The surprise on his face marked one of the few victories I have had against Daniel.

James, my middle older brother, took his responsibility as a brother very seriously. In particular, he saw my need to toughen up, so his techniques for character building often revolved around talking me into doing stupid things like jumping off the monkey bars. James was also the brother who convinced me to let him tape me into a box. I remember climbing into the box. It seemed huge at the time, and I had no idea what James had in mind. As he shut the lid, I caught a last glimpse of his face. It was then that I realized, whatever the game we were about to play, I was sure to not like it. I nestled further into the bottom of the box, bracing myself for whatever came next. Suddenly I felt my feet fly up over my head. I was spinning like clothes in a dryer. Over and over I spun, losing all sense of direction. After countless squeals of protest, James let me out. I tumbled out of the box, thankful for solid ground. Everything James did pushed me to my limit. I had to be careful walking around the house. I would pass innocent blankets on the floor, and before I could react, James would have leapt up with a great cry of “Blanket Monster!” and I would be dangling in the air.

With three older brothers constantly testing my reflexes, I was a rather twitchy, jumpy child. Like most children, my imagination played host to the classic monsters that hid in the dark, the closet, or the toilet. All of those were easy to get rid of, but the monster in the faucet posed a challenge. To avoid him I would soap up my hands before turning on the water. That way when he came rushing out with the water I would burn his eyes, and successfully blind him. The monster that inhabited the cold regions of the bed was also difficult to overcome. It was actually James who helped me with that one. One night I came to him in tears, terrified, of the floating head in my bed. Like the hero he was he followed me back to my room to scare the monster off. Not only did he successfully get rid of him that night, but he filled me in on tips to get rid of him tomorrow night. He advised me to take all my stuffed animals and make a ring of them around me, where I slept. He told me that they would act as sentinels to fight off any nightly terrors. James was definitely a hero that night, despite his villainous activities of that day.

Last of all, Duff, my youngest older brother, is six years older than me. He honed my debate skills and tested my gullibility daily. (When I was seven, Duff could have convinced me that the sky was purple.) Being a curious child, I was always asking how machines worked. Whether it was a can opener or a car, I wanted to know. One afternoon I was standing near the computer as Duff wrote a paper. As fascinating as it was to watch his hands fly over the keyboard, I was beginning to get board. Soon enough the printer caught my eye. It was such a mysterious machine, and I had not yet asked how it worked, so turning to my all-knowing brother Duff I asked, “What makes a printer print; I mean how does it know what to write down?” Duff’s face clouded over with the typical how-am-I-going-to-explain-this expression and then cleared. “Gnomes,” he said. “Gnomes?” I asked my eyes wide with wonder. With sage-like grace he solemnly said, “It’s true. Gnomes make the printer work.” I could not quite grasp the concept, so I persisted in my questions, “But how?” At this point Duff leaned back in his chair. I always knew he was about to say something important when he did this. He cleared his throat and began, “Well, you see, Meredith, hundreds of gnomes live in that printer. When I press the ‘print’ button on the computer screen, it sends an image of what I want printed to the gnomes. As soon as they get the image they dip their feet in shallow pools of ink and begin running across the paper, carefully transcribing every word of my document.” Duff paused, and I took the brief interlude to let out a knowing “Aaaahhh.” Suddenly his face got serious, “There is something else you should know Meredith. When the ink in the printer is ‘running out,’ it actually means the gnomes are dying.” This news hit me hard, “Why that’s awful!” I exclaimed, my little heart about to break, “How can we let this happen?” Duff simply shrugged.

Despite my brothers’ constant pestering, I pointedly sought out their company. Maybe they were not far off when they said they were building character. Whatever their reasons for teasing, I loved them anyways. Our relationship, like any good mafia movie, had unwritten codes. While they could tease me till I pulled out my hair, if anyone so much as looked at me funny, they would pull out his hair. They were three big bears, always protecting me. I was the pestering little sister, but I was also the princess. They were Batmen, but also Jokers; heroes and villains all in one. To this day, they still try to pull my leg whenever possible, but for the most part, they usually play the part of superman. I’ve sometimes regretted not having a younger sibling of my own. With such rich examples to draw from, I find myself wanting to pass on games of blanket monster or tales of printer gnomes. With no one to turn to, I use my best friend’s little sister as a stand-in. As I explain to her the various jobs of gnomes, I see her eyes grow big in wonder. When she discovers the truth behind my lies, I greet her angry stare like my brothers would have and say, “I’m building your character.”

What to Say

2007-10-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else find this cover off-putting? Something about it strikes me as down right creepy.

"Become a Better You...(Become like ME!)"

:)

2007-10-16T20:46:00.001-07:00

An update is coming soon I hope. Consider this a trailer.

A Voice in My Head

2007-09-22T12:57:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in English yesterday and feeling as if I was in a fog. I could see my teacher’s mouth moving, but all I heard was “wah wah waaaah wah wah.” I could not focus. That morning I had given blood, and I think that had something to do with it. In fact, I think giving blood had a lot to do with everything that’s gone wrong the past 36 hours. Here begins my saga.

I arrived to give blood at approximately 9:52 am. I was very excited. I filled out the paper work quickly enough, so before I knew it, I found myself with a needle sticking out of my right arm and my life source quickly flowing out of me. It went much faster than last time. In fact it was downright easy…too easy. I felt a little dizzy afterwards, but besides that I was fit as a fiddle. I finished just in time to make it to Old Testament Archeology. With high spirits, I entered that class.

I was proudly sporting my “Be Nice I Gave Blood Today” sticker and feeling pretty good. It wasn’t until midway through the class things started to go awry. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. My will to fight it was waning thin. Just when I was reaching for toothpicks to keep my eyes open, the teacher called for a break. I made a beeline for the water fountain. By the time I came back to class, I had caught my second wind. The next hour passed and I went on to lunch. Lunch passed, and I went back to my dorm to finish a paper before English.

Three o’clock rolled around, and I forced myself to leave my room. The fog I had felt earlier was gathering once more. As I stumbled to class, I caught myself humming some Emo tunes, and feeling unwell. I got there early and put my head down. The next two hours slouched by. All I can remember from the class is “wah wah waaaah wah wah” Well that’s not entirely true. I remember being overcome by a fit of inspiration.

I’m not even sure if you could call it inspiration. It’s more like there was a voice in my head, and I began writing down what it was thinking. This is what I wrote:

“Slowly going mad. There’s this drip.drip.drip.dripping. Or is it a tick.tick.tick.ticking? Maybe it’s a mix: drip.drip.tick.dripping. It’s a rhythm. Whether it’s real or imagined, I don’t know. I’m slowly going mad. My doctor tells me I have 6 weeks of sanity left. The beat in my head gets louder each day; constant pounding invades every thought. It’s breaking me like Chinese water torture, and it’s all in my head. drip.tick. I’m going mad. drip.tick.insanity. I barely notice the drool on my face anymore. It dimly registers that I haven’t bathed in five days. My flashes of coherency are becoming less frequent. When they do come, it’s worse than the dripping. When I’m sane, I’m overwhelmed with despair. Depression sweeps over me so that I long to forget myself in my insanity once more. When I’m sane I long for my delusions. Drip.drip.ticking.drip. It’s coming back again…”

Well that was the story in my head. It was a guy talking, or should I say narrating? I don’t know how weird this sounds, but sometimes, I just have to start writing exactly what’s in my head. It’s as if stuff is floating around in there that doesn’t belong, and it’s only escape is through my pen. I think Jamie could relate. It’s a weird feeling.

Anyway, that happened in English class. After that, I can’t remember what I did. I just remember it was a long night. A very long night. When I finally did make it to bed, my mind was begging for sleep, but my body felt differently. My head was a haze, but my legs were twitchy. I felt like jumping up and down, but my head knew I couldn’t physically do that right now. All I could do was shake. It was awful. After what felt like hours I fell asleep. Waking up wasn’t that difficult, but ten minutes later the fog was coming back. I fought it off and won for the next three hours. In chapel, the shaking returned. My poor chapel buddy had to endure my knee rapidly bobbing up and down for the next hour. The rest of my day continued much as yesterday, but seemed to be getting worse. By four o’clock I had dissolved into tears. After calling mom, I went to the infirmary, knowing full well that, physically, I was fine. Sure enough everything checked out. I was simply exhausted and stressed.

Typing this, I feel much better. I’m still not out of the fog, but it isn’t scaring me as much. Oh, I almost forgot to mention what happened in Greek class today. I missed my chair as I was going to sit down. That’s right: I missed the chair completely and fell on my rear. At least I made everyone else feel good about themselves.

Vampires and Blood Donations

2007-09-19T20:56:00.000-07:00

What should I write about…I’m listening to Blink 182’s “Going Away to College” and feeling angsty. No, no angsty is not the right word. I’m feeling stereotypical, and I’m loving it. There is nothing new under the sun anyway, right? I might as well indulge myself and be a college student. Ahhhhh. I’m enjoying the moment.

Now I’m sick of it. I’m switching to Mika’s “Grace Kelly.”

...

Do I attract you?
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?
Am I too dirty?
Am I too flirty?
Do I like what you like?

I could be wholesome
I could be loathsome
I guess I'm a little bit shy
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me without making me try?

I try to be like Grace Kelly
But all her looks were too sad
So I try a little Freddie
I've gone identity mad!

...

That’s not cutting it for me either. I can’t make up my mind. That means silence is probably the best option, but before I try that option, I’m going to listen to “Dracula,” composed by Philip Glass, who, in my opinion, is one of the best composers of the 20th century.
...
Dracula is turning out much better. It’s all piano work, and excellently composed. I love it because it has enough interest, but it’s not distracting: a perfect combination.

Speaking of Dracula, I’m donating blood tomorrow. YAY! I’m being serious when I say I can’t wait. I like giving blood. I think it’s sort of fun. The whole idea is just so clever. What I mean is taht I don’t need all my blood, and I can easily give it away to help others.

The nurses are also nice for the most part, but they tend to fuss over me. Being fair skinned, I get even paler when I lose a pint of blood (no surprise there). Anyway, I must look white as a ghost when I’m giving blood because the nurses constantly ask me if I’m okay. We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Maybe I’ll faint. That’s fun to do too, and it makes for good stories. Well, I’m tired, and need to go to bed. I’ll try to post tomorrow if there is an exciting story to follow up my blood donation.

Greek Class

2007-09-18T12:43:00.000-07:00

Here's a pic of my Greek 101 class. It is probably my favorite class. My professor is the one in the middle. The stories he tells are priceless.

Why I Love Eggs

2007-09-17T14:47:00.000-07:00

I hope this brightens your day like it does mine: http://www.iloveegg.co.kr/egg_english.htm

Nate

2007-09-13T12:38:00.000-07:00

Hey Nate, I hope you read this. I can't get on your blog, and since I can't comment either I figured I would post to let you know. Will you invite me please?? :)

My Heart Sinks

2007-09-12T07:49:00.000-07:00

I rejoiced too soon. While I was able to post a comment on Mom's blog, I failed at Daniel's blog. oh pooh. and I had thought my problem was solved.

Comments

2007-09-12T07:45:00.000-07:00

It worked!!!!! I can publish comments now. yay! I don't know what was going wrong, but apparently my computer decided it liked Blogger and will allow me to comment now. Finally y'all will know I'm really reading your blogs.

Getting Twitchy

2007-09-09T21:42:00.000-07:00

Time is moving faster than I am. I'm having trouble keeping up, and I can hardly believe it's already Spetember 9th. By the time I'm done blogging it will most likely be September 10th. why? why? In someways time's ability to fly by is nice, but in other ways it's awful. Right now I'm just wishing it would slow down a touch. I've got this sinking feeling that college is going to be over before I know it. That's an awful thing to say when I'm not even been in school for a full week yet. It's true: this week will be my first full week. The way scheduling worked out with labor day and orientation, our first week was only three days long, our second week was four days long, and now this week will be the full five days long. What a nice way to ease into a schedule. It's been great, but like I said before, it's going by far too quickly. I didn't realize it had been 6 (almost 7) days since my last post. There I was sitting at my computer, feeling a bit smug, about how successful my blogging commitment has gone, and then I see the date of my last entry. My cloud nine vanished and I was brought face to face with the cold, hard reality that time is moving faster than I am. OH cruel, cruel world. You can tell I'm running on little sleep. I guess staying up till three in the morning and getting up at eight isn't the best idea. Oh well, it just means more coffee for me tomorrow :) I've been so good about staving off addiction that I think I can give in just a little...now I'm rambling. I might even skip proofreading this post and see what happens. I always amaze myself with how off my speeling is. haha. I honestly didn't mean to mistype that. I guess it's just further proof that I can't spell. I think I can live with that, however. I keep T.A.s on their toes. I know they love those red pens of theirs.

Well I'm out of steam. I've rambled long enough, and I'm frightened to read over what I've written, so please enjoy my grammatically incorrect entry. I've got to get some sleep. I feel a twitch coming on...right under my eye...Dad knows what I'm talking about.

Side Note

2007-09-03T21:09:00.000-07:00

I want to let y'all know, that I can't post comments on any one's blogs. I've tried unsuccessfully several times on several different occasions, and it just won't work. Argh. (face of frustration). I do read them, however, so keep posting.

"Well, in China..."

2007-09-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting outside, and the weather is just right; it’s warm, but there is a breeze. The sun is intense, but the shade is refreshing. I carry my parasol around everywhere. People might not know my name but they definitely know the girl who carries a “sunbrella.” It’s made for some interesting conversations.

This past Sunday I wore a black and white outfit to church, but I felt I needed some color, so chose my pastel blue parasol with paintings of cherry blossoms and birds. As I made my way back to the dorm, I was by myself, but I soon heard footsteps approaching from behind. Something about the way the way the feet hit the concrete with each step made me think they wanted to talk with me. I continued at my pace, and for half a minute they followed at an awkward seven paces back. Soon enough, however, I heard them speed up, and I knew my solitude was soon to be broken. “You know, you’ve been getting a lot of funny stares.” I turned to see who my new friend was. It was a guy from Honeyrock who had become rather infamous for his rudeness, so I paused to think of a response, “Well, I’d be a bit surprised if I wasn’t getting a lot of funny stares.”

Looking at my Chinese-inspired parasol, he went on to ask if I had been to china. “No,” I reply, “I wish I could say I have, but I got this in Disneyworld.” He surprises me with his next statement, “You know how in America how everyone tries to get tanner? Well, in China, everyone seeks pale skin.” It turns out he lived in China for four years. Holding up his arm he says, “I’m not really that pale, but I got followed all the time.” He pauses and then asks, “What color are your eyes?”

I look at him, “Blue.”

“Yeah, they would go crazy over you, but you would have to be careful. They might also call you a blue-eyed devil.” I didn’t really know how to respond at that point. Thank you just didn’t seem quite right. At Honeyrock, he came off as conceited, and he had never spoken two words to me. The fact that we were now have a conversation was unnerving. We walked a bit farther and then he asked, “How many parasols do you have?”

“About eight.”

His eyes got big.

“I just don’t like the smell of sunscreen that much, and parasols are much easier.”

This is just one of several converstions my parasols have inspired. It's true that I get a lot of funny stares, but overall, people's reactions have been positive. At worst they think I'm eccentric, and I enjoy that. As Edith Sitwell said, "Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd."

coffee addiction

2007-09-02T12:53:00.000-07:00

I find myself, once again, posting on my blog...miracles never cease. At this rate I might actually develop a habit. Speaking of habits or addictions, I've done very well with not getting too addicted to coffee. At least that's what I tell myself. It helps that the cafeteria serves this awful muck. I really don't know how to describe what they brew. I think it's Starbucks in origin. Without coffee at the cafeteria that leaves me to brewing my own pots. It's quite an enjoyable habit. I only wish I could use real creamer. Powdered doesn't quite cut it. It's not that I have to have creamer, but I do enjoy a little because it cuts the acidity.

My resolution to stave off my coffee drinking came about because of an experience at Honeyrock. Because I had been hiking in the woods for two weeks, I had not been able to have coffee. When I got back to the main camp, I was so overjoyed at the prospect of it that I found myself drinking 2 cups morning, noon, and night. As enjoyable as that was, I soon realized the circles under my eyes were not because of lack of sleep but because of lack of restful sleep.

It's true that coffee doesn't keep you up, but it also doesn't let your brain shut off when it is asleep. The result: bags under my eyes that would make Frankenstein look well rested. With this rude awakening, came a hard choice. I loved my coffee, but alas, I would have to cut back. Six cups was simply too much for my body to handle. My new resolution was this: drink two cups each morning, and decaffeinated tea on all other occasions.

It has become a very pleasant routine. My new teas are excellent, and I'm looking forwad to exploring new brands and new brewing techniques. As one door closes another opens, right?

Classes

2007-08-29T06:43:00.000-07:00

For anyone who is interested here is a list of classes I'll be taking first semester:

Old Testament Archeology
Composition and Research
Elementary Greek
Public Speaking
Gospel, Church, and Culture
Third World Issues

I'm a little nervous about Greek, but at the same time I'm excited. Languages aren't exactly my aptitude, so it will be a challenge. I survived for two weeks eating bugs, however, so I'm up for anything. Classes start today. I've only got two, and my first one doesn't start till 12:45. In fact, I have no morning classes. How's that for an awesome schedule? I'm loving it while I can. Who knows what next semester holds...

I'm a Wheatie

2007-08-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

I'm officially a Wheatie (a.k.a. a Wheaton student). The past three weeks have been surreal. As I walk around campus, trying not to get lost, I have to keep reminding myself that I'm in college now. Weird, huh? Whoever thought Meredith would be going to college this soon. I mean, 19 years ago I wasn't even born. How can I already be going to college?

Orientation has been crazy. Trying to find an hour of quiet time is as easy as running through the woods for nine miles with blisters. Speaking of running through the woods, I just got back from Honeyrock Camp Thursday, August 23.

For those who don't know, I signed up for Wheaton Passage. That means that from August 4-23 I was at Wheaton's pre-college camp. For 14 days I lived in the great outdoors with only a mosquito net separating me from thousands of bloodthirsty insects. They're vicious. One night I got 29 bug bites on my right foot. I simply love Wisconsin ;)

Besides being eaten alive, the experience was indescribable. How's that for vague? But really, my time at camp was awesome. It was an extraordinary way to start college. If I had known all that I would be doing, I doubt I would have signed up. It's not that I regret doing it, but two months ago, I wouldn't have believed I could do it.

In two weeks we hiked and canoed 92 miles. We made it all the way to Lake Superior. It was breathtaking. The water was so clean you could drink it without boiling it first. I can't describe to you what a good feeling that was. Although I got used to the bugs and twigs that floated in my nalgene, the ashy taste of the water was hard to overcome.

Probably my favorite part of the whole trip was the nine mile run at the end. We woke up on Saturday at 5:30 and prepared to go on the run. Some vans picked up our packs, and we were told to follow the red flags into Honeyrock Camp. It was a fitting end to our two weeks in the woods. The run was the final push. my friend Kristin and I paced ourselves and never stopped to walk. We ran the entire distance. One of the best things I learned while participating in Wheaton Passage was that my biggest obstacle is often myself. I can do more than I think I can; I just have to push myself.

I never thought that living outside for two weeks could prepare me for life on an urban campus with all the comforts of technology. my confidence is up and I'm ready to take on this year. I've got my family to support me, and God to guide me, and thus I begin college life.