This Provincial Life

A New Year's book list

2012-01-21T19:29:00.005-05:00

I generally avoid New Year's resolutions. Mostly because they don't get done and then I get all depressed that I can't even do something simple. Instead I keep a running list in my head of things that I need/would like to get done within that year. I wont bother putting all that down, instead, here is my list of books that I have to read. They consist of books I actually have a desire to read, ones that I've owned for a while and have sat there condemning me, and ones that I have tried to read in the past and can't get past a certain point (I'm talking about you, Dickens). Warning: They are a bit scattered throughout the genres.

The Gallic War by Julius Ceasar- I am enjoying this, despite the title and any preconceived notions I had. As soon as I realized that it needs to be read like you read the Bible (same style of language), it became so much easier to understand. That, and I kinda now think of Ceasar as a hero. Weird, I know. He was a ridiculously good general and intelligent, although a bit self-conceited (who else refers to himself in the third person?). One chapter until I'm done!

Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv- started months ago, never finished. Very interesting so far. States things that you know you know, but never thought about seriously. Confused yet? It is well written and clear; shows a clear correlation between mankind, our health, and our connection to our environment.

A collection of short stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne - another started but never finished book. Nathaniel Hawthorne is a bit underrated in our society, I think. He wrote so many interesting and deep stories that get passed over for his more well-known stories. It is a shame.

Anna Karenina by Tolstoy- because I love "War and Peace" and it was on sale for fifty cents at a book warehouse sale. It is a beast in the manner of most novels written by Tolstoy. Did I mention that Tolstoy is one of the reasons I am in love with the Russian culture?

The End of Eternity by Isaac Asimov- my go-to author for science fiction. Asimov is a genius, the end. But, no, seriously, if you are bored and need a good sci-fi book to escape into, find one by Asimov. He creates whole galaxies out of nothing in his stories.

A collection of the History of St. Marys and Camden County- a Christmas gift I asked for, because I felt kind of bad about living here, about to become a history major in college, and knowing nothing concrete about the history all around me. After all, St. Marys does claim to be the second oldest city in the United States.

Lies My Teacher Told Me by James W. Loewen- another non-fiction book that caught my eye. Started it before I could stop myself, realized I had already too many other books to read before, and then made a list to help control my skipping from book to book.

The Unexpected Guest by Agatha Christie- just as Isaac Asimov is my go-to guy for science fiction, Christie is my go-to lady for mystery.

Mudbound by Hillary Jordan- a fiction book that caught my eye in the sales section; what can I say, I'm a sucker for cheap books.

Percy Jackson/The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan- I accidentally bought this one at Kmart months and months ago, meaning to buy the third in the series and buying the fourth instead. I'm still trying to convince myself that it is ok to read them out of order.

Frivolous Cupid by Anthony Hope- an ancient copy I bought at our local "antique" store. Besides cheap books, I'm also a complete sucker for really old books. They make me giddy with excitement.

Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz- say that name three times fast. Because I love Roman history and it's a big book. All the better to challenge myself with.

Great Expectations by Charles Dickens- fourth time should be the final time, right? I have tried and failed to read this book three previous times. I am generally not a fan of Dickens, but I own the book, it's there taunting me.

The Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle- a book I have had for ages, but have yet to get around to.

As It Is In Heaven by Niall Williams- see above. I started it once, I believe, but then something more interesting caught my eye.

Mayhem on Thanksgiving

2011-12-26T01:10:00.007-05:00

I know! Thanksgiving was forever ago! So was my free time. I've been baking, cooking, card writing (both Christmas and Thank You's), decorating, and procrastinating. The procrastination is mostly to do with getting everything ready for college. That is a whole other panic-laden rant. Our Thanksgiving was chaos. It didn't start out that way. In fact, it was looking like it might be a regular to-do. The pies were mostly made. I was finishing the last of them that day and mom was doing something else. She was probably doing something very important, but you know how those days go; you really only remember the hard work you do. Stephen and Kirk had decided to "take care of" the turkey. I cringed when they first told us this. They never cook. That's an exageration. Stephen cooks for himself and his fire station partners, otherwise he would starve. But, I have yet to see Kirk cook a whole meal. He has, I just haven't seen it. Anyways, I'm one of those control freaks who has a hard time accepting help of any kind in the kitchen. If I don't do it, then I can only blame myself for how it turns out. I realize my logic is highly flawed. In other words, if I let you help in the kitchen, I would trust you with my first born. Back to the story.

Kirk and Stephen decided they were going to smoke the turkey. Stephen got a fancy grill for his birthday this past year and they were itching to test it out in a big way. Hot dogs and hamburgers were not going to cut it. Kirk was in charge of brining. In true man fashion he didn't sit down and write out/plan anything. He flew by the seat of the turkey pants. Which means he was left scrambling to get things for the brine and we ended up using the car washing bucket into which the bag full of turkey and salty water burst. This was days before Thanksgiving. It then failed to fit into our fridge. The raw turkey was rubbing on the shelf above it. I still shiver to think of the germs, even if I did disinfect the whole area. They transferred it to Stephen's fridge and I was free to fill ours with pies and mom's fruit salad.

The big day came and whilst I was napping between pie baking, my mother's cell phone rang. Half awake, I heard Stephen screaming through her phone, "Momma! I cut my finger off!" Needless to say, that woke me up. I stretched, yawned, and watched mom run around the house looking for her keys. I then sauntered over to the freezer and before she ran out the door, said, "In case he did actually cut his finger off, you might want to take the ice, because I doubt he has any." She grabbed the ice and off to Stephen's and next the emergency room she went. Turns out, he didn't actually chop his whole finger off. He sliced his pointer finger right down the middle, to the bone. The doctor then pulled out a splinter of wood that was stuck in the wound, which released the artery that it was plugging. From later accounts I was told that his finger spurted in time with his heartbeat.

So, Stephen was in the ER with mom, Kirk was at work, I had pies in the oven and two more to make, and the turkey was still in the grill in Stephen's backyard. Kirk was able to get to it before it caught on fire, but after all of that, it still wasn't cooked all the way through. Into the oven it went and by this time it was after six. I was also dogsitting for two families at this time, so I then had to leave. I was quite a grouchy lady by this point. No food on Thanksgiving does that to a person. Two hours later, around nine o'clock we finally sat down to eat our meal together. I, myself, did not have any turkey, but it smelled of smoke and according to my mother, tasted like it too. In the end it was making the fridge and everything in the fridge smell like smoke (and no one was eating it) so, we threw it out in the trash. You can guess that when Christmas dinner came up, I put my foot down and said that mom and I would be taking care of the main course. And boy did we ever: pot roast with veggies, boiled red potatoes with butter and thyme, tomato and mozzarella with spinach salad, stuffed zucchini, rolls, mincemeat pie, and an apple blackberry sponge pudding with cream. It's ok to be jealous.

Our Thanksgiving feast. We set up a side table to hold all the food since our little dinner table barely holds our glassware. I really like this picture. It shows the whole day in one photo. In case you missed it-at the top is Stephen and his heavily bandaged hand.

My dinner plate and etc. courtesy of Goodwill and an antique junk shop (except the silverware, those were a wedding gift for my mom from her Auntie Rose). This is how a vegetarian celebrates Thanksgiving: with stuffing; black bean salad; cheesy cauliflower; a crescent roll; mashed potatoes; and a salad on the side. I was full to the gills...with a ridiculous amount of carbs.

The mostly pie dessert table. Left to right, front to back: pumpkin cheesecake; Chocolate Bavarian cream pie; Supreme Cherry pie; Candy Apple Cheese pie; Pumpkin pie. The pies went much faster than the turkey.

Catching up

2011-11-24T23:33:00.014-05:00

I've been slacking off on here. It was part laziness and part not feeling like I had anything to say. I still have nothing terribly important to share. So, a picture will say it all. With brief (I promise to try!) explanations.

The "monster" I made for Halloween. He's in the entryway of the piano room, which just so happens to be right outside my mom's bedroom. He is made up of a vacuum, a sweeper, a roll of wrapping paper, and a couple of Halloween costume pieces. And maybe a little duct tape. Important note: Chloe freaked out! Not just the first time she saw it, but every time she came out of my mom's room. We only had it up for three days and we all laughed every time she jumped and barked crazily.

My pumpkin. He's the monster from the movie, Pan's Labyrinth. Except he lost a few skinny, vital pieces on the way out to the porch. As in, one of his eyes.

I've baked a bit lately. This is a Moss Rose cake, or so the recipe said. Straight out of my prized cake cookbook, "Southern Cakes". It looks nothing like the picture in the book. I made the mistake of putting the biggest layer on top. And the frosting ran all over. The orange flavored coconut was the best, however.

A Hummingbird Nectar cake. Pineapple, bananas, nuts, and a butter cream frosting. It did not last long.

I went to visit Katie (and Ricky), good, dear friends for a weekend. We met in Sarasota which was having a Chalk Festival. There was, obviously, lots of chalk drawings. Did I mention I love this one?

No words. Just awesome.

Now, this one. I'll say it. It creeped me out. It left me feeling disturbed. Like that time Professor Dransfield made us read Kafka.

We finished the evening at the Chalk Festival at a cosy, aromatic, Thai restaurant. We were in awe. I have a picture to prove it, but I do not think Katie or Ricky would appreciate my sharing it. This, by the way, is green curry.

Katie then took me to Sanibel Island, where we ate, were physically assaulted by THE most aggressive seagulls I have ever seen, and collected shells. The seagulls were truly horrifying. And hilarious when I look back on it. It was like a page out of Hitchcock. They would gather around us, getting louder and louder, start to hover in the air, and then all dive bomb right into us. Mainly, me. I had a sandwich. Katie had a pickle. I screamed like a little girl.

The Sanibel Lighthouse. It was shortly after this that my camera batteries died and I whined and complained. Katie was a true good-natured friend who consoled me in my tragedy.

Katie and Ricky's beautiful cat, Zelda. Doesn't she look like royalty? Their kitten, Zora, was not the photogenic type; she refused to sit still long enough and was more interested in playing. What kitten isn't?

A gift, from Katie, made by Katie. All I have to say is, I have such wonderful friends. She even put "Jorgie" on the back, in memory of my little parakeet. I still have to find the right spot to hang them, but for now they are sitting there reminding me of a good time visiting friends.

My life revolves around dogs...

2011-10-19T19:31:00.000-04:00

Seriously. I'm not joking. I wake up to two snouts and wagging tails at the crack of dawn. I crawl out of my bed. Let my dogs out, pet them, love them, and boost their self esteem. Drive to someone else's house and repeat. It's not a bad job. But, I feel like I interact more with dogs than people. Again, not a bad thing. By the time I get home at night, my family is sleeping, and I drag myself around doing what needs to be done (clean clothes, anyone?), longing for my bed. I also have a confession. The kind lady who I'm dog sitting for told me I could help myself to her food. She had a pan of chocolate, coconut, deliciousness, bars and I have shamefully eaten. Alot. I kinda dread what she will think when she comes home. Then again, they would totally be bad after the two weeks of her being gone, right? Right?! I am planning to bake her something yummy in recompense. Because I truly do feel like a guilty pig for eating them. (Do pigs have facial expressions? I'm trying to picture what it would look like.) Anyways, my point is, I am so ready for the Chalk Festival in Florida in November! To add to the gloriousness, I will see Katie! Actually, she is the main point of going. No pressure, Katie. I will have to take a ridiculous amount of pictures to highlight the event.

I bought my pumpkins today (pictures to follow?). I am NOT in love with one of them. I went to Walmart, no pumpkins. Drove over to Publix. Moldy, expensive pumpkins. By this point I had been away from dogs for longer than thirty minutes, so in my haste, I bought a slightly less moldy, expensive pumpkin. Then the traffic was bad, so I stopped in at Winn Dixie. They had smooth, blemish free, round, love of my life, pumpkins. And they were cheaper. I kicked myself. People gave me weird looks. I did buy a small squash/pumpkin from there. I'm not sure what it is technically, but, it's pumpkin-esque. I may or may not try to return my moldy pumpkin and go back to Winn Dixie. I feel dirty for buying a pumpkin that I didn't absolutely love. Like the world is off kilter. Add pumpkin obsession to my OCD list, right after "perfect" eyebrows.

I have recently discovered Naked juice. I am in love. The mango juice I bought today totally makes up for my moldy pumpkin. Another bonus: they are environmentally kosher, all natural, and tasty. Although, the banana calcium one was chalky. Tasty, but chalky. I chug those things down like there is no tomorrow.

So, besides, dogs, pumpkins, and juice, all is the same ol', same ol'. My garden is still going. The okra was finally finished fruiting a little while ago (I wouldn't think I would look forward to it so much, but really, how much okra does one person need?!) The tomatoes are doing so much better, now that I have caved and started using pesticides instead of organics. They currently have six little green tomatoes plumping up, along with plenty of flowers. Mom's brussel sprouts (I call them mom's because she will be the one to eat them. I hate brussel sprouts) are loads happier, now that it isn't like the pits of hades outside. I have one little bean plant that I just planted outside and so help me, sweet juju, Twain defoliated my apple tree seedling. I am still in denial and watering the little stick in it's pot. Every time I do, I say to whoever is in the room, "Maybe it will grow back. Right?", with a strident, hopeful voice. I feel like a little old lady whenever I'm out there, watering, weeding, spraying, picking, and smelling. My pride and joy, is of course, my rose bushes. They smell like heaven. And they don't make me sneeze and tear up like store bought roses. They have a peachy, slightly spicy smell. I suppose I inherited my Grandpa Kirk's love of plants. And like all things I do, I have turned it into an obsessive love affair.

And that, dear Sara (if you're reading this) is a blog update. Just for you.

Hair!

2011-08-10T18:17:00.005-04:00

So, I did it. I cut my hair off and I'm going to mail it to Locks of Love. Yay, for completing a life goal! Here is the before picture. I was running late for my hair appointment and was kind of flustered and hot from speed blow drying and make up applying, but you can get the general idea of how long it was. It was fun while it lasted, having long hair, but I don't see myself doing it again for a while. For one thing, it used up a booty load of shampoo. That, and it was a pain to brush, comb, and generally keep it out of my way. Do you have any idea how much long hair sheds? Probably the same amount as short hair, it just felt and looked like a whole lot of hair. You could make a little doll's wig out of the hair in my trash. Ok, I know, that sounds really gross. Try to get that image out of your mind. I did enjoy having it though. I got to play with my hair a lot more; put it in braids, pony tails, buns, and so on. Not to mention those days where I would just let it run free. Letting it air dry after a shower and it would look all wild and sexy, and I would feel like some sort of primeval woman was staring back at me in the mirror. Like I said, fun while it lasted.

But, all good things must come to an end. Below is a picture of the after part. Twelve inches of hair gone! Bonus: I got a free haircut! My hairdresser is also a family friend and she had two ziploc bags full of other hair for donation. She hadn't gotten around to mailing them, asked me if I would mail it along with mine, then very kindly said my cut and style was on the house for mailing all that hair. (It was a crazy amount too; I felt like I had just raided an American Doll store...only, I only took the hair...less creepy than if I had just taken the eyeballs, right?)
I've been growing my hair out for a couple of years now. I didn't feel the need to tell people about it, since it is kind of personal. I did tell a couple of my close friends, who happened to be on the topic somehow. Anyways, my reason behind it all was because of a trip to the hairdresser years and years ago (same lady who cut it today). There was an older woman there too and our hairdresser (henceforth called "J") went back and forth between us. While the other woman was under the blow dryer and J was combing my hair out, I noticed the woman staring at me. She then said in a sad voice, "You have such beautiful hair." I thanked her and then it was my turn to wait, while J worked on her hair. As she clipped and cut, J and the woman were chatting away. Then J said, "I'll show you how to fit the wig when it comes in. And how to draw eyebrows when they start to fall out." The kind woman had started chemotherapy and had come for one last hair cut. My heart broke. And then I thought, why throw away all that hair, when I can donate it to someone who wants it so badly. And that, folks is why I decided to donate to Locks of Love. I couldn't stand the thought of not helping someone in such a simple way.

So we don't end on such a somber note, here is a photo of me being ridiculous, before I cut it all off.

A post about nothing

2011-08-05T16:02:00.002-04:00

Just thought I'd let you know I was still alive and kicking. Not too much worthy of a post to put up. I will be applying to colleges this month (for the spring semester) and doing all the forms and files for that. Hopefully, one of them takes pity on me. Other than that, my life is basically, weeding (and eating whatever happens to fruit in my garden...first watermelon! Also, more okra than I know what to do with), netflix, more netflix, reading the gigantic pile of books next to my bed, and occasionally, fitfully baking or working on my family ancestry charts. I know, I know. My life is glamorous! Anyone know of a loaner/bank/loan shark who is willing to give out student loans to said student without a co-signer. Because all the ones I've looked at, or applied for, say the same thing; no credit, no loan. Unless I get a co-signer. Which stinks. Come on, banks! I will promise my entire life to you if you just give me enough money to get through college. Ok. Maybe that was a bit dramatic, but, they will get their money back, even if I have to sell my kidney or, you know, work non-stop for the next thirty or so years.

Blog Hop

2011-07-11T02:41:00.003-04:00

My cousin, Cara, all the way over in Scotland has an amazing blog. Well, at least I enjoy it. If you feel like it, check it out. You wont regret it. She's one of those rare brave writers. People who write about what they feel and care about. Few people are brave enough to write about their true feelings and I admire her immensely for sharing her truths. Anyways, she's having a blog hop. In her own words:

"Here's how it works: Add your blog at the end of this entry," (Cara's entry, not mine!) "copy and paste my questions to a new blog entry and fill in your own answers! :). For extra brownie points, add my little photo (above) and I'll love you forever!"

And here are my answers to the questions!

If you could, would you change your name?

Only half. I've gotten used to my first name, but still daydream about getting rid of my last name. As a teen I used to dream about being named something romantic and dramatic, like Scarlet. But, you know what? Elizabeth is a good solid name. Besides, it's my grandmother's name and I wouldn't want to lose that connection I have to her. My last name on the other hand... I hate it! It sounds so nasally and harsh. Too many sharp syllables and people usually say it like a military general.

If you could, would you turn back time?

Eh. Maybe. I don't know. Are we talking personally or history-wise? It would be neat to visit the historical past. Frankly though I wouldn't want to relive any parts of my life, even if I could change the awful parts. Once is good enough.

Where did you grow up? If you could, where would you have chosen to grow up?

Southeast Georgia. It was a good, dirty childhood of roaming in the woods, catching various animals to study, learning to run zig zag to get away from alligators, learning that sweating is a part of life, and being surrounded by "dahlin", "bless your heart", and fried foods. I don't know if I would want to have grown up somewhere different. It made me who I am. I would have liked to have been closer to at least some of my family; even the American side is far away.

If you could give one person the day of their dreams, who would it be and what would you be doing?

My mom is the easy answer, but seeing as her dream day would probably be to be left alone and that's not very interesting for this, I'll say, Stephen, my brother. Stephen works hard and tries to help so many other people. He also gets very little reciprocation. People generally don't appreciate him and all that he does. I'm not sure what we would do. A theme park? Stephen likes to see new places and do new things, so maybe even flying somewhere and seeing the sites? With lots of good food.

If you could eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Pasta. It's in my blood. My family loves the carbs. More specifically, I love the pasta. It's also a versatile dish that can be changed and tweaked and still count as pasta. I have way too many recipes for pasta dishes and I sometimes get cravings late at night for spaghetti. It is, truly, a love affair.

Long Lost Friends

2011-07-10T22:39:00.015-04:00

I have been saying to myself for the past couple of weeks that I really should get on here and write about Kaylee's visit. Kaylee is an old friend. When we were both little girls, our families were good friends, we were the only girls in both of our families, and we only lived about two blocks away from each other. So, naturally, we were good friends with each other. We would sing and dance to The Lion King soundtrack, plant balls all over her yard and pretend they were dinosaur eggs and we were "finding" them, ride bikes, swing from the tree in her backyard, play pretend school, and so on and so on. She was the friend with which I would pretend our bikes were horses; we would get rope or in my case, the dog leash, attach it to the bike handles and use them to steer like reins. Sadly, her family moved away when I was about eleven years old and she was ten. On the bright side, she came to visit. It was weird. And fun! Imagine a childhood friend who you haven't seen in over fourteen years coming to visit, because that's exactly what happened. She was basically the same old friend I remember, only grown up. I'm sure it was just as weird for her. Besides showing Kaylee around town and remembering things together, we also visited the beach and Cumberland Island. I wish I could put up all the pictures, but seeing as I took over 200 of them, yeah, you get the picture. Here are a select few of my favorites.
Fort Clinch beach. Hot, sandy, salty, and beautiful. Everything a beach is supposed to be. Also, not crowded. It was nice.

Kaylee taking pictures and collecting sea shells. Fort Clinch is a more private version of Fernandina Beach. Meaning, it's full of shells, like Fernandina. The sand is more shell than sand actually. Which is a good thing, because Kaylee collected a lot of shells.

The dirt road leading to the Dungeness ruins after you get off the dock on Cumberland Island. Sorry about the facial expression, Kaylee, but it really is a good picture! These are only the beginning of oak trees that cover the island.

Dungeness herself. Destroyed by a fire and slowly being restored. They've added some white stonework over the brick that wasn't there last time I went. Obviously they wont rebuild the whole building, but it will be nice to see it look a little more like it's original self.

The fountain (?) on the back of the gardener's house and Kaylee making a face on purpose this time.

A sampling of the many wild horses we saw. This herd was actually a fortuitous accident. The last time I've been to Cumberland was years and years ago, so I forgot which path to take to the beach and took the Nightingale trail by accident. It dead ends at the sand dunes, so it's not like we got lost. We did however, manage to see this herd (we had already seen a mother, her foal, and young stallion at the ruins), a young buck, a dead horse (eww, I know), and a group of wild turkeys who were trying to stay cool in the shade. It was worth the extra walk.

Kaylee climbing a tree along the marsh below the cemetery, where Robert E. Lee's father, Henry Lee was buried. The whole story is that Henry Lee was good friends with the owners of Dungeness, got sick while sailing to the West Indies, stopped at Cumberland, and unfortunately, died a little while later. They buried him in their cemetery, but his body was removed in 1913 to be buried next to his son in Lexington, Virgina (I've been there too!). However, his original grave marker and a stone explaining his removal are still on Cumberland.

A foal whose herd was grazing at the end of the boardwalk that leads to the beach. Isn't she the cutest?! We could get pretty close. I don't think they minded as much since we were up on a raised boardwalk and they were down in the mud/marsh.

To get to the beach we had to trek through a lot of sand. There are boardwalks for most of it, but you do have to walk through some sand dunes. In this picture we have finally arrived at the opening of the sand dunes in which we can see the ocean. Cumberland Island's beaches are one of my favorite beaches. The sand is almost white and it is one of those places that makes you feel small and large all at once.

Almost at the ocean! I hope this picture can do justice as to why I love this place so much.

Remember how I told you I loved the beach? Yeah, well, after a mile or so of hot sand with no shade from the sun whatsoever, I was so ready to dive into these trees.

The view inside that dark tunnel of trees at the end of the boardwalk. The live oaks at sea camp are one of the most beautiful, interesting things on the island. All that is one tree. As in, all those branches, touching the ground, veering up to the sky, twisting in and out, is from one tree. Plus, they are really fun to climb; speaking from experience.

One of the last horses we saw on the island before boarding the ferry. This beautiful grey stallion was grazing outside the ranger station. Kaylee and I got as close as we dared, then stood there as he slowly worked his way closer and closer. I was holding my breath the whole time. I took a ridiculous amount of pictures because how many times are you going to get this close to a wild stallion? He was breathtaking. And he was the perfect way to end our trip to Cumberland Island.

Manners

2011-07-06T14:55:00.006-04:00

Things to remember:

1. Don't comment on someone's skin color. It's rude. Some of us are black, some are brown, and some of us are white as the driven snow. And should we happen to "get some sun" we freckle. A lot. A ridiculous a lotness of freckles. And there is generally redness and peeling before the plethora of freckles. You know why my skin is the way it is. I mean, you have to. Unless you're five. And race and basic genetics has yet to be explained to you. Or to put it more simply: It's the way God made me. Get over it. And quit telling me that I should go tanning.

2. My body, my choice. And no, I'm not talking about abortion or the like. I'm talking about my hair. Silly, I know. But, you know what? People are silly. Especially when it comes to my hair. Why on earth should it ever concern anyone how long my hair gets is beyond me. I would think they would have better things to contemplate and worry about. I'm sorry that I don't go around with a big neon sign that says, "Attention everyone! I have long hair! I'm going to cut it off soon for little sick children!" Yet, time and again I have people mention it to me. Worse yet, they go to my mother (my mother, for pete's sake!) and in hushed voices talk to her about how long it is and how I should cut it, as if I'm using up the world's natural resources. Thankfully, I have had a few people (mostly my friends) who compliment me on it. It helps balance out all the strangers who think it is their duty to tell me that it's too long. Tools.

The plants, they are a growin'!

2011-06-20T18:02:00.005-04:00

You know what's more beautiful than a plant? A plant you grew, fertilized, and watered from a seed. This is one of my biggest pea plants. She's loaded with little (only they're not so little) seed pods. They're long and green and I can't wait to eat them! I have to wait for them to plump up and turn purple. Because I apparently couldn't be satisfied with regular peas, for some reason I had to get purple ones. I don't remember why now. But, there she is, in all her glory, right next to the biggest corn plant. Which isn't really a hard task, since only two corn seeds grew. A disappointing result caused by too poor soil. Only, I'm not disappointed. I'm just plain excited that I could get two to grow!

The raised vegetable bed. It's like a jungle. A nice, green, bushy, soon to produce delicious fruit jungle. The okra was the first to really burst forth (they're the big leaves). They already have little okra pods growing underneath the leaves. The onions aren't doing so hot. I guess they aren't kidding when they say onions do not like sunlight. They are stunted. I don't have the heart to rip them out. Besides, the ones underneath the bigger plants are getting bigger. So, there is hope. The watermelon is going to town. Sending out tendrils and vines left and right. I have to curb it's enthusiasm every now and then, or else it would strangle the nearby tomatoes. I gently disentangle the tendrils from around the base of some other plant while repositioning the vine. I can't grudge it's enthusiasm. It's living it's life, that's all.

I can't but help to include a picture of the smoke that has enveloped our town. The nearby wildfires (more than Okefenokee now) are burning acres and acres of woods and the air smells like one big giant campfire. It makes walking the dogs a task. A coughing, hacking, dizzy task. The above picture is during the day. As in bright, sunshiny day. Only it's not bright or sunshiny. It's hot, humid, and smokey. My plants, car, house, hair get covered in ash every now and then too.

Dog safety has been on my mind lately. Our dogs are sweethearts. They're loving, gentle, and loyal. But, they are still dogs. And I'm amazed how stupid people, especially strangers can be when it comes to our dogs. Scooter is not a fan of strangers. It's part of her German Shepherdness. And part of her general phobia of new things. We recently had the missionaries over. Scooter barked, loudly, as she usually does. We've found that the best thing to do is to ignore her. She will quiet down, sit somewhere out of reach, and watch these new people. I even told the missionaries to ignore her and not try to touch her. She's afraid, not aggressive, but if you corner a scared dog, you will get what you are oh, so clearly asking for. And for some reason, people, especially men, take this as a challenge! As in, I will touch your barking, scared dog if it's the last thing I do (which it very well might be). My mom and her mom always used to say, "If it has a mouth, it can bite". Meaning, asking if an animal bites is stupid. Everything has the ability to bite. It's your job as the supposedly more intelligent species to read their body cues and decide if you need to back off. If I had a quarter for every time a stranger touched Scooter, even after I told them not to, I would be able to buy a tank of gas. Chloe doesn't have this problem. She loves everyone! It's the lab in her. Her goal in life is to lick as many faces as possible. Being such a love bug, when she sees a person, she decides to go say hi. I understand not everyone is a dog person. And very few people are Chloe people. She's big, black, and it can be hard to read her facial expressions. That being, the last thing you do when a large, galloping, black dog is racing towards you is run. We have had grown men run, screaming, away from Chloe. Chloe, naturally, thinks they are playing and continues to chase them. Even if she were "going for the kill", the last thing to do would be to run. That's like saying to a wolf, "Here, puppy! I'm a tasty deer! Come rip my throat out!" Which is not what Chloe is ever thinking. She's probably thinking more along the lines of "Human! I wuv you! Running! Running! Fun!" Of course that doesn't let me off the hook. I do need to get her under control, but that's a little hard when there's a screaming, running person distracting her.

Unsolicited advice

2011-06-10T16:53:00.003-04:00

I've only been a vegetarian for about a month (has it been longer?). And yet, here I am ready to share my insights on it. I love it! Recently I've noticed a lot of younger people in my ward trying to go cold turkey too; sorry, the pun is too good. But, they all fall off the wagon. So, here are my little thoughts and advice on how I've made it thus far. Whether you want it or not.

1. When you stop eating meat, you have to replace it with something else. Common sense, folks. Don't go hungry just because you don't want to eat a cow. Buy vegetables, pasta, grains. Whatever you can afford.

2. MorningStar veggie patties have been my salvation. They somehow trick my mind/stomach into thinking it's eating a delicious burger, complete with cheese and ketchup. We've done the math and it turns out that a MorningStar box of four patties costs the same as four hamburger patties. Even my meat loving brother likes them.

3. Mix your diet up. Don't eat the same old non-meat items day after day. Then not only do you get bored, but your body starts to crave things. Things like Chik-fil-A, Kentucky Fried Chicken, etc. I find when I've been eating a monotonous diet that that is when I start to crave my old foods. When I daydream about eating a whole whopper. And I've never been a fan of Burger King, so, yeah. But, when I've been eating a variety of fruits, vegetables, and so on, I can watch those fast food commercials and even feel a sense of revulsion at those greasy, meaty foods.

4. Protein. You need it. It's a fact of life. However, another fact of life is that protein makes up every organic thing. Eggs, milk, cheese, beans, peanut butter, and too many vegetables to count. Tomatoes are the king of a well-rounded diet; they have so much good in such a small package that we eat them every day in our house. I bet you didn't know they are a good protein, huh? I didn't. You also only need a minimum amount of protein a day to live. Protein is the one thing in my diet that I know I don't have to worry about getting enough of.

5. Get a vegetarian cookbook, if only to give you some ideas. You don't actually have to cook from it, although you might find yourself wanting to. You can get one on sale from the many bookstores out there. I did. Because I'm cheap.

6. Should you fall off the wagon, don't shrug your shoulders and give up. Climb back on and try again. We all fail. The main thing is to learn from your mistake and try harder.

In no way or form do I profess to know everything about anything. The aforementioned items have proven to be helpful to me, so I thought I would share. I also do not claim that my diet is the diet for anyone other than me. I respect other peoples' choices in what they eat. I do find myself wishing other people would be more respectful of my choices; I've received a bit of flak for not eating meat recently. It's not like I shove it in their faces either. Except here. Don't count this. As I've gone without eating meat products, I've noticed my tastes buds becoming more discerning. I enjoy the complex flavors of foods a lot more and ridiculously sugary items aren't hitting the spot as much. The knock-you-naked brownies I made for Mother's Day were embraced by everyone else, but as I bit into one I found myself thinking, "Meh." And usually I would have been all up in that brownies' business. I guess I should like this development. I guess.

Wildfire

2011-05-08T15:37:00.003-04:00

This is our front yard view today. There has been a wildfire raging through the Okefenokee Swamp (yes, that is a real place, and no, I did not make the name up) for a while and we're close enough that not only do we get the smoke, we get the ash. Those are our two wild maple trees that just decided to start growing in our yard one day. I named them Adam and Eve in case you were wondering how far my mania for plants can and will go. Except in this case the slender, smaller one, who I call Eve, came first. Technicalities. Anyways, Okefenokee is close. We used to visit there when I was little. It is chock full of alligators and on one of the boat tours through the swamp the guide put us in a tiny little boat with next to no sides. I remember strong feelings of horror and fear. I don't generally have a problem with reptiles. I let snakes go their own way and actually look upon our visiting garden snake with fondness. I sometimes even find them beautiful. And while I do find alligators beautiful in an alien sort of way, I am absolutely, 100% terrified of them. In Virginia, whenever we went swimming in rivers or mountain streams, I would always hesitate before jumping in, even though I knew perfectly well that there were no large carnivorous reptiles lurking beneath the surface. My fellow classmates from out West and up North had a hard time comprehending why I was just a touch nervous about swimming in water that wasn't clear. That's because they never went to girls' camp in the South. At the lake we used to swim at, during girls' camp, we had a lifeguard. Not for rescuing drowning girls, but to keep an eye out for alligators. During our fourth year overnight camp out, one of the leaders took us on a jaunt at night. She showed us how to shine our flashlights in such a way that they would reflect off animals' eyes and then told us how to identify them by the color and size of said eyes. (Spiders are green little jewels in the grass, by the way). We reached the lake, she shone her light across the lake, pointed out a couple of red circles, and told us they were alligators. That is when one girl said, "Like those?" We all looked to where her flashlight was pointing, literally right in front of us. Let me say, you have never seen a bunch of teenage girls run that fast ever before. So, while I do have a deathly fear of the large, scaly, ancient reptiles, I do have a healthy amount of respect for them and I do sincerely hope the fires die down soon, so that good, old Okefenokee can go back to it's peaceful, slow life.

This is what happens...

2011-05-05T12:54:00.009-04:00

This is what happens when you put your book down to do something and then, five minutes later come back to find that you wont be reading your book after all.
This is what happens when fate smiles on you and decides you deserve a clear picture of your dog and her tongue.

This is what happens when you're a partially blind cat; you sit with your legs splayed for balance. It's very un-cat-like. Do all blind cats sit like this? Or is it just my little weirdo?

This is what happens when you're taking pictures of one and the other decides that maybe it's time you pay attention to them. You can't see it, but Dido is sitting behind Twain, swatting at her butt.

This is what happens when you have too much time on your hands. And when your cat takes an odd liking to the beach chair. It's strange. I find her sleeping on it all the time.

Life

2011-05-02T14:39:00.000-04:00

Part of my real reasoning behind this gardening business, besides having a plain, old fashioned infatuation with plants, is the fact that vegetables are so dang expensive. I might as well come out and tell the world; I have stopped eating meat! Are you shocked and horrified? I know my colon was. I'm not against eating meat ever again. It's more of a moral predicament of not wanting to eat factory farmed meat and not having any other options in this area. Knowing what those animals went through, both when they were alive and after they were dead, made my soul feel sick. Apparently, it was also making my body sick. It has been about two weeks since I went cold turkey (hah!) and the only way I can describe it is: if my body were a stream, it is now a clear, cool, bubbling stream. I feel happier; that, I will concede could be due to the fact that I'm not torn over the little critters I'm eating. More than that, I feel healthier. My old car accident injury/dislocated pelvis, has only caused minor aches versus the usual limping, can't sleep, bone twisting pain. My skin has cleared up and my eyes, oddly, are no longer blood shot. That last one weirded me out a little. I didn't connect my usual blood shot eyes with eating flesh; I thought it was something that just happened to my body. But, now I wake up in the morning, my joints feel good and my eyes are clear and bright. Alright, I'll stop, because I'm pretty sure all you meat eaters out there are rolling your eyes and sighing. I even bought a vegetarian cook book and it even made me hungry looking through it! I am a little wary of the whole tofu thing. Willing to try it, but wary of the texture.

I would be remiss in my duties as an American and a human if I didn't mention the latest news obsession, Osama Bin Laden's death. I am mostly relieved, half doubtful, with a pinch of pity. A tiny, itty-bitty pinch of pity. Do I think he did horrible, awful things with his life? Yes. Does my heart break for all the lives he ruined with his twisted thoughts? Absolutely. Do I pity him for his lack of love and compassion? Yes. How dark and frightening would your life and soul have to be, to commit the kinds of acts that Bin Laden (or any other manipulative murderer) did? I doubt he felt the lack of love or simple kindness that he didn't possess. In the end he got and will get what he paid for. He dealt with death, despair, and anger, what else did he expect to get in return? The last time I was in D.C., with Sara, we visited the Holocaust Museum. As we roamed through the exhibits, crying, I noticed that we all had sad, haunted, tearful faces. We cried for the dead and the suffering. But, I also noticed that we all radiated an inner strength, a resolve to prevent this kind of cruelty and monstrosity from happening again. The museum had done more than to show us what had happened in the past, it had shown us how to make the future better. Now, with the death of another, dare I say, evil man, as we remember those he hurt or destroyed in one way or another, I pray that those who lived will become stronger and more resolved for a world of peace, love, acceptance, and hope. After leaving the Holocaust Museum in D.C., I didn't feel angry or revengeful. I felt hope. Pure, bright hope that through the worst of what man and life can throw at us, that we can overcome it all.

Props to the pioneers and anyone else who came before farming machines

2011-04-23T16:21:00.004-04:00

The vegetable garden is done! I feel like choirs of angels should be singing right here. It took my brother and I three days of hard work to get the soil ready for the corn. Not only did we have to do it by hand (we're poor and can't afford one of those fancy tillers), but the soil was very compacted. So compacted, it bent the blade of the metal hoe. I know that without my older brother it would've taken at least six days; that is, if I didn't give up before then. My one persistent thought during all of the back breaking labor was...our forefathers were on crack. Seriously. Jefferson and the posse all believed that farming was the noblest profession and that America should be built from, on, and by farmers. They thought that farming would not only make people better, but keep us out of trouble. You know why it would keep you out of trouble? Because at the end of the day, you were so exhausted that there was no thought more precious to you than sleep. Sweet, blissful sleep. Not only did I go without dinner a couple of nights, but I also skipped showering; hold the disgusted comments please. I did eventually shower, if that makes you feel any better. Now that it is all done with and I've had a day or two to relax and simply just water my little seeds, I've started to think about planting the flower seeds. Maybe I am a masochist.

Here it is! Our mini corn field, all of two rows, with corn, beans, and pumpkins germinating together. Please excuse the ghetto weed blocker between the rows. It came with (biodegradable) pegs to hold it down, but they started to degrade and the wind started to blow, so, you get the picture. The raised bed is behind, obviously. Important update: the okra started sprouting yesterday and the swiss chard started today. I tell them everyday that I love them.

Beautiful Midge, sunbathing on my mom's bed. She still lives in my mother's bedroom, safe and secure from the other cats. It was just too beautiful of a picture to not share. Everyone should own a set of red sheets.

My mom with my niece, Elise; at Elise's blessing. Don't be fooled, Elise is a tiny baby, but so is my mom. Not a tiny baby, a tiny woman...sorry, mom!

The whole gang at Elise's blessing. You can't tell, but Owen has stitches under his chin, which he got the day before from falling on his bedroom floor. You tend to trip when you run around your bedroom naked with all your toys on the floor. It happens. Mostly to boys, if all the stitches my brothers got are anything to go by.

A girl and her hoe

2011-04-19T22:55:00.003-04:00

Not much has been going on around here lately. I did recently attend a friend's wedding and reception; the first being on a cruise ship (lovely and made me feel like taking a cruise would be the best thing ever!) I love weddings overall, especially weddings of friends, and I love the ocean... okay and free food. I enjoyed myself immensely. More of you should get married. On cruise ships. And invite me.

I also (finally) started my vegetable garden. To all you people out there, dirt costs quite a bit of moolah. We do have plenty of dirt in our own backyard, but unless you're growing weeds, or your name is Chloe and you like rolling in said dirt, it's not much use. So, I bought loads of nutrient rich soil and four bags of cow manure. Not such a pretty order at Lowe's when they shout it out on the speaker. Has anyone been into a Lowe's plant section, or heck any plant section? Doesn't it smell like heaven? I always feel healthier and happier, no matter how humid, walking through the garden plant sections in stores. Back to my point; I sweated, grunted, and cradled those bags to the bag yard and into my raised garden bed. I may have also squealed and screeched, "It's on me! It's on me!" when I poured the manure in and some of it ricocheted onto my legs. Did I mention our neighbors are pretty close position wise and one of them was doing yard work at the same time? As soon as I poured the cow manure in, it was like a trumpet had gone off, calling in all the nearby bugs. Soon, I was swatting and dancing around, while trying to rake the soil into a semblance of uniformity. All while yelling at Chloe, who kept sneaking up behind me, grabbing a chunk of dirt and running off to munch on it. Dogs are gross, the end. Now I spend my days guarding my vegetable/dirt bed against any and all threats, including, but not limited to: Chloe, too much sun, too much rain, birds, bugs, and the possibility that I might fuss over it too much and thus kill the plants before they even begin to live! Tomorrow I am starting on the corn, beans, and squash. I'm excited and terrified. I am doing it all without the aid of a tiller. Yep, it is just me and my hoe. I really like saying that if you can't tell.

A niece is born!

2011-03-17T13:57:00.004-04:00

I'm an aunt again! My sister-in-law gave birth to a beautiful baby girl yesterday afternoon. After being dilated, but not really progressing for a week, the doctor decided to induce her; thus, she only had to push for about ten minutes (which, from what I've heard from the plethora of women that have had babies, is pretty good time for a second baby). Now, little O has a little sister. We are all so excited to have a baby girl in the family! They named her Elise Charlene, she weighed a tiny 6 lbs. 12 oz., and was 19 inches long. That's tiny for our family, anyways (Owen did weigh about 10 pounds and my brothers and I were all in the 7 lb. area). I would put up pictures, but Facebook is being a freak and not letting you copy pictures (I have yet to meet the little joy in person, so I don't have any pictures of my own). There must be something in the female DNA that programs us for adoration of tiny, girly things. Or more specifically, have you seen the plethora of tiny, adorable baby clothes? The dresses! The tiny, sparkly, frilly dresses never fail to make dog whistle-esque noises come out of my throat. On another related note, she has the family Asian eyes. We have no idea where they come from, but, they're common enough in my dad's family that a couple of babies in our family are born looking like they have strong predilections to being Asian. It baffles all of us pale, white folks. When I was born, my eldest American cousin said, "Look at those eyes! Where'd she get the almond eyes?" To which, her mother replied, "Look in the mirror!" Ah, genetics, how wonderful you are. It would be nice to figure out where those eyes started...where's "Who Do You Think You Are?" when you need them?

So, to end it all, welcome to the world, little Elise! You are in for a breathtaking, beautiful experience! We are so grateful that God entrusted your lovely soul to our family.

Don't cry milk...

2011-03-08T23:23:00.002-05:00

I really hope that someday any children that I will be fortunate to have are exactly like this little girl. Imaginative to the point of hilarious escapades. With me as their mother though, the poor dears really have no chance of being normal. After all, when I was a little girl I used to spend our track time in elementary P.E. running joyfully around and around, pretending I was a wolf. Sometimes, I even convinced my group of friends to join in. Then we became a wolf pack, howling and barking at the other students. I'm pretty sure they all thought we were nuts. But, you know what? We had so much more fun than any of the other students. And if I was in a giving mood, I would let us be a herd of horses, according to Tasha's wishes (she loved horses). I don't think I've told that to anyone before. To me, it was just a normal part of being a child. The one story my family loves to tell everyone and anyone is when I was about three years old. We were visiting my mother's family in Bathgate (Scotland) and the doorbell rang. I answered the door (goodness knows what my family was thinking, letting a three year old answer the door in a foreign country) and the little neighbor girl asked if I could come out to play. Of course, since she was Scottish, it was more like, "Cannae coom oot ta play?" Luckily, I had grown up with a Scottish mother, so I was well versed in the strange language. I looked this poor child up and down with my little judgemental three year old eyes and boldly said, "No, I can't. I broke my legs and they are all full of blood." At which point I shut the door in her face and walked off. It is at this point that my family all laughs and wonders where on earth I learned about broken legs being full of blood. All I can say is, imagination. Imagination is key and makes life, especially as a child, full of brilliant colors.

Book of Mormon....the Musical sigh

2011-02-18T11:07:00.005-05:00

I recently discovered an article online that talked about how the creators of South Park were putting on a broadway (I don't think it is actually on THE Broadway...?) performance called "The Book of Mormon, the Musical". At first I was absolutely horrified. I mean, who isn't when their religion is ridiculed. I am, personally, not a fan of South Park, but, as I read more, the article pointed out that South Park has made a point of "teasing" all large religions (and cults, but that's a whole other box of cookies). To tell the truth, I'm not sure how I feel about the whole musical. I think the official statement from the leaders of our church puts it best: "The production may attempt to entertain audiences for an evening, but the Book of Mormon as a volume of scripture will change people's lives forever by bringing them closer to Christ,". Whoever is in charge of the church's publicity is my new hero. If there is anything that I appreciate the most in this world, it is a good publicist (Quiznos, I'm talking about you and your awful commercials that are memorable, but not in a good way). Anyways, the article, online on Slate, right here, is kinda, sorta, one-sided. One-sided like a conversation with Helen Keller. Sorry, Katie, but it was too good of an opportunity. Sure, the writer brings up how nice us Mormons are. The only real problem I had with the article was how he kept referring to our religion as Mormonism. Like a misspelled word, every time he used the term "mormonism", I winced. I realize that most people refer to us as Mormons and should I make the mistake of introducing myself as LDS, I mostly get a bunch of blank, confused looks (and the occasional, "Your religion is a drug?!"). So, what do you think of this whole deal? Are you horrified, ambivalent, or joyous? Do you think that part of believing in miracles and God, means you should just get used to those who will make fun of you? Or are you one of those folks who is secretly thinking, "Finally, those Mormons are getting their comeuppance? Mwah, ha, ha, ha!", all while rubbing your dry, pale hands together? (I have no idea why your hands are dry or pale, they just are.) Tell me what you think; seriously, I can take it, just as long as you are respectful and adultish.

Invisible Tornadoes

2011-01-26T14:09:00.004-05:00

Yesterday it rained, and rained, and then rained some more.

In fact, I don't think it ever did stop raining until late last night.

Apparently we were not only under a tornado watch, but also a tornado warning. And yet, no one actually saw a tornado. The doppler did. The satellites and dopplers and wizards kept telling all the weathermen/ladies that there were a couple of tornadoes in the area, but they failed to get any footage of it. I suppose that doesn't mean the tornadoes didn't exist. (If a tornado tears up a tree in a forest and no one is there to see it, did it happen?)

None of the above mentioned stuff really matters. Except we did desperately need rain. We were in a drought for a while. Not to mention the wild fires that happened around Christmas time. You would think we lived in California.

What does really matter with all the raining is that I have two hydrophobic dogs. Two cowardly dogs who refuse to get wet. If the grass is too dew soaked Scooter refuses to walk on it. Their fear of water extends to the point that even if they desperately have to go to the bathroom, which they usually do when it's been pouring all day, they simply wont. Such was the case with Chloe yesterday. It got to her doing a pee-pee dance in front of the back door and yet every time I opened it, she took one look at the rain and backed up. I then took the initiative, since I am supposedly the stronger, smarter species and forced her out.

Into the cold, hard rain.

And she stood there, staring forlornly in.

And cried and yelped like she was in physical pain.

Did I mention, Chloe is a big baby. Did I also mention that she screams. Literally screams when she gets really upset. I worry that the neighbors will report us. All for making our dog use the toilet outside.

We are also now the proud owners of a hybrid car. Or rather, my mom is. She finally sucked it up and bought a new car. She had been using my little ford to get to and from work, the grocery store, church, etc. for over a year (ever since her last car was totaled in an accident). The downside of her using my car? I never had a car. I felt like I was in high school again, having to ask to use the car.

Back to the new Honda hybrid. It's blue (not light or dark), a two seater/two door with a hatchback, and tiny.

And I hate it.

It looks slick, high-tech, and neat, but when it comes down to actually driving it, I hate it. Because it was so small, I had to slouch down in my seat and even then my head was rubbing on the ceiling. Goodness knows I'm not that tall of a person.

I was impressed with all the gadgets inside, but then I started to feel car sick. While driving. Who the heck gets car sick while they are the one driving? It doesn't make sense. Maybe it was because the car was so small or maybe it was because the engine shuts on and off at stops. As I explained it to my mom, I felt like I was driving a go-cart.

The positive side of my mom's new go-cart hybrid is that she likes it. Which means, I get my dear, sweet, slightly battered ford focus back. And I don't have to ask to use it ever again.

Walk the Weight off

2011-01-20T14:09:00.002-05:00

Day 2: I am sore. Not wincing, sharp, torn muscle pain, thank the stars. More of a dull, aching, blunt kind of pain and that is confined to my thigh muscles. Who knew that walking quickly for 15 straight minutes would push my body to the edge. I can hear my muscles now, "What?! What happened to watching episodes of "Lost" all day? What happened to the recliner?!" Yesterday made me realize how pathetic my body was/is. Which I suppose is one of the main purposes of the first day of exercise; a wake up call. Although, I do have to say that this wake up call was so much nicer than Chloe's wake up calls. Hers usually involve an inappropriate amount of tongue.

Updates

2011-01-14T19:17:00.003-05:00

I've promised myself that I am going to be more positive. Because, really, no one wants to read about me moaning and complaining, even it is the thing I do best. We had the blinds thrown open a couple of days ago (to let in some sweet, sweet sunshine warmth...our heater is broken...and it's been in the 40s) and I decided to make Chloe participate in a photo shoot. That's what I call taking an inordinate amount of photos of my pets mostly because I'm bored and feel moved to do so. There she is, basking in the sunshine on her giant doggy bed. She may look regal and cute (is that possible at the same time?), but all she wants in this photo are the Little Ceasar treats I'm holding just out of range. Chloe has been like a fungus. She has grown on us all. Yes, she can be annoying and tiresome, but she is also sweet and gentle, and even when she's being annoying, you can't help but laugh at her goofy attempts to get you to do something for her.
Dido had surgery a couple of weeks ago. You can't tell in her pictures or in real life, but she is missing her bottom left canine. You know, those giant fangs that cats have in the front. Well, Dido currently only has three. The story all begins with Dido's love affair with drawstrings and tearing said drawstrings to shreds. Pretty much all of my clothing with any form of drawstrings has been mutilated by Dido. My mom had brought home a bunch of her school stuff over Christmas break and Dido discovered one particular bag that had a lovely shoelace type of drawstring to close it. Unfortunately, while she was chewing and biting at it, Chloe started barking at something (a thing she does several times a day...Weimaraner breeds are for the strong-willed is all I can say). Dido became frightened and went to run off, with the string still attached to her tooth and the heavy bag full of books following behind. She ended up breaking her bottom canine in half, above the root, but below the gum line. Dido has no clue that she has messed up eyes or is missing a tooth. She still bosses the dogs around, greets everyone like they are long lost friends, and gives the disdainful look of, "What do you want?", pictured below.

For Christmas, Stephen got a hiking guide for Georgia. I think he briefly looked at it while I have been bogarting it and planning various hiking trips since. There is one trail north of Athens and Atlanta that I really want to climb, called the Arkaquah Trail. What won me over, you ask? The description of the trail, which included the exact words of "elfin atmosphere". How on earth am I supposed to pass that up?! Anyways, that is my goal. To someday go to Brasstown Bald Mountain and climb that trail; preferably this year. I've also joined a walk off the weight program on Family Circle magazine's website. It appears to be extremely simple and starts out easy and light. What has always put me off exercise programs is the general intensity of those programs. I like to be able to walk the next day, thank you very much. I'm lazy, I'll admit it. I do not enjoy running (too much jiggling of the lady parts for my taste) and I do not like coming home sore, tired, and sounding like a zombie who has spied fresh meat. That is why I think this walking program will work. I am all for any exercise that starts out with a seven minute walk for the first day.

Holiday Hoopla

2011-01-01T13:01:00.006-05:00

As a kid I used to always wonder why adults didn't get as excited over their birthdays as I did over mine. Now I know. Grown-up birthdays are kind of disappointing. If turning 25 was a kind of explosion, mine would have been a sparkler, fizzling away into nothing. It wasn't all doom and gloom. The night before, we ate stuffed crust pizza, which I'm pretty sure can cure all the world's problems, and for my actual birthday, my mother made lasagna (a skill I have yet to achieve without disastrous, messy, results). All followed by a present to open from my mom. There were no candles or real birthday cake, since my mom wanted to wait for brother #2 to get home from work...at 11:30 p.m.! The end of it all was that I couldn't stay awake, went to bed slightly depressed at the slow, uneventful day, and had a huge chunk of cake for breakfast the next morning. Being the youngest in my family I'm not used to my birthdays being boring. Usually, my whole family wishes me a happy birthday and we do something fun that I want to do. This year would have been the Cummer Museum (although my first pick was the Kolomoki burial mounds), but both were rejected as taking up too much time by everyone else and basically, I didn't want to go by myself. Now, don't go crying for me yet. I realize there are much more horrible things in the world and my lame birthday is not even a blip on the surface. I will survive, even without the happy birthday song. Maybe being older just means you have to be more self-actuating when it comes to your birthday. Go out and make your own happiness. Which means I will have to actually get dressed.

In other news, Christmas was good. It was filled with the general Christmas cheer, cookies, lights, and cold. I like to believe that everyone enjoyed the gifts I got them. My nephew loves his new play kitchen; I was even sent an adorable picture of him playing with it. Brother #2 spent two days playing his zombie video game, mom finally got her piano tuned after seven years, and brother #3 grunted and said, "Thanks, Elizabeth" when he opened his baconnaise (which is pretty much effusive emotion for brother #3). Besides a bunch of stuff that I'm sure you don't want to hear about, I got a blow dryer! My old one was missing the filter at the back, had a piece of the plug's plastic broken off, so you could see all the wiring, and barely made a weak, low, droning noise when I turned it on. It was nice to finally be able to dry my hair and I forgot how silky it could feel. I would totally let you all touch it if I could; my gift to you. A little bit of vanity is a good thing, folks. New Year's was spent comforting Scooter, our terrified dog. We were surrounded by people setting off fireworks and Scooter was so scared she was shaking; we also had our backyard filled with the stinky smoke of our fire loving neighbors. I love fireworks, just not necessarily in my backyard. I do wish I had gotten a video of Chloe, though. At first she would bark crazily at the noise and then she would stop and get this confused look on her face. Here's hoping you all had a good Christmas and a New Year's eve, and that your year continues to go well and is filled with happiness and joy.

Crazy Rich White Ladies

2010-12-20T12:25:00.005-05:00

CRWL: First, I'm going to need you to clean the bathroom in the hall.

Me: Ok.

CRWL: It's disgusting. Those children make a mess whenever they use it.

Me: Do you have cleaning stuff in there?

CRWL: You would think their parents would teach them how to use a bathroom properly.

Me: Yes, you would. It's a shame. Do you have cleaning stuff?

CRWL: I'll go get you the toilet bowl cleaner.

CRWL: Now to use this you need to unscrew the lid like this. (pops the toilet bowl cleaner lid) And then you squeeze it into the toilet right under the lip of the toilet...

Me: (raised eyebrows and thinking, "Is she seriously telling me how to clean a toilet?)

CRWL:...Make sure it covers the whole inside of the toilet. Then you need to let it sit for 15 minutes so it can soak in. During that time you can clean the rest of the bathroom, then you can go back and scrub the inside of the toilet with the toilet brush...

Me: (I should probably start taking better care of my cuticles)

CRWL: Are you getting this? Or do I need to explain it again?

Me: No, I think I got it. (I grab the bottle and turn to go into the bathroom)

CRWL: Remember to let it soak!

A death, a fever, food, games, and baking

2010-12-09T14:45:00.004-05:00

I'll start with the bad news. Mostly because I've noticed when I end with the bad news instead of the good, it makes the whole post seem bad. Those on facebook will know: Ray Charles, my cockatiel died. I noticed he was limping and dragging his wing Monday evening after Thanksgiving and I decided to take him to the vet the next day, only to wake up the next morning to a very stiff, cold bird. Poor little Ray has left a very large hole in our home. Mostly a hole in noise level, but a hole nonetheless. Jorgie, our parakeet, was quiet for the next few days and acted like she was terrified of me. I can only assume she thought I had "offed" Ray. Don't worry though, she is quite happily chirping along to Katy Perry's "Fireworks" right now. What can I say? My bird has no taste in music. The night Ray died I also came down with a nasty fever (perhaps from all the late nights and standing on my feet cooking for Thanksgiving). The kind of fever that leaves you shivering and cold. I kept crawling into bed next to my mom, cuddling up to her, and whining about how cold I was. I do not do well with being cold; especially not being perpetually cold. It is my Achilles' heel. Well, according to my mother, I was actually burning hot, so after a constant stream of tylenol I began to feel warm again. Only to have to dig Ray's grave and come down with a fever again. I wrapped him up in his blanket/cage cover, placed him in a shoe box with his mirror and his favorite bells, taped the box up, and feebly tried to dig a grave in the cold, hard earth while hacking and shivering. Very pioneerish, if I say so myself. And I know, I just insulted a whole era of people. It's what I do best.

Anyways, enough of the death and illness. It's past, for the most part, and Christmas is coming! Did I mention that I should have really just been a seven year old kid for the rest of my life? Our holiday season was started off the right way; with Thanksgiving with the whole family. William, Nerissa, and my nephew (Nerissa is still carrying the soon-to-be niece...that's right, it's going to be a girl!) all drove down to spend the week with us, stuffing our faces, playing board games, watching netflix on the Wii and watching William, Kirk, and Nerissa trying to best each other at golf. My nephew may have been more into playing with the countless trucks and cars that we hauled down from the attic. I have never seen a child more fascinated with trucks than him. He would take a firetruck to the table to eat with him and a car when it was bath time. He also said way too many cute things to put on here. Chloe loved him. Absolutely, adored him; she followed him around, patiently waiting until the adults weren't looking, to lick his face. We only got a few photos and most of them are grainy and blurry. I blame my mom's camera. If anyone wants to donate a good camera to our family...

I like to think that with a little editing I made the pictures look like they were supposed to be grainy. Sort of an artistic license. I have also been baking up a storm since December started. Lately, we have gone through a pumpkin cheesecake (totally worth all the work), cream cheese mints (not so sure about how much work they're worth), and Hershey's white chocolate chip cookies. That's when I decided to do a twelve days of Christmas bake-a-thon, in which I bake twelve delicious things, just because I want to. Obviously not all in twelve straight days. Now, that would be crazy. Here's wishing all y'all a Happy Christmas!

Christmas Shopping

2010-11-11T18:43:00.002-05:00

I love to shop for Christmas gifts. I was raised in a capitalist country after all. Usually, however, I find myself discovering more things that I want, than actually discovering gifts for my loved ones. It's a disease. I will not make this post about all the shiny, smelly, pretty things that I want; I promise. Instead, I will share all the shiny, pretty websites I have discovered in my long hours of searching, especially now that I'm done with all of my Christmas shopping (hallelujah!). I am not including the obvious go-to websites, like eBay, naturally...even if I did use it.

1. Cafe Press (.com) is the answer to my prayers when looking for a present for my oldest brother. He's difficult to shop for. His wife has decreed that we are not to buy him any clothing and/or food...which pretty much limits what I can get him. He's a grown married man with a baby and another baby on the way. What the heck do you get him?! Arrested Development gifts were the answer. While a bit on the expensive side, this website provides loads of gift ideas for those who are a bit harder to shop for.

2. Perpetual Kid has also saved the day when it came to my nephew and my third brother. It's more for those with a sense of humor. Plus, where else can you get pickle juice popsicles? Did anyone else shudder at that sentence? They sell a lot of different products, most of them for cheap prices. How can you pass on one of their best sellers, baconnaise? Seriously.

3. Mod Cloth is the bane of my existence. They have some really cute dresses on their website, but sadly most of their clothing is made for sticks (you know they're tiny when women who claim to be a small say that the large size is even too small...I'm guessing they get a lot of returns). Happily, they have other products besides doll clothes. And happily, a lot of them are cute and fair priced.

4. Pacifica Perfume... is a beautiful sound. I will admit that I did find this website/seller through another blog (thank you, Pioneer Woman!). I fell in love with the very descriptions of the scents and then commenced to buy not only presents for others, but also for me. I'm more of a fruity scent gal, but even the musky, wood scents intrigued me. While the prices may a bit much for a student with student loans and no job, they are cheaper than other perfumes out there while also having more choices scent-wise.

Intense

2010-10-31T01:35:00.003-04:00

We all have those sporadic moments of intensity in our lives. Some more than others. Goodness forbid if our lives were as intense as the soap operas make life out to be. My intense moments range from the mundane albeit beautiful twirling in our back yard on the night of my birthday, to the more numbing underwater experience of coming home to find my father dead from suicide in our garage. The experience that always comes back to me as the most intense moment of my life, however, is my college Anatomy class trip to view cadavers. I know what some of you are thinking. Uh, what happened to the whole dead dad thing? While intense and blurry at the same time, my father's death is not my most favorite moment in life. Besides, discussing it makes most people awkward and squirmy. Which in turn, makes me awkward and squirmy. Back to the cadavers in the medical lab. We were there to view real bodies. I was excited and terrified at the same time. Being prone to fainting, I had prepped my body for the experience by chugging down gatorade the day prior and day of. Of course, this had the desired effect of preventing me from fainting and the undesired effect of me doing the pee-pee dance while the teacher presented the bodies. After a quick trip to the nearest restroom, my classmates and I were then free to peruse the bodies at our leisure. We had been told a few basic facts about each body, there were three in total, two male and one female, including age and reason of death. As we all poked and prodded through the various organs, the resident teacher handed me the first man's heart. There I was, holding a human heart in my latexed hands. I was in absolute awe of how beautiful it was. The teacher then encouraged us all to look it over while she explained various aspects of it. The heart was large and muscular. Too large and muscular in fact. The man had been a boat builder his whole life. Large and muscled, like his heart, his body was used to working hard each and every day. Unfortunately, all that hard work wore his heart out. So thickly walled and muscled, his heart could no longer function correctly. This large, elderly man had spent his whole life building and creating, only to die of a heart attack. Next came the second man. Although he was around the same age as the boat builder, he was much smaller. There was no life story told about him except what we could learn from his body. His small, thin heart was connected to a pacemaker, but what finally killed him was prostate cancer. I felt such gratitude and wonder for these people, the ones who had given life all they had and then continued to give some more even after their deaths. Holding those hearts in my hands was one of the most awe inspiring, spiritual moments in my life. Not only did I have the opportunity to learn more about the human body, but I also had the chance to learn more about myself.

Write your own "intense" story or read the writings of those much better at this whole writing thing at Sunday Scribblings.

Zombie love

2010-10-30T23:37:00.004-04:00

Halloween is here again; so is my yearly pumpkin carving. This year I found a couple of patterns I liked online and out of those few, opted for this "Puss in Boots" one, as well as a pattern from my Pumpkin Masters book. I was going to try the creepy eyes in palms creature from "Pan's Labyrinth", but after spending three hours cutting, cleaning, poking, and carving the cat one, my hands were just not up to the delicate and tedious work of anything more than a silly face. (Maybe next year I'll try the Pale Man, as wikipedia has informed me of his correct title.) Along with not picking out my own pumpkins, I also did not dress up this year due to the fact that I still have this dang cough. I have had it for about a month now and without insurance it looks like I'll have it for a while yet. My illness did not dim my excitement over the lovely pumpkins, the candy, or the toddlers dressed up as adorable characters. As I went out to light the candles for my pumpkins a little girl at the end of the sidewalk yelled at her parents, "Oh, look! They're open!" Kids do indeed say the darndest things. I would be lying if I didn't say I am somewhat looking forward to the premiere of "The Walking Dead" on AMC. What can I say, I'm a zombie freak. While my mother was watching "House Hunters" a couple of days ago, she asked why a house in the Italian countryside would need metal shutters for security. My answer? For the zombie apocalypse, duh! So, Happy Halloween to all you other zombie freaks out there!

Fall

2010-10-13T11:04:00.008-04:00

Kirk brought home a large bagful of apples last week. My mom and I were sitting on the couch thinking of all the things we will (have to) make to use them all up. Apple pie is a given, of course, but then I remembered on "Pushing Daisies" how Chuck made apple pie for her aunts with cheese baked into the crust. My taste buds screamed with excitement when I heard that. They screamed again when I found a recipe online with strong cheddar cheese baked into the crust. My whole body is tense with anticipation. Dido also appreciates apples. Or at least how good she looks next to them. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the lovely amber glass plate and bowl I found at Goodwill for $5. They don't have any markings, but they still look just as beautiful as any "real" amber glass when the sunlight streams through them. Did I mention I'm a junk store whore? Who else would brag about the time they found a Christmas tree stand for 95 cents? We replaced our pink bucket filled with empty martinelli bottles and trash bags with that 95 cent stand.

It's lately been cool enough (except for this week) to turn off the air conditioning and open all the windows. I'm not sure what Twain's living conditions were before the Humane Society found her, but she loves the back porch. When the doors were open, we hardly saw her all day. She has also become a bathing beauty, spending hours basking in any sunny spot. Cats really make you appreciate the sun; have you ever just sat in a sunny spot and felt the sun sink through your skin and warm your bones?

Dido has a cold. She is quite pitifully cute when she sneezes. Which means, she sleeps very heavily with her tongue sticking out. Trust me, it's really hard to sleep on that couch while Chloe is running around barking and playing with her squeaky toys.

Scooter was showing me her tricks in exchange for treats when Chloe, who sensed something was up, came running into the room. This is Scooter's look of, "You ain't getting any of my treats!"

Midge is still the same. Still living on the counter, sneaking down to eat and use the potty. I literally have to carry her to my mom's bed every night, so that she doesn't spend the night on the counter.

Last, but not least, Chloe is still the hardest one to take pictures of. She will not sit still long enough, ever. Any clear, good photos of her are mere chance. I have also discovered that she is technically a labmaraner. Look it up, they exist! Apparently labmaraners are one of those new designer breeds, like puggles. Unfortunately, since my brother's ex-girlfriend's roommate got her from a pet store, we think she is more than likely the result of a puppy mill. Especially considering her colitis. She is still beautiful and everyone always comments on how lovely she is (that's because they've never smelled her gas or ran screaming at her to stop as she gallops full force at small children).

Sick days, free musuem visits, and a new expectation

2010-09-23T00:02:00.004-04:00

Readers be forewarned...I'm sick...and on my monthly "journey". Two things that have occurred together only once before. It was the beginning of a semester at SVU. I was sick as a dog and woke up to take care of business one morning to discover Mother Nature had brought me a present. I then started to weep, uncontrollably, on the toilet. How's that for an image? Anyways, when I came out to eat breakfast, depressed and congested, one of my roommates (Carrie, who I had only just met) took one look at me and asked if I needed a hug. That's when I knew I lived in one the best mods around; they were all pretty amazing people. So, besides giving out way too much information on myself, I'm also forewarning you because I get a little low in the spirits and it shows in my writing. I do try to be cheerful, but lets face it, even showering hasn't been on the top of my to-do list lately. There are a couple of things that cheer me up while hacking and coughing. My friends blogs are one such thing. I sincerely hope they know what wonderful people they are. Your blogs make me laugh, smile, think about life, and generally make my day that much better. Another thing that cheers me up is free museum day this upcoming Saturday, sponsored by the Smithsonian. I personally will be going to the Cummer Museum and Gardens (one of my favorite places on earth), but, there are loads of choices for all over the country. Check it out! It's free! Free stuff makes the world go round; at least in my world it does.

Last, but most certainly not least on my cheer up list is the wonderful news that I'm going to be an aunt again! I knew about a month or so back, but my brother and his wife don't like to announce their pregnancies until the three month mark. This makes baby number two for them. Neither of them have said what they want, but I am kinda hoping for a little girl, seeing as they already have an adorable boy and there are just way too many cute dresses out there to not be able to buy them. Either way, boy or girl, we are all excited for the new addition due around March next year.

This adorable and crazy looking little guy is my nephew. I would put up his name, but we recently had a little scare with a strange man. My sister-in-law and nephew were out for a little walk about town; a firefighter approached them and struck up a conversation. He then pulled out his cell phone, took a picture of my nephew, and walked away without another word. How absolutely creepy is that?! What do you think? Is it ok for total strangers to take pictures of other people's babies? In what situation would it even be remotely excusable? I, for one, still think of that firefighter as a creepy, creepy man.

Ray Charles

2010-09-08T15:45:00.004-04:00

I decided that after a million posts about the cats and the dogs, that at least one of my birds deserved to be featured. That's right, I have two birds as well as the rest of the zoo. I used to have fish, but that experiment went down the drain, both figuratively and literally. And since I hate killing things (which is basically how the fish accidentally died) I decided that fish and I were not meant to be. Besides, they are a load of work! It always surprises me that the smaller the animal generally means more effort into their survival. I'll admit it, dogs are a lot of work too; at least if you're a good dog owner. Which points out why I am a definite cat person. I'm inherently lazy. Provide food and water and clean the litter box at least once a day while reaping the benefits of love and affection? That's the pet for me!

Anyways, meet Ray Charles, our weird little cockatiel. My other and first bird is Jorgie, a wild/not tame parakeet bought at a local flea market. Ray was given to me by a local church member who was moving up north with her family. He came to me with no name, afraid and aggressive, in a rusty cage, and with pretty dingy looking feathers. I was informed that he didn't like toys, the children had constantly teased him, and that they didn't bother to cover his cage at night (and then complained when he screamed in the early morning). She then handed me a giant container of food and left without a second glance.

After scrubbing Ray's cage from top to bottom, making some new wooden perches for him, a vet visit, a change in diet, and some gentle love, Ray is a different bird. He does still strike out to bite, but not as often and never very hard. One of my brothers is actually terrified of him for that reason. Imagine, a grown man scared of a little bird! Ray does have an, as of yet, unidentified neurological condition, which causes him to twist and turn his head most of the time. On the bright side, it inspired us with his name, Ray Charles. My family just has that kind of twisted humor.

It turns out that Ray actually likes toys and loves mirrors. Birds may seem like an easy pet, but the truth is that they need and deserve as much attention and love as a small child. Without enough interaction they can become so bored that they start to rip out their feathers and resort to high-pitched screaming. That giant container of food that Ray originally came with got tossed out with the garbage. It was low-quality and probably so old that it was worthless nutritionally, thus Ray's bedraggled appearance. I like to think that he's living a slightly better life, with his toys, mirrors, another bird and people to talk to, fresh, filtered water every day, high-quality seed and pellets, and a good thorough grooming every so often. Of course there are things I wish I could do better for him (I would like to get him a bigger cage to move around more comfortably).

I have met quite a few people who ardently believe that birds are stupid; this while their child picks their nose. I then tell them to stuff their beliefs up their...oh wait, that's what I think. What I do tell them is that birds are extremely intelligent and bright. They actually enjoy learning. Both Ray and Jorgie whistle and sing various tunes, and are working on learning to say "pretty bird". Ray also can cluck like a chicken. Which never fails to make me laugh. And now that I have devoted a whole post to one bird, you may have legal ability to have me committed.

Colleges, etc.

2010-08-17T16:09:00.006-04:00

In case you haven't been catching on lately, I've been looking at various colleges. Considering my options, my very small bank account, have no credit to speak of, options. So, here is a list of the colleges I've been seriously considering (and while I do plan on going to the local community college, I do not consider it a long term plan; more like an Associates degree length of time...in all truth, I need out of Georgia!). I may seem picky, but I'm not. Most of the things I don't like about a particular college I tell myself I could put up with for how ever many years. The downsides might even motivate me to finish faster.

1. BYU-otherwise known as Brigham Young University. The responsible part of me (the part my mom would be proud of) knows that BYU offers a lot of great opportunities, loads of majors to choose from, is ridiculously cheap, and is bathing in a church atmosphere. Plus, if I were to graduate from here I would have a much higher chance of finding a job in my choosen career field; for some reason employers value Mormons with a good education. Anyways, the major downside is that I don't really relish the idea of living in Provo. Or going to BYU for that matter. While I have many friends who have lived/are living in Utah, Utah and I just don't fit together. That is why BYU is at the very bottom of my list. A last resort, right after the community college.

2. Georgia Southern- another cheap, fairly good college. Yet again, I do not really like the atmosphere that the school is in (total polar opposite of BYU, if that is any help). But, if it came down to it, I could push my way through and graduate. The main advantage being how cheap it would be.

3. University of Georgia- number two on my list of colleges I would want to go to. Well established, which means loads of majors and programs, but also means a little bit more expensive. However, being a Georgia resident will make this more affordable, as in I would be able to eat Ramen instead of digging through trash cans. Downside: in a city. I'm not a city person, although I could live with it.

4. MCLA- Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts. I know what you're thinking. Didn't you just withdraw from a liberal arts college because of the price? Why, yes, yes I did. MCLA is only slightly cheaper than SVU was and that is with it being a public college versus private SVU. I received my information packet from them yesterday and spent the evening reading through all the tripe they serve about how wonderful they are. Being a bit more experienced in the ways of colleges, I know that all schools praise themselves to the heavens. However, looking past all their propaganda, it does really seem like a good school; never mind that it is placed in an absolutely breath-taking town. Plus, after a year of living in Massachusetts I could claim residency and get my tuition cut in half (half!!!). Another plus is that graduating from here would make it that much easier to get into one of my dream graduate schools (Boston! The other one being D.C., which part of me knows will probably not happen in this lifetime). Downside, besides the price, would be that I know absolutely no one in the area (although Sara is about four hours away!). I would be alone. Living in some tiny apartment, with Dido, reenacting scenes from Dickens in the middle of winter. You know how it is.

So, there you have it. My pros and cons of each place that I have been considering. I will not be going to any of these anytime soon, since I plan on finishing my Associates degree at the community college first. Hopefully that should only take two semesters tops. I'm sure you can tell which one I'm leaning towards, but feel free to leave your opinion. It can be a bit daunting sometimes and I know an outside view would help. I should get an award for all the college websites I've rifled through.

Death by fire

2010-08-03T22:52:00.008-04:00

I wonder constantly how in this great, big world anyone ever survived (or at least had their mental health survive) living in the South before the miracles of science. And by miracles of science, I mean air conditioning, bug spray, and filtered water. We still have our air conditioning, praise the good Lord. I would not be writing on here if our sweet, sweet magic cool air quit on us. I would be naked in my room with all the blinds shut and the fans on. I would hope everyone would at least close the blinds in such a situation. Common decency, folks. Our filter water pump thingy is on the fritz, but thanks to my wonderful brother we now are the proud owners of a fridge water filter. I would rather die of dehydration than drink the water here; for a few days there we all came pretty close. I am not a total punk when it comes to tap water. For three years at school in Virginia I drank the highly chlorinated tap water. It was like I was a four year old that had just been swimming with the chlorine burps every day. But, just for your information, the water here is really, truly awful. We recently received our water sample test results in the mail from the water company and guess what?! Our water is right at the limits for all the metals, contaminates, and giveyoucancers. Seriously. Now we have proof why it tastes like rain from Hades. The after taste gives me convulsions.

However, that is not what this post is about. It is about bugs. Again, I am not a wimp when it comes to bugs. In elementary school I raised poisonous caterpillars/day moths for two years. I even named them. Then in a science class in middle school we were given meal worms to raise. I am pretty sure I am one of the few girls in my class to not only name mine, but to keep it, even after it became a beetle. I later set it free in a very classic movie scenario way. "Be free, Squiggles!" Or something like that. But, there are always exceptions. Giant cockroaches for one. If you ever want to see me scream like a pre-pubescent girl while slamming a shoe, just put a cockroach in front of me. Ants are another pest that I will let be until they invade my space. And then there are the giant brown spiders that roam the halls at night. We have a mutual respect. As in I leave them alone and they don't chase me around the couch (it is a given rule in our house that spiders are to be treated on a catch and release basis only; no shoe for them, after all, they eat the other nasties). Alas, in the grand old South we have tons of bugs. Our latest bug problem is Bag Worms. I had never even heard of them until today and today I had the privilege and honor of removing them, by hand, from our gardenia bush, walls, and maple tree. Their death sentence will be carried out tomorrow in a modern day rendition of a Greek funeral pyre with a dash of Aztec "worm" sacrifice. I would be more than happy to live and let live, but like a mother bear protecting her young, I am coming to the aid of some of my favorite plants (with the help of insecticides). I do not look forward to killing them, just as I find myself doing some weird sort of warrior scream whenever I kill a roach, but, you can't live in Georgia without killing some bugs. It is a crawling fact of life here.

Bag worm larva...ugh. Thankfully it was the only one that hadn't closed up to become an adult.

Cocoons

The bucket of the condemned. If you look closely you can see a loose adult female all by her lonesome (she's the white, round, grub thing; females have no feet or wings, they pretty much get gypped in the evolutionary scheme of things). There was also another one that had been emptied; we think it was an adult male, which look like moths and have the option of flying away. Which means that the female's empty cocoon is more than likely not empty. It is more than likely filled with eggs, waiting to hatch in the spring. Does anyone else feel like their skin is crawling?

Photoshop and cats

2010-08-02T13:25:00.007-04:00

In honor of me figuring out the best way to edit my photos (Adobe photoshop vs. Microsoft...Adobe won; it would be easier if I had more than my mom's old digital camera), I'll give you a little update on Twain, our newest addition. Twain is no longer hiding under the bed and has decided that this house is for her and her alone. I had hoped that Twain and Dido could be friends, but it seems like fate, or Dido's unfortunate eyes, has prevented that. I have had to break up fights between the two and since Twain has yet to learn to leave the birds alone, she now sleeps in my room at night while Dido roams free. Plus side, Dido is now more affectionate during the day, since she no longer has that time with me at night.

Twain is still a little skittish around loud noises and new people, not to mention that she constantly gives the dogs dirty looks. She is to put it simply, my new shadow. She has bonded to me and will yowl (we call it singing) loudly if she can't find me. She is still not comfortable with being touched too much, but does enjoy being petted on her back if she tells you it's ok (or in my case, meows in a loud, demanding voice). Twain is a cat with attitude; as if there is any other kind.

Dido is not amused.

Oh, look! I found my soapbox again!

2010-07-28T02:09:00.004-04:00

Goodness knows I am not perfect. Far from it, actually. I mean, would a perfect person suggest that it would have been a good idea for protesters wearing pelican masks to throw oil and oil covered rotting fish onto Tony Hayward. You look at the footage of dying birds and baby dolphins (that's right, BABY dolphins!) and tell me you aren't a little peeved. I grew up around the coast, so I guess you could say I am a little bit attached to it; oh, how I missed the smell of salt air while at college in the mountains! Anyways, yeah, I'm not perfect. But, you know what? That doesn't mean I stop trying. Even if I do occasionally make a few faux pas. Oh, alright, a lot of faux pas. (And sometimes I just really like saying faux pas). Back on topic, whatever that is.

I watched a movie on hulu/my new love. It's called "The Age of Stupid" and pretty much states a lot of the things that were in my head, but running around like a dog chasing it's tail. It was a bit heavy handed towards the end, but I believe movies about global warming should be heavy handed. Because let's face it, big consumers are very slow on the uptake. Extremely slow. Slower than a turtle swimming in jello. (Don't try that at home...or if you do, don't eat the jello afterwards) I may or may not have also found it hilarious that they represented America as a giant, fat person in their cartoons. Does it count as a cartoon representation when America is essentially a giant blob? Not to say America is bad. I love my country with all my heart and soul. I love our Constitution, the people, and the beauty of the country itself takes my breath away. I do not love the politicians, the greed, and their constant bickering amongst themselves over stupid, idiotic things. And "The Age of Stupid" helped to remind me of that. Whatever happened to mankind that made them think they can live only in this moment for themselves alone? I have heard countless numbers of people tell me not to worry about other people. That they are not my problem. If they are not my responsibility, or at least my responsibility to help, then whose are they. If we all think that way, then children will continue to die by the thousands every day. The local homeless man will freeze to death in the woods during a cold snap in March; something that did happen in my town and makes me want to curl up and cry. And the rich will get richer and the poor will sink into nothingness. Don't let consumerism blind and numb you to real life. Real suffering, pain, joy, and happiness. And yes, I realize it is a bit of an oxymoron to be writing this on my computer...but, I find my life is full of oxymorons (spell check is trying to tell me that this is not the plural for oxymoron...). So, I don't know about you, but that movie has motivated me to make a difference, now. Not tomorrow or when I graduate, but now. Or perhaps when the sun comes up?

Mystery State

2010-07-23T23:54:00.002-04:00

A long time ago Katie and I made a "fake" profile on Match.com. For me. I was supposedly 8 feet tall and I lived at home with 20 cats. Mostly as a joke and mostly to see the profile of one of our professors and giggle over it. Then I went back and made the profile a little less weird and I started getting "winks". And that provided a whole new arena of entertainment for Katie and I. Let's just say some of those guys have, uh, character. My point is, I recently reactivated my free account to check out the area that I've been considering moving to. I will not tell you where or what college it is, because a part of me thinks that saying it out loud will somehow jinx my chances of getting in. Let's just say I will have to stop calling people "dirty Yankees" when I get mad at them. And perhaps work on saying tour and king correctly. (My mom still thinks I'm talking about bird poo whenever I say tour). I'm excited. As people generally are at a bright new start. I've not only thoroughly researched the college (SVU has taught me that, at least), but I've also researched the area, town, weather, and local LDS wards. Note: there are no nearby wards...just a couple of branches; part of me thinks that branches are quaint and cute...we will see how long that lasts. I've also looked up possible apartments that will allow me to bring my pride and joy (Dido) along. I feel like this is the right place for me to go. I will let you into a little secret. After my first year at SVU, I all of a sudden got the feeling that this was the wrong place to be. That I should go to UGA of all places. And I regretted ignoring that feeling, because, now I can't get past the feeling that I missed something important...don't ask me what, just something. And now, here is that feeling again. When I was looking online at colleges, thinking of places I wouldn't mind living on my own for a while, this particular state popped up. Let me tell you, this is one of the last states I would have ever thought of on my own. The more I thought about it, the more "right" it felt. I just knew that it was the answer. As Harry Potter puts it in "The Half-Blood Prince", after drinking his liquid luck, "...it's the place to be". So, cross your fingers for me!

The Little Grand Canyon

2010-07-17T00:20:00.012-04:00

I like to tell myself I'm a nature person. I love spending time in the great outdoors. But, I have limits. My idea of a brilliant foray into the wilderness is either a quick walk through the woods or for the longer outings, I need all my modern comforts. I refuse to spend any amount of time in the wild without bug spray, sun screen, water, and a snack; and of course my camera. Just this Friday, my brother, Stephen and I drove four hours across Georgia to visit Providence Canyon State Recreation Area. Otherwise known as "The Little Grand Canyon". It was beautiful, to put it lightly. I also think I died a couple of times on the trek.

Here is the bottom of canyon two, I believe. There were nine altogether, however we could only bring ourselves to hike to the first three. Number three about did me in. I was streaming sweat everywhere.

When we saw the first three of these signs, I poo-pooed it as a legal subtext. Something I didn't have to worry about. Sort of like, "don't ride this roller coaster if you have ever given birth" kind of ridiculousness. Oh, how wrong I was! Apparently, I am in "poor physical condition". There were multiple 45* climbs on the Canyon Loop Trail and by the third I was fervently praying to my Creator to pull me through. I don't think I've ever heard my lungs make those kind of noises before. Fortunately, fate (and whoever built the trail) smiled on me and was generous enough to include a bench after each horrendous climb. The colors of the woods and the canyons were exquisite, so, I suppose you could say it was worth the pounding heart and nausea.

This is the canyon floor. Isn't it lovely?! There were little rivulets of water running down the clay/sand forming miniature streams. The canyons themselves were formed due to poor (stupid) farming techniques. The farmers decided to clear all of the land, strip it bare if you will. Only they didn't realize that the soil was highly erodible, leading to deep gullies within the first two years. Over the course of years the soil has continued to erode, resulting in some of the deepest being 150 feet.

Stephen standing at the bottom of canyon numero tres. There was a tight, rocky path leading up higher, but for some reason he didn't follow me.

The rare and beautiful Plum Leaf Azalea. They grow scattered along the canyon bases, soaking up the small amount of water running by.

This was right after the third climb of death. The former settlers of the area had somehow managed to drag their cars up through the woods and then abandoned them when they abandoned the area. I imagine them feeling the same way I did after climbing all of that, mostly a "Screw that!" statement.

A rusted out truck with a tree pushing it's way through the windows. I love trees. They are so persistent. The park cannot remove the cars as they have now become a part of the ecosystem, providing little homes for the critters. And boy are those animals thorough! They had ripped out every bit of fabric and left just the bare bones of the vehicles. Shows you what Mother Nature thinks of us.

One of two tombstones we found near the end of the Canyon Loop Trail. This one belonged to Reverend David Lowe, all the way back from 1794. It was a little depressing since the tombstones were smashed on the ground in the middle of the woods. But, mostly it had a ethereal (creepy) beauty to it all.

If you grew up in the South, then you know what Kudzu is. It's a pernicious alien species brought over from Africa forever and a century ago because gardeners thought it was pretty. Little did they know that Kudzu loved Georgia. In the same way the mentally ill girl in my ward while I was growing up loved her cat...poor kitty. It soon began to take over everything. Choking out all other plants and covering buildings in a very short time. I did not know, however, that they had flowers. Pretty little purple flowers to be exact. I'm still not sure if this makes up for their taking over the whole South. Although, the Kudzu covered wall does look like it belongs in a fairy tale.

The day Midge maimed me

2010-07-08T01:23:00.007-04:00

Here it is. The long promised story of how Midge, my darling, sweet, baby, Midge, turned on me. But, first I will give you a quick back story of how Midge came into our lives. Stephen, brother #3 was working at a lumber company at the time; I'm thinking around 2005 or thereabouts. One day they went to a part of the woods where they hadn't been in a while. They had left one of their tractors there and were about to restart it and get to work when they heard a tiny little mewing sound. Inside the tractor was a little smudge of a kitten covered in oil. Stephen, who is slight of build was volunteered to pull her out. Here is where it gets interesting. Stephen's "lovely" coworkers (I use that term loosely) gave Stephen an option. Either he took her home with him or they smash her head in with a hammer. Don't they sound like real winners?! So, Midge came home. I nursed her with a bottle every three hours and even wiped her rear end with a warm, damp washcloth to get her to go to the bathroom. I became her mother cat, essentially. I even found her name in a book I own (another plus was that Stephen's nickname at his lumber job was "Midget". I told you those guys were real gems). Anyways, I carried her everywhere with me. When she wasn't sleeping, she was crying for food or the toilet. I even made little chirping noises to sooth her (too much Discovery channel, my friends, that's what I blame).

Midge grew up and became a weird cat. There is no nice way to put it. She would carry around her "baby", a stuffed toy cat that had a rattle in it to sound like purring, while chirping. I have only myself to blame. She became obsessed with our shoes. More particularly my flip flops. She would, and still does, drool when she is happy and purring on our laps. But, we love her and all her neuroses. In May 2008 I brought home Dido. Midge was horrified at this new cat. Absolutely, psychotically angry. Now, most cats don't like a new addition to the household. It's just a fact. They don't like change. When Midge had turned into a rambunctious little kitten that we could allow to run around, Misty, our oldest cat, freaked out. So, while Midge was crouching under my mom's bed, I grabbed Misty and held her on my lap right in front of Midge. Misty hissed, growled, and snorted. After a while though she became quiet and when I let her go, she quietly sauntered out of the room. Ever since then, Misty would tolerate Midge. It was a step up from hissing and screaming at her. I thought that introducing Midge and Dido should be just as easy, considering I had raised Midge myself. With Dido sitting under the table, I scooped up Midge and held on tightly as I sat in front of Dido. Midge went nuts! She skipped all normal cat behavior of growling and hissing and went straight to screaming. And then she turned on me.

I felt her teeth on my face and I immediately let her go. While Midge ran screaming out of the room, Dido and I stared at each other in complete shock. And then I saw it. A drop of bright, red blood fell onto my shirt. With shaking hands I touched my face all over, stopping on my wet nose. As I pulled my hands away, I have to be truthful and say, I freaked out a little. My fingers were covered in blood. I ran into the bathroom and frantically cleaned my nose off. All I could think was how cat bites are the worst thing to do to yourself. Luckily, it was only a surface wound. Not so luckily, it ran from the top right side of my nose, on the bridge, down to the middle of the tip. I looked like I had been attacked by some wild animal. It healed and now I only have a light scar on my nose. It's not such a big deal, only showing when I blush or get a sunburn. But, my relationship with Midge has never been as happy as it was before. She still will occasionally hiss at me. I suppose I'm remembered in her mind as the one who brought home that other cat, instead of the one who woke up in the middle of the night to feed her.

This wasn't my last serious cat induced injury. When Misty was in the last weeks of her life, blind and suffering from her last stroke, she bit me. Granted, she wasn't doing it to be mean and I was just plain stupid to not remember that while feeding a blind cat one should keep track of all of their fingers. She bit clean through my right thumb. Over the next four days it continued to swell and turn a very disturbing range of colors. With no health insurance or a job, I had no options. In between the bouts of shooting pain in my hand, I would worry about losing my thumb. On top of that worry was the fear of how much Kirk, brother #2 would make fun of me. Finally, a woman in our church, who just so happened to be a doctor, offered to look at it for free. She prescribed some free, strong antibiotics (emphasis on free) and told me to soak the entire thumb in peroxide three times a day; warning me to not pop the wound itself, since the bacteria inside was more than likely some nasty little guys like staph who were safer contained in my thumb. It took about two weeks for all the swelling and pain to go away. Thank goodness for kind doctors, is all I can say. Here's my thumb shortly after starting the antibiotics (it's really blurry, sorry, cell phone pictures!) and almost healed. Don't look if you don't want to!

Me...fa, so, la, ti, do...

2010-07-07T00:16:00.007-04:00

Ah, Sunday Scribblings. Way to pick a topic to make me look like a total narcissist; the prompt is "me". I feel like I'm back in one of my new-agey high school classes, like child development, where we had to put together a book about ourselves (made out of construction paper, no less). You know, the class with the kind of projects that make you feel like a complete tool.

My mother always describes me as being stubbornly stubborn. Mostly that translates into, "Elizabeth would never do what I wanted. If she wanted to do something, then no matter what, she did it." And it's true, I did. I still do. I once had a horrible geography teacher in the ninth grade. She was an ok person, personality-wise, but she did NOT teach geography. Somewhere along the line she decided she was going to teach us about the cultures of the world. I was not amused and refused to play along. She was not amused. In a parent-teacher conference she explained to my mother how I refused to participate in one particular class project. The project consisted in us researching and dressing up as Greek gods/goddesses and then presenting ourselves to the whole class. I took one look at the rest of my classmates, decided they all looked like idiots, and in no way or form did this have anything to do with the geography of Greece, and dug my heels in real good. Needless to say, I almost failed that class. The only way I passed? By doing loads of mindless extra credit work of filling out maps and such. At least it had something to do with geography; in a way, I felt like I had won (with a C-).

My friends, I believe, would describe me as nuts. But, the good, fun kind. Not the, "I'm going to watch you while you sleep and if you ever leave me, I'll hunt you down" kind of nuts. And I'm pretty sure that they are now reassesing our friendship after reading that. No, alas I am the run-of-the-mill crazy. The kind that will spend the last of her student loans to feed, shelter, and get shots for four stray cats. Or perhaps bear hug the awkward formerly home schooled housemate (there were nine of us in one trailer at that time) while screaming "Why don't you love me?!" I'm not sure what she thought of me at the time, but she still talks to me, so maybe it worked. I also explained to the aforementioned housemate what exactly a "penis pump" was. I had fun with her; people should home school their children more often.

It all boils down to how I would describe myself. I don't really know. I'm the youngest and the only girl in my family, so I'm a little bit used to having people describe to me who I am. Life is a growing process, so even though I think I know who I am right now, I know that in a couple of years I will look back and think, "What a silly, little girl I was!". Just as I do now whenever I read my old journals. Note to the wise: don't read your old journals. They make you wonder how you ever lived to the ripe old age you are now; also, why didn't someone ever just out and slap you. I will tell you this, though. I like Science. And it's one of those things I have to actually study for. I hate Math. Mostly because it's useless. And I'm lukewarm with college English and absolutely hate writing essays. Even though I generally get straight A's in it. My mother laments daily how I don't have an interest in English, the one topic I always excelled in. Seriously, she wails and screams, rips her hair out, and rubs ashes on her face. I have a weird relationship with my mother, but what daughter doesn't. My brothers are my bane and balm. May the good Lord protect anyone who ever says a bad word about my three brothers. I almost went all William Wallace on one of my (snatchy *Mormon speak for a female dog*) housemates when my brother came to visit and words were exchanged. I, on the other hand, am allowed to say anything I want about my brothers. I am not a people person. If I like you and you decide in some wild, mind-boogling way that you like me, I will allow you to become my friend. As long as you do all the work. I tend to be sub-consciously aggressive to men. It's a completely natural reaction. They are bigger (usually) and their sexual organs are on the outside (you tell me that God isn't a fan of aliens). That, and I grew up competing with three older brothers and their large friends. The only guy friend I have, once told me that he thought I hated him at first. Luckily for me, he was very thick-skinned and persistent. Now we insult each other through facebook while simultaneously telling one another how much we miss the other.

So, there you have it. A stubborn, crazy, aggressive woman who will ration her groceries to pay for vet bills of stray animals. Sometimes I imagine God looking down on me and shaking His head in exasperation. A sort of "What do you do with a problem like Maria?" kind of shake. You know what you do with a problem like Maria? You marry her off to a handsome, rich, slightly anal-rententive, Austrian who already has all his kids birthed and relatively raised, so you don't have to "ruin" your body birthing those six little joys. That's what you do. I myself wouldn't mind a handsome, rich Austrian. Just saying.

PSA on cats

2010-06-17T23:43:00.007-04:00

We are officially insane! My mom was at Petsmart getting dog food, bird seed, and other animal things, when she passed by their cats for adoption. We usually stop and look at them whenever we go to Petsmart, if only to coo over how cute the kittens are. This time, though, my mom read about Twain. A little white tabby mix who was three years old and had been living at the Nassau Humane Society for two years. Two years! Practically her whole life. So, if you haven't guessed it by now...we have a third cat. Little Twain was listed as a special needs cat (her special need? She needed a home) and at a reduced adoption fee of only $25, my mom just couldn't say no. I have been wanting to get Dido a little friend, but had decided that I would do so when I could afford a place of my own with two cats. Midge, our other cat, hates Dido. With a bloodthirsty rage she hates Dido. Midge is also on anti-anxiety pills. Midge is basically messed up. I still have to tell you about the time she maimed me.

Anyways, Twain isn't used to being outside of her little cage/kennel, so as of right now, she is hiding under my bed. I have gotten her to come out a couple of times, but only with a lot of coaxing and petting. (She runs and presses herself against the far wall under my bed when my mom comes in; I would be lying if I didn't say this fed my ego quite a bit). It saddens me that Twain is like this. Terrified of the world; even if the world is my/Dido's bedroom. And I have a hard time understanding people who search out breeders and pay hundreds of dollars for one cat. Yes, that purebred Bombay is strikingly beautiful. But, so is that little ginger cat at the local shelter who head butts the cage bars as you walk by. All of our cats have been strays or adopted from animal shelters and we have loved every single one of them with all of our hearts. The more I've helped out stray cats, the more I've realized that people can be downright dumb, ignorant, and mean. So, here's a little bit of common sense from Elizabeth: adopt and spay/neuter your pets. Because until we start to change how we view animals, they are going to keep on suffering from the pride of mankind. Now, how do I get off this soapbox?

Twain (named after Mark Twain) nervously coming out from under the bed to say hello.

In more animal news...Dido has discovered our shopping bags. The cloth kind, so don't get all nervy on me.

She's an eco-friendly cat. Unless you're a bird. Or a mouse. Or an Easter egg. I know it is quite pathetic, but I think this may be one of the great loves of my life. Just look at that face! (Sorry future husband and children!).

Which reminds me of a conversation I had with my mom today. We were discussing who she would live with when she becomes old and diapery.

Me: Well, you could always go and live with William and Nerissa.
Mom: I don't think so.
Me: Then Kirk and Randi...*smile*
Mom: Absolutely not.
Me: Or Stephen and whatever girl he meets on the internet? (this at the time cracked me up immensely).
Mom: Ummmm, no.
Pause
Mom: Or Elizabeth and her cats. *crazy Scottish laughter*

*Sigh* Mothers. What can you do?

Thunder

2010-06-16T01:54:00.005-04:00

I know what you're thinking...two posts in one day?! You'll get over it.

It's been thundering and raining for the past couple of days. Scooter, our German Shepherd mix is terrified of thunder. What do I do to comfort her? Take pictures of course!

A long, long time ago, in another dimension, we could afford to get Scooter groomed. After every grooming she would get a new little bandanna. She loved those bandannas. Or maybe it was more like we loved the bandannas and she loved all of the attention she got whenever she wore one. We still have those bandannas. And whenever we feel like Scooter needs a little boost in her self-esteem, we put one on her. And of course, by "we" I mean "me". So, there she was terrified in the midst of a thunderstorm wearing her bandanna and holding her teddy bear. You look me in the eye and try to tell me you wouldn't whip out the camera. You can't, can you? No, I mean, you literally can't.

Just a little known fact for all you dog lovers out there. You know why dogs get so excited over those squeaky toys so much? Because that high-pitched squeak resembles a death scream of a small animal. Somehow I don't see Petsmart using that as a sale technique. Scooter may look like she loves her teddy, but you haven't seen her play with it. She gets so excited, she shakes it around and tosses it in the air. Disturbing in all kinds of ways. I don't know how many times she's "killed" that teddy bear.

Super person

2010-06-16T00:22:00.007-04:00

I have been persuaded by the elegant words of Katie Jensen to join in on the blog, Sunday Scribblings. Mostly because I am a bit tired of writing about my constant life. Constant, because it is mostly a steady stream of nothing. Maybe that's a little too harsh. Constant, like your morning routine. It serves it's purpose and is nice, but lacks a certain excitement or depth of meaning. I don't know about you, but I don't really consider the ramifications of anything while I am concentrating on standing upright while brushing my teeth in the early morning. Anyways, check out the Sunday Scribblings' blog or Katie's blog; perhaps you too will join in.

So, onward and past my explanation. The topic for this week is superheros (or if you are a feminist, superheroines; I prefer the more equal opportunity spin of super people, which sounds even cooler if said with a lisp). I could go off on so many tangents with this topic. I could tell you about my personal heros, such as our nation's forefathers, the civil rights activists, Madonna, but, no, too easy. Heros, themselves are tricky topics. Superheros only make you wonder even more. What would cause a person to go out on a limb for the sake of others? We are all born with an instinctual, innate desire to survive in any situation. But, superheros are somehow able to push down that animal instinct (I imagine mine would be a screaming wombat). How? Is it the man/woman/person who makes a superhero or is it the situation? Would Thomas Jefferson and John Adams (that one is for you, Katie!) have become the great leaders they were if they were born in a ghetto in Detroit? How about Martin Luther King, who happens to be one of my favorite men of all time. Would he have stood up for the downtrodden and oppressed if he had grown up in Sweden? Part of me would like to think so. Alas, the other part of me is a biology major, as I've been told. And that part insists that while genetics do play a part in the making of a person, so too do the outside influences. Most people will insist that given the chance to go back and change some horrible life experience or mistake, they wouldn't. Because, that experience made them who they are; every last neurotic, annoying habit they have. I guess what I'm working towards in my own rambling way is: Are superheros born or made? I do believe there has to be a certain inner strength, a resilience, to "do what is right". It all comes down to choice. Sadly, and yet happily, everything comes down to choice. In the end, a superhero is just someone who chooses to do the right thing against all odds and that screaming wombat inside of them.

My rant of the week

2010-06-08T14:50:00.002-04:00

I've been blogging a lot lately! It must be the hot weather. That or the anxiety. What am I anxious about, you ask? Two words: community college. Or more specifically, all the running around I will be doing this week to get into said community college. I have to track down my *now archived* SAT scores, request my SVU transcripts, figure out who is supposed to fill out my immunization form since I currently have no health care provider and the navy has my records stored somewhere, pick up my high school transcripts (one of the college's rules if you haven't taken college algebra), and finish filling out my FAFSA. So many acronyms and forms! Of course, none of these forms or the tracking down of them comes for free. There are fees for looking for, finding, retrieving, and mailing my SAT scores. And I am most definitely not looking forward to dealing with the health care system of the U.S. Navy. I hated them when they were my doctors and I have a feeling that I will still dislike them when I have to deal with the bureaucracy. I am excited at the thought of going back to school. It's boring when you're unemployed (technically) and living at home; when the person closest to your own age is your brother and a Relief Society party is actually starting to look like fun. Part of me, ok, a lot of me, really, desperately wants to get out and live in a place of my own. Don't get me wrong. I do love my family, but I love them even better when we are not sharing a bathroom. Those are my gripes for the week. I do have a lot to look forward to, especially if I ignore just how poor going back to school is going to make me. I look forward to taking Anthropology, having a more set schedule, and getting A's in all of my classes (I will, because I've decided I will...and also because last time I was in school I did the bare minimum and was happy with B's, but not this time!). I've even considered the possibility of moving up to Brunswick, since that is where the main college campus is. If I were to move there, I could finish school faster; the college locally is only a satellite school and doesn't offer as many classes on a regular basis. But, first comes a job. The "J" word. So, for now I will be happy with what I've got. Living at home while going to a small local community college and walking rich people's giant dogs for money.

Och Aye

2010-06-03T18:28:00.004-04:00

I once had a friend of mine tell me that they didn't think I was telling the whole truth when I mentioned how my mom was Scottish. As in, they thought I meant she was distantly related to Scottish folks who made their way over to America. They were surprised when I put my mom on speaker phone one night to hear her Scottish brogue. I don't understand how they could've thought I was lying about that (not to mention why I would even bother about such a ridiculous lie). She is Scottish. She was born in Glasgow, raised in Glasgow, married in London, and then came to America as a bride. I have a whole gaggle of cousins, aunts, and uncles still over there.

I grew up with occasional summer visits to the land of my mother's family. I occasionally wore kilts, ate pork pies, and climbed tiny little staircases in ancient castles and towers. And I occasionally ate my weight in Cadbury's chocolate.

I still remember those visits. The shy greetings between me and my brothers and our cousins. Climbing rocks in bubbling streams in various fields while sheep stared at us like we were aliens; the most memorable being Glen Coe. My grandfather sitting on us should we dare to take his seat. Grandma telling me not to be such a cheeky monkey and then ten minutes later letting me lick the spoon of some delicious concoction. Bangers and mash; the chips (french fries to all us Yanks) ; how most of the time it didn't really get dark until midnight, keeping up an eerie twilight throughout the night; no bugs except for the maddening midges that swarmed and bit until you felt like running and screaming; the traditional day long visit to Great-aunty Joan's house, where we would stuff ourselves on the smorgasbord laid out, then go for a long walk in the nearby fields.
We had fun in Scotland. Not the fancy, expensive vacation that everyone thinks of when they dream of going to Europe. But, the good, cheap, sleeping in the car on long trips, kind of vacation. Meeting up with family and acting like insane loons, laughing and joking for hours. Buying tammy hats with orange hair kind of good.

Stephen

2010-05-29T00:55:00.004-04:00

Today is my brother, Stephen's birthday. There are four of us kids, in case you were wondering; my three older brothers and I. Stephen and I being the last two, about two years apart. How do I describe my older "little" brother. Our relationship was mostly based on me bossing him around and ocassionally beating on him as children. Stephen used to get sick a lot as a child, with multiple ear infections and so on, so (and I'm sure he'll love me telling you all this) he is a little more petite than most guys. As in, I'm about an inch taller and was always a heavier build than him. And being a child I took advantage of my extra growth, coercing him into playing care bears and restaurant with me. Here's the deal though. Stephen didn't care. He didn't whine...too much...and he put up with all the nonsense with a smile and a laugh. For those with no older siblings, I have to tell you, older brothers can be a blessing. Yes, even when they take your brand new Ken doll and chop off his leg with a toy ax, and then explain to you as you weep over your one-legged Ken, that he lost it in the war (Poor Ken never recovered, he forever only had one leg after that). But, yeah, back to the blessing part.

It was at our seminary (read bible study for all the non-mormons out there) halloween haunted house that Stephen pulled through for me. The seminary students, myself included, were behind a cardboard wall, reaching out and grabbing people by the legs as they walked by. As I grabbed a friend's little brother by the leg, he jumped and punched me in the nose. Hard. Tear producing, take your breath away, hard. I clutched my nose while tears started to well up in my eyes and Stephen came over. He asked if I was ok, got the name of the culprit between my sobs, and set off to find him. Half an hour later I was approached by a guilty looking boy who apologized profusely for punching me. As he started to leave, the boy turned around and said, "Can you make sure your brother knows I talked to you?", and then scurried away. I felt immense pride in my brother, with perhaps a touch of power madness (after all I had three older brothers; no one could touch me!). Besides threatening people who physically assault me, which doesn't happen very often, Stephen is always willing to go with the flow. i.e. he very rarely complains about the rest of us loud, bossy siblings. What can I say? Stephen is an awesome brother. And a even better person. He's also a firefighter. Which I tell everyone and their uncle, because who doesn't think firefighters are amazing.

Stephen after one of his 48 hour shifts. Don't worry, that's his belt, not his fly open.

Chocolate, I mean, Mother's Day

2010-05-11T00:39:00.005-04:00

What do I love almost as much as my mom? Using chocolate as glue to hold more chocolate together to contain yet even more chocolate. Here is what I made for my mother on Mother's Day this weekend. In case you can't make it out, it's a chocolate heart shaped box; it was super easy. The only downside is that you have to buy a lot of chocolate and you get some weird looks at the check out counter. If you are curious how it's made, just ask and I will tell.

That is all Hershey's chocolate, my friends. Isn't it beautiful? Ignore the aluminum covered plate.

Ten things

2010-05-03T23:49:00.003-04:00

1. One of my new favorite shows is "Fatal Attraction" on Animal Planet. It reminds me of how stupid people can be and sometimes we need to be reminded of how monumentally idiotic people are. (Note: Wild animals should stay in the wild...just a thought).

2. Today I cried twice over PBS specials; one on the last days of Pompeii and the other on Martin Luther King Jr. They were good cries, if you believe in such a thing.

3. I'm a little bit peeved that even though the air conditioning in my (our family) car has been on the fritz for the past TWO summers, my family is only just now going to take it in to the dealer, because they have to drive it now and they can't handle the heat. Even though I complained, sweated, and then sweated some more for those two years.

4. On the other hand, I am super excited that I can finally apply to the local community college. My last college has been paid off and now I can get my transcripts. I missed learning more than anything.

5. Coastal Community College is offering an Introductory course to Anthropology...sorry, I think my heart just stopped. That is one of the most beautiful sentences I have heard in a long time.

6. I am having the hardest time in all of existence trying to trace my family tree through my dad's mother. She has her married name, her Catholic name, and her adopted name, not to mention what her birth name was. According to all the records her mother (a lady of ill repute) didn't exist. Which is kinda disheartening. I think my loose great-grandmother would have been an interesting person (not to mention, who else would I have gotten my giant basoomas from?)

7. I have not eaten a vegetable in at least a week. I only just noticed this fact today.

8. With a high of 95.7* F today, we finally caved in and turned on the air conditioning.

9. I am impatiently waiting on the wild blackberries in the woods to ripen. I have to beat the bugs to them if I want to be able to eat them.

10. I have glow in the dark stars on the ceiling in my room. I don't care if they are for children, they are one of the most beautiful things to see right before you fall asleep.

Welcome to the South

2010-04-14T15:22:00.002-04:00

Is it any wonder that I screamed like a little girl while slamming my brother's sneaker down on this?! This is an example of our mutant mosquitoes that have become more and more common lately. They are giants! If you look closely you can make out it's nasty little needle mouth...that is not a leg folks. The horror!!!!

Insanity and books...and more pictures

2010-04-14T00:02:00.008-04:00

I am lonely. That sounds really quite pathetic and it would be if it were not so humorous at the same time. I find myself lingering after church and such like meetings, hanging around, hoping that someone, anyone will be my friend. And for those who know me, I do not hang around after church (unless there are brownies involved). I catch myself thinking hilarious *read, creepy* things and then laughing hysterically, by myself...in my car. And then I stop and wonder at my insanity and then begin laughing like a maniac again. Case in point: I was watching Star Trek late one night (don't even begin; it was that, infomercials, or a sleeping pill...for some crazy reason Star Trek won). As I sat on the couch with my knees drawn up to my chest, clutching our super soft blanket (proof it's super soft; I have to fight the cats for it) in the dark, when a little alien boy appeared on the screen whining about how he couldn't see his dying father or some such nonsense. That's when the thought struck me; I thought in my head, "Look it's Gary Coleman!". Then began the insane giggling and the desperation to stifle it since everyone else was asleep.

To avoid going totally insane I am on a reading quest. In other words, I am reading all the books in my possession that I have yet to read. Examples include: "Anna Karenina" by Tolstoy (it is a beast and I have yet to "persuade" myself that it will be worth it); "Roots", which I got for a dollar at the Salvation Army and am looking forward to seeing what it's like; just to put it out there, I love books for a dollar, they are one of God's most beautiful creations (closely followed by Pop Rocks); "Erewhon", finished a week ago, along with "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" by Bronte, "Sleeping Murder" by Agatha Christie, and "Andromeda" by the illustrious Michael Crichton. I am currently pleasantly plodding my way through "Contact" by Carl Sagan. It is much more wordy and technical than the movie, which I guess makes sense. Plus, I am learning a lot of information on radio waves and space and so on and so on.

Now, to entertain the masses (hey, masses -this is much funnier if you have ever seen "Arrested Development"), here are some recent pictures I have taken. As I have mentioned, my local friends pretty much all have four legs (except Dawn), so thusly, the pictures are of them. They deserve it after all. I mean, they are one of the few friends that will let me spoon with them.

Uhhhh, never mind on the spooning. See that drool? We deal with that drool every single day.

I like this picture of Midge. It looks like she's staring into the future. A brighter day, where she doesn't spend her days on our kitchen counter hiding from Dido and doped up on her happy pills. A day where she didn't maul my nose (another story for another time).

Scooter will never learn. Bumblebees are not for playing with. She chases them around our yard, snapping blissfully (some might say stupidly) at them when they go buzzing by.

Spring Fever

2010-04-01T02:01:00.004-04:00

Lately I have become an insomniac. I can't sleep at night and am exhausted all the live long day. I get antsy around midnight and it doesn't end until about six in the morning. And webMD refuses to provide me with a cure! I have decided it is a simple case of spring fever mixed in with boredom and I am hoping it will pass. Spring has sprung here in full force. The azalea bushes are blooming exuberantly and yesterday, while I lay on the green grass (which we have had to finally cut), I heard a baby bird screaming for it's supper. Perhaps more importantly, my winter leg shaving routine has metamorphosed into one more suitable for warm weather. Jeans in 80-something degree weather are just not practicable. There is so much change going on all around me. From friends getting engaged (yay, Megan B.!) to trees budding and birds nesting, down to silly politicians changing their minds left and right and my mom losing her job. When I was little, it never occurred to me that joy and sorrow go together. It is our job to make the joy last in our hearts and for the sorrow to soften those same hearts. I find it difficult to be soft-hearted while all around me there is so much striving to make it hard. But, then in the end all I have to do is look past the cruelty and meanness in the world and find all that is good in a backyard on a sunny day; the good things, like: little children giggling and blowing bubbles on a windy day; how sometimes the night sky looks like blue velvet with eye-achingly white stars; finding an old Christmas card from a dear friend addressed to "Elizabeth ("Booty-licious")"; running and running until you feel like your lungs will burst from the joy of living.

Also, my fingers may or may not be stained the colors of the rainbow. It is that time of year again; i.e. when Elizabeth reverts to a child-like state and colors Easter eggs in spite of the disapproval of some. Is there anything as beautiful as a brilliantly colored egg that you can eat? I think not. Unless there were a brightly colored ham somewhere out there (that, indeed, would be a beautiful sight). Easter is after all my second favorite holiday, possibly tied with Halloween. I admit, there is a touch of the pagan in me. Just don't tell my Relief Society president. Or the Young Women's president. Or any woman in my ward. There would be quite a few of the women in my church who would be mortified that I relish the idea of an Easter bunny and various hues of eggs. And why shouldn't I? After all, it was the day Christ rose from the dead. It should be a joyous day filled with brightness and deliciousness. I do believe that Moses himself would enjoy a sky blue boiled egg followed by a ham supper (forget the ham...perhaps a nice salad?). Who wouldn't?

You don't own me,...Facebook!

2010-02-18T21:27:00.002-05:00

I decided to post that I've quit Facebook for a while, because apparently it has caused quite a stir. As in some of my friends have no idea what happened to me. Of course, if they were truly worried I suppose they could call, email, text, etcetera. Which one of them did. And then I felt bad for just cutting the plug like that without warning folks. So, here is my warning. And explanation. I was wasting so much time on that vortex of "socializing". I would get up in the morning and even with time constraints, I just had to get my Facebook fix. It was on the verge of ridiculous. So, for the time being I've deactivated my account. Just until the urge to type www.facebook.com into my home page has diminished. Maybe I will someday reactivate it, but not until I'm clean. I admit it people, I am a Facebook junkie; and I don't want to be. I will just have to rely on keeping in touch through the good old fashioned way. Does anyone actually email anymore? The catch of it all is that Facebook totally expects me back. As I was in the process of deactivation, there was a questionnaire thing to fill out. And you know what the cheeky little thing said?! Something along the lines of, "Should you ever wish to reactivate your account, just sign in with your old user name and password." It smacked of, "You'll be back!" Ah, Facebook...whatever will I do without you?

Take it as you will...

2010-02-13T00:23:00.003-05:00

Dear Period,
Please hurry up and come, as you are late for our usual appointment and I would just like to get it done and over with; no offense. I do not appreciate the dilly dallying that you are currently doing, as I find myself crying over t.v. shows, commercials, movies (have you ever watched "Washington Square" while hyped up on hormones, I didn't think so), amputees in the bank, and my dog walking away from me while all I want is a hug. And while I do enjoy chocolate chip cookies and chocolate in the myriad of forms that it takes, I don't think it is a good idea for me to eat a whole batch of cookies and a chocolate bar while simultaneously crying and then laughing at myself for crying; there may or may not also be a resignation to die alone as an old maid. If you "make an appointment" (in this case in the form of a giant "Oh my sweet sally! Is that a tumor!" zit), the least you could do is show up. Preferably without the insane thirst or bloating; I like not wearing sweat pants in public 24/7.

Forever yours,
Eliza

Sorry for that folks. It had to be done. It was stuck in my system and it just had to come out. And I apologize if you are a man or someone who is a touch prudish. But, seriously, if you are a touch prudish you shouldn't be reading my blog anyways. And if you're a man, well...congratulations? Also, just fyi, this letter in no way or form indicates a pregnancy. I always had nurses during the check-in process of a doctor's visit ask if I might be pregnant and while I would say no, they would politely say, "Are you sure?". So, I'll tell you what I say to those nurses, (with my eyebrow raised ever so slightly)...there is absolutely no way I am or can be pregnant...trust me.

The Day the Music Died

2010-02-12T13:34:00.003-05:00

In the midst of winter and a heck of a whole lot of rain, it is natural for me to feel a little low. That, and my mom was pulled into her principal's office a few days ago and told that it looked like they would be getting rid of the music program next year. What does that mean? It means my mom will be out of a job. And the little kiddies at David L. Rainer Elementary will be music deprived (excepting the Country they will get enormous doses of at home). My mother is already getting paid less than her usual $40,000 a year, because of furlough days and pay cuts. Now, the school board has decided that instead of cutting back on their six figure salaries, they will start to cut "extra" teaching programs...music, technology, art...and so on. (There is a chance that my mom can be rehired by DLR as a paraprofessional, which would pay about half of her salary now). Sometimes our economy and the jerks in charge of the money make me want to sit down and cry. College is out of the picture for a good while and we are talking about selling the house to pay off the mortgage.

In other news, Kirk (brother number 2) is joining the Army. We are still not sure if he will be able to get into officer's training (my mom is hoping for that, rather than him going in as a grunt), but currently he is trying his best to get in shape for boot camp. And I, the wonderful sister that I am, has made chocolate chip cookies twice in the past week. I don't mean to drag you all down into the depths of my despair (trust me, they aren't that deep). Despite all the setbacks we have and will experience, I know that as a family and individuals we will pull through. Even if we have to sell our house, join the army, rent an apartment, or sell our plasma for $60 a pop (looking more and more attractive the poorer I get), it is all temporary. Someday, I will finally finish college and move on to graduate school. Someday my mom will have her dream house with no mortgage and her ideal lawn (cement...that's right, my mom is anti-grass). And someday the citizens of our beautiful country will realize that they don't have to pay "advisors" and board members their six figures just to sit on a chair, because no one wants to work with them in the actual school system (I think his name rhymes with Slount). There, now I feel like Quasimodo singing in his bell tower. And yes, I just referenced to a Disney movie in the midst of my hopeful, angry rant.

Katie is married!

2010-01-26T15:28:00.018-05:00

My dear, darling (yes, sometimes we called each other darling) friend, Katie was hitched last Saturday. It was a very beautiful wedding overall and I got to see not only Katie, but also almost all of my old housemates from college. We laughed, cried, burped, and said many, many inappropriate, awkward things. And reminded one another why we love and miss each other. After spending Wednesday night and Thursday morning at my brother's with this little guy,
I then drove up to Buena Vista and spent some wonderful hours with Julie and Katie. Katie and I made wedding favors (with help from the groom and groomsmen) into the night and discussed marriagey things. Friday morning brought another beautiful reunion with Sara, who I felt like I never left. We drove into D.C. and spent the day lazily weaving our way through the protesters to look at the Botanical Gardens, Air and Space Museum, the sobering Holocaust Memorial, and to end the day with a parking ticket (totally worth it). Friday night was spent in a hotel room with Katie, Julie, Sara, and Rachel (the MoH), during which we tried to be wild, but were much too tired from traveling, walking, or wedding plans to do more than talk and laugh (and maybe eat our fair share of pudding, gummy bears, pizza, and gushers). Have you ever seen a hotel room after five women have spent a night and morning getting ready for a wedding? It is not a sight for the weak.

But, back to Katie and her nuptials. She was married in the Washington, D.C. temple on Saturday followed by a reception at Mt. Vernon. Weddings always fill me with joy and none more so than this one. Katie and Ricky are truly a couple in love. Just look at the pictures and try to tell me otherwise (all shots of them are candid, no posing, just blissful happiness).

Did I mention I was a bridesmaid? Well, I just did. And it is a matter of fact and nature that I should not be allowed in pictures of any importance. My psyche just can't take it. Take this picture from Sara's wedding, in which I was also a bridesmaid. I apologized profusely to Sara for them and do so to you now. In case you can't tell, I'm the one with the psychotic, crazed look in her eyes. And that is why you don't do what a photographer tells you to do. At least not when the advice is to close your eyes and to open your eyes, look up, and smile when said photographer counts to three. But, I'm not bitter. Anyways, Katie's came out a bit better. At least I'm hoping so. I only have the pictures Sara took while we were posing for the photographer; she mostly got shots of us in between posing. Oh, merciful heavens, I am the bridal party picture ruination. But, on that note, here are some more pictures. Judge them as you will.

On our way to the wedding, Alaina, me, Sara, and Julie, with Rachel behind the camera.
Mod 7 (trailer 7) group photo. Both Rachel and I were Katie's roommate at different times; Rachel moved out and away and I moved in. Left to right are: Robin, Sara, Kylee, Katie, Rachel, myself, Megan, and Kristin. It was, good times, as Sara would say.

Grandma Kirk

2010-01-18T01:26:00.006-05:00

My grandmother passed away Saturday afternoon. 12 o'clock on the dot (5 on the dot in Scotland). While it is sad and heart breaking, I know that she is much happier now than she has been for the past year, which was filled with pain and mental confusion for her. My 87 year old grandma was a classy lady. She was never rich, but she made life comfortable for herself and those around her. She was not afraid of hard work and she always made sure that her children and her grandchildren knew how to behave (at least around her). She taught my mother and I how to knit, made delicious bangers and mash, and loved to sing. She used to go around the house, cleaning and singing like a canary. While she herself didn't know how to play the piano (she desperately wanted to, but her family couldn't afford it), she made sure that all four of her children were given piano lessons and that they practiced, no questions or excuses. She went through her late teenage years while World War II was raging throughout Europe; married my grandfather; put up with a monkey my grandfather brought home from one of his whaling ship expeditions; had and lost her first baby, Campbell when he was just 18 months old; went on to have four more children, the last two being a set of twins; nursed my mother through scarlet fever; worked in a biology lab in a school caring for the animals, and eventually bringing home two gerbils; worked in a biscuit factory where she brought home the free, broken bits (she always made sure that her jobs contributed more than just money); met the LDS missionaries and got baptized; quit smoking; dealt with developing asthma; raised her four children with a soft heart and an iron fist; and continued to touch so many lives with her humor, love, and kindness. I will miss the woman who gave me my name and so much more.
Grandma, age 16, enjoying a day at the beach with her friends in 1939.

The caption on the back of this photo reads, "Mum with Irish kid". It makes me smile.

I turn 24...

2009-12-31T14:22:00.007-05:00

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned...24...much to my dismay. I really didn't mean to rhyme there. I have to keep reminding myself that 24 is not old, but being Mormon and being around a bunch of Mormons all the time, it's hard to think that I'm not old. Most people are married and working on starting their families at my age. So, to celebrate my new found maturity I went to Disney World! (For free, to make it ten times better!) While there, I laughed, I screamed, and I hobbled to the car at the end of the day. Disney World is not the same as when I was seven. I don't remember my feet hurting this much or feeling so tired at the end of the day. And I'm pretty sure that I didn't bother checking out the cute guy employee at the Buzz Lightyear ride. It was brilliant and fun altogether, because there is no way you can go to Disney World without being a bit more like a kid while you're there. And of course the first ride I had to start with was "It's a Small World". Life would've ended right then and there if that hadn't been the first one. There was another group on the same boat as Randi, Kirk, and I, and I will add that I pity that poor family. The woman behind us was trying to video tape the robots and when she realized that our comments were being caught on the camera too, she stopped recording. Not too many families want strangers screaming, "I'm offended by the blatant racism!" and "We believe in diversity, just as long as you fit into the preconceived notions we have of you." included in their video memories.

So, we walked, rode other rides, walked some more, ate an exorbitant lunch, took pictures, rode more rides, waited two hours for Thunder Mountain (skipped Space Mountain, Buzz Lightyear, Peter Pan's flight, and Pirate's of the Caribbean for that very same reason), offended more people on the Winnie the Pooh ride, met a down syndrome boy who was very much the lady's man on the monorail, ogled the Brazilian men on the tram ride (alright, maybe that one was just me), and dozed fitfully in the car until we stopped for sweet, sassy molassy McDonald's to fill up on salt (Kirk dropped his hamburger on the floor, which was a whole new adventure). We also stopped by the Orlando Temple on our way back home to take pictures and just bask in the general splendor and beauty of it all. All in all, a very good birthday. I will leave out the fact that Chloe had a conniption in my mom's bathroom, destroyed the custom blinds, ate the door handle and all the puppy training pads I had put out for her, and generally was a freak.

Kirk and Randi in the walkway in front of the temple.

The Orlando Temple. Isn't she beautiful?!

The Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus statue from the Nativity scene behind the temple.

Sorry, I don't have any pictures from Disney World yet, since they are on real film, as in take it to the store, get it developed film.

Christmas Joy

2009-12-26T22:56:00.005-05:00

Christmas is my favorite holiday, as Sara well knows (there may or may not have been words exchanged one Christmas time...she called my ornaments cheap, so I called her mother cheap...then apologized for my fervor). There is something so magical about it all. The lights, colors, smells, baked goods. I still rush/rushed to get to bed before midnight Christmas Eve, just because it felt wrong to be awake when Christmas Eve became Christmas Day; like watching a magician rehearse his act. This year it was just Kirk, or brother number two, and I. My mom was spending Christmas in Scotland, with the family, the snow, and the 24 degrees, and the ice. (Thanks to "Cool Runnings", I can no longer say "ice" normally). Stephen, or brother number three, was stuck up north with a friend and her family, not because of the enormous amount of snow they were getting, but because the friend was dealing with her own family tragedy, so Stephen, soft hearted that he is, stayed to comfort and help. Christmas Eve I made hershey kisses cookies and sugar cookies decorated in red and green icing and really, to be truthful felt quite lonely. Don't worry, I did enjoy Christmas immensely. I forced Kirk to put up our ghetto Christmas lights on the house. I tied plaid bows around the dogs' necks. And ever since having an awkward, short, albeit meaningful, conversation with a homeless man and his dog, I really, truly talked it out with God at night in my prayers. I have been blessed very much. Sure, we are running through a rough financial patch as a family, but, we still have a roof over our heads, food, and although our gifts to each other were not extravagant or plentiful, we put love in to them. You don't need money to laugh at inside jokes, snuggle with a warm, slightly smelly dog on a cold night, or to remember how priceless each and every person is. So...here are a few select pictures from our Christmas:

The trees don't know that they should be bare. They still think it's Fall. It's sad, really. My eldest brother, William, aka brother number one, wrote a haiku about bare trees while he was in high school; I can no longer look at a bare tree the same way again...it went like this:

Barely, by William Murdock
"When the trees go bare,
you should never look at them
for that would be rude."

Don't worry, it gets stuck in your head, so you don't ever have to remember it. What can I say, he is my brother.

The fungi also think it's Fall. They have all sprung up all over the place. I blame the bi-polar weather. Hot, then cold, then hot again. I think Mother Nature might be going through "The Change".

Ok, this one is from right after Thanksgiving. I couldn't resist putting up a picture of my nephew. Look at that adorable little red nose (it was a bit nippy that day) and those chubby cheeks and the "Murdock" eyes (almond shaped blue eyes with big long lashes).

Scooter, resting a bit from running around like a wild beast with Chloe, behind my mother's school.

Last, but most definitely not least, is our palm tree by the front door. It would not have been a true, complete Christmas without multicolored lights on a palm tree.

My gift to you?...One last high school poem by my brother (just don't tell him).

My Geo Metro

Everyday I get in my car,
Geo.
Everyday it takes me real far,
Geo.
The artists rendered its body black,
Metro.
About the size of a brown paper sack,
Metro.
A lot like Mr. Bean's Mini,
Sorry.
I hit a kid who was very skinny,
Sorry.

William Murdock

Dido

2009-12-10T13:05:00.007-05:00

I admit it freely and openly. I am a crazy cat lady. It has taken a few years for me to accept this, but it was inevitable. My family has had at least one cat ever since I was four years old; sometimes we even had four cats at a time. So far, I've had six cats live with me for a while, not including the strays I temporarily fed and sometimes kept in my dorm room illegally (my excuse, it was Virginia, getting cold, and there were foxes and coyotes, who think kittens are tasty little morsels). And I know I will receive some flak for this, but I really do prefer cats over dogs. Cats are self-cleaning, our two dogs could probably get a bath every week due to rolling in inappropriate odors and drooling all over each other; cats don't lick their private areas, then lick your face, or worse, your mouth (Chloe likes to do all three); and cats don't sit there and stare at you and whine just because. Although, Tigger used to stare at me a lot; it was very unnerving, especially at two in the morning.

Most of our cats have been family pets, but when I was turning eleven my mom said I could get a cat for Christmas/my birthday. After a failed attempt at a white kitten (who I named Leo and we had put down due to the fact that all his organs were up in his chest cavity) from a feral cat colony, we tried the pound. That is how I got the love of my life, Tigger. A huge, brown tabby, with his tail constantly in the air. Tigger was also put to sleep when he was just ten years old, back in 2007; we found out that he only had one kidney and that one was failing. With a broken heart I went back to college. I then (illegally) kept three kittens in my dorm room over the winter; one, who I named Samson and brought home, is now living with a local family and is called Mr. Jingles (speechless, is all I can say). The other two, who my roommates named Salem and Stuart Little, I turned over to the SPCA. I then moved into a different dorm and towards the end of the spring semester I found Dido. Skinny, scared, and dirty. I have a weak spot for two kinds of cats; big male cats (due to Tigger) and little calico cats (our first one, Lisa was a calico). Dido fell into the calico category. As I fed her I noticed something funny with her eyes. Her third eyelid was out and her eyes were all cloudy. I took her to the local vet, had her given all her shots and checked out. I was then told that she was pretty much blind due to an old infection of herpes she probably got as a kitten (left untreated, it will scar the eyes). I spent longer than usual picking out her name, because I had decided that she needed a regal name; I knew people would think she was ugly due to her eyes and I thought she deserved a name befitting her true beauty. That, and our school had just put on an opera workshop in which one of the songs they performed was from "Dido and Aeneas". And that is how I got Dido, who, with a little good food, brushing, and a safe place to sleep, has turned into a beautiful cat. Sure, she still runs into walls and the couch when she gets startled, but that's just how it is.

Dido, outside, on her harness and leash. That's right, I take my cats for walks...

I know the color isn't right on this (the camera was on the wrong setting), but just look at that intent face. That is the face I see every time I eat anything. She's worse than the dogs.

She should be a cat model, seriously. Oh, how I wish I was kidding.

First Aid!

2009-12-05T15:21:00.002-05:00

I am procrastinating horribly. My mom is away in Och Aye land, sadly saying goodbye to her mother. My 87 year old grandma broke her hip about a year ago and is still not well enough to leave assisted living because of that and her asthma which has caused fluid buildup around her heart; she is also a little bit forgetful, as in she thinks the nurses are pressuring her to have sex with one of the young male nurses and one day she told everyone that they went out on a day trip and they wouldn't let them come back until they ate a piece of furniture (she ate a piano by the way, followed by a small table). It's sad really, underneath the humor of it all. My maternal grandma is after all who I'm named after. We share a similar dry wit and ok, a sarcastic albeit fond treatment of our family members. Also, we both go around the house singing old songs with a jazz voice.

So, my mom is over there for the next month or so spending a few last moments with grandma and I'm here, doing nothing. I suppose I should since the laundry is pretty high and the dirty dishes only get worse, but I've decided it's been raining almost non-stop recently, and it's cold, and I don't feel like doing anything. A recent comment from my dearest friend, Sara made me think of last Thanksgiving. Yes, I realize it's getting closer to Christmas... Anyways, last Thanksgiving I was still living up in Buena Vista in the basement apartment. Right before the actual feasting day, the four of us, Katie, Robin, Julie, and I, decided to have a little semi-feast together as a house before we all left to our own places. Included, of course, were respective boyfriends (ok, mostly just Robin's) and Sara and her fiancee'/now husband. We had everything ready and we had planned to eat after church on Sunday right before Sara needed to drive back home. At this time, I was still a horrible procrastinator and had pushed my visiting teaching back until the very end of the month (it's a church thing in which you are assigned with a partner to visit two other girls every month). After the longer than expected visits, I rushed to drop off my partner and then rushed back home. Sara had said she was going to leave around 6 and here it was approaching 5:30! I parked and then ran to the door. Not my first stupid decision seeing as I was wearing flip flops and a skirt. Out of nowhere I tripped and went flying. Stupidly, I hung onto my car keys and cell phone, instead, letting my knees and chin catch me. Slightly bewildered, I looked around for a minute or two, wondering how I became sprawled on my stomach on our driveway. My whole body was screaming in pain and what did I do? Why, of course, I rolled over onto the grass and pulled my skirt down to cover my white panties. I tried several times to even just sit up, but after those failed attempts I resigned myself to lying there for a while. I wasn't winded (I know how awful that feels, after falling flat on my back on a slide as a child), but my heart was pounding quickly and I couldn't get it to slow down. I started to feel dizzy and as a last ditch effort at something productive, I dialed the first person who came to mind. Not Katie, who always has her phone next to her, but Robin, who for some reason in my foggy mind rose to the surface as THE person to call in a situation like this. I let it ring for what felt like forever (the record on my phone said I had let it ring for 10 seconds) before I hung up in exasperation and then promptly passed out. Coming to was like being born all over again. I was shivering with cold and staring up at the sky wondering what the heck that was and where I was. Of course, thankfully, my brain got caught up on being fully aware and I quickly realized all that had happened. I heaved myself to my feet and stumbled down the stairs. I had to stop a few times, because I was determined to not go in crying like a big baby. I put on what I thought was a "guess what happened to me!" kind of smile and walked stiffly into the kitchen. That's when I realized I wasn't going to get away with a simple, "Oh, are you ok?". Robin yelled out my name and the rest of them gasped in astonishment. They all collectively asked what had happened and I giggled and said, "I fell". Turns out I was bleeding from every rounded or pointy part of my body; my chin, elbows, hands, ankles, and most disgusting of all, my knees. I was also shaking and sat down while Katie ran around the house yelling, "First aid! First aid!" and bandaging me up. I changed my sweaty clothing and we all settled down to eat. Mid meal, Julie looked at me and said, "Can you cover your wounds? They're putting me off my turkey."

Thanksgiving

2009-12-04T14:19:00.004-05:00

I know! It's a very belated Thanksgiving post. I got caught up in the festivities of it all. Since my mother was still on her muscle relaxants from her car accident I volunteered to take on the brunt of the meal. Add to that, we had my oldest brother, his wife, and their adorable 9 month old baby coming down. I started excitedly planning this meal weeks ahead. Why? Because deep within me is a 50's housewife clawing to get out. I love planning parties and soirees (see, would a normal 20 something year old say "soiree"? I didn't think so). I love planning the meal and making sure it's not too heavy or light, that the flavors don't clash, but blend together into a pleasant memory. I love making a table look beautiful with the right choice of linens, silverware, glasses, and dishes. And most of all I love siting down to dinner with a sigh of relief and joy at how well everything turned out. Boys don't understand this. Namely, my brother didn't understand all this. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, while I was making my three pies (fudge pecan pie, pumpkin with a streusel topping, and a cranberry cream cheese with streusel, in case you were wondering) he kept butting in. I'll give him credit though; he was trying to help. But, when I'm baking, the easiest way to help me is to get out of the way. He didn't understand how I agonized over trying the new napkin fold I learned, in which you put the cutlery inside the napkin on the plate, or to just go traditional and put it all at the side of the plate. Or when I hesitated whether I should use my new (Salvation Army bought) Indian art inspired, bold, red glasses.

But, after all the bustle and sweating, it turned out great! I stuffed our turkey with onion, apple, and orange pieces for added flavor and got my mom to rub the whole big guy down with herbs, with the result of a juicy, flavorful bird. The deviled eggs and chocolate truffles I made for appetizers did not make it past dinner time. And the butternut squash soup I was trying for the first time came out surprisingly delicious (I don't usually associate squash with delicious). One funny mistake...my mom had bought a frozen, regular pumpkin pie to add to the pie table and we managed to burn it. All the homemade ones came out beautiful, but give us a frozen one with specific instructions on how to make it and we burn it. I wish I had pictures to share with you, however we were all a little rushed and I didn't think of taking pictures of it all until after, when I was dozing on the couch with my half-eaten pie.

It was a good time. I got to play with and hold my nephew, who was so confused by all the people that he alternated between laughing and crying (I also found out he giggled uncontrollably if I spun around while holding him). We played Cranium as a family one night after another delicious meal eaten by candlelight, followed by hot apple pie. How can you not have fun playing Cranium with your family when one of your brothers has to get his team to guess "hamster wheel" by charades? And while the vast majority of my family went out shopping in the wee hours of the morning on Friday, I took our two dogs out to the field and went for an early morning hike in the woods. There is something exhilarating about being up just as the sun is rising and the rabbits are out eating, and knowing it's just you, your dogs, and life. A fun week if I say so myself. I will miss those baby giggles from Owen.

The 50 pound terror

2009-11-14T23:53:00.008-05:00

We have a new dog. Correction, we have another dog. One that we got about a month ago. She belongs to my brother's girlfriend, but due to moving into a new apartment and time constraints (school and work), she couldn't keep her puppy. So, out of the kindness of our hearts and a touch of masochism we took Chloe in. She is, shall we say, exuberant. Zestful, energetic, crazy. She is in essence a pure puppy.

An 8 month old Weimeraner/Boxer mix is a lot of things. Chloe is, besides all those other things, a trash eater. As in, she eats things that most people don't even like to touch. Used tissues, candy wrappers, and dare I whisper it...panty liners; all of these things she will dig out of the garbage cans through out the house and then leave bits and pieces of them through out the same house. For this reason she has been having dietary upsets (eating garbage will do that to you folks). I had no idea a dog's stomach could make so much noise. It's nothing a little antibiotics and a little chastising wont fix.

Did I mention we're also training Chloe? Although darling and super sweet, she has no manners. She jumps on people, pulls on the leash until I have red welts on my hands, digs in the backyard, drags our dirty underwear out from the laundry basket and leaves them in conspicuous places, and basically does not listen to a single word we say. She makes our other dog, Scooter look like a perfect angel. But, we're working on her. Plus, she's extremely intelligent. She catches on to tricks very quickly; I think watching Scooter get rewarded for said tricks makes an impression on her. Besides, who could turn away the pooch that belongs to this face?

And it's always nice to have a dog that isn't terrified of water in all of it's forms. Just don't tell Scooter.

Friday the 13th

2009-11-14T13:31:00.005-05:00

Last night as I was lazily flipping through t.v. channels and eating cold sweet peas (you know you're jealous), the phone rang. More specifically it rang Stephen's ringtone, a light, airy tune that reminds me of a carnival. Anyways, seeing as it was my brother I decided to pick it up. And then my heart absolutely dropped with the news Stephen told me. In his crazy southern accent (where did he get it from?!) Stephen said, "Lizbeth, you need to go to the hospital. Momma's been in an accident." I tried to get more details out of him, i.e., was she ok, what happened, etc., but he knew as much as I did. So, while whispering to myself that she would be fine over and over, I frantically put on real clothing, locked up the "bad" dog (that story is for another time), and called our bishop as I ran out the front door. After saying a quick prayer in the car, I drove the 10 minutes or so to the E.R. debating whether or not to listen to the radio. First I decided it would feel weird having it on, but then as the tears started to flow, thinking about losing my mother, I decided it would be a much needed distraction until I got there.

I hate emergency rooms. They are so cold and sterile looking. Which I guess is a good thing, seeing as they need to be clean. But, anytime I've been in a hospital it always feels surreal. The lighting and the colors all blend into a dreamlike quality. While I waited for the nurse at the front desk to see where my mother was, I stood at the counter gripping my hands together to stop them from shaking and reading the lotion bottles as yet another distraction. My whole body relaxed the moment the nurse came out smiling and told me which room she was in. I wandered back to room number 4 and there was my poor mother, wrapped in blankets, hooked up to machines and an I.V., wearing a huge neck brace, and...cracking jokes with the police officer taking her statement. My hands stopped shaking and my heart immediately started to beat normally. Of course that didn't stop me from checking her stats consistently (thank you pre-veterinary science). She escaped with a totaled car and a severe case of whip lash. You know you're ok when you can worry about your car; something my mother did a lot of. As I lay in my bed that night I kept thinking, "This night could've turned out a whole lot different." What would I do without my mother? She has been my one and only parent for basically my whole life. My comforter and support. The glue of our family, holding us together whether we want to or not. The woman who taught me the basics of piano, cooking, heck, even dressing myself. This woman...
Thank goodness for mothers. And airbags.

Insert foot and proceed to nearest exit

2009-11-11T01:25:00.004-05:00

Even though it is technically no longer Tuesday, I am going to share an awkward story. I need to get them out of my system. It's a disease really. Legalmist was trying her darndest to restart TAT (Totally Awkward Tuesdays), but due to lack of participation, I don't think she will be continuing. But, don't you worry. My awkward self and I are going no where. You would need a U-haul truck to move my awkward stories out of town.

Back in high school I had a group of friends. We were an odd assortment of girls, who didn't really fit into the other cliques. We weren't preppy, goth, sporty, or nerdy; we were just simply our weird little selves. Yet, even in our group we were divided in half. Half were in to science fiction and manga (Japanese comic book things; I will admit, I did read Sailor Moon due to Megan's influence) and the other half were more girly girls. I don't really know how to explain it. I can't really explain our group's dynamics in a paragraph. Anyways, we were sometimes separated into mini groups due to our preferences in reading material. Now, Megan was in the science fiction group and she wrote stories about our group based off of Mystery Science Theater 3000, which were pretty much amazing. What is MST 3000, you ask? Only a hilarious t.v. show that makes you wish you were as witty as the characters on it. Anyways, Megan would write these stories, make copies, and hand them out to us to read (I still have mine). Also in our group was a girl we will call Anna. Anna entered our group last and was, shall we put it kindly, creepy. She did try, desperately try, to fit in, but her social skills were a lot worse than mine, which is saying a lot. After a while we started to notice something about Anna. She would copy anything and everything Megan did. Megan would join a club, Anna would join the same club; Megan would start reading a new series of books, Anna would show up the next day with the whole series in her backpack; you get the gist. Anna would also tag along behind Megan; where ever Megan was, you were sure to find Anna. Eventually, Megan brought it up to Toni Leigh, Jenny, and myself. She was getting a little concerned about Anna's stalkerish behavior, and to tell the truth, we all were.

Life went on and Anna continued to copy Megan throughout the semester. Then she made a fatal mistake. Anna showed up one morning with a rip-off of Megan's MST 3000 stories, smiling as she passed copies of them out to her favorites (i.e. not Toni Leigh or I). At lunch one day we were all sitting together, when Megan brought the topic up in a roundabout way. Megan never once mentioned Anna's name or any particulars, but was airing her concerns and asking the group what she should do in a situation like that. Everyone gave their own little piece of advice and then I opened my big mouth. I flipped my hair in a very knowing way and said, "Well, I think you should just march right up to her and say, "Anna, stop being a freak!"." The whole table fell silent. And a split second later I realized what I had just done. Anna was sitting right behind me! Everyone else had managed to avoid her name and yet, I stupidly had spit it right on out alongside a comment that was less than friendly. I took a huge gasp of air (I'm sure I looked like a fish out of water), and turned around to Anna, smiling and nervously laughing. "Just kidding! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!", I said, then turning back to Megan, "That's what you should say to that girl, whatever her name is...". The only sound was my labored breathing. Anna stared at me with a creepy smile and then tried some pressure point move on the back of my neck. I turned my head around and said, "What are you doing?! Stop, that tickles." She didn't seem too happy that her pressure point skills hadn't made it to reality and I quickly excused myself to throw my trash away. As we walked back to class Megan laughed at me and Toni Leigh shook her head and said, "I can't believe you said her name!" I think that most of the group was in a shock and awe of what I had just done, including myself. I bet you didn't know I could fit my whole foot in my mouth.

I should start avoiding this place

2009-11-03T19:06:00.003-05:00

My whole life could be an awkward story. Seriously. I'm an awkward magnet. And I am wonderfully happy that someone has revived Totally Awkward Tuesdays (here is her blog, legalmist is my new blogging hero). She has a wonderfully awkward story that had me giggling all the way through...I suggest you read it to understand how wonderful awkwardness can be.

Wal-mart and I have a history. None of it very pleasant. Besides being stalked by a Wal-mart employee all the way across the store (which I have used as a TAT in the past), I was also a creepy Wal-mart employee myself for a summer; an overnight one too, to top it all. But, I would have to say my story with Wal-mart really began the weekend I went up to visit some friends of mine in Statesboro. They had just started going to college there and I decided to go visit. We did the usual 19 year old stuff, you know, watched Sponge Bob, went out to eat at Ruby Tuesday's, blindfolded Megan and made her stumble around the dorm room with a mop as a guide...you know, the usual stuff. Well, after a very large dinner at Ruby Tuesday's, we were on our way back to their dorm. Unfortunately, when I eat a lot, there had better be a bathroom close by...for uh, bowel reasons. So, there we were driving along blithely when I knew I wasn't going to make it all the way to their room. I begged Toni Leigh to find a bathroom (soon) and became as still as I could, concentrating with all of my being. She pulled into the local Wal-mart and while they were searching for a parking spot, I jumped out and ran (literally, ran) to the bathroom. Trust me, it does get more awkward. I dove into the first empty stall I could find and began the usual stuff that one does in a bathroom. As I went to sit down I noticed something odd. The toilet was situated right up against one of the stall walls. I mean, right against it. There was this huge space on one side of the toilet and the other side was up on the wall. I shrugged it off and promptly sat down, sideways. Everything was going swell and dandy, women were coming and going as is usual in a bathroom, until I looked up. All I can say is, whoever built this bathroom needs a drug test. Because not only was the toilet sitting up against a wall, but there was also a huge gap in between the door jamb of the stall. And standing right outside my stall was a little girl...staring at me...doing my business. I immediately slammed my legs shut and hunched over my legs, the whole time thinking, "What the heck am I going to do?!!". I sat there for a good five minutes until the little girl's mom (the lady in the stall next to me) came out and they left. I finished up too and booked it out of there. When I got out, Megan looked at me and said in an annoyed tone, "What took you so long!" All I could think was, some little girl out there saw all my business and now I want to die. And that is the beginning of an awkward relationship with Wal-mart.

Halloween

2009-10-31T21:13:00.007-04:00

I love Halloween. Maybe it's because of the candy. Maybe it's the whole spooky feeling about it. And perhaps it's because only on Halloween is it socially acceptable to do this...
And by this, I mean put on more makeup than a hooker and wear turquoise tights, a beak, and put feathers in your hair (and apparently make a crazed face at the camera). But really, I'll let you in on a secret; it's my unnatural love affair with pumpkins.I love the way pumpkins smell. I love the color of them. How smooth their skin is and how squishy the insides are. I love how when I press them against my face, the shell radiates a coolness. And then I realize I'm still in the store, craddling a pumpkin against my cheek. They are one of my favorite fruits...in the non-edible category. I suppose you could eat them, but why bother? Just eat a banana, they're so much easier. So, there is my main reason for why Halloween is so awesome. Besides all four of the Alien movies being shown on t.v. And here are my pumpkins gutted and carved. They only last a couple of days down here in Dixie, so I take pictures as soon as they're done. It saddens me when they start to rot, but then I take out the shovel and kick them to the curb for the organic trash man to pick up.

A bedtime story and the dark

2009-09-24T20:25:00.003-04:00

I have realized that my last couple of posts have been less than chipper. But, I was never really a chipper person (can't abide wood...ok, I know, lame). I get a little grouchy when I'm in pain/when my hips flare up. My mom would say I become meaner than a junkyard dog and then tell the story of when I got my wisdom teeth out and swatted at the nurses who tried to help me into the car after the surgery, while I was still hung over from the drugs. Of course, anyone that knows me and possesses any brains to speak of, knows you don't mess with Elizabeth when she's: a) sleeping; b) in pain; and c) under the influence of drugs; something those poor, dear nurses found out. So, in lieu of complaining and whining and ranting, I am going to reminisce. Come along, join me for the ride of bittersweet memories that only get better with fading, like an old pair of jeans that fit you just right.

My dad. Where does one begin to explain my dad. He is generally not associated with happy memories from my childhood. Come to find out, years and years after his suicide when I was eight, he was also an alcoholic. My mom used to hide money from him so we could have Christmas and birthdays; basically make childhood a little less traumatizing for my three brothers and I. He was essentially a sick man who believed he had no one to turn to; being bi-polar can sometimes do that to you. But, underneath that pain, I do believe a part of him loved us, his family, very much.

When I was little I used to be absolutely terrified of the dark. I know just about every child has a fear of the dark in some proportion sometime while growing up. But, I was crazily terrified. I would lie stone still with my little fists clenching my sheet, straight as an arrow, too scared to move, staring at the dark with wide bulging eyes. The fear would build and build inside me until I couldn't stand it any longer. Then I did one of two things. I would either scream bloody murder or run as fast as I could, without looking back, into my parents' room. When my dad was out to sea, my mom would just turn on my night light to help me and her to sleep at night. However, my dad had this idea that night lights didn't help and we were just burning electricity. Well, at first he did. Until he had to put up with me screaming and running around like a maniac at night. I remember the first night he was home, back from a deployment on his sub, he came in to put me to bed. He tucked me in, refused to put on the night light, and then sat down on the floor. And then my father told me a bedtime story, that he made up as he went along. I remember thinking how great the story was, something about a little blue boat, and drifting off to sleep. I woke up a few hours later to the loud snoring of my dad. He had stayed in there and had fallen asleep on the floor. And yet, there was no terrifying searching of the dark corners and no clenching the sheets in my hands. I simply smiled, rolled over, and went back to sleep. I think that was the moment I realized, that no matter how little I knew of what was hiding in the dark shadows, there would always be someone there to watch over me. The dark was still scary, but it was no longer menacing.

Amazing idiocy

2009-09-16T22:28:00.003-04:00

After a night of dealing with the youth of our ward, I am seriously considering the six or more future children of mine. It is almost like God is trying to show me what real children are like. Real, screaming, selfish, self-absorbed, rude, will never stop talking even if you die, children. First, I was in Primary (little kids) to help a Sister deliver cupcakes. And it was pretty much, non-stop, "I want my cupcake! I want my cupcake!" over and over in high-pitched, whiny tones. Then, tonight was the teenagers. The girls, primping and getting over-excited about every little thing going on in pop culture right now, and the boys, slapping, punching, and jumping on each other, like monkeys. I kept telling myself, "If you stay calm and quiet, they can't hurt you." (I kept picturing it all as a nasty storm on the sea, and I was just there for the ride). That was a lie. I ended the evening with a headache. Every adult I passed by, while I was trailing behind my youth group, trying to get one of the boys to keep up even though he was too busy listening to his i-pod, smiled and waved at me. I could feel myself give a weak smile back, exactly like what I picture weak tea would look like, if it were a smile. Don't get me wrong. I love those kids. They are good kids. And they are friendly and happy people. I just kept wondering the whole evening if I was ever like them. Then I realized I wasn't, really. Because, I was the socially awkward, quiet one, that the loud, pop-culture obsessed ones ignored...or made fun of. And part of me thanks my lucky stars that I was the quiet one. Especially when one of the boys read a clue (we were playing the Amazing Race) and pronounced aka as "a-kah". I tried not to laugh and said, "It's a.k.a", and he said, "Yeah, I know, a-kah." I gave up then and there. I'm still puzzled how he doesn't know that it stood for "also known as". And he was and probably still is puzzled by what it is anyways. But, like I said, good kids. I'm sure, once I get over the noise level, I will learn to love this opportunity.

Of course, there are the adults that never, EVER, get out of that slapping and jumping stage. Okay, mostly just the men. After the Amazing Race, which made me feel like I had run around the world, all the teams gathered in the Relief Society room to figure out who was the winner and to eat cupcakes. There were three married men who had volunteered also, gathered in the very back of the room, chatting it up. Or talking, I'm not sure, do men chat? They were right behind me and I of course couldn't help overhearing their conversation. One guy was blathering about how he didn't have to be nice to women anymore, since he's married. He kept going on and on about how he only really has to be nice to his wife, since the rest of us women folk are a waste of time now. I ignored his stupidity, until one of the sister missionaries walked in. He pointed at her and said, "See her! I don't have to be nice to her, because I'm married. I can make fun of her all I want." I turned around, looked at him deprecatingly (because really he was the king of idiots) and spat out, "Yeah, because I'm sure that's how Jesus would've seen it too." The other two men chuckled and King Idiot stood there with a stupid grin on his face. I'm positive that his brain cells did not register what I said. Sometimes I worry that one day I will unleash all of my wrath (yes, wrath, even though I'm not a comic book villian, despite what Nate says) on the idiots in the ward, and then I will forever be branded as that woman who got up and lost it on some people. And although I may be crazy, doesn't mean I want the whole ward to have actual physical proof of it. But, at moments like that, it is very,very, tempting.

There was this one time...

2009-09-14T16:18:00.003-04:00

So, as I was saying, there was this one time when I inadvertently called the whole Relief Society in my college ward, ugly. Not my best moment. To give me a break though, I was trying to compliment everyone in the room. Not call them all hideous hags. It was a weekend activity day with the women from Relief Society, about a year ago. It was rainy and we were making aprons...from scratch. And eating soup. The soup was my favorite part. Mostly because I am awful at sewing with machines. I can hand sew, but put me in front of that machine and you get a bundle of fabric with large, crooked stitching all over (I still have that quillow we made in Young Women's, so I am speaking from experience). While I was cutting out the pattern for my gorgeous, still not finished, apron, a couple of girls at my table were talking about an old housemate of mine. They were saying how nice and pretty she was. I am, to say the least, not a social person. I can talk normally, for the most part, but, usually only after I get to know you. So, during a lull in the conversation, of which was all about my pretty housemate (talk about creepers), I cleared my throat and said, "Well, it would be really hard to pick out the prettiest girl in this group." They all looked at me with a mixture of confusion and I could just see them thinking, "What a jerk!" It then occurred to me that my statement could be taken the wrong way. I laughed nervously and then said something about how hard it would be because all the women in the room were pretty. That pretty much killed the conversation, not to mention any chance I had of those women talking to me again. But, what do I care. They were creepy anyways.

French as in German

2009-09-09T22:19:00.003-04:00

I really miss the Totally Awkward Tuesdays on Tova Darlings website. Like, really miss it. And yes, I did just use "like" to begin a sentence. There was something so freeing about getting those awkward stories out and about, sharing them with people, and then having those people cringe in awkwardness. So, while TAT is over with, I will continue to occasionally share my awkward stories with you. Because, sometimes we all need a good laugh and what better basis for that laughter than someone else's pain.

Senior year in high school is generally not an awkward time for people. Unless you are like me, that is. During my senior year I only had half days. I would go to two classes a day at the high school, while also taking two college courses per semester. It was a pretty sweet deal. I would either get to leave early or come in late. For the second semester, my last one ever at the high school, I was taking Chemistry and Trigonometry for third and fourth period. The Chemistry class was actually fun. Mostly because our teacher really didn't give a fig about what we did, as long as we behaved and didn't set the place on fire (harder than you think). In our class we had a foreign exchange student, who sad to say, most of us ignored (aren't we the best?). His name was Renee' and while the rest of us silly Americans goofed around, he would sit in the back, quietly. However, whenever we had a question that the teacher, herself didn't know, we all (including the teacher) would turn around collectively and stare at Renee'. He would sigh and then go into the complexities of chemistry, answering the question for us and the teacher. Towards the end of the semester the class was all lazing about after finishing some project, talking in little groups. The group I was in somehow got on the topic of Renee'. Swim team guy was saying about how Renee' was from Germany and blah, blah, blah *look at how gorgeous swim team guy's muscles are*. Anyways, for one reason or other I decided then and there, that Renee' was actually from France. And then I began to argue with swim team guy. Eventually the argument got heated enough that other people began to notice. Swim team guy, frustrated with me at this point, with all of his sexual energy, said why didn't we just ask Renee'. I agreed, again the whole class turned around to Renee', and I declared, quite loudly might I add, "I'm telling you swim team guy, Renee' is from France!". Renee' looked up from his genius notepad, in which I'm sure he was writing down the basic essence of life, with a bland look on his face and said, "Actually, I am from Germany." I, of course, turned bright red while swim team guy gloated. Renee', who I suppose felt a little bad for me, said, "But, Renee' is a French name." Everyone else went back to their own thing, while I sunk as low as I could in my desk, hoping for class to end quickly.

The people who helped me get through college

2009-09-05T23:38:00.000-04:00

Say hello to one of the first friends I met at SVU. Sara George (now a Mrs. Kreider). Sara and I were meant to be...only less creepy sounding than that. We watched Arrested Development way more than we should have that first semester and our friendship blossomed into new levels of weird fun. This is from our Labor Day holiday, during which Sara, her roommate, and I decided to go to the Natural Bridge Wax Museum. And this is Sara dancing with a giant stuffed bear in the ticket/gift store place (I would think that is pretty self explanatory).

Did I mention that Sara is gorgeous? She is tall, slim, and pretty much built like a model. I would be jealous, but she is just so dang unaware of her own beauty, that you can't help but love her.

Dear, sweet Robin. Now also, magically morphed into a Mrs. (Mrs. Bagley, that is). Robin and I lived together for about two years, and all I can say is bless her soul. Robin is also drop dead beautiful...maybe it's an ongoing trend in my friends? But, dare I say, you will never meet someone as kind and good as Robin. I do believe that in this picture she is blowing me a kiss. Of course I could be wrong, but why else would you make that face?

Ah, Rachel. How could I have gotten through my second year/4th semester without her? In the midst of the worst living situation ever...seriously...EVER, Rachel helped me through it. Since we were both stuck there for at least that semester we decided to be friends and comfort each other. Rachel was my taco bell buddy, my Friday night movie and goodies friend, and my church skipping companion. I could pretty much tell Rachel anything and she would tell me the truth. Even if it was that I was being stupid. That's what I love about her and expect from her. This is from the Halloween party at our mod(ular unit). I was a devil, not at all to be confused with the devil, and Rachel was a very pretty fairy. Ignore my crazy face, let's call it getting into character.

Laura was also a housemate at the same mod with Rachel and I. What drew us together you ask? Why science of course! Laura was kind enough to let me into her lab group in our Biology class, and once you let me in, I'll never leave. We had fun though. Messing around with our slides, asking the professor unimportant questions, and having discussions that had nothing to do with the lab. Alright, maybe that was just me. But, Laura put up with it and laughed at it; even when during a lecture, I turned around to her and said, "She said, "do do!"". Laura is the sweetest, never-pick-a-fight, person; you could punch her in the face and she wouldn't blink an eye. And the sense of humor that comes out once you get to know her, is the best.

Katie, has been mentioned in this blog several times so far. We were roommates for a semester and then lived in a basement together for another semester. Katie is essentially a soul mate. Why on earth I can't have normal, non-creepy relationships with one of my best friends is besides the point. All it took was one semester of us sharing a room and bathroom and we were friends. The crazy part is we are pretty much like Felix and Oscar in "The Odd Couple". Except we don't argue as much. This was taken the day we went to D.C. over Thanksgiving Break, at the zoo...right after Katie spent a good thirty minutes taking pictures of the flamingos while I shifted my weight from foot to foot, staring at those drated birds and cursing how entrancing they were to Katie. I love this woman though. She is, to sum it all up, one of my favorite people.

How pretty is this gal?! I only met Julie my last semester at SVU, but we lived together in the basement and made up for lost time. I miss her goofy laugh when she's sick and I miss those arm (yes, I said arm) rubs she used to give me. Julie is incredibly talented too, what with being a harpist and a piano player, along with many other things. We also worked together at The Joyful Spirit Cafe' and if you can survive that without hurting eachother you were meant to be friends.

This is more like the Julie I knew and loved from day to day. Being goofy and funny while everyone else is talking.

Thursday Tirade numero two

2009-09-03T15:08:00.001-04:00

I like to whine. It helps me deal with things...like stupid people and my crazy family and my stupid, crazy body. I am forever grateful to Amy at Just Add Walter, for coming up with the Thursday Tirade. You should check it out because it's fun and partly cathartic, two things that very rarely go together.

I started September off with a bang, or rather a fluish virus. I'm not sure what it was, all I know is that it left me drained of every ounce of energy. I slept through the day, nibbling on my honey graham O's cereal, and forcing myself to sip water. A part of me wanted to die; I think it was my joints that wanted to die the most. I tried watching a movie, but my eyes kept blurring and going out of focus. And ever since my bout with bronchitis about two years ago, every time I now get sick I get alternating fevers and chills. The whole time I was in the midst of shivering and then sweating, I kept thinking, "Please Lord, I never want to go through menopause."

I also got a calling in our ward (translation: I have a job/service to do in our church). Something to do with Young Women's/girl's youth group. I was all excited about it, like a kid at Christmas, minus the screaming and jumping up and down, I was in heels after all. That is until I made the mistake of telling my mother. My mom, as she often does, took a big ole needle of criticism and pessimism and popped my bubble of happiness. She laughed and then said, "What are YOU going to teach them? How to skip church?" Now, I'm used to these comments. They have been happening since I could understand the English language. My only issue is she said it in front of two other women, both of whom gave nervous laughter and were desperately looking for a way out of this awkard conversation. I could see them scanning the room for an escape.

On top of all is the incessant need of the women in my church to fix me up with someone, namely a guy. One such guy is a Bro. B who seems like a nice guy and all, but I just have no interest whatsoever. How do I tell these women, who believe that the highest attainement I can make is to get married and pop out babies (after all that is what they've done), that right now I am not interested in dating? I kinda would like to get back to college, finish that at lightning speed, and then go to graduate school. I do not want to get married! And I do not want to marry some shy, weak man (even if he is super nice). They constantly bring up Brother B and I usually just smile and nod. I feel like screaming, "No comment!" I guess all I can do is ignore them and hope I can get out of here without a marriage ceremony.

Sometimes Life copies movies...

2009-08-31T13:07:00.000-04:00

I'm typing this one up early, because I absolutely hate to write while others are standing behind me. It makes me feel like I'm being stalked, you know the feeling. Anyways, it's quiet for the time being and everyone else is out working. You should check out TAT on Tova Darling's site; which is what this post is about, awkward stories. Side note: I missed Tuesday due to a flu-like virus, soooo...since it is possibly Tova's last TAT, I'm posting it late, because I will miss all the awkward sharing.

I know you've waited a whole two weeks to hear this particular awkward story (at least in my delusional mind you have). It's not technically part two of the first one, but it did occur in the same Lit. and Film class in college, so non-technically it is part two. So, in our Lit. and Film class we had a big project at the end of the semester. Namely, convert a short story into a screen play. The class then voted for the top four screen plays, we were divided into four groups and assigned to one of those screen plays, and then were told to make it into a movie. FYI, my screen play stunk to high heaven. I wrote it merely to get a passing grade, because really I hated it with a passion. The only down side is that the whole class read it too, so they got to experience the crud too. Anyways, moving on past my traumatizing experience; I was assigned to the "Death by Scrabble" movie, along with my housemate, Jessica. Jessica was useful in the group, being the one and only actress in the movie, while I, who had no idea of what to do (I had never made a movie before, much to the director's dismay I'm sure) was in charge of running errands and once I even got the privilege of babysitting the camera guy's adorable baby.

We had managed to get a private residence to film our movie in, all for the high price of letting the husband be the only actor in the movie (let's just say you wont see him on the big screen anytime soon). The husband and wife of this house were both students, so this one afternoon they were both out for classes. We had the house all to ourselves to do as much filming without our star actor (sarcasm is sometimes called for) as we could. While we were in the middle of discussing something a little boy knocked at the door. Correction, a very sweaty little boy. He breathlessly asked if he could use our restroom since he was cutting the neighbor's grass and she wasn't home and he really had to go. Being trusting people, we let him. We then continued talking and discussing. About 15 minutes later I observed that the little boy was still in the bathroom, which we all commented on and wondered about. Another five minutes passed and we all talked about how the kid was still in the loo. At this point, I need to mention that sometimes my sense of humor is that of a teenage boy; I did grow up with three older brothers after all. I then said to our group how funny it would be if the boy was having the same problems that Harry in "Dumb and Dumberer" had in the bathroom scene. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who laughed at that. A few minutes later the little boy came out, slightly flushed (oddly without a flushing sound from the toilet), said thank you and scurried out of there. His suspicious behavior caused our camera guy to go and check on the bathroom. He came out with a shocked smile on his face and proclaimed to us all that the kid had made a huge mess in the bathroom and we should all see it. It turns out I was right, the poor little boy had had no access to toilet paper (although we later found some in a little cupboard behind the toilet). In desperation, I hope, he had used one of the hand towels to take care of business, smearing his "business" on the toilet and a bit of the wall in the process. Then, he shoved the towel in the toilet! We then had the problem of what to do next. We cleaned up as much as possible, but it not being our house, we had no idea where the cleaning supplies were. So, sadly (although not so sad to me; I had no desire whatsoever to clean poo) we shut the door to await the arrival of one of the homeowners. When the husband got home we explained the whole deed to him, he looked in the bathroom, and with a look of grim determination set to work. I still think of that poor little boy and how this will probably haunt him to the end of his days. It should haunt him anyways. It haunts me.

The beauty of a dog

2009-08-26T16:23:00.000-04:00

I used to think that cats were the only animal for me. Then my brother brought home a two month old puppy, who he had named Scooter. He then made the mistake of announcing that the puppy was a boy. My mom has a huge prejudice against male dogs. She's convinced that should we ever get one, it will pee on everything in the house. Well, turns out my brother was not so good at determining the sex of animals, because while I was rubbing little Scooter's tummy, I noticed something fairly important missing. That's right, my brother could not tell the difference between a boy dog and a girl dog. When I asked him where the missing appendage was, he pointed to the female area and said, "There!". I then had the joy of informing my older brother that no, that area was in fact what made Scooter a girl. This whole time the missionaries, who we had invited over for dinner, were standing there, watching the whole situation unfold; my mom ranting and yelling about the mess puppies make and how much work it would be, my brother stammering about how the puppy did look like a boy, and me...holding Scooter and giggling when she gave me puppy snuffles (you know, when the puppy puts it's nose in your neck and snuffles; it's a highly technical term). Well, here we are about five years later. Scooter has been stuck with her name since my brother refused to change it. She has become my mom's dog, survived parvo, and made it through those first two puppy years in which she managed to dig holes all over our yard, get clipped by a car because she didn't come when she was called, eat countless items in our house (including several plastic bags and one of my mom's treasured books), and develop an unhealthy hatred for our lawn mower.

Scooter's look of "You do love me, right?" Alright, I lie. It's actually her face of "Did you just say cheese?" Which I had, just to get her attention, because otherwise she generally ignores my attempts to get good pictures of her. Also, I did not have cheese, thus, proving that dogs aren't the smartest cookie in the box (that doesn't even make sense) and I will resort to mean tricks to get her attention.
"Is that mommy?!", I asked even though it's like two in the afternoon and we all know my mom wouldn't be home until about four. Poor Scooter, I should stop teasing her, but then I would never have gotten this picture of her.

Alright, this one made me feel bad. Because, after two minutes of intent staring at the window, looking for "mommy", she gave a big sigh and laid her head down.

And that is our darling Scooter, up close and personal. I love her eyes. They remind me of chocolate. The good kind, not the cheap waxy kind. I never thought I would be a brown eye lover, but Scooter has changed that.

Love is a many splendured thing

2009-08-24T00:31:00.000-04:00

It's Tuesday and thus, it's Totally Awkward Tuesday on The Secret Life of Tova Darling! Check it out, because I promise you will not be disappointed.

Last week I mentioned a part two of the Lit. and Film class debacle. Sadly, I'm not in the mood to tell that story just now...perhaps next week? It is a good one, trust me. I've decided to settle on a story from long, long ago; when I was about 14 or so. My mother, as a few already know, is Scottish. I'm not talking about distantly related to Scottish ancestors. More like "och-ayeing", trifle making, actually ate a haggis (she actually did eat a haggis!), Scottish. She was born in Glasgow and yadda yadda yadda, married my American dad and moved to the "colonies" (I swear that some of the old folks I've met over there still call us the colonies...it makes me giggle). Anyways, naturally she didn't lug her whole family over to the U.S., they had lives to live...haggis to eat...in Scotland. So, to make us realize our heritage or something my mom would occassionally take us kids over to Glasgow to visit the folks. One summer, my mom and her sister/my aunt decided we were all going to go to France. Sounds exciting, no? The "we all" included myself, my mom, my three brothers, my aunt and uncle, their three youngest children, and my uncle's niece, which I guess makes her my cousin-in-law. It was, shall we say, interesting. Let's just say it included living in two trailers for a couple of weeks and not the fancy American double wide trailers; more like the old 50's style metal ones where everyone in the vicinity can hear you as you take care of business...in the bathroom. As we were living it up in style, we would make little day trips. I have no idea why we decided to visit a zoo, but visit a French zoo we did. And boy, was that an eye opening experience! Every single animal in that place was in the midst of a hot and dirty mating season. My little cousin was about four at the time and I sincerely hope that it didn't scar her too much. Although, come to think of it, she was a little brat at the time, so perhaps I don't care. Anyways, it was awkward. We couldn't even look at the snake exhibit for too long, because, well apparently snakes in France have no shame. They were all intertwined right in front of the glass; in fact, pressed up against the glass, steaming it up, sort of like the movie, "The Titanic", you know, if Leonardo and Kate had scales and no limbs. The only animals that I didn't see getting action were the foxes, but only because I was stuck back at the camels; give me a break, I was fourteen and when was I ever going to see camels mating again? As I walked up to the fox exhibit, my mother stated in a matter of fact way, "You just missed the foxes. They've gone away now." Leave it to the French to give me my first sexual education in other species.