The Unexpected

Okay, be prepared for a long post! This, as you might say, is the sequel to my writing on point of view. Last time I wrote from Eowyn's perspective, but now I am a different character. You should be able to guess pretty quickly. . . .

The Unexpected (until another title is thought of)

Ah, there he is! I spotted the king of Rohan far beneath me—what was his name? ThÀoden, I think it was, but it little mattered what puny name he should choose to call himself. He was still part of the foolish enemy that dared resist my master’s hand.

Even as I drew closer upon my winged steed, the little king’s wretch of a horse was struck by an ally’s dart, causing him to fall with the king underneath it. This was perfect, I thought. Urging the creature upon which I rode, together we swooped down while she chortled with delight at the prospects of a royal meal.

Swiftly she landed and grasped the horse with her claws while stooping her long, graceful neck toward her victim. I didn’t even deign to watch what she would do to the miserable animal, and instead turned my attention to the frail king beneath it.

Then I saw him—a skinny soldier with spindly arms and legs, the only one left standing among his fallen comrades.

“Begone foul drimmerlaik, lord of carrion!” the swordsman yelled at me, taking a giant step forward as if to appear bold. “Leave the dead in peace!”

What was this boy thinking? And why didn’t he quake under my gaze, as greater men did? Perhaps he did not know his rashness, and why must I have to waste my time to prove it to him?

“Come not between the Nazgõl and his prey,” I replied, making my voice sound as menacing as possible in hopes of dissuading him from his fruitless resistance. “Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

That should scare him, I thought with satisfaction. But even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t hesitate to do what I had just threatened; I only wished that the extravagant use of my energy, no matter how little, didn’t unnecessarily honor this common soldier by having it spent on him.

However, the scrawny thing was persistent. His sword clang as he jerked it out of its sheath, a little less clumsily than I had expected for one so young. “Do what you will: but I will hinder it, if I may.”

Hinder me? This was even more serious than I had thought. The silly fool didn’t even seem to care about his recklessness! It was pathetically disgusting.

“Hinder me? Thou fool,” I answered with contempt. “No living man may hinder me!”

What happened next was something I would have least expected. The lad opened his mouth and from it, of all things, came laughter! Cold and light the laughter was, and I was surprised to hear no trace of that penetrating fear I was accustomed to hearing when others were in my presence. It was anything but unnerving.

“But no living man am I!” he cried.

Was he mad? But before I could wonder more, he was lifting his helm from his head and yellow hair burst from its entrapments to flow over his shoulders all around him. Indeed, this was no lad. A grown woman stood before me, her eyes grim yet flashing, gripping her sword fiercely as she stood in bold defiance. Suddenly I realized that she was still speaking.

“. . . ‹omund’s daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you if you touch him.”

My mount screamed at her in irritation. She didn’t like her meal to be interrupted. I remained silent, however, regarding the woman before me. It was true, it had always been said that no living man could harm me, but no one had ever considered mentioning the possibility of a woman doing so. Now perhaps the enemy had thought of this and had trained a highly skilled daughter of kings in the slight hope of defeating me. Could this be possible? But even then, as I first noticed the quiet tears streaming down her cheeks and saw her raise her shield slightly to block my gaze on her face, I knew the idea to be absurd. This woman was weak as all others of her race and it was impossible for her to stand up to me for long. The mere thought of it was ridiculous.

A slight movement caught the corner of my eye, but I paid it no heed. Instead, giving no visible sign, I urged my steed to take action. A mighty gust encompassed me as she flapped her great wings. As I reveled in their strength, the woman below me seemed to increase in fragility, like a thin reed being blown by a gale, and I felt like laughing over her slight, vulnerable frame. Then my beast sprang suddenly into the air and dropped with a shriek upon the girl.

Alas, if only the creature’s beak had been a trifle more speedy, then it might have lived to enjoy another meal. But instead, with no hesitation our intended prey raised her arms and hacked mightily on the sinewy neck of my pet. Her stroke was surprisingly deft, and as my unlucky steed’s head fell to the ground, her leap backward was unusually agile. I had little time to notice this however, as I was thrown from my perch to land heavily on the earth.

Anger boiled inside of me; churning, frothing, bubbling, just waiting to spew forth to burn and to kill. The woman’s insolence had gone too far. I confess that beyond the glimpse of a moment I didn’t truly regret the loss of my steed. After all, it was just another tool my master had given me, and tools aren’t meant to be kept for long. But I did hate the woman for daring to slay my fine transportation.

I rose to my full height, seething. Slowly I turned towards the woman. She seemed just a bit taller now, though nothing in comparison with my stature. No hope glimmered in her eyes, yet they were determined, and she didn’t waver under my dark stare. My hatred was kindled, and I despised her with a fierce hatred. The feeling consumed me and quickly spilled over into a cry that contained every ounce of my loathing. Swiftly I swung my mace and with an experienced aim it shattered her shield to splinters. She stumbled to her knees under the impact of my powerful blow. So easy, I thought, stepping forward and raising my mace for the deathblow.

Suddenly a sharp pain jabbed the back of my knee, sending an electrifying tingle through my whole body. I cried out, and dropped to my knees with a shudder. My own rage was scalding me, and I longed to release it by killing the maiden in front of me. But it was too late.

“‹Eowyn! ‹Eowyn!” I heard a voice low behind me call. So that was her name. But before I had time to ponder this, she was wearily grasping her sword. Sweat and grime streaked her brow, and with a desperate exhaustion she stood. The next thing I remember is going cross-eyed as her sword was thrust into my face.

I screamed, as excruciating anguish, hot yet empty, coursed through my every nerve. Then it was gone, and I found myself looking down at my empty hauberk as ‹owyn fell on it, while all the time I rose higher and higher. My anger was gone, and my pain with it, and I realized that I was no longer in bondage to the cruel Master of the Ring. And with that thought in mind I flitted away, to roam the far reaches of the world as I would wish. At long last, I was free.

Taller as you get older

I was sitting with my 99-year-old grandmother the other day and she asked me how tall I was. When I told her that I am 5' 6" (last I checked), she said, "Oh, I think I'm 6'3". . . or I used to be."

I tried to stifle my laughter.

Three years ago. . .

I haven't posted anything from my Israel journal yet because I have been struck at how boring my writing sounded when I had just turned twelve. Not that I've improved that drastically, but it is interesting to see how differently I sounded when I wrote.

Three years ago from yesterday this is part of what I wrote:

Next we crossed the street around 3:30 and had a delightfully fun time in the Dead Sea. We had to be careful not to touch our eyes or to splash (or drink it) and such things, but it was super. It was amazing to be able to float and lie in the water so easily and so comfortably. It was funny and cool; I felt like I could effortlessly lie there, feeling like I was floating on air, and read. We went to the hot springs (which you cannot be in any longer than 15 minutes) and I felt like going asleep as I floated. I went back down and joined everybody (all but Daddy, Mama, [Rachel], and Wesley) in plastering ourselves with "Dead Sea mud" (it's supposed to be good for your skin because of minerals in it), which is gray, gooey, like clay, and fun to play with. I didn't do it as much as everyone else, but it was hilarious. Some people were covered from head to toe, with gray faces and all. Cameras clicked for sure (though Rachel kindly clicked them, since most of the cameras' masters' hands were inconveniently slimy and muddy), and by quarter of five we went to the outside rinse-off, [then the] freshwater shower, and got dressed and out to the m[mini]-bus by five, which was when the swimming place closed.

Next is something I wrote three years ago from this very day. My current comments and corrections are in the bracket thingies "[ ]."

Tuesday, April 29, 2003

I got up at about 7:00. After getting ready for the day I started a math test. At about 9:15, Craig, Kendra, Clyde, and I left and walked quite quickly to the New City. We sat down, and in a few minutes, at 10:00, the Holocaust siren rang. Long and thick it sounded, for a whole minute or more. Everyone (cars and people included) stood as still as stones, like statues; no real movement was seen up and down the [once-bustling] street, with no sound but the forever-moaning siren. Then, quite suddenly, the siren died down, people unfroze, and everything went surprisingly quickly back to as it was before.

We walked on down the street and we met Mama and Daddy. Mama said that when the siren rang they were right outside the CNN building, and a man came rushing out [with a video camera] and focused on Marie's face! Then, Mum said she thought he was walking past her, but he turned and zoomed the camera on her face! She said it was hard to keep a straight face and she was glad she had her sunglasses on so you couldn't see her eyes.

We parted, and went into a Jewish neighborhood and walked and walked and walked to cover new ground. Then we walked to the Old City at sometime between 12:15-12:45.

We stopped and Clyde and I got two different types of falafel (he got a chicken one), then we walked on, doing nothing in particular. Craig was looking for sunglasses (he lost his sometime last week), and one place we stopped there was a man (maybe 25 [his estimated age]) who tried to be helpful. He took out a few ones for Craig to try on, [and] he "recommended" one or two. Craig would try them on, and look in a small mirror. He finally decided on a pair that he liked. He asked how much it was. 95 sheqels [is the plural supposed to be "-im?"] was the reply. He said he couldn't afford that. The man asked what he thought. Maybe 25 sheqels, Craig replied. "No, no!" cried the man. "Now, these," he pulled down a different pair, "I could give you for 30, but these, look, they're sturdy; they're a very good quality! . . ." He took the ones Craig liked and began bending the earpieces on the frames. "Crack--snap!" The sunglasses broke. The man had a momentary split-second pause of surprise, but, as if all part of his salesmanship showing, he smoothly recovered and just as energetically as before said, "And they break! But I can get you another pair. . . . " We left. We went around the corner and all burst out laughing.

We looked in a nice Jewish man's shop [probably the Shorishim], then, near the Jewish square, Craig and Kendra got bagel sandwiches, and Craig bought two three-sheqel yummy sugared "donuts" [no idea why that's in quotes!].

Next we headed home. On Route One, near the beginning of our trip home, I fell in the middle of a cross-walk. Two skinned, slightly bleeding knees, a skinned, slightly bleeding elbow, skinned on the back one hand, and two filthy hands [were what I got as a result]. [As a matter of fact, Craig informed me weeks ago that he wrote in his journal that I fell in the cross walk and neither of us could for the world of us remember it, and I was even skeptical, though it sounded funny, but here is double proof written here that it really did happen! How embarrassing. . .]

[. . . .] We had a dinner of chicken, rice, corn, bread, and fresh vegetables at 5:20.

Punching a Wall

I punched a wall the other day. It's mighty strange, because I feel like I'm often doing kluzty things, though less recently than I used to. In fact, it wouldn't be too unusual for me to sail around a corner and knock off our portable phone with my shoulder, or nick my fingers on a banister as I race upstairs, or run into the table with my hip, or hit a clothes rack as I'm walking by in the store, or knock a telephone off with my knee (this tends to happen when you're at my cousins' house). All these are just normal little things. Can you relate to any of them?

But like I said, I punched a wall the other day. Quite by accident, you understand. You see I was running down the hallway, my fists pumping automatically like they are supposed to do when you are running, when wham!!! My knuckles caught the doorpost of my dad's study. Ouch. But then I didn't really think much of it, until I glanced down and observed a blotchy red spot with some interest, and a satisfied feeling of so-that's-why-it-hurt. So now I can say that I punched a wall the other day. Of course it didn't happen as bad as it sounds, but I like to say I did it because it makes me feel cool and happy with myself. So now you get to hear about it. :-)

Surprise Endings

Last year after my family got back from Norway, I felt like writing something unusual. So here is something that I sent to a few of my friends then:

Dear friends,
I'm afraid I have some dire news for you. That is, it may be tragic for you but it is the best thing that has ever happened to me. It seems that as my family and I traveled toward home from Reykjavik, Iceland, on our plane, they had some technical problems with the engine. It was quickly dying, and as the pilot lost control he couldn't get the plane in time to the nearest safety. Suddenly, the engine sputtered and stopped, and even as the crew frantically tried to replace it, we surged straight downward toward the middle of the cold Atlantic. My ears were practically bursting at the rapidly changing altitude and pressure, and for a moment I blacked out. Soon we were rushed toward the nearest exit, where I jumped out onto the plane wing with my sister Kendra and leaped toward the evacuation slides. As the massive blue water loomed ever nearer, we prepared to clamber into the life rafts that were being prepared for our use. Many people in a panic were rushing onto the plane wing. Suddenly, a mere score of feet from the water, the steep angle of the wing was too much for me, and I slipped. Before I could regain my balance, my feet were flung from under me and thrust into the still whirlingly trying rotors. Instantly I felt pain shoot through every nerve, and then everything went cold. The water encased me, and as I struggled at kicking my feet and staying above the water, I found that I couldn't move them. I sunk farther and farther, my lunges bursting, but feeling strangely sleepy and very peaceful. Blackness encompassed me, and I knew no more. To make a long story short, quite frankly I'm dead. Don't worry, I'm not in the hot place, but in a place of melodious joy and whiteness. The chaps up here aren't a bit stuffy as we might have supposed, and they play the harp quite expertly--better than Yo Yo Ma any day, supposing he could play the harp. Also, I've become better friends with Someone very special. I hope you will too.
I'll be praying for you. Still fast and forever you friend,
Kayla Rebecca--I'm afraid I can't give you my new name yet!

Don't you just love surprise endings? Now this one may not have come as a surprise to you, as I was rather hinting stuff as we went along, but in general I think surprise endings are very nifty, for the obvious reason that you're not expecting them. Sometimes I don't like the book that you just know what's going to happen, and it's always obvious who so-and-so is going to fall in love with, etc. This particular technique that I used, (that is, writing in first person and ending with the fact that you died), will usually come as a complete shock to most because obviously it never occurs to people that you can write such things in other places rather than on earth. I actually got the idea from Mr. Pass, (thank you Mr. P!) as he told us in writing club that one year he told the bibleschool guys a story of how he met a bear in the woods and as he got to the climactic point, sitting on the edge of their seats so to speak, he told him that he had died. Hmm. . . obviously this style of story is not of the most truthful variety.

While I am on the subject of surprise endings, I shall mention some stories I have read that I thought had good ones. For one thing, Agatha Christie is very good with surprise endings. It's odd because almost every time you try to form theories they are almost always wrong! Like in this one I recently read, the person who was first suspected of committing the murder then became the least suspected, and then she was the one who did it! I also remember reading some stories I enjoyed in 7th grade literature. One of them, called Gold-Mounted Guns, had an unusual ending on the amusing side, and the other, called The Last Leaf, had a surprise ending on the more sad and touching aspect. Great stories, each one of them.

A Little Rambling

Three years ago from this very day, we arrived in Israel. What an exciting time that was! What would await us? How many places would we explore? We felt very much like pioneers, in a fashion, from arriving at the empty house and discovering its crannies, to learning, often from experience, how to find your way around the city. Have you ever wondered what Israel might have seemed like from the eyes of an eleven-year-old? Probably different than I would even view it now. Therefore I am considering posting some journal entries that I made those three years ago. However, at the moment I'm not at home, so I don't have my journal to do this, but just you wait!

As for the past couple weeks, my life can basically be summed up with this: the Feast came, I got sick, we left to explore Maine lighthouses for a day or two, we returned, had a Sabbath, went to a memorial service, and left for Virginia. Hence is where I am now, loving every bit of my vacation, though I've still had to do some school.

Also about a week and half ago my new camera arrived! Ordered on Ebay, it's a Nikon N75 (like Clyde's, for those of you who know) and seems to work like an angel. It added a whole new delightful dimension to the lighthouses, as I would wander about taking snap after snap of the gorgeous things and probably way too many. But as Craig always says, you can never take too many pictures. That's not a bad philosophy, but I don't wholly agree, as I don't always want to pay for a lot of pictures that I don't like. Therefore I almost live in a fear of taking too many or too few pics. *sigh* However, it's still lots of fun, and I am especially liking my polarizer, as it makes skies seem so much bluer. Then, when we went to DC this past week, I again got to try my hand at attempting nice pictures. Admiring the picturesque cherry blossoms and probably taking one too many pictures of the Washington Monument, we appreciated the balmy weather and clear sky. We also sat in traffic for way too long, but that is beside the point.

Also, last night we attended my first cousin's once removed play. It was a dinner theater, and quite an amusing one at that, though very silly. Consisting of ghost stories and nightmares, the adventures kept us on our toes. With man hungry mashed potatoes, a ruthless cereal killer, finding out that you're dead, being kissed by a vampire, or watching a crazy teacher demonstrate the guillotine by chopping off a student's head. Man, that was an unusual evening!

Eggy Tales

I feel like I have been having some new experiences with eggs lately. Nothing startlingly new, but it is funny how they seem to be creeping into little recent occurences. For instance, on the first day of spring a friend in orchestra told me that they had been practicing balancing eggs that day in science class because supposedly it was the only day in the year they could do it! Fascinating, is it not? However, since she didn't elaborate and I don't really know what she meant, I am also reminded that this is the same girl that claims fiercely that she has sneezed with her eyes open. It doesn't matter how many people tell her that it can't be done, but she persists in saying that she did (now maybe she really did blow her brains out in the process however and that could be why she doesn't have brains to admit that it could be impossible!). So anyway, that puts her information in perspective as to its truthfulness. But as I have no other reason to doubt her, I still am curious. Does anyone know about balancing eggs?

Occurence number two. That very same evening (during the Feast as some may know) Katherine and Jane were uh what-do-you-call-it to eggs--cracking them I guess. They had to do seventy--quite a whopping number--so of course it was very interesting to watch. The sea of yellow yokes bobbed becomingly like graceful blobs, or threatenly like exotic jelly fish, or pathetically like doomed embryos (man, it's amazing how many comparisons one can draw with egg yokes). Anyway, they bobbed. You get the picture. Okay that was really random, Kayla, you may be saying, but never fear. That isn't the only part of my story.

I also learned, as we watched the girls crack those many eggs (egg cracking is so much fun by the way, don't you agree?) that when squeezed a certain way, it is impossible to break the shell of the egg. Most likely you intelligent or even the common knowledged ones out there knew this, but as of then I didn't. This amazed me. It even took a little courage to actually try it, squeezing the egg as hard as I could, but over the bowl to be on the safe side. It didn't even give. And just to prove that it wasn't just me being wimpy at egg-squeezing, others tried it in a similar fashion and couldn't accomplish the task. It was then that Dennis came along and though he said that he had heard that, he didn't quite believe it. We persuaded him to try it, but he, rather than being safe, decided to be hazardous as he experimented and held it over the arm of Cara's new coat. Then, all of a sudden, the shell collapsed and the contents within shot straight up like Old Faithful itself, dousing the cupboard and ceiling in its slimy touch. Bits of spray went everywhere, but luckily Cara's jacket seemed to be safe and only Katherine's burgundy sweater was slightly offended.

What happened? You may say, but that remains a mystery. Dennis may believe that he proved the theory wrong, but many more hold that there was a crack in the egg, while still others think that his hands were so big they encompassed the more vulnerable ends of the egg. Who knows?

Well, other than that I'm afraid my recent egg stories are limited. Though it is true that just this morning an egg rolled off the counter and my mom recalled that happening last time we were here (we're in VA at my Uncle Bob and Aunt Joy's), and of course the other morning Craig and I (both phlegmatic as you may know) did have a seemingly stressful time as to whether I would eat a second egg or would he eat it if I didn't. But that's hardly worth mentioning.

My desperate stand against evil

Now I probably really got you scared by my title, but really this is nothing but a little writing project I did. I'm studying point of view in my writing course, and I got to pick a favorite scene from a movie or a book to write in first person. Hence, this is "my" stand against evil. I think you may recognize it. This is by no means perfect, as not another eye but my own has read it, but I thought I would still post it here for the fun of it. You need to keep in mind that although all the feelings and emotions that occur may seem like they are drawn out, they really do fly by in only a matter of seconds; this is just more clearly describing how "I" felt as this was happening. Also I need to warn you that my words that included an accented "e" or "u" didn't turn out right on blogger, so you won't see them as you should.

So sit back and pretend to enjoy!

“Begone, foul drimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!” My voice sounded more confident than I felt as I sized up the Nazgõl lord. A cold shudder ran through me as I felt his dark, gleaming gaze upon me. Tears stung my eyes as I lifted my shield to hide myself from that piercing stare of hatred.

“Come not between the Nazgõl and his prey!” The very sound of the bone chilling voice sent pangs of icy fear coursing through my whole body. “Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where they flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Through all my foreboding, indignation still ruptured my feelings. What right did he have to threaten me so? Every right, a small steely voice gnawed at my consciousness. My anger melted into a feeling of doom, then grim determination. At least this thing was not going to prevail over my king and uncle without feeling my resistance first.

Gripping my sword hilt suddenly I drew it forth, the blade singing as I did so. “Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may."

“Hinder me? Thou foul,” the Nazgõl lord spat in mockery and disgust. “No living man may hinder me!”

That’s an easy one, I thought, as the perfect irony of the situation swept over me. It was so real I found myself laughing, not from joy, but from the mad wryness of it all. The fact that I was laughing, however mirthlessly, while on the threshold of having my life wrenched away from me gave me a strange kind of boldness.

“But no living man am I!” I cried, as I took hold of my helm and yanked it off my head. My hair went tumbling down over my shoulders. “You look upon a woman. E‹owyn I am, ‹Eomund’s daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you if you touch him!”

A bloodcurdling scream issued from the great mouth of the lord’s foul steed, but the Nazgõl lord himself was deathly silent. I shivered, trying not to lose my nerve, for this quiet could hardly mean anything good for me. Standing firm however, I waited, poised for my enemy’s next move.

The seconds dragged by.

All of a sudden, the monstrous beast flapped its hideous wings, and the air they churned stank from unwholesomeness. Then all too quickly it leapt up into the air and fell upon me like a shrieking boulder, but this boulder was armed with sharp beak and claw, and intent upon its kill.

With an agility that surprised even me, I dodged it, swerved about, and with both arms raised I hacked at its neck with all my strength, cleaving it in two. Swiftly I sprang back as the creature crumbled and then fell heavily to the ground.

A feeling of relief spread over me, and I felt the sun shining warmly on my head. But it wasn’t over.

From amidst the wreckage the Nazgõl lord rose, seething in quiet rage. Even as he reached his full towering height, he turned towards me. Cold sweat beaded my brow, and I licked my dry lips. What had I gotten myself into?

With a venomous cry he swung his mace and struck my shield such a fierce blow that it was shattered to bits, while my arm, searing with pain, hung limp at my side. Panic seizing me, I stumbled to my knees under the impact. So this was how my life was to end. I was immersed in the lord’s dark shadow and I trembled under its freezing touch. Despair wrought my numb mind, and I didn’t even dare look up into the face of my executor.

Then, surprisingly, the Nazgõl lord cried out, but now there was pain in his voice. He, too, stumbled to his knees and his stroke swung wide, missing me by many handbreadths.

I was snatched from my nightmare in shock as a nearby voice called, “E‹owyn! E‹owyn!” It was Merry, and as I made this joyous discovery I had no time to think.

Grasping my sword with my one good arm, I stood, tottering forward. Then, using the last of my strength torn from my core I plunged the blade between the crown and mantle. Immediately my weapon was shattered into many shards. The crown rolled off despondently, and I pitched forward to land upon my foe. But no, the black hauberk was empty, and the only thing solid my body met was the ground itself beneath it. Even as an empty scream drifted away upon the wind, I sighed in exultation. Then darkness set in.

Over

The decathlon is at an end. I don't think anyone is disappointed, however, even though I also believe it was enjoyed for the most part. Such things can tend to get a little stressful near the end especially as the heat of competition flushes up faces. The whole thing came to a standstill after the final contest, which was Bible memory. It was rounded up with Bria in first, Aunt Sharon in second, and Clyde in third. I just managed to scrounge up a fourth place, but it didn't do us any good as far as points go. I'm just happy that I did my best and it's all over with, even if it means that the SWAT team came in second and the Joneses came in first. The final scores were 127, 129, and 144.*sigh* Of course I love the people on that team, but as a group they were most certainly our live enemies. Just like you may love a Communist as an individual just fine, but you don't really care for a whole group of them united against you. Naturally if you really know me you know that I am absolutely serious upon this point. ;)

I am just so thankful that we played, did our best, had fun, and now hurrah it's over!!!!

Don't Panic!

Okay, nobody panic! This is the same blog!!!! Phew! I just saved you from a major rush of flailing bodies rushing to get out of my wonderful site. This is just a little transition as I was getting tired of certain things about my blog. Unfortunately, it also means that I've lost my links, but never fear. I intend to replace them in good time!

The Contest to Encourage Gluttony

On Sunday the time for our decathlon team dinner arrived with a whoosh. The afternoon found us isolating ourselves in the kitchen and dining room with sheets over doorways and signs begging you not to enter or to your peril. We set to work. I was on the decorating team with Amy, Vanlora, and Clyde, while Diane, Kimberly, and Adam were on the cooking team. We rushed about, taping, debating, draping, centering, cutting and on and on, throwing the dining room into confusion until it was revealed at the time of letting the others in. If you had been amongst that lucky group, after being invited to leave your shoes by the door, you would have entered and come upon a quaint sight. Three coffee tables, their tops golden with wrapping paper, were surrounded by pillows for seating (with a similarly golden, yet higher up table for the duty couple and one of the judges). Cloth napkins fanned out at each spot, with glasses for drinking and shallow goblets for rinsing you fingers. Tealights flickered inside red and lilac swirls of vellum, while tall candles wavered on the mantlepiece. Oriental scarves were draped along the walls, with Japanese lanterns looping down from the ceiling. The ugly fireplace was covered up by a curiously patterned skirt, and the mantlepiece was adorned with flowers beside the candles, with a bright fan from Thailand of yellow, blue, and green, hanging beside a black framed picture of an Indian man wearing orange. A fountain bubbled in the corner on a covered table, and ethnic music washed gently in the background of the whole scene. Now I should have told you that you could have skipped all that, to avoid meticulous details, but now I guess it's too late. Haha, stinks to be you!

The time began. Adam, dressed in a brown shift and his face darkened with shoe polish, opened it in his head bobbing Indian accent by welcoming everyone to the Swat-Asian Restaurant, and directing people to use their right hand while eating with their fingers (silverware was provided for the boring). I stood in a corner with a ready water pitcher, my Japanese coat's long sleeves dangling gracefully as I carefully poured water from a large glass pitcher into many glasses, hoping fervently that I wouldn't spill any on a poor guest's lap. Either the pitcher was heavy or I'm really weak, but the next day my arm was sore from the strain of pouring with such control. Fortunately I didn't dampen anyone's evening.

The courses were served: Thai pizza, which surprised even the noble chef Diane when it proved to be quite spicy, plus scrumptious Asian salad (I'm sorry I don't remember what was in it except that it had almonds and a lot of people said it was good), and shishkabob style chicken with rice. Finally (according to my memory) there was a dessert of banana rolls, which sounds gross but they really are quite tasty, as well as icecream. Of course there was also plenty of chai served as well, both hot and cold, plain as well as with honey and milk. You see I must confess I don't remember the food quite so much at our dinner because I hardly ate any of it, so you have to excuse me in my sketchy tale.

The rest of the dinner went quite smoothly, as we bustled in and out of the kitchen, checking to make sure everyone was set and no one was lacking anything. Finally it was over, and after the prayer of thanks we stood in a line by the door greeting people as they left, some holding plates of fortune cookies for all to take as they left. There we were, Adam, then Clyde dressed in a brown robe with a towel over his arm, Kimberly in a gray Chinese style dress, Vanlora and me in kimonoes, and Amy in a magenta sari with a bright green shirt underneath.

Clean up was a royal task, as we took down all the decorations and moved all the tables and chairs back into the dining room from the parlor, but we were blessed for the kitchen side of it in that my mom had come down earlier to help with the dishes so we hardly had to do a thing in that area. We were glad that it was over.


One week later, the Jones team came up to the plate (no pun intended) to wow us with their own dinner. It was held in the library, and as we came in and were directed to our chairs, we now found a cosy sight. A long table stretched much of the length of the room (part of the room was partitioned off with quilts) and its wood was laid bare with a long white tablecloth running down the middle, with candles and greenery decorating the center. Cheery fiddle style music was played by a pigtailed Bria with Bethany accompanying her on the guitar. This was the frontier. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a rifle crowned the area above it, with antlers nearby. Old pictures graced the walls, with lanterns hanging from the ceiling in a couple of places and old furniture such as chairs and a spinning wheel letting their aged bones rest in convenient out-of-the-way places. This was the perfect mood setter for a snowy day.

The live music ceased, and after a prayer and then an introduction done by Bethany, the meal began, this time with just a cd in the background. The first course served was good old salad, but it has slipped my mind as to what kind, and as you probably don't care, I won't bother trying to remember. Next we received bowls of tantalizing winter bisque, looking very gormet with a bit of sour cream twisted about in the center of the thick orange soup. After this squash delicacy the main course came, with deliciously sweet cooked carrots, string beans, and the cream of the crop: moose itself. It was like steak but then quite different. It took me an equally long time to chew, however, as it consumed most of my meal-time, but it was still quite good. Lastly we were served yummy homemade vanilla icecream with apple turnovers, and the evening was topped off when the team came in and stood around the room as we all sang the Doxology.


Today the final team dinner of the Yaw Ruths rolled around. This time we were to dine in the parlor, and as we entered the mentioned room we were greeted by a cast of curious characters. Smea (alias: Sara Lee) welcomed us and before the evening was over we got to know the rest of Never Land's characters; all that were home, that is. Megan made a shy Tinker Bell, a shawled Elizabeth proved to be Wendy, a dashing Hook also went by the name of Laura, a dust capped Aunt Sharon was found to be Nanny, and finally grimy faced Dave and Andrew were revealed as lost boys. Dave was in fact the lost boy, namely Peter Pan, dancing about barefoot with a metal stick as he offered to toast marshmallows for us over the warm fire.

One end of the room appeared as a wildly beautiful jungle of plants and small trees, smothering the entire area in an array of green finery. Amongst it sat Tinker Bell, plucking classical music out of her melodious guitar for the opening minutes of the meal. And what a meal! Once again we were seated at one long table bedecked in white tablecloths, but it was heavily laden with almost all descriptions of food. Naturally, Never Land wouldn't serve a few courses like all normal grown ups would, but it would serve everything all at once. The choices were too numerous to decide on everything you would eat: there was pizza, chicken fingers, turkey, cupcakes, cranberry, apple pie, mini cookies, mashed potatoes, stuffing, waffles, s'mores, cake, chocolate, popcorn balls, rice crispies, jello, cocktail meatballs, rolls, carrots, and who knows what else, for this is only what I can conjure up in my simple memory. We could even have beverages of water, milk, lemonade, or hot chocolate. The best part was that we could eat it in any order. Who cares if we have some apple pie first and then round it off with some turkey and carrots? Frankly, I didn't have any veggies--the meal was too big, so I was under no obligations to be healthy. I did leave feeling like the waistband of my skirt had shrunk to a rather uncomfortable size, but whether it was me growing fat or the skirt suddenly rebelling I couldn't say.


Thus ended the decathlon dinner competition, and maybe you can make your own suppositions as to who placed in what. You weren't the judges, however, and as they were considering other aspects than those mentioned here, they placed the Joneses in first, and the Yaw Ruths and the SWAT team (that's us) tied for second. I'm very happy we weren't in third, but if you're rejoicing that it wasn't my team in first, then just remember that you're reading MY blog!

Amazing isn't it?

I am back. Amazing, isn't it? We have finally made it so I can now get onto this silly website so I can actually write again! Well, so I've still been busy since then, what with school, music, decathlon, etc. However, I will try to give some accounts of decathlon happenings since that is probably the most exciting thing happening in my life right now and my dear sister expressed interest in hearing about it. However, I haven't been feeling very expressive lately about such things, so it will have to wait--for now. It may end up having to be pretty boring, so be forewarned. Toodles for now!

Surprising Affairs with the Toilet

Recently I have been recalling my incredible history with the toilet. Well, it's actually not the least bit incredible, but I felt so at the time. The time occurred once when I dropped my water bottle in a public restroom toilet, but that is not what I am remembering. No, this was a time far different from any other time. It was not as smashing as having to snatch my mother's glasses from disappearing into the plumbing system, but I was still quite shocked. Now that I have gotten you all excited over nothing, I shall relate my tale.

The event struck two years ago last December, to be quite precise and boring, and it was on the day of the Messiah sing. As a young twelve-year-old, I still had not yet ventured into the women's locker room (partially because I was barely aware of its existence) so therefore I did all my changing in the restroom. As I was doing so a strange thing happened. I could almost play it back again and again in slow motion as I watched my soft, heavy brimmed winter hat roll, roll, roll, off of me and into. . . . . the toilet! And there it lay, floating in good clean toilet water, blissfully unaware of my dumb stare. So stare I did. This was very unexpected, and I was indeed flooded with every emotion of horror and hilarity. Now what? I am not learned in the knowledge of what you should do if you drop something in the toilet, so I was quite speechless and unprepared. I should buy a book, entitled, "What You Should Do When You Drop Your Navy Hat into the Toilet," and while I consult it often, I should buy the other variations for what you do with a red hat, a pink, green, and so forth. Or better yet, I could write my own, because now I figured out what to do.

1. First, with the tips of your thumb and forefingers, carefully pinch the top of the hat that is not touching the water, and lift.

2. After waiting until it stops dripping the good clean toilet water, proceed to the closest coat rack where your coat is kept and gingerly lay it, brim up, on top.

3. Do not forget that it is there and it's condition. When you are ready to return home, promptly hold the hat in the above described position and take home to let you mother plop it in the washing machine. You are now well prepared to face the world.

Of course that is exactly what I did, and now I am quite experienced. Let me know if you need any other tips.;)

Wow I don't know where I come up with such nonsense. . . . .

The Board is Set The Pieces Are Moving

As you may have well been informed, the bibleschool is once again doing a decathlon. That long awaited tradition has been dug out of it's grave to be celebrated and enjoyed by all, despite it's decomposed state. Actually it's only been about five or six years since the last one, but that is a solid space of time in the perspective of such young ones as myself. The main difference for me in this decathlon is that I actually get to be on a team and participate, or try to, instead of gazing wistfully on the side lines. Therefore we have, after much debating and switching around, been made into teams, be they ever so humble. For those of you who care, here is the list of teams as I can recall them. The Joneses: Bethany, TJ, Andy, Sarah Ann, Bria, Katherine, Jayne & Amelia. The Yaw Ruths (inside joke of a spoonerism that was originally the "raw youth"): Sara Lee, Dave, Andrew, Shannon, Megan, Elizabeth, and Laura (?). Finally, the SWAT team (Seven Wonders Always Triumph): Kimberly, Clyde, Adam, Diane, Vanlora, Amy, and ME!!!

Now the activities are: ice hockey, volleyball, sledding, quiz boll, Rook, ping pong, bible memory, snow sculpturing, drama, indoor soccer, and a team dinner. Naturally we are more or less bubbling with excitement as the events are just beginning. Unfortunately my team lost our first quiz boll match, although we were leading for awhile. Also I was a bit annoyed with myself because of my deafness. My dad was asking us what the nickname of Connecticut is. I'm not positive how I managed to be convinced that he asked for the nickname of Kentucky, but I buzzed and cleverly produced the answer with a flourish, and was a bit perplexed when I was wrong. Of course I felt like hitting myself when I found out he really said Connecticut. I must really be deaf.

The other event we have tried is ice hockey. I am very much afraid that I am miserable at it, or I found out that I am as I played my first ever. It's funny how one can enjoy something so much that you're terrible at. I must be talented or something. Maybe.

My Christmas Season

Howdy! Heh, heh, well I'm back after like nine years of neglecting my blog. Actually, although I did go through a short period when I didn't feel like writing, I do have a very very good excuse. As a matter of fact, our internet server is doing weird things again so for the past month or more we have been unable to go to blogger.com or to comment on any blogs. Now I have once more been clawing at my bonds that keep me from my beloved blog and have been paralyzed to do anything on it! However, yesterday I was at Chad's and was able to draw up an e-mail address so I get to e-mail posts to my blog until we can get everything repaired. Oh dear, in fact it will probably be a very long time before anybody ever reads this because I've ignored my blog for so long! So now I must continue to describe much of my holiday season, just in case you haven't had enough of the holiday spirit already!

On the 11th of December a long awaited day arrived. After hours of planning, memorizing, organizing, inviting, decorating, gathering, rehearsing, indecision, playing, and especially baking, the infamous Dessert Banquet arrived with a bang. When one comes to an event such as this, in the beginning you often find yourself standing around twiddling your thumbs, chatting, smiling, and trying not to stare at all the people you don't know. Once we had finally decided to begin, I whipped out my violin, and after a few nervous tune checks we marched in front of buckets of eyeballs staring at us (the eyeballs were in their sockets, naturally). Bria, Craig, Mama, and I then went on to stun everyone with our musical talents, or at least Bria, Craig, and Mama did, I just sort of twiddled along.

Next came the listening to of gorgeous songs prepared by the bibleschool girls, followed by the climatic desserts. These included everything from homemade peppermint patties, coffee trifle, marshmallow & coconut snowmen, pies of various descriptions, and much much more food of the sweet variety. We gobbled these with gusto, accompanied with lively Christmas piano and much conversation. Then we were whisked through the eating and presented with the short dramatic skits, which we chewed with almost as much zeal. Of course there came the Christmas carol singing led by Uncle Tim, who told us the tale of Mary scoring so high on a code breaking test that the military has been giving her calls since, and plus there was plenty more eating. I'm afraid I don't feel like I can go into much more detail than that, as my memory is fuzzy on that event as time passes. However, once most of the guests had left then we spun through the clean up routine: rolling ribbons, scrunching up paper tablecloths, wrapping lights, folding fake greenery, and taking down the decorations from the tall poles. On this last task some people fell into a few very close calls, such as a ladder tipping one of the glass light fixtures sideways before someone cried out and stopped the oblivious ladder person. It's a good thing they did, because that lamp is probably irreplaceable.

Tuesday rolled in, much to my dread and excitement, for this was the day of my concert. Not just my concert, but the ConVal high school concert. I had to be there good and early at the gym, where they had pushed back half the bleachers for the stage and had turned the rest of the gymnasium into a large auditorium. After our practice, we idled around for fifty minutes before the concert, getting to know each other better especially through the telling of jokes. Our small string ensemble (consisting of eleven persons) were the first on the program, and we had to be ready. Then it was time to go out. Shoulders back, face calm, I quietly marched out onto the ground floor stage last in the line of black and white figures. I held my violin in a resting position until I seated myself, the loud chatter of the massive crowd splashing over my ears. Then the blinding stage lights were on, illuminating our white shirts like heavenly cloth and diminishing the crowd to dark shadows. It was hard not to look at the bright beams beating down on us, so instead with cold fingers I shuffled my music, making sure for the last time that it was in the right order. Shoving away nervous thoughts, I casually listened to my home schooled stand partner, telling me how they bought his one-hundred-year-old violin off Ebay for eighty dollars, but my thoughts weren't focused on the subject. My eyes shifted to my family, patiently sitting on the front row a few yards away, rooting for me. We waited, alert, with our bows standing tall on our right knee, and our instruments on our left (excepting the cellos and double bass of course, as those are too large to easily rest them on your knee). Soon the assembly grew quiet, and after they announced us, our conductor, we'll call her Mrs. Algy, came forward. As the audience applauded, my gaze rested on my mom, and I let out a long, slow yet visible breath to relax myself. She grinned. Next Mrs. Algy's arms were raised, and we lifted our instruments, the scent of rosin drifting about as we waited (I don't actually remember smelling it but it's just a good writing factor), our bows poised as I felt the familiar smooth strings denting my fingers. "Have fun!" Mrs. Algy mouthed. I smiled a little, and licked my dry lips. Then the concert began.

The music went well as we squeaked through Handel's Overture to the Messiah and some fiddle tunes, although I still wish we had sounded a little more professional, but what can you expect of high schoolers such as myself? Afterwards however I was faced with a dilemma. How on earth was I going to get all the way to my family sitting in the front row in the middle of the concert in front of this mass of people? After the band played their first piece, I had my answer. The cellist standing next to me flew herself to a closer seat in the front row during the applause, and why couldn't I? Except I had to race, without actually running, down half the gym in that amount of time. No sooner said than done, I was breathing a sigh of relief as I plopped down beside my mother. We then continued to watch the concert. But we were faced with another dilemma. My dad had gotten the brilliant idea of sitting in the front row so he could tape me. Now how were we supposed to leave discreetly in the middle of the concert? The family plan was to leave when the large band left. The fact is, the band never really left, so we ended up staying for the entire concert, whether we liked in or not.

The band was pretty good, with some pretty holiday songs, such as "The Night Before Christmas" with the narration and "On This Day Earth Shall Ring" which my dad is practically convinced is written by a Christian. Then we were rushed through the male chorus, the woodwind choir, the percussion ensemble (not generally my favorite but very well done), the female chorus, the jazz band (which was very enthusiastic!), the select chorus, a flute trio, the saxophone ensemble, and the concert choir. The flute trio was very enjoyable when they played "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy," and they were very memorable because before they started one of them wasn't sure where they left their music. The poor guy was probably very alarmed, and we could hear him as he turned and whispered hoarsely, "Where's my music?" Then very suddenly he realized that he was holding it in his other hand! Naturally this sent a ripple of laughter through the crowd and the band, and left him looking rather sheepish, though he laughed and took it well.

The rest of the concert was interesting but uneventful. The sax quartet played a beautiful arrangement of "Hark the Harold Angels Sing." It was also strange as I kept on recognizing various people: "Wait a second, that's the girl who was sitting in the front row at the Messiah sing next to one of the conductor's sons!" or "Sure enough! that's so-and-so from TCA!" "That is definitely my teacher's pupil's sister." Etc.; it's a small world, no?

When the choir sang I realized something important. It happened when they were singing "Big Band Santa" and I was almost positive that they were singing "Big bad Santa!" It just struck me that those people don't have anything worth singing about. How devastating is that? All they can do is make up little songs about "big bad Santa" and other such petty things. This realization gives me a huge new appreciation that we, as followers of Jesus, HAVE something to sing about! Isn't that just genuinely exciting?! I know it's something I tend to take for granted, but when you think about how others don't truly have anything to be really happy about, and we do, it's worth singing and rejoicing about it.

On Wednesday was the time for caroling. At seven I went down to the Main House and was astonished to enter the front hall and find it packed with fluffy people! Smothered in layer upon layer, peering out from underneath fuzzy hats and scarves, and looking rather hot at the moment but well prepared for the nearly 10 degrees outside. We then proceeded to stuff ourselves into the big vans, and I, as part of the overflow, found myself sitting in the back of the Mary's van next to someone who looked very Arab under a face scarf, but was in fact Katie. Next we drove hither and thither seeking whom we may devour--I mean, sing to. Following the appropriate rules for caroling, we wouldn't speak a word as we winced at slamming car doors and tromped, pretending to be noiseless, over the crunchy ice and up the walkway toward the front door. Then we would swing into a jolly carol, or into a more solemn "Silent Night" waiting in anticipation for the home owner(s) to come peaking out at us. A couple of people even began to take pictures of us as we stood there either talking or singing. We saw plenty of dogs, a college guy clad in shorts and bare feet, a woman who went running away to return with her baby, one of our few town librarians popping out surprisingly, a man with a strange accent, and several empty houses that could only listen silently to our singing, whether in delight or disfavor I could not tell, as houses are not generally emotional creatures. Lastly we got invited into a Hindu woman's house (all 32 of us, I believe), where she offered us hot chai that she had concocted herself. It felt good to stand in her living room, pressing my cold hands against my hot cup so that they tingled, and sipping my three inches of chai sparingly yet gratefully. She half reproached us for not telling her that there would be more of us coming, since she had prepared for us but hadn't expected so many. So finally we filed by the door and one by one received a hug or something such from her, and left behind the house, that despite the daunting fact that it hosted so many queer figurines and pictures of Hindu gods, was quite hospitable.

We returned to Fairwood and when entering the kitchen, were greeted by refreshing hot drinks that my mom made called Christmas Wassail that contained such things as cider, orange juice, lemonade, pineapple juice, allspice, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. All in all it was very yummy, and they were complemented by bizcochitos, which are a kind of sugar cookie that I labored hard that afternoon on and I make every year. The whole treat was a huge success, and made us all feel very warm and satisfied with the evening.

Sunday came and it was time for our Christmas program. This is when instead of a regular service we have contributions from people in the church. First of all came the A. family, Mary and Brandon herding their three older boys up the aisle and onto the platform in front of a little microphone. James and Jeff looked quite dashing in their bright red suits, and Jonathon stood tall in between them. We sang a carol before they started, and then it took Brandon and Mary several seconds to get James' attention, who seemed to be looking in every direction but at them. Then using they're parents' hand motion prompting, with big grins Jonathon and James recited a verse or two saying something like: "And the angel of the Lord said to them, 'Fear not. For on this day I bring to you tidings of great joy which shall be for all people.' " They did a very good job of it, and Jeff just stood there sucking his fingers and staring at his parents which completed the cute trio.

After that the P. family came up front and little Gabriel held the microphone while Shawn and Gretchen delivered the Lord's Prayer with him, though he frankly didn't seem to need a bit of help. The M. family did a quartet singing "In the Bleak Midwinter" and then my family was up for a little instrumental presentation. Other people, such as Katie, Nate and Amy, and Bonnie read stories or pamphlets, while others such as Mr. and Mrs. L., and Dave, gave testimonies. Also my dad had a slide show of Christmas cards and of God's promises with background music from my concert to make it more unusual. It wasn't long though before we were moving downstairs to relish the goodies and get started with our Yankee Gift Swap. Little needs to be said when you have one of these, because there is always going to be something funny to laugh about as forty people fight over they're favorite gift. I did have a time when I was examining a squishy frog that Nate had and apparently didn't want, when he tried to quickly snatch my present and give me his. I didn't allow this of course, and instead ended up with a Tintin book that though not new, I was happy to have for our family collection.

So then the week flew by, what with finishing school, shopping, picking up Kendra from the airport, visiting relatives and whatnot, Christmas Day finally came. Now that I've come to it I feel like it is the the thing I least feel like describing, so I'm going to let you down this time and completely ignore what our Christmas was like.

Yesterday we set out on a grand task. Mom, Chad, Craig, Kendra, and I drove into Manchester to hit the stores in picking things for Chad's condo. Boy, was it a job! It included debating over couch covers, colors, pillows, shelves, pictures, frames, knick-knacks, clocks, candles, curtains, and much more. Dropping by places such as Ocean State Job Lot, Consignment Gallery, WalMart, Pier 1, Home Goods, Building #19, and all "that good stuff," we painstakingly made decisions left and right, being careful not to throw around too much money. We made it back to Chad's condo between three and four, having spent all day just raiding stores. Now our work was cut out for us. It's not necessary for me to say much about such things, when it's just all one thing after another, as Craig's trained eye goes over every bare spot on the wall and determines what would be the perfect thing to draw the eye. Then came finding studs, using a level, argueing the height, screwing or nailing and finally hanging the artwork. Excuse me as my brain gets dull on the details, but we did so many things I hardly care to account for all of them, and I doubt you would like to hear all of it either. However, near the beginning we did take great pleasure in decorating Wesley's room to welcome him home late that night. I helped pick out a lovely pink and purple My Little Pony poster and with Mom's gumption to buy that and plenty of hot pink crepe paper, she and Craig set to work in decking Wesley's room just perfectly to fit his needs. If you had approached his room, you would have found a large pink bow greeting you on the door, and as you entered you would have seen pink streamers draping from his ceiling and around his window, and beside the poster in large pink letters "WC" inscribed on the wall. We got a great kick out of it, and I'm sure Wesley is extremely grateful.

Wow, I sure hope you haven't fallen asleep. Have a happy New Year!

Apple Sauce Day

I was greatly saddened when I wasn't well enough to attend the great Fairwood Apple Sauce Day. However, I decided to post here today an article about it that I wrote last year for school. Here it is to celebrate the occasion.

Ever since I was small, apple sauce day has always been special. First, on the chosen autumn morning, you enter the Main House kitchen where bushels of juicy red apples lie in heaps all around. Then comes the cutting. About a dozen people crowd around a long table, perched on stools and chattering away happily. My hands wet with water and juice, I grip a cold knife, slicing freely while grabbing a tart bite here and there. The apple slurps in protest at being dissected, the blade knocks the cutting board, and then a heavy plink is heard as the apple piece sails into the bottom of a monstrous pot. Soon these are overflowing, and a bible school boy nabs them one at a time and brings them to the black stove to boil. When steam is bellowing out from its depths, he gingerly picks it up with flowery hot pads and races to the next point. Here is the actual apple sauce machine in all its humming glory, and the privileged worker scoops the steamy mush and dumps it into a bowl-like object. Squishing it down a funnel with a plastic red masher, it’s hot work but can be fun. In a matter of seconds, bright pink apple sauce coming gushing down a slide to collect in a large metal bowl, while the pulp rolls ponderously out the side and drops to its end in a garbage bucket.

As each aromatic bowl is brimming, it’s quickly replaced with another and swooped to the counter nearby. This is where you go if you want to steal some of the sweet concoction in a cup. Here a bible school girl bedecked in an apron measures out mounds of sugar to pour into selected portions of applesauce, before funneling the burning mixture into quart jars, marking them, and sealing them. Soon endless rows of warm pink jars are lined up on a small table in the corner, as well as on the floor and on a cart, ready to be deposited in the delightfully musty interior of the Main House cellar. Although apple sauce day is tiring to some, it is evidence of diligent labor and hearty teamwork, which can lead to many happy memories.

The Harvest Party

The famous, well-beloved, and long awaited for harvest party arrived last night. It was a dandy time, with many a strange person attending, often unrecognizable. And this is the account.

First I will start with the list of attendees. Tin tin reclined in her chair next to her grandmother, with a large blue sweater, tucked in khaki culottes, and peculiar topknot on her head. Believe me, I can only imagine the problems Megan had with getting that glue out of her hair. Next a very white and elegant bust statue stood on its Greek pedestal, with ivy gracing Katherine's hair very authentically. A sober Shannon and Bria perched on their seats as I entered, with the former wearing glasses and a swimming cap to be bald, and the latter dressed very obviously as a serious farmer's wife. The pitchfork and black frame gave it all away, labeling them definitely as Norman Rockwell's American Gothic couple. Next a very scary TJ lounged next to Uncle Tim and Aunt Sharon, with a hideous, contorted pink face (he was wearing a mask today), a furry shirt, and red leather pants. Then sitting around appeared to be a hairy headed, shoeless super hero Andrew (or that's what he said he was), then a brown faced Adam in farmer's gear, with a long bit of grass in his mouth, and using one of his many amazing voices to tell us squeakily about his skunk Fluffy Face that he was holding. Andy was helmeted out as a cave explorer, and a crooked horned Davie also sat as an absurd version of the Beast, with Kerry as the Beauty, in her own lovely purple gown. Van Lora apparently was a Lady Fall of sorts, with leaves in her hair and a medieval green dress. Brandon and Mary's family were the Peter Pan troupe, with Brandon as John, Mary as Wendy, James as Peter Pan, Rachel as Tinker Bell, Jonathan as Captain Hook, and little Jeff with a purposefully too small shirt on as Smea. I myself was a version of GI-Jane, with my camouflage outfit, Craig's humongous boots, and a brown and green painted face. The third year girls came in last as a surprise to the music of Pirates of the Caribbean. Sara Lee came swaggering in as Jack Sparrow, Sarah Ann dashingly defensive as a perfect Will Turner (she would have made Orlando Bloom jealous), Elizabeth beautiful as the Miss Swan herself, the bald-topped Bethany as the poppet pirate, and Kimberly leering with her eyeball on a fork, proudly displaying her ability to cross one eye.

A white-faced Diane led us, posing as Homestar Runner. We began with a game that each of us played within our teams. Organized in groups of six or seven, everyone would sit in a circle and each person would have a chance to roll the dice. Whenever one of us got the number four, we would shout, "Four!" then grab a pair of slippery gloves and proceed to open the present in the center, layer by layer. The problem was that it was taped very well, and with the gloves on it made it very un maneuverable. Then often by the time you got the gloves on someone else would be crying out the terrible number and clawing for the gloves to get an opportunity. Our team took forever, so we were the last one done, but it was discovered to be a candy bar inside the many layers of wrappings.

The next game involved listening to music. Each team would bid, say five seconds, meaning they thought they could hear the song for five seconds and be able to know what it was. We'd have five seconds to listen, five seconds to discuss, then we would provide the correct answer, and receive points. If we failed to provide the correct answer, we would get negative points. Horror of horrors! Some of the songs were easy, but sometimes when all you heard was an introduction, it made it very difficult.

After this we had a relay race. Four chairs were set up near the center of the room with balloons scattered about them. We were supposed to run up, sit and pop a balloon, eat what we would find inside, then run back for the next person to do it. I went twice, and started first, so I frantically dashed up, and had some problems popping the balloon. Finally managing, I saw the flash of an eyeball rolling on the floor, so I scooped it up and popped it in my mouth. Chewing, then swallowing, I rushed back. Someone mentioned something about a wrapper, and I realized to my shock that I had forgotten the wrapper and had eaten it, wrapper and all! No, wait, I still had a tiny wad of tin foil in my mouth. After that Aunt Sharon had hilarious trouble of not being able to make her balloon pop, for try as she might, she had difficulty because she was laughing so hard. Luckily, she succeeded. My team lost, but someone suggested that we be an honorary team because I ate the wrapper. haha

Next we went into the kitchen. "Ooh good, I like games in the kitchen," Mr. H. said, recalling last year's shaving cream and cheese curl incident. Diane assured him that this game wouldn't be messy. This activity was a puzzle. We had a lot of ripped up pieces of a calendar picture and we had to fit them together and glue them on construction paper. The calendar was a Norman Rockwell calendar, and our team got the picture of the cheer leaders. We labored away, though it wasn't an easy job for seven people to work on at once, and managed to gain honor by coming in second.

Finally we had an ABC scavenger hunt, having to find an item for every letter of the alphabet. The game was over in a flash, though we had some problems with the letter X, but once again we managed second place, just squeezing behind the first placing team.

The games were followed by picture taking and many refreshments. Practically everything we ate was a fruit dipped in chocolate: including strawberries, kiwis, bananas, and apples. But of course we managed to eat other goodies too, chicken being one of them. The picture taking was also an interesting time, with Nate threatening to taking crooked pictures and laughing when Kimberly screamed at him. Also that time was featured by James getting terrified out of his wits when TJ began to crouch on the ground and approach him. It's bad enough for him to do it without the mask, but with it produced disastrous results, and I could hardly blame James for turning bright red and screaming. A valiant pirate rebuked the offender for giving him nightmares, and with assuring words that she would take care of him, Kimberly whipped out her fake sword and began to beat her cousin most appreciatively. But the damage was done. James crawled up on the couch behind me and sat there shaking, and it was all Bria and I could do to soothe him and tell him it wasn't real and he was just pretending. Still, if he hadn't be so frightened it would have been just too funny.

Apple Sauce Day

To my great sadness I managed to miss the great Fairwood Apple Sauce Day. However, last year for school I wrote a little article about that event so full of many fond memories, and in honor of the occasion I shall post it here today.

Ever since I was small, apple-sauce day has always been special. First, on the chosen autumn morning you enter the kitchen where bushels of juicy red apples lie in heaps all around. Then comes the cutting. About a dozen people crowd around a long table, perched on stools and chattering away happily. My hands wet with water and juice, I grip a cold knife, slicing freely, while grabbing a tart bite here and there. The apple slurps in protest of being dissected, the blade knocks the cutting board, and then a heavy plink is heard as the apple piece sails into the bottom of a monstrous pot. Soon these are overflowing, and a bibleschool lad nabs them one at a time and brings them to the big black stove to boil. When the steam is billowing out from the pot's depths, he gingerly picks it up with flowery hot pads and races to the next point. Here is the actual apple sauce machine, in all its humming glory, and the privileged worker scoops the steamy mush and dumps it into a bowl-like object. Squishing it down the funnel with a plastic red masher, it's hot work but can be fun. In a matter of seconds, bright pink applesauce comes gushing down a slide to collect in a large metal bowl, while the pulp rolls ponderously out the side and drops to its end in a garbage bucket.

As each aromatic bowl is brimming, it's quickly replaced with another and swooped to the counter nearby. This is where you go if you want to steal some of the spicy sweet concoction in a cup. Here a bibleschool girl bedecked in an apron measures out mounds of sugar to pour into selected portions of applesauce, before funneling the burning mixture into quart jars, marking them, and sealing them. Soon endless rows of warm pink jars are lined up on a small table in the corner, as well as on the floor and on a cart, ready to be deposited in the delightfully musty interior of the Main House cellar. Although applesauce day is tiring to some, it is evidence of diligent labor and hearty teamwork, which can lead to many happy memories.

The very unfortunate curse

I have had the very unfortunate curse of getting sick. It's a nasty virus that includes fever, aching eyes, swollen throat, congestion, and finally an unusual susceptibleness of being tired. It is rather insufferable to go day in and day out being sick every day, with what feels like bare inches of progress, but luckily I'm feeling much more like myself, my throat being less scratchy and less bass-like. Haha, don't worry. . . I could still sing higher than my brothers, but not very much.

Half wonderfully and half regrettably, I have been well enough to do a good portion of my regular school each day, but it would often take me all day because I would have to take long rests between every subject due to me feeling worn out at the end of each one. However, on the weekend, I did go on a little movie marathon, which was entertaining. Sound of Music was one I hadn't seen in a while, and of course Ever After, Sneakers, and Prince of Egypt are excellent ones as well. Monday was featured with good old Chicken Run, and most of the evenings have contained an Andy Griffith with my mother. So you see I have been well supplied.

My life excitement overwhelms me

While I'm still writing about the subject of dancing, I found the other day that girls aren't the only ones that like to dance. As a matter of fact, I was helping clear the tables after dinner at the Main House when very suddenly I heard this blaring music of classical sorts blasting from the parlor! In my natural alarm I rushed to the dining room to peek in and see who it was, and low and behold were the bibleschool guys dancing. Hopping about in the dim interior of the parlor, I thought there was some sort of pattern at first, but then I saw that there wasn't. They would dance in a circle and then one of them would break off to do some spontaneous action of their own. It was a rather amusing sight to watch, but hey, who can blame them?

After this occurrence I was on my way home in the drizzly, chilly evening when I spotted Michael and Gabriel by the grape vine. When I greeted them, Gabriel pointed to the sky and said with a mixture of being excited and informative, "I just saw a leaf blowing down away from a tree and at first I thought it was Jesus coming down from the sky!" Quite a touching declaration, really.

So after this I soon went to sports and after that I went to observe the fascinating spectacle of fellowship meeting. This night was the festive activity of pumpkin carving and painting, and without too much ado they set to work in teams to dig out the slurping pumpkin pulp and scratch pictures in the face of the pumpkin. Of course the students were told that these were harvest pumpkins, not Halloween pumpkins, which meant you couldn't do any thing that implied evil things such as witches, ghosts, spiders, bats, or the New York Yankees. No, they didn't say the New York Yankees, but I still thought it was rather disobedient of Bethany to go ahead and paint the evil symbol on her pumpkin anyway.:D

Therefore the students came out with all sorts of ideas, from castles (taking away the bats removed their spookiness) to funny faces, from a cross to a man with a runaway dog, from scrolly designs to a happy fellow in a sailboat with the motto "Life is good" (the source of Elizabeth's designing inspiration was actually my shirt I which I was wearing from sports), they produced enjoyable carvings in all their orange glowing-ness. The pumpkin painters had fun too, as well as the modern art pumpkin person who had especial delight in pretending their fixture was bacon or some other such nonsense.

Yesterday I had my first art class, which I was very much looking forward to. We gathered at a homeschool mom's house, I met new people, and also got my first go at blind contour drawing, which I discovered I am terrible at. However, it's okay to be terrible at it because it's like drawing with your eyes closed so you're not expected to do super well, just learn how to awaken your right, creative side of mind. Then she set us to work to sketch some still life (a pottery pot and a couple pears, actually) and then a classical guitar. This was not so much as to teach us but to see what level our skills are at. We're probably going to critique each other's art next week. I finished last, but we then ended with choosing a picture of an animal that we'd like to draw next week. I'm not too partial to animal drawing, the fur not being my cup of tea, but I chose a frog that looked kind of fun and left feeling flushed and satisfied. My first real art training has begun.

Today I went on town trip. I was especially pleased to have all of my school done before I left, so I didn't have to worry about it when I got back. Anyway we went to WalMart and while we were waiting outside to be picked up the guys kept on laughing at something. A squeaking noise was emanating from one of their jackets, and it was soon discovered to be a bat inside that they had procured and were intending to keep. However our wait was a long one (twenty-five minutes over the pick up time) and eventually the tiny bat flew away, which is probably to the all around good of all, except the happiness of one particular lad, who kept grumbling how if they hadn't taken so long he could have kept his precious pet. In the meantime I got bored of just standing around, so I walked over to one of the curb islands in the parking lot and took a stroll on it. I ambled around and around and around, then switched directions and went the other way around. I tried to see how few steps I could take around, succeeding in about nineteen, then I would walk with one boot on the pavement. Next I walked in zigzags, then paced the length military fashion, then jogged the length. Pretty soon I got bored, even when one of the older men coming out of the store gestured that he wondered why I wasn't doing it more, and another older Walmart employee began to talk seriously to me about the weather, which was random. So I decided to be normal like everybody else and wait on the curb, and after a few more minutes the van finally came to our rescue. Phew! My life excitement overwhelms me.