For Zarah

While I was in New York, Klara and I decided to have our picture taken and send it to Zarah P. But this isn't just any old picture. Oh no. Of course we remembered one of Zarah's pet peeves: when someone looks at her with their sunglasses/glasses on the tip of their nose.:D Also we're saying "draw," just in case you can't read our still lips.

This is us being--uh, normal??!

Zarah has got to be on my favorite people list, she's just so much fun!

Zarah taught us how to do the monkey walk at the girls' week.

Zarah commented on how she loves to sit with her skirt all around her on the floor like a flower, and before we knew it, everyone was doing it!

Zarah makes me laugh.

Zarah is the only one willing to have a silence contest with Diane T. just to keep her quiet for an hour.:) (I'm just kidding Diane)

Zarah is the person that is most likely to complain the loudest about visiting cemeteries and not mean it one bit.

Zarah is the only one who would try to change the subject tactfully by saying, "So what do you think of Scooby Doo?"

When I was trying to call Zarah by her middle name (which she has two of: Darline Frances), I got mixed up and called her Francine, so that is now my nickname for her! Luckily, she doesn't mind.

A lot more could be said about Zarah.

If you can't tell, the "tattoo" on her arm is a heart that says "Mom" with an arrow through it. Just another picture of Francine's refreshing humor!

We love you Zarah!!!


(If you love Zarah, you can comment lots and lots!;)

Some Strine

Ever since I heard I might be going to Australia, I've been looking forward to educating myself in the Australian accent. There is something appealingly amusing about that splendid dialect, and I am delighted at the prospect of being able to get myself thoroughly exposed to it (although I imagine I will form a new appreciation for the our normal accent by the time I return). It is quite intriguing also how Australians have their own words for things. Their language, called "strine," (since that is how you say Australian with a heavy accent) has a whole dictionary of its own! They have a tendency to abbreviate words and add an "o" or "ie" to the end, or also give inanimate objects a gender. Some of their words are unusual, and here are but a few of the many for you to enjoy or feel bored over, depending on how interested you are:

Arvo: afternoon
Barbie: barbecue
You beaut! or beaut: an exclamation of delight (I'm looking forward to trying to use it!)
Beg yours?: excuse me, say again?
Billy: cooking pot
Blue: fight; also a red-haired person
Bonzer: good, a good thing
Buckley's: no chance; as in "hasn't got a Buckley's"
Bunyip: Monster of Aboriginal legend; bogeyman
Chook: chicken
Chunder: vomit (I'm sure you were dying to know that one!)
Crim: criminal
Cut Lunch: sandwiches
Dag: nerd
Daggy: unattractive
Dinkum: true, honest, genuine
Fair dinkum/Dinky di: honestly, truly
Give away: to give up or resign; as in, "I used to be a garbo (a garbage collector) but I gave it away."
G'day: Hello, hi
Gutless Wonder: coward (haha)
Jackeroo: male station hand
Jilleroo: female station hand
Lollies: sweets or candy
No worries: it doesn't matter; it's okay; don't mention it (this is actually a phrase that I picked up from Andrea or Kim when we were playing volleyball:)
Thongs: flip-flops or sandals
Wacko!: exclamation of enthusiasm
Warm fuzzies: feeling of contentment
Waxhead: surfer
Yabber: to talk or chat

Well, Jackeroos and Jilleroos, I hope you're all having warm fuzzies this fine arvo now that you've read my bonzer list! Now I really am yabbering on. . .

The Mischevious Blender

Aargh. When I was eating my lunch today, I decided to fix myself a nice cool shake-like drink. Yesterday I steeped some raspberry tea and put it in the fridge, so using this I poured it into the blender and added other ingredients to sweeten it up. Milk, sugar, vanilla, ice cubes, and a scoop of vanilla icecream. . .

How was I to know that someone didn't screw the bottom of the blender on tightly? Here I was, minding my own business, innocently concocting a little drink just for my own little pleasure. Then I was blending away, oblivious to my imminent danger. I think I must really be very unobservant. I didn't notice a thing until suddenly there was a rather large purply white puddle around the blender. Oh dear! Of course I stopped blending (though I may have been finished anyway) and then in a mild panic ran to grab a bowl for the still dripping container to sit in. Well there was no point in letting that puddle still on the counter go to complete waste, so I gamely snatched a spoon and began sipping up the liquid on the counter, testing its flavor. I moved the machine part of the blender (whatever you call it), and then rusty brown stuff came sloshing out of it and into my creamy pond. Suddenly it was not so appetizing, and considering my dad's advice, I decided to stop sipping and just wipe it all up. *sigh* How very aggravating!

At least the salvaged part tasted pretty good.

Brain Stoppers

Here are some unusual questions that I found online over two years ago. Try 'em out--they're more interesting if you answer them without thinking twice. If you like, you can comment and leave your answers or first impressions for some of them.

1. Is there a 4th of July in England?

2. How many birthdays does the average man have?

3. Some months have 31 days; how many have 28?

4. In baseball, how many outs are there in an inning?

5. Can a California man legally marry his widow's sister?

6. Divide 30 by 1/2 and add 10. What is the answer?

7. If there are 3 apples and you take away 2, how many do you have?

8. A doctor gives you 3 pills and tells you to take one every half hour. How long
will the pills last?

9. A farmer has 17 sheep standing in a field and all but 9 drop down and die.
How many sheep are left standing?

10. How many members of each animal did Moses take on the ark?

11. A clerk in the butcher shop is 5' 10" tall. What does he weigh?

12. How many 2-cent stamps are there in a dozen?

Preventively & Informatively

To all who may or may not be interested to know, I have an announcement. I am going to Australia. Or, if you don't quite believe what I just said, I'll put it in plainer terms. To Australia, I am going. This may come of no surprise to you, as I may have informed you of it personally myself or maybe you heard it through the wee grape vine, but I thought I would announce it officially so that you're not in the dark. Since Australia is now definitely a part of my life and planning, I may end up mentioning it in a future post, and I don't want you to be like, "Eh, what?" Then you might be all angry at me for not telling you a blooming thing. So this is a preventative post, as well as in informative one.

Now, for the more curious ones, I shall mention that I am leaving for that Down Under continent to which I have been referring to on August the 27th, and am returning September 12. Also I am going with my sister, who happens to have friends there, so that is very convenient in that respect. I know it is rather random that I should be going, but it is quite amazing how events worked out. First, I studied Australia in Geography near the end of the school year and it was one of my very favorite chapters, and I thought, "Huh, I'd love to go there someday." Then I was talking on the phone a couple weeks later with Kendra and she said she was going to Australia. This hit me as rather coincidental, even though I had heard months before that she was going but had completely forgotten. So I said, "Do you mean that if God plopped X amount of dollars into my lap, I could go with you?" Things gradually culminated after that.

Okay, now I'll say it one more time to make it quite clear. I am going to Australia. Savvy?

Concerning Sick Ducks and Hypnotized Chickens, among other things

I am not going to tell you what happened at the Family Convention. For one thing, it's practically ancient history, since two weeks have passed since it ended. For another, it would take a large quantity of time, and why bother writing (or reading, for that matter) about it when you can read a perfectly good account of it on my dear brother Craig's blog? The subject then remains closed.

However, I would like to mention how content I felt after the mile run on field day. There is a feeling that is remarkably satisfying when you have just finished running a mile, particularly THE mile, meaning the race. I was rather relieved to have it over with, and I enjoyed cheering on the people who arrived after me, even though at first it was more like a weak croaking, as I was too exhausted to throw my shouts into the chaotic wall of encouragement. Then it was over, and after reporting to Gretchen with my popsicle stick numbered with a ten, we all dispersed. Clutching my prize popsicle stick, I stiffly but elatedly climbed up the exit drive with everyone else. Ryan was beside me, having completed his first mile race. I then commented on how it was interesting that last year I got a popsicle stick with the number nine on it (meaning, for those of you who don't know, that I was in ninth place) and this year I have a ten to add to my collection.

"Oh, well maybe next year you'll get number eight," Ryan replied.

"Yeah, who knows?" I answered.

There was a pause.

"You know I could have said that maybe you'd get number eleven," my dear cousin informed me.

"Aw, thanks Ryan, you're a pal."

Not too long afterwards, I was sitting on the grassy hill in front of the playground, enjoying a calm moment of relaxation with a few other young people. It was Stephen A. who started it. Blowing on a blade of grass, he made a creaky cry to the world. It was an instantaneous hit. Next thing we knew a bunch of us were blowing away (it was even discovered that it can be done on a starburst wrapper!), chortling, screeching, bleating, and squealing to our hearts' content. If you can imagine listening to a flock of sick ducks, or even being in a jungle, you'll be able to get a picture of what it sounded like. I enjoyed myself immensely, and although I wasn't the best at it, I could add my squeaky screams to the fray with pride. Sometimes my eyes would bulge as I poured out the contents of my lungs, and this brought chuckles from a few people, Cara probably being the loudest. Soon this happy choir of sickly birds ended, however, and we left to go consume our lovely dinner. Released from tension after this highlight of my day, I found that I had regained my appetite (luckily the whole bird thing didn't wear off on me too much), which I had misplaced for awhile, and so I vigorously set to eating probably my largest meal in days.


Four days after the completion of the Family Convention, I had the privilege of going to the Hills to visit Klara. We had a jolly time, mixed with fun and work (and some colds, but that's beside the point), and it was a wonderful antidote to soften the "blothpick" after the convention. One day we went swimming in their freezing pond, but afterwards when we got out and dressed we were so cold that we wore pajamas under our skirts, with warm fuzzy socks and sweatshirts. You need to remember that this was a pleasantly warm July day too! We laughed at our warm attire as we eagerly sipped warm Postum in their sunny kitchen. I thought of having our pictures taken this way outside, but we never got around to it.

Another venture Klara and I accomplished was making breakfast. This is our idea of fun work. We got up early ("early," meaning seven o'clock) and whipped together scrambled eggs, crepes, and scones with vanilla glaze (I really wanted to make the glaze because I have such good memories of when Andrea used to make scones with glaze in bibleschool, and I always loved her for it:). With this feast, we all sat ourselves outdoors in the new morning and munched on it with delight. Hurray for the joy of cooking with a friend!

The morning before I left with my parents, I got to have an unusual experience. If you don't believe me, maybe you should try hypnotizing a chicken someday! Frankly it was Cara who reminded me about it. I learned how to do it from my BJ Homesat teacher in eighth grade, and I enlightened my cousin on the steps that it involves. Now of course I had almost forgotten all about it (though I don't know how could I forget something like that!), until Cara told me that she tried it when she was at the Holschers. I was determined to put it to practice, or what I could remember anyway. I confess though, that when put on the spot with those pecking, snippety hens in their smelly coop, I was almost dissuaded. It was Caleb who helped save the day and had a stick with him so I wouldn't have to risk having my finger viciously poked. That was much simpler. So with his stick he approached the chicken's head, much to her pecking dislike, but eventually he managed to get the stick in between the hen's eyes. This is what does it. I don't know if chickens can go cross eyed or not, but maybe it's because they can't go cross eyed that sets them into a trance. So there that chicken sat, staring away, with an infrequent blink now and then. Sometimes her eyes would narrow and she would squint, but there she sat, dazed. And not pecking. Still, we couldn't be too sure that she was really hypnotized, so I tried a test. I think actually you're supposed to do this beforehand to relax them, but because of a certain beak we hadn't dared. So gingerly I brought in my hand and began stroking her head. When she didn't react, I felt easier and stroked more freely, convincing Caleb that she wouldn't peck after all. During this time we had taken turns holding the stick, and soon I decided to do something more. I switched the stick for my finger, and there it lay in between her eyes, as surprisingly safe as it could be. So that is my story of how I hypnotized a chicken, even if Caleb did help me.

I think the family may now have a new method to help stubborn hens give them their eggs.

The Plunk Heard Around the World

"On your mark,

get set,

GO!"

This was the start of yet another vicious game of warball, in all its infamy. I darted up to the line to grab a ball, feeling a bit tentative, because TJ was opposite me and racing for the same ball. Luckily he gave up when he saw my speediness.:D However, I had problems slowing down at the line. In a rush I knelt to pick up the air-filled orb (I think it was yellow). I must have lost my balance from having too much momentum, however, because next thing I knew I saw the ground flying to meet me. "WHAM!" Or maybe it was more like a hollow "plunk," or perhaps it made no noise at all. Anyway, "WHAM!" my forehead met cold floor. I then felt exceedingly stupid, but exceedingly filled with hilarity, though a little sore in the area of my skull. I scrambled back to my side of the line and on my feet, quite aware that in this moment of amusement and pain I would be a likely target for a bullet. Nothing assailed me, however, except TJ's laughter. I couldn't blame him. I was laughing myself, while I rubbed my head incredulously.

Nevertheless, I did end up feeling rather proud of my nickel-sized lump.

A Nest of Another Kind

I have found that I have a slightly peculiar interest in some various biologically related things (well, have you ever tried to watch your blood clot under a microscope?). One of these interests that developed not too long ago with me is for wasp nests. Believe me, I dislike wasps, and I strongly despise yellow jackets and all other stinging insects (I had an experience around six years ago that has scarred me for life, although my phobia has dissipated a little), but I hold a certain admiration for their nests, provided they are empty. I found a wasp's nest lying on the ground a year or two ago and promptly claimed it, and it sits quite proudly in my room. However, this would have gone on and I would have mentioned nothing if something did not happen recently.

It was Craig who first noticed it. Right under the eaves, and not too far from our front porch it loomed, quite menacing. It didn't look exactly like a wasp's nest as I know it, for it was rounded with a long pipe coming out of it, like a bottle. My mother was quick to take action. Instantly she grabbed the wasp spray can, which she had recently used on spiders, and doused the nest thoroughly. So, with a nest right at my fingertips and supposedly empty of its occupants, I readied myself. I first tried a fly swatter, trying to nudge the nest from it's firm lodging under the eaves, but as a fly swatter is generally flimsy, this didn't work. Embracing a new tactic, I grabbed the yard stick from behind the fridge, and tentatively prodded the nest, ready to fly if the nest's owner should come out to pursue me. All was calm with the nest as I broke it from its clinging spot and plopped it into a whipped topping container and put the cover on, just to be on the safe side. With a little trepidation I opened the container and gingerly picked up the nest, peering cautiously down the pipe to see what lay inside. It was dark in there, but I could make out a small honey comb area, similar to a wasp's nest, and I could vaguely see two small white balls. Then it occurred to me that I could use a flashlight, so I snatched that and once again peeked inside the little hole.

Something was in there.

It was a pinky white
small,
fat,
and wriggling!

Ew, gross!

It was definitely larvae. There were probably at least two other smaller siblings of this first one, plus the white, spider-web-like balls. After my first moment of slight panic, I looked again and watched the grubby little thing with a huge mixture of disgust and fascination.

Now what was I supposed to do? I wasn't ready to relinquish my prize nest just yet, so throwing it into the woods wasn't quite appealing. So I did whatever any sensible person would do in my situation. I put it in the freezer. There it remained for a day or two, until I finally got around to taking it out again and once more examined the inside. The larvae were still, as I probably would be too if I were frozen. But were they really dead? Of course wasps last the winter somehow, though whether as eggs or as larvae I know not, so could these little guys just be dormant, ready to unfreeze, grow, and wriggle their way into wasphood? (or whatever it is that made the nest) But if they were dead, how would I get them out anyway?

Timidly I took a wire cake tester (don't worry, I put it in the dish washer when I was done with it) and poked the solid larva. Hmm. Dead or not dead, I didn't really want them living in there. Then I took the next possible solution. Going to the base of the nest, where it had been attached to the eaves, I started to tear out the bottom. Oh, what agonies the-whatever-you-call-it would have suffered to see me tearing his beautiful, hard labored, carefully chewed home! It almost hurt me as much. Well, maybe not that much. The nest was built in layers, and I tore through about two until I came to the actual nest bed. Then I extracted it, its occupants still snoring or dreaming dead dreams, and took it outside to chuck it into the woods. So I got the basic shell of the nest, it's sitting on my bookshelf and we're living happily ever after.

The End.

For the want of a nail

Perhaps you've heard this one before, but I thought it was neat:

For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,
For the want of a shoe the horse was lost,
For the want of a horse the rider was lost,
For the want of a rider the battle was lost,
For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost--
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
- Benjamin Franklin, a version of the statement from Poor Richard's Almanac

Reach for the pedals

About a week and half ago, I had my first driving experience. Yeah, scary huh? And yes Craig, my feet can reach the pedals!!!

To begin with, let me inform you that my experiences in driving have been very primitive. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. After all, I have heard about a thirteen-year-old who led a car chase and got arrested not only for speeding, driving under-age, but also driving well! I suppose they would have dropped that last charge if he had crashed into five cars or something. That would have been quite excusable, and what do you expect? Anyway, as I was saying, my driving experiences have been very primitive. Of course I've had the delightful past time of when I was about seven sitting in Craig's lap as he let me steer around Fairwood, and then I have done the same thing when I was thirteen with my dad, but on a tractor.

Of course I have driven my cousins' golf cart before, but since a certain dear friend of ours drove it into the ditch a few years ago, I haven't gotten to drive it at all except on the ball field.

Lastly, I have driven a go-cart before. However, I am quite aware that one of those times when I did it I drove rather slowly. Therefore, when Cara and I took a second drive, I fully intended to speed up more and have fun. My good intentions were crushed immediately when I made the poor choice of choosing a go-cart at the back of the line. If I had thought properly, of course I would have realized that there was a reason for this! But naturally I make it a point never to think properly, so I clambered inside only to realize to my great dismay that it was a crawler. I assure you that I had my foot floored on the gas and I could barely keep up with the last of the stragglers. Dear oh dear! My prospects are sorry indeed.

Well, last week Clyde and I were driving back from Keene one evening. Suddenly, after turning at the top of the church hill in Fairwood, he stopped the car and got out. To my bewilderment and astonishment he opened my door and told me to slide over. Oh my. With a little protest, I slid over, behind the wheel. It was dark outside, and I found as I came right to it, driving is a serious thing. Okay, which one is the brake and which one is the gas? Uh, I don't know anything about gears. Painstakingly Clyde directed me step by step on what to do. We crawled forward. When we got to the hill by the Hansen's, I stopped. "I guess I should press the gas pedal now," I said (I admit this now rather sheepishly). I couldn't see where the pedals were when I needed them, so my brother patiently switched on the lights. Up, up, and up we went, then down the other side. I am happy to learn to drive, but I felt like on my first lesson I didn't want to risk running into the ditch, as we came up on the threatening sharp turn into our driveway. Clyde helped me. So that is how I ended my first driving experience, as I rolled timidly into our lower driveway. Safe.

Now I do inform you that I fully intend to like driving. I think I'll try to work on my self confidence next time I'm at the wheel however. In case you haven't figured it out yet, I have to tell you with a mixture of frankness and embarrassment that I am very pathetic. . . . but at least Clyde was bursting with pride that he had been the first one to show me how to drive!

The Princess and the Clock

Here's an unusual story for ya! This is a little something that Cara and I had fun writing a couple years ago to send to Klara when she was in Israel. I just sort of rediscovered it today.

The Princess and the Clock

Once upon a time there lived a little girl named Authoria Sweetness− Sweetness was her last name of course. She was nine years old, and had hair like sunbeams. She had a quick laugh which sounded like silver bells tinkling in a winter breeze.

Anyway, one day Authoria went over to the castle’s great, grandfather clock. She noticed that it was ticking rather strangely. Authoria stuck her face right in front of the clock and watched the hands go round and round. Suddenly, she was caught by surprise as the clock swallowed her, first her head and the rest of her followed. You see, the clock had a magic spell cast upon it by the evil wizard Tic-Toc. The spell was that anyone who put their face a centimeter or less away from the clock face would be swallowed and sent to a faraway land.

Authoria flew through the air in a tunnel of confusion… until she saw a faint light at the other end. She went plummeting towards it at a great speed. The light got brighter and brighter and then she came to the end. She emerged and saw a beautiful rainbow colored land. The color was too much for her and she popped. She blew into a bubble and floated away, never to be seen again.

The End

Updates

*Puff* *gasp* *huff* *inhale* *exhale* The sound of my gusty panting sounds steadily in my ears. I have always been of the opinion that whenever you run or do any strenuous exercise you should give yourself as much oxygen as possible (none of this recommended *sniff sniff puff* thing), because I have heard that part of the reason why you get muscle cramps is from a production of lactic acid, which is a result of a lack of oxygen (I learned this is seventh grade so if my knowledge is somewhat twisted, then you will understand). Therefore, in my point of view, panting is not always a sign of being out of shape, although this is often also the case. So it should surprise you little if you lent your ear and heard my muted wheezing while I pump my way uphill on the one-mile trek to the lake. Frankly, I am also exaggerating.

All that to prepare you for my telling you that I biked to the lake and on to Dublin's tiny Memorial Day parade with Clyde. The first mile is the toughest, though not the worst in the world, and then it's cruising around the lake in delightful relaxation. If you want to relax, that is. So anyway, we made it to the parade, waited, watched, marched (or rode ever so slowly), listened to my dad's speech on patriotism, then whoo-hoo turned around and went home. Man, I just taught you the way to make your events sound the most exciting. But really, the ride back was fun, especially the last mile because guess what? It's almost all down hill. It's very thrilling to have the wind whistling in your ears and whipping in your hair, and keeping a tight motorcycle grin to avoid getting bugs in your mouth (you just get them in your teeth instead). The pavement was whizzing by underneath my tires, and it can make you feel dizzy if you're not careful. We arrived home safe yet happy.

That afternoon, after some debate, we left for Cape Cod. Yes, of all the places in the world, I finally made it to that beloved spot. Sure, I went there when I was two, but when you don't remember a thing about it, it doesn't really count. We took a hotel, and the next morning we set out to explore. When my dad is at the wheel, you know you're going to have a nice, slow, relaxing drive. As long as that's what you want. My dad has a funny way of wanting to explore new roads in ways that sometimes found us lost, but now, although "I once was lost, but now am found" we have the all-new, ultimate, extreme Strips and Treats!!! At least that's what we like to call it, although its real name is Trips and Streets (or is it Streets and Trips?), but my dad called it the other name by accident when he opened his Christmas present and we just haven't gotten over that laugh. Anyway, my point is that basically we can never get lost as long as our software is functioning properly and the satellite is accurate.

We moseyed our way along down the coast through various towns, stopping for a lighthouse, a thrift shop, or a little break at the beach. I did find something out though--Cape Cod is just like any other place! Well, almost, with the difference of a few higher prices, more hotels and mini golf places, and a more laid-back lifestyle, since it seems like much of the place is built around touristry. But that's just from my perspective.

When we wound back to our hotel, Craig, Clyde, and I decided to go for a bike ride on one of the scenic trails in the area. It was unbelievably smooth--take it from me, if you live at Fairwood where it's mostly hills, you will be astonished when you come upon a few miles of flatness to bike on. Craig's luck wasn't so great. . . his tire popped near the beginning. Poor guy. I knew he shouldn't have eaten that pastry for breakfast. . . (haha, Craig) but it really wasn't his fault. You can't exactly hop on your dad's bike that hasn't been used for a little while and has lately been overblown with air; it just doesn't work. Still, eventually we came to a scenic area and we pumped on leisurely, admiring the ducks in the pond or the pink flowers, sandy beach, and aqua ocean. Clyde lent his bike to Craig for a little while and we did get to hike it through the woods, past an arbor, and a house with the aromatic scents of their cookout wafting by to beckon us temptingly. I wonder what they would have thought if we had asked for a bite?

The next day found us sitting outside on the deck of a ferry while the foghorn blasted its way through the mist to Martha's Vineyard. Then we were dumped onto dry land and found ourselves inside a rental car (which was cheaper than taking our own vehicle), ready to blaze a trail. What new adventures would await us? We were actually on an island, which is practically the same thing as a foreign country, when we came to a shock. Martha's Vineyard is just like Cape Cod!!! Bummer. No Norwegian countryside for us. And yet there was still something extra fascinating about the touristy place, and we managed to enjoy ourselves, even if we did have to buy gas for 3.52. Lighthouses are still something intriguing for us picture takers, even though they are getting a little old ("I think I'm beginning to get sick of lighthouses," Craig commented dryly, and then he only took like two pictures of one lighthouse which tells you something really is wrong), and we visited them faithfully. The water was gorgeous, and by mid-afternoon we stopped for another little break at the beach and I got to get my own little sunburn.

Probably the highlight of Martha's Vineyard for me was Oak Bluffs. It's a town that used to hold camp meetings in its center (and still does), where there is a very large pavilion or tabernacle set up that even has stained glass. People used to come from all around and set up camp (Grant and Harriet Beecher Stowe, to name a couple), until before long they decided to be build cottages. These were the wonders. I guess since then they have decorated these many houses into the elegant Victorian style, in varied colors of pink, purple, orange, red, blue, and so forth. Intricate eaves, sharp trimming, and quaint porch decorations complete the gingerbread house look, and the cottages are often given names like Mulberry, Oops, Over the Rainbow, Alice's Wonderland, etc. What's more, people actually live in these houses, which must be an absolute pain because they have to keep their shades down most of the time, they can't leave normal looking junk on the porch, they have to keep up the house's beautiful looks, and endure touristy picture snappers like us. That didn't keep me from enjoying the place, however, and film was soon being spent like water as we admired the charming buildings along their quiet, pedestrian roads. Aaahhh. . . . .

Thursday evening found me sweating in my concert. Excuse me, but I mean literally. Not only were we playing a song that I had to skip a whole measure in because it was going so fast, but if that weren't enough it was a sticky evening, we had hot lights flooding onto us, and I was wearing a black skirt with cosy dress shoes. Aaaaahhhh, agony!!! Now do you blame me? But before we knew it our pieces were over (hurray! no more string ensemble until the fall!) and I got to enjoy the rest of the concert. Well, at least some of it was enjoyable. It just so happened that it was the band concert and not everything the percussion ensemble plays is my favorite thing, though they were pretty good. The concert band did play Raiders of the Lost Ark (Bria, it sounded a lot better when your orchestra did it), which gave us inspiring wishes to watch Indiana Jones. There was also a really cool piece called The Golden Age of the Xylophone. Supposedly it is a song that was written in the early nineteen hundreds and it cost $200 dollars for the band director to rent it, before it came out a year later so he could buy it for like $120. So he bought it, but while he was teaching at another school, so he got to borrow it from them and not use our money (which he pointed out with much glee). Also I guess it's a song that he has never heard without cuts because it is so much long, fast music to memorize he wasn't sure how easily it could be done. However, despite this obstacle, Conval's two best percussionists, who are also seniors (and FYI one of them is going to the Hartt School next year) have done it! Before we knew it, these two guys, with the accompaniment of the band, were pounding away on that xylophone for all they were worth, astonishing us to the utmost. Spellbound, we watched them as they took turns to play this incredible piece (all memorized, remember!), and then as they both got up there and played together the impressiveness was complete. You could rarely have a more fanatic audience.

So now you've got a little update on my recent life, and now I am having some of my first normal summer days. But if you're still reading this, I am quite impressed.

Lars and Me

As this balmy weather is at last floating in to delight us, I am recalling something I did one year ago. . .

Thursday, May 26, 2006

. . . I spent the next while making a snowman. The rain dripping off the roof next to me, I knelt at the edge of a small pile of crusty snow. The snow was hard, but it stuck well, almost too well as I tried to drive pebbles into the softball sized head of icy crystals. Soon my little Lars was finished, after difficulties of his face falling apart, and with his leaf bow tie he looked quite sharp--though sadly lacking a hat.

And here is Lars and me together!----------->

The new chewing toy?

I went to the dentist the other day. Whoop-de-doo. I am very enthusiastic
about my dentist *voice drips with sarcasm.* I'm afraid I am getting weak
in my old age as far as teeth work goes, since I haven't been to the
orthodontist for awhile. But actually, it wasn't that bad, though during
the filling process they had to "tweak" some of my gum (which also means
cut it off, but they don't like it to sound too drastic), but luckily I
didn't feel anything at the time because I had some anesthetics working
on me, as much a I dislike them. However, I do like my dentist as a fun
and cheery sort of fellow, but when I was done I still went away feeling
very glad it was over with. However, my recent trip to the dentist wasn't
my main thing of interest to talk about.

My dentist trip actually brought back a very unusual memory. I still
remember a couple years ago when I was going to get sealants, I believe,
and I didn't get to have my good old dentist do it, but a lady instead.
She was whirring her way along inside my mouth, with her fingers thrust
between my teeth, when she said something rather muffled behind her mouth
piece. What she really said was, "You're biting me." But for some
inexplicable reason, I thought she said, "Bite." So what can I say? There
was nothing for it but to obey, since obedience is better than brains, so
unthinkingly I started to bite. Next thing I knew she was crying out,
"Ow!!!" My senses returned to me instantly, and I stopped closing my
sharp teeth around her finger before violently trying to apologize, but
with little success since it is very difficult to talk with your mouth
wide open. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure if I ever did
specifically apologize to her afterwards or not. So I suppose now she
must remember me as the dangerous, finger-biting patient and has probably
told exaggerated tales of how my eyes gleamed wickedly as she started to
bleed. Who knows?

I wonder if I should try to keep up my reputation. . .

Peaceful Peter

Here's a story I wrote about two and a half years or so ago. I actually wrote it and gave it to Lisa for her birthday, so I hope she doesn't mind my using it. It just amused me the other day to go back and read it, and I hope it will amuse you as well.

Peaceful Peter

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived a nice, young couple. The man's name was Anthony, a poor but handsome acrobat. The woman's name was Diana, she was an extremely beautiful girl, who could run as fast as a deer and shoot an arrow straighter than Robin Hood himself.

Diana and Anthony met when Anthony, who used to work at the circus, helped Diana and her twelve maidens stop Anthony's ringmaster from beating a poor unicorn. After that, he said to her. . . but that's a totally different story that must be told another time.

Diana had a strange power which made it so that she could tell which animals had good hearts and which had bad. In that way, she could safely hunt and eat the bad-hearted animals with a good conscience. She kept this power to herself, however, and never told anyone how she had gained it.

One day, Anthony and Diana had a baby (that is, Diana had the baby, Anthony just waited and prayed). They had a son, and Diana wanted to name him Peter. Anthony hesitated (for who wanted a son who's name meant "rock", they might as well name him "Pebble", it was that ridiculous to Anthony), but he loved Diana very much, and he thought that Peter was a nice name (despite that it meant "rock"), so he agreed, and it was settled.

So Peter grew. He grew into a sensitive boy, who was very kind-hearted and dreamy. He also was very smart, and he invented all kinds of things, some of them useful, some of them ridiculous, and one or two of them cleverly "harmful" (Diana found out this through some ingenious booby traps that "were around to help protect everything"). But Peter's inventions didn't hurt anybody, and if they did, Peter would go and so earnestly apologize that nobody could stay angry at him for long.

Peter was not spoiled, however, and he soon grew into a hard-working young man, and he decided to become an inventor, which nobody took as a surprise and all thought that he would be quite successful at it.

So Peter worked. But one day Peter got very sick. In fact, so sick, that the doctor ordered a trip to a wild, rain-forested island with a warm climate. So, he paid for the fare for the boat trip that he was to take (which he got the money by selling a man a burglar system that if set, and if anything on his property was touched, the lights would pop on and there was a surround sound system that a recorded voice would say: "Get off my property! If I don't see you gone in five seconds- well, let's just say that I have a brand-new gun and I'm longing to use it if given the chance!" By that time, the owner would have had the chance to hear the alarm and get up and see to the rest, if the burglar hadn't taken off already. He also got it by selling lots of pairs of glow-in-the-dark sunglasses, but lets get back to the story).

When he got there, he had a wonderful time. He had been there about four weeks, and he was just feeling all better, when he decided to take one more camping trip before going home. So, gathering the supplies that he needed, Peter went one fifth of a mile into the rain forest for a camping trip. When he got into his sleeping bag for the night, he had been there for only five or ten minutes when he heard a hissing sound, so opening his eyes, he saw before him a cobra snake before him, hissing vilely under his hood.

"Sssso," the snake said in a slippery voice, "you came here into the rain foresst, well, ssssss. How about you and I have a little match, sssss. Whoever winss will live, whoever losess will lose his life, sssss. A match to the death, sso you might ssay, sssss."

"What would be the gain of that?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"Nothing," the snake said, "Nothing at all, ssss. You sssee, I would just kill you anyway and get it done with, sssss. But I feel like I want a little fun, sssss. Sso you ssee, I'm being fair and giving you a chance to defend yoursself, ssssssssss."

Peter, not knowing what to do, being taken by surprise, spoke, "Well, all right, I guess it's every man for himself, or every snake for himself if you catch my meaning." The cobra replied with a "sssssss." So they began to fight. The fight was very uninteresting, and it went on for a very long time, so I won't go into details. Let's just say that Peter was just about to die, when he took a knife and cut the cobra into twelve pieces and threw the pieces into the fire.
Immediately, he wished he hadn't, for one reason, burning snake really doesn't smell very nice, but for the real reason, Peter realized that maybe he had just killed a good-hearted snake, whose coils were only temporarily crooked, and therefore, it would have been just as bad as murder in killing that snake (so Peter thought anyway). So Peter wept, and did what any sensible man would do…… run home to his Mommy (or Daddies are just as good, but in this case Peter ran home to his Mommy).

When he got home he told his Mother what he had done, and explained how sorry he felt, and how he wished that he could have been able to tell if the snake was good at heart or not. Diana listened thoughtfully, and knowing that Peter wasn't trying to have her tell him how to own such powers (for she knew that Peter did not know the power that she possessed) she said to him, "Peter, do not be troubled, for I know how you may attain such powers to tell if an animal means good or evil so that you will not make the same sort of mistake again (though I, personally believe that you did right in killing that snake, but one must not judge too quickly)," Peter looked up hopefully, "Go to the great Himalayan mountains of Nepal, and gather some snow there and put it in a jar, then, go to the muddy Nile river in Egypt, and gather some of the water in that same jar. Next, go to the jungles of South America, and put a shoot of sugarcane in your jar. Lastly, go to Italy, and put some of the finest dirt in the jar. Then you must drink the ingredients that you have mixed and then you will be able to tell if a creature means ill or not by if you see a certain green gleam in their eye, that will make the creature looked hideous and evil in your sight, then you will know that the animal is bad-hearted. If the animal has no such gleam, then you will know that the creature has a good heart, and harm them not. You shall tell this if you gather the ingredients that I have told you of in just the right order and if you drink all of it." Diana looked at her hopeful son and smiled as he kissed her, "Farewell," she said, and Peter left.

Peter did just as his mother told him to, and he found out that she was exactly right, as he had believed (he found out this, by seeing two mice fighting, one bad mouse that was attacking, and one good mouse that was defending himself. Peter had helped the good mouse that was exhausted, and then had a nice chat with him). Peter also found that the mixture didn’t taste as awful as he had anticipated. First the drink had been bitter, but then it had gradually gotten tastier and sweeter until it was the best drink he had ever tasted.

As Peter sailed home to tell his mother, the ship he was sailing in got caught in a ferocious storm, and the ship was tossed about like a toy boat. Just then, a sea monster decided to attack the ship, and Peter was battling off the sea monster with the other men when it occurred to Peter that maybe the monster wasn’t evil. So, going closer to the sea monster’s eyes, he saw that there wasn’t any evil green gleam in them. So Peter spoke to the sea monster and said "I say, old chap, why are you attacking us?"

The sea monster looked surprised, but replied "The fish can see me from a good ways off, far enough away to escape before I can get to them anyway, no ship has come through here for eight months, and I’m starving! I don’t have anything against you, you know, but a fellow has to eat."

Peter listened to this thoughtfully, and he said to the sea monster "I understand, completely, but maybe I can help. What’s your favorite kind of fish?"

The sea monster, surprised again, replied, "Salmon."

"Salmon’s hard to come by, but I’ll see what I can do, if you’ll put off eating us for a sec," said Peter, and he disappeared. He came back several minutes later with a huge net of wiggling, wet salmon that he had just caught on the other side of the ship where they couldn’t see the sea monster. "Open up!" Peter said, and as the monster opened his mouth he poured all the fish into its gaping mouth.

"By Jove, thanks!" the sea monster replied with his mouth full (which was rather rude, but he meant well, and he really was grateful), and the large creature slid off into the sea.

Peter kept on doing such things to preserve peace between man and beast. Like, one other time, a wicked man in China wanted the throne in China, so he decided to get rid of his nephew, the prince, who was the rightful heir to the throne. So the man secretly tied up the prince and hung him over a small pond that was filled with starving crocodiles. And, putting a fire under the rope that held the prince suspended above the crocodiles, he left him. Peter heard of this, and hastened there quickly, and, noticing that the crocodiles weren’t evil, just hungry, he said to them "I say, have you ever thought of becoming vegetarians?"

"Why, no," the crocodiles replied in surprise. Five more threads in the hot rope snapped.

You should try it," Peter said to the crocodiles, "Here, come over here to the edge, and I’ll give all of you some carrots, I wager that you’ll find them much tastier than meat." More rope snapped.

The crocodiles came over, and opened their big jaws and let Peter pour a barrelful of carrots into each of their mouths. "Not bad," one of the crocodiles said thoughtfully, " You know, I think I’ll take your advice, this is pretty good," he said to Peter. The other crocodiles nodded in agreement. More rope snapped.

"Good," Peter said, "I’ll keep about two hundred barrels of carrots over here, you can have them anytime." More rope snapped.

"Oh, and by the way, could you please catch that boy that’s about to fall and bring him to me?" Peter asked casually. The crocodiles nodded and went and waited for the prince to fall so that they could catch him. "SNAP!" The rope broke and the prince was carried safely to shore.

Peter did many, many things similar to these things, both great matters and small. He did such a good job at keeping peace between man and beast, that Peter became known as "Peaceful Peter". And so it was, Peter kept on helping to keep the peace until he died at a ripe old age of 427 years.

The End

Repeated Reminiscing

Now I hope you don't mind humoring me again. You see, as you can very well imagine, whenever you make a huge trip to some far off place that you may never visit again you have the tendency to reminisce when the anniversary comes round. I did that a little bit with Israel, now I'm going to do it with Norway. (*sigh of bliss*) So to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have some of my journal recorded here for your perusing:

Thursday, May 19, 2005

My body struggles with traces of tiredness, as its accustomed time is 1:46 a.m., but as the sun is up I don't think I should sleep too much.

The Sandford family is travelling again, though sadly lacking Chad's presence, and this time we are bound for Norway. I know--how random is that? Of all Europe, why pick NORWAY???! The tribe of Naphtali is believed to be in Norway, and since we're praying for that tribe we're off to get on the front lines for a battle in prayer. Of course this would not do without a little sightseeing too.

We left the airport a little while before 4 p.m., driven by the gracious Uncle Tim. We arrived at the Boston airport without incident and with a sincere hand shake all around Uncle Tim left us. In the meantime we happily reunited with our dear Kendra, and proceeded to check in our baggage. I was proud to produce a simple, compact suitcase that weighed a mere 17 pounds.

. . . . Finally at 8:55 p.m. or so [I wonder if I was a little over-exact, but you must remember that this is for the sake of the factual, not just the interests'] they called us and I scooped up my 12 pound carry on and light blue fleece and prepared to board.

A willing family member relinquished the window seat for me and I perched contentedly in my favorite spot. Kendra sat on my left, Daddy on hers, Mom just across the aisle, then Craig, and then Clyde, who also possessed a window seat. I liked this seating much better than the original plan to have us all sit by ourselves. My mom had exaggerated my mild feelings of dread to Kendra, who had then requested tickets together [I recall that Kendra rather exaggerated it as well, telling the ticket lady that she had a little sister frightened to sit by herself. . . aargh!]

Then came the delightful take off with all its tremendously thrilling speed and I peered out the window to watch the twinkling lights of Boston diminish into hazy patches of light.

As I prepared to settle down, I suddenly noticed streaks of silver darting by the window. My first thought was, "Stars!" as they looked similar to stars blurring by in movies [e.g. Star Wars]. Obviously I quickly concluded that we weren't high enough for them to be stars and realized they were raindrops speeding by. Very cool.

I settled down with my fluffy fleece and Icelandair cushion and just might have been able to catch ten minutes of sleep when at 10:45 the stewardess came serving "dinner." I woke up reluctantly and shoved down. . . . some weird cheesy sweet stuff that looked like cole slaw but wasn't. . .

I settled down a second time and managed to sleep 'till 1:05 (home time), and then I woke to discover that Kendra had opened the shade. Outside the sky was rapidly brightening into a robin's egg blue and ahead a fuzzy pink bar on the horizon foretold the withcoming sunrise. Below I sleepily glimpsed white mountains (probably glaciers), though it took me a second to realize that they weren't clouds. In answer to my confused mutterings, Kendra explained that it was Greenland we were crossing. Shortly we left that behind and as I gazed far below I saw little chunks of white, and soon thousands of tiny white dots speckling the dull blue ocean. Icebergs, I quickly determined, and scanned their numbers excitedly as I had recently studied glaciers.

Over an hour later, we began to cross Iceland. Never have I seen a land so brown and barren. Flat except for several jutting mountains and a very few hills, it was pock marked with ravines and valleys. I didn't see a single tree, but I didn't know if I could have missed a few since we were so high up. Bare and desolate, it hosted hardly any houses besides a city-sized cluster I saw and Reykjavik itself (which holds 75% of Iceland's population).

"Well if you were a hermit, you'd know where to come," Kendra commented dryly. I couldn't help but agree.

Soon, about 6:50 a.m. (local time) we were landed safely and soon tromping off the plane and into the cool fresh air (supposedly 41 degrees F according to the pilot but it didn't feel that cold to me). We made our way with the throng into a thick line of people going through passport control.

Eventually we went on to wait in line to board our next flight, after dodging into the restroom (I left my passport there by accident but I was able to retrieve it with no harm done).

At around 7:55, we took off, soon leaving Iceland's haunting wasteland behind [now in Iceland's defense, I think I did see a little bit of green there on our way back, and it did look like a cool place that I'd like to visit someday, even if it is the perfect habitat for a hermit]

. . . Around noon Kendra thought she spotted white mountains below that were hard to distinguish from the clouds, and soon after [that] the pilot announced we'd be arriving Oslo in 20 minutes. As we went below the clouds I admired the large green or brown (from rich soil) farms with a small cluster of buildings in the middle of each, usually including a red barn. I loved the Norwegian countryside already, and we soon found that it was a mixture of Pennsylvania and New Hampshire. Pennsylvanis because of the open fields and farms, and New Hampshire because of the many hills and coniferous & deciduous forest mix.

Before we knew it we were landed and as we glided down an escalator we could hardly believe we were actually in Norway. It was true however, and the folks around us that could easily have been mistaken for regular Americans proved the supposed assumption false by chattering in Norwegian. . . . Fortunately enough, we didn't have to go through customs or passport control, being only regrettable because we didn't get our passports stamped.

. . . we checked through with the rental car place and wheeled our baggage to the parking garage, in search of our new rental car. We found it eventually and were immediately struck by the humorous hand of irony. We had been told that the back of the 6-passenger Toyota Caravel was 18 cubed feet. I think they must have meant 18 feet squared. Let's just say there was just as much room to put the luggage as to put the seats and people, and even though we did have to sit two seats three in a row, its still saying a bunch.

We loaded up and climbed into our bright blue vehicle with the diesel engine and soon zoomed down the highway. Everything was new and exciting, from the cars, license plates, and Norwegian signs (often hard to pronounce, but occasionally resembling English).

We made our way through the busy streets and it didn't take long for us to realize that bikers were almost as common as pedestrians themselves.

We went to our hostel. . . at almost 3:30. . . and after unloading left [we] left. . . but this time on foot.

Traversing up streets and down others while pausing to snap pictures (we're SO tourists!), we finally arrived at Karl Johansgata (gata as in street). This was a long pedestrian street, crowded much like Ben-Gurion Street in the New City, Jerusalem, with shops and restaurants on either side.

After eating a couple of hamburgers at McDonalds [and rather expensive ones, I might add], we marched up Karl Johansgata in faith. Then we went and took pictures and prayed at Stortinget, the Parliament building. We strode on up from there, pausing for pictures at fountains and such before arriving at the royal palace building in all its finery with a proud horseman statue in front. We took more pictures, watched the royal guard, and prayed for the royal family.

. . . us kids walked further to the Oslo fjord & city hall. Then we made the long trek home across a good part of the city to arrive safe but foot sore at our hostel at quarter past seven or so. We retired into our bunk beds early, myself settling down in exhaustion (with a lumpy pillow that felt like it contained individual cotton balls), at about ten minutes of eight. Thank God for protection!

Final Flings

Now even though it's practically age-old history, I figure I may as well post about the final flings of the Bibleschool year. In my mind they began when the SWAT team went out to eat at Applebees (and in case you've forgotten, my team included Diane, Kim, Amy, Vanlora, Adam, and Clyde) after sports on Tuesday. We had a high old time together, ordering a whole bunch of appetizers at half price and sharing and splitting the cost. It was thoroughly enjoyable to watch the Sox cream the Yanks, plus just being together, even though we never even talked about decathlon stuff (also ancient history) except to say it was great to be on a team together and to have Kimberly as our captain and all that sweet stuff. We had an occasion where a spit ball fight was almost started, but Diane punched Adam so he wouldn't do it and just after he had decided not to he managed to spill his water all over the table. I guess he might have deserved that one. . . .

The second fling of course was the End of the Year Party. As a staff kid, this is definitely a highlight to the finishing of bibleschool. It always includes goodies that are always fabulous (provided by the fabulous Diane) and skits that are often fabulous, depending on the people and the energy of putting them together. So after stuffing our faces with everything to make our teeth rot, we sat back and enjoyed the show (I video taped it for those who may one day wish to see them).

Of course I have seen many skits, such as the one of Craig being the renowned Uncle Tim in his infamous manner of driving ("Was that a red light we just went through?"), or the violent game of Spoons with Joe B. Jr. when Melissa was in bibleschool. Or Andrea calling Craig down from the Dorm as chore boy to pick up things for her when she dropped them on the floor, or, one of my especial favorites, when Andrea, Amy, Isaac, and Carmelo came together as elderly ones in the future and discussed everything that had happened to all their class mates in later years ("Craig and Kim--who would have every thought?"-Andrea). I even recall the time as a six-year-old being in a skit with other "staff kids" in which we pretended to be our parents in staff meeting sharing information that our kids had spied out about the students ("Jayna says that Eric is taking too many personal days,"-Jayna as her dad) So as you can imagine, I have seen my fill of talent and humor as far as skits and spoofs go. But of course one never tires of these things.

The first skit was a very creative one put on by the first year girls. In my knowledge I don't recall anyone doing a skit on the third-years receiving their diplomas, so this was rather original. As can be expected, the similar characteristics were properly exaggerated. Katherine, as a solemn representation of my dad, started the graduation with Sara Lee coming up to give a testimony. Megan, who was posing as her, began her speech, but her classmates spent the whole time talking loudly to each other so she responded with a desperate cry of, "Nobody ever listens to me!" before then fleeing the scene. Then of course when Bethany's turn came, Vanlora responded with a stimulating swagger and after taking her diploma, giving Katherine a friendly punch on the shoulder before returning to her seat. Next when Sarah Ann's turn came (played by Megan), she came with delighted flapping of her hands in front of her face. Bria, as an excellent over-done imitation of Elizabeth, then started getting all worried and asking Kimberly if her hair was all right and everything. As she approached the podium for the long awaited diploma, she then managed to fall flat on her face! With obvious strain on regaining composure, she accepted the diploma and collapsed in her seat with declarations of how humiliating that was. Lastly Kimberly (played by none other than Amy) came to get her diploma, and as she did so a voice started calling out, "Oh KIMberleeeyyyy. . . !" Then came Megan trotting in on the scene once again, this time posing as a very dashing young man named Jack (Kim's dream guy's name) in which then followed a chaotic babble of his Tacoma truck (another dream of Kimberly's) and Katherine's righteous alarm, with Jack's protestations that she's perfect, Kim's replies that it's okay and the diploma doesn't matter to her, before the lovers fled the scene. "I knew she had been to the chiropractor way too many times," Elizabeth commented and the skit was over.

That gives you an idea of the evening. It was followed by various skits of the guys, including demonstrations of some rather brutal games they play (well, do you believe in trying to throw darts at eachothers' bare feet?), they're typical afternoon work meeting, an incident of the girls encouraging Bria (or TJ) in her unfruitful attempts to spit (his mouth was a bit foamy afterward), the story of Uncle Tim beating TJ with a stick (to put it in over simplified terms), and the guys' version of the way girls work. This included them pretending to be sweating and gasping through the most menial tasks of just whisking up stuff in a bowl, mopping the floor, or dusting. Relieved, they take a water break, then return and after a few more minutes of pasted on agony they collapsed in exhaustion with triumphant happiness that it was 1:15 and they were done.

The third years' skit proved to be one based on when TJ and Dave killed some chipmunks with acorns and skinned one of them to keep. Therefore, this was called Revenge, and you can just imagine what happened. Bethany and Elizabeth made wonderful chipmunks, and realizing that they hadn't seen Dale for ages, they then see him around the neck of the dreaded Davie with TJ just next to him. They then plotted their revenge. And that was the hilarious gist of it all.

Now finally, the graduation went swimmingly. I really must say that I will greatly miss the graduates, but as this post has gone on long enough, I shan't say anything more on the subject.

Roses!

Three years ago from today was Mothers' Day. To celebrate this momentous occasion, my family ". . . took cabs to the Rose Garden or the Garden of the Nations. It was absolutely gorgeous, despite the heat. Roses [were] everywhere of [in] many colors, and there were divisions of roses from lots of different countries (Spain, England, Argentina, Swizterland, France, Holland, Japan, and more). There were ones with beautiful names (Lady of the Dawn being my favorite). I loved going there."

Since the roses did have some rather eloquent names (excepting ones named after random people you've never heard of), I recorded a few of them at the time, and here they are for your own interest or lack there of:

Lady of the Dawn

Sunsprite

Golden Slipper

Baby Gold Star

Snow Carpet

Fragrant Cloud

Lady Rose

Rose Dot

Arizona

Golden Fantasy

Gold Medal

New Day

Iceberg

Harmony

Keepsake

Sierra Sunrise

Chipper

Queen Elisabeth

My Valentine

Satina

Some weirdo

Here's an unusual picture that I took of some strange individual. Craig's Pedro Martinez wig does wonders!

My Second Identity

For those of you who don't know, I have a Second Identity. Or some people seem to think so. . . with little incidents dropping here and there where someone thinks that I'm someone else. But that happens to all of us sometime or another, does it not? However, this seems to have happened to me a little more than the norm, and for one particular person, so I thought I would share it with you.

Now you are probably dying to know who it is that I have often been mistaken for (or often enough for it to be worth mentioning). Well, I'm not going to tell you just yet! (Haha! Die! Die! Die with suspense!!! *evil laughter*)

The first incident I shall mention was a bit unusual. I was walking along at night past the Men's Dorm a year or more ago, minding my own business. As I passed by Dave, who was standing there by the side of the road, he gave me this sinister expression (or it may be interpreted as being sinister, but I could only hear him and not really see his face). "Where are you going?" he asked, and his mysterious tone of voice puzzled me exceedingly. So I did nothing but keep on and give him a very odd look as he then he burst out, "Oh! I thought you were Kimberly!" Thus my Second Identity is revealed.

Another time occurred during a Feast. I was coming out from the sanctuary to see Ruth and Paula's sister Mary (you notice I am refraining from using a last name!) holding a baby (I forget whose, but it might be safe to guess that it was Ruth's) and talking to Kimberly as they admired him. As I passed by, I caught Mary's eye and she stopped in mid sentence and said, "--oh hi Kimberly!" then continued her conversation naturally with the authentic KJ. I was captured by surprise, but rather than interrupt her, Kim and I gave each other knowing grins before I continued on. Hmm. That was interesting.

Now, for the next story I must give you a little background. It just so happens that in March I bought a khaki jacket (on sale by the way), that, oddly enough is fairly similar to one of Kimberly's. Also, in the past couple of months I have discovered that I can use hairsticks in my hair, which actually is something that Kim does as well. So perhaps it shouldn't come as a great surprise when at different times two people told me that from a distance they thought I was Kimberly, both happening within the same week. Hence the background for my most recent story.

The fateful time was when I was sitting alone in Shawn's meeting during the Feast just yesterday. I was reading along in the Scripture passage when who should start coming shyly down my row to join me but Gabriel! Now I do play with the little boys here at Fairwood occasionally (mostly in the summer), but although they know me and I am on pretty good terms with Michael and Gabriel, they have never seemed to like me enough to actually come sit with me. So you can imagine that I was a bit taken aback as Gabriel, eyes turned toward the floor, stood in front of me to pick him up. I did it willingly enough, and then Gabriel turned to peer at me. If I had known what was going on in his little head I would have been astonished at how calm his gaze was. But without considering it or even realizing that that look was the first he'd given me just now, I picked up my Bible and continued to read. About ten seconds later he got up as if by whim and with simple composure walked to the front Murray row to sit with his beloved Kimberly. I wondered vaguely if I hadn't been entertaining enough, i. e. making faces or producing a gadget for him to play with, but shrugged it off. It wasn't until after the meeting that Craig pointed out the next to obvious: he thought I was Kim! Gretchen informed me that in the bawl room he had asked to sit with that particular aunt of his, and having her permission she watched as he went down and sat with me! Gretchen exclaimed that she and Amy were practically screaming with delight and she thanked me heartily for wearing my hair up that day so they could have some extra amusement. Anything I can do to help, but I can only imagine how Gabriel must have felt when he realized with a shock that I wasn't who he thought I was. Think of how unnerving that would be!

So now ends the narrative about my Second Identity. I actually am fairly sure that there are a couple more of them, but sadly enough I didn't know how entertaining they would become so I forgot them. Until next time then. . . .