Sunday, July 31, 2005
A most revolting experience
Oh my word! I just had one of the most revolting things happen to me. It's not that bad. . . it certainly can't be compared to Bria's fabulous story, but it was horrid enough for me. I was going to mail a letter to a friend, so I hopped on my bike wearing my swishy Israel skirt and heavy duty black boots and zoomed out of our lower driveway. Almost immediately I noticed a forlorn little newt salamander (a great favorite wild life creature of mine that I used to constantly play with and provoke) in the middle of the road. Struck numb with sympathy, I swerved to a stop and dug my kickstand into the dirt road to go help the poor amphibian in distress. I went over and fearlessly picked it up to deposit it in the safety on the roadside grass. Then I noticed something dreadful. The orange salamander had something protruding out of him--something I was practically touching--and I suddenly came to a conclusion beyond no doubt that I was beholding the newt's guts. With a cry of dismay I set him down hastily and wailed in utmost anguish at how disgusting it was. My reactions were more exaggerated than my literal feelings. There is something peculiarly funny about finding a live salamander who is proudly displaying his innards. With a final yelp of loathing, I leaped back onto my bike and continued up the road, passing at the top of the hill our neighbor, Dave, who had been peering down curiously with his nephew Luke to see what on earth I could be so appalled at as to express myself with such volume. I of course owed him the explanation that I had just picked up an animal with its intestines exploding from its side in their juiciness. Ahem! When I returned a few minutes later, I did manage to secure some pictures of the hapless creature.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Brothers
Brothers are an amazing thing. I'm especially thinking of the older kind, the kind that are tall and at least five years older than you, mainly considering them because I happen to be most familiar with that species. Why, you may wonder, and the answer is obvious: I happen to have three.
Yes, indeed, brothers are made so you can get along with others. Probably the only reason I've never really had a fight with any of my friends is because I've had so many with Clyde I'm nearly above them. The result is that I get along well with pretty much everyone, because now I know how to avoid a fight. The role of the sibling is very necessary indeed.
One benefit of brothers is how wonderful it is to feel proud of them. It may be that he's graduated top of his class, or writes an amazing musical piece, or makes a point in basketball that's the turning point of the game. But it's a healthy thing to feel proud of others, and brothers are a prime model to do it by.
Brothers are great in other ways too, even if they tease like crazy. Such as helping give you a more well-rounded movie taste for action and such. But they won't be too snobby if you like the girl things either; actually, Chad was the one that gave me Beauty and the Beast, Craig gave me Ever After, and Clyde owns Pride and Prejudice. Not bad, eh? However, they have their limits. Not to mention them being around to scream in horror whenever you put on the slightest form of make up. Probably why I never really liked the stuff too much.
There are other roles in the family circle that people may not think about. It is the Dad's job to school his older sons in the ways of physical education, is it not? Therefore it is the older son's duty to learn the younger son in the athletic ways. But what if this younger son is not a son, but a daughter? Surely it is no longer the older son's responsibility to worry about, is it? Wrong! I believe it is just as much the older brother's job to teach his little sister sports as it is to teach a little brother. If any older brothers out there are wondering why their younger sisters are so awful at every sport they attempt (or despise sports, merely because they can't play them) they must realize that is mostly their very own fault. In fact, although there are a few exceptions, some of the most athletic girls you see out there have either a big brother or an active father.
I must admit that I have some of the best examples of brotherly teachers. If not for my brothers, I probably would loathe sports. For if not for them I probably wouldn't be able to serve, bump, or spike a volleyball, hit, throw, or catch a ball, or even know how to shoot a basketball correctly. Each of these valuable skills they have dutifully taught me, with utmost (and I mean utmost!) patience and diligence, and I don't know what I would have done without them. Why, even last night, Clyde and I went down to the gym just so that he could try to teach me how to throw better. Then we addressed the matter of warball, and as kindly as a brother may, whammed some hard ones at me (the kind that burns like fire even when it nicks your arm) just so that I could practice catching them. Now that's what you call a sacrifice!
So now that I've given so much credit to them, maybe they won't complain as loudly that I'm on the computer too long. I guess that's just another job of the brother.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Breaking a bad habit the hard way
During the girls' week a few of us shared our embarrassing moments. I accidentally omitted one of mine merely because I completely forgot about it. So now I shall draw it forth from the shadows (actually I like to tell it frequently when I remember it:) and present it to you now in this new and different light. First I shall say that one of my favorite persons to tell this story to is one who has a particular bad habit that I used to share. I will not give his name but say that he is one of my brothers and a blogger. Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me to reveal his identity.
Once upon a time, when I was about eight, I was visiting a sibling or two in Indianapolis. While there I met an interesting person. Her name is Donna Conley, she was about 20 at the time, and she is well known for her sense of humor. She even tried to pull the wool over my eyes and make me repeat after her: "Owha tagoo si-am." You should try it sometime. Say it out loud: "Owha tagoo si-am." Now faster. Come on! Faster! Perhaps you fell for it or was hesitant like I was, but you may have already figured out that you're saying, "Oh what a goose I am." Brilliant, is it not?
That wasn't my embarrassing moment.
It came when I was at the dinner table. For those of you that don't know, ITC has a large dining room, polka dotted with many round tables adorned with white table cloths and such (if I remember correctly). I was sitting at one of these doing one of my beloved activities. I was blowing bubbles! No, I'm afraid I didn't have bubble soap with me, but if you haven't already guessed it, I was using my spittle. Sitting there, in my own ponderous little world, seeing how big I could make my bubbles while listening to other's conversations. It never occurred to me that other people could actually see me doing this. Donna Conley was sitting almost across from me, saying something to the person next to her, when I noticed that her eyes were fixed on me. Undaunted, I stared back to listen to her conversation, scarcely aware of the occasional popping sound that issued from the area of my mouth. It was too much for Donna. In near mid-sentence, she burst out quickly as if afraid she would start laughing before she was finished: "Why are you blowing bubbles with your spit?" I was dumbfounded. She had actually seen me doing it? I couldn't believe it! I was simply mortified. But I'll tell you, I don't think I ever blew bubbles in public again.
Once upon a time, when I was about eight, I was visiting a sibling or two in Indianapolis. While there I met an interesting person. Her name is Donna Conley, she was about 20 at the time, and she is well known for her sense of humor. She even tried to pull the wool over my eyes and make me repeat after her: "Owha tagoo si-am." You should try it sometime. Say it out loud: "Owha tagoo si-am." Now faster. Come on! Faster! Perhaps you fell for it or was hesitant like I was, but you may have already figured out that you're saying, "Oh what a goose I am." Brilliant, is it not?
That wasn't my embarrassing moment.
It came when I was at the dinner table. For those of you that don't know, ITC has a large dining room, polka dotted with many round tables adorned with white table cloths and such (if I remember correctly). I was sitting at one of these doing one of my beloved activities. I was blowing bubbles! No, I'm afraid I didn't have bubble soap with me, but if you haven't already guessed it, I was using my spittle. Sitting there, in my own ponderous little world, seeing how big I could make my bubbles while listening to other's conversations. It never occurred to me that other people could actually see me doing this. Donna Conley was sitting almost across from me, saying something to the person next to her, when I noticed that her eyes were fixed on me. Undaunted, I stared back to listen to her conversation, scarcely aware of the occasional popping sound that issued from the area of my mouth. It was too much for Donna. In near mid-sentence, she burst out quickly as if afraid she would start laughing before she was finished: "Why are you blowing bubbles with your spit?" I was dumbfounded. She had actually seen me doing it? I couldn't believe it! I was simply mortified. But I'll tell you, I don't think I ever blew bubbles in public again.
Monday, July 11, 2005
CAUTION: May contain gory details
I went to the eye doctor today. It was the long awaited appointment to get my contacts. Sure, sure, I know--I'm falling under another "fad thing," and it's true I'm really gullible to such things. But it's also credited that I've had numerous times with my glasses uh, making contact with a ball. It's really a curse glasses people possess. Pretty much anyone that owns a pair of glasses and wears them to sports has some kind of magnet in them that demands a ball to hit them. It doesn't matter what kind of pain it may cause to the owner, or to the glasses themselves for that matter (I won't tell you how many times I've had to bend my glasses back into shape. . . I've lost count). It just is that a ball feels obligated to hit someone in the head if they're wearing glasses. And more than once has this whim of the ball drawn blood from me. . . digging into my skin to reveal the juicy red contents beneath. That's why I went to the doctor's office.
So la de da, I go ambling into the office with my mom, only just a mite nervous. I went on into the familiar exam room with the long little tunnel and a rectangle of projected letters at the end. Dr. Wyman, an older, soft spoken, whiskered man possessing a fine pair of glasses (of course) pulled out the dreaded and longed for contacts. Then, with as much gentleness he could muster without being entirely brutal, he thrust each contact into my eye. I revolted at this insane poking, then shuddered as he bored bright lights into my brain. I like my eye doctor, but he does use extravagant methods of torture.
Next I went into a different room where a small lighted mirror stood waiting for me on the counter. Lisa, a middle aged woman with reddish hair and brown eyes then began to instruct me in the knowledgeable way of contacts. Then came the hard part: the process of removing my contacts. I had to use my middle left finger to firmly hold my eyelid up, use my middle right finger to pull my eye down, use my right index finger to drag the contact down off my iris, then use my thumb to brush against my eye and pinch the contact off. Now I realize that a few of my readers wear contacts--this is supposed to be easy, right? Wrong! It is by no means a simple thing, but at least if you have a good memory you can recall your own tormenting first tries and can relate to my unceasingly unfruitful attempts. I tried and tried again, to no avail.
Then a dreadful and all too familiar thing began to occur. I began to feel faint. Alas for those blessed with no health mysteries! For this is a problem I have had for several months--I can recall at least three definite other times (if not possibly four or five) where I began to pass out. You start feeling what some would call lightheaded, but it's more complicated than that. Sometimes it starts in your stomach, sometimes in your head, and it is indeed a feeling quite indescribable. But then you start feeling cold, cold as the blood drains from your head and you start feeling hot too in waves, then hearing becomes muffled. If you haven't yet done anything to prevent your swoon from going any further, your vision will start to gray, then cloud into blackness. I have not ever passed this stage, and hopefully I never will continue on into complete unconsciousness. The closest I ever came to fainting was actually in the lab at the hospital. Perhaps you've heard the story, but if you ever are dying for it I believe I have some gory details written down nearby that I could post if it's truly desired.
Anyway, as for my experience at the eye doctor's. Eventually I managed to transfer myself from my chair to the floor, where I propped my feet up on a chair. Dr. Wyman came in and carefully situated me to make sure I was comfortable. Sure, I was on the floor and my hair clip was cutting into my scalp, but other than that I was fine. Gradually I felt better, and situated myself once again in my chair where I chatted with Lisa for a little while and sipped orange juice that she offered from her own lunch box. After a brief conference with my mom, who had been gone during my incident earlier but was now returned, I made the decision that I would continue with my appointment. So with a sigh and a grit of determination I plopped down in my chair once again and set to with getting out the silly contact. With more work I soon dragged the Thing out of my eye, and awhile later I succeeded in getting out the other. Oh dear now I had to get them in again. To my surprise, I got it in on my second or third try. Soon the second one followed, more maneuvering and they came out, then back they went in again. With a great feeling of triumph I left the office over two hours after I entered it. I had persevered and vanquished my enemy. Even though I had to use countless numbers of tissues to do it.
Poor contacts. . . they just suffered such a rough abuse from the likes of me. Now I shall give them some words of affirmation to boost them up again. Well, first thing, I don't have to worry about my glasses getting crushed anymore. I was in the gym this afternoon and I winced as a ball grazed my cheek then realized I had hardly anything to worry about. Another plus is that I can wear regular sunglasses--not just clip-ons. Not to mention that I can see things out of the corner of my eye in a way that you can't with glasses, then also I can possibly wear my contacts when I go swimming (if I'm careful of course) and then I shall be able to see much better. Last of all, I won't always be having Clyde incessantly pushing my glasses up my nose which is one of his favorite pastimes because he knows it annoys me. You so lose, Clyde.
So la de da, I go ambling into the office with my mom, only just a mite nervous. I went on into the familiar exam room with the long little tunnel and a rectangle of projected letters at the end. Dr. Wyman, an older, soft spoken, whiskered man possessing a fine pair of glasses (of course) pulled out the dreaded and longed for contacts. Then, with as much gentleness he could muster without being entirely brutal, he thrust each contact into my eye. I revolted at this insane poking, then shuddered as he bored bright lights into my brain. I like my eye doctor, but he does use extravagant methods of torture.
Next I went into a different room where a small lighted mirror stood waiting for me on the counter. Lisa, a middle aged woman with reddish hair and brown eyes then began to instruct me in the knowledgeable way of contacts. Then came the hard part: the process of removing my contacts. I had to use my middle left finger to firmly hold my eyelid up, use my middle right finger to pull my eye down, use my right index finger to drag the contact down off my iris, then use my thumb to brush against my eye and pinch the contact off. Now I realize that a few of my readers wear contacts--this is supposed to be easy, right? Wrong! It is by no means a simple thing, but at least if you have a good memory you can recall your own tormenting first tries and can relate to my unceasingly unfruitful attempts. I tried and tried again, to no avail.
Then a dreadful and all too familiar thing began to occur. I began to feel faint. Alas for those blessed with no health mysteries! For this is a problem I have had for several months--I can recall at least three definite other times (if not possibly four or five) where I began to pass out. You start feeling what some would call lightheaded, but it's more complicated than that. Sometimes it starts in your stomach, sometimes in your head, and it is indeed a feeling quite indescribable. But then you start feeling cold, cold as the blood drains from your head and you start feeling hot too in waves, then hearing becomes muffled. If you haven't yet done anything to prevent your swoon from going any further, your vision will start to gray, then cloud into blackness. I have not ever passed this stage, and hopefully I never will continue on into complete unconsciousness. The closest I ever came to fainting was actually in the lab at the hospital. Perhaps you've heard the story, but if you ever are dying for it I believe I have some gory details written down nearby that I could post if it's truly desired.
Anyway, as for my experience at the eye doctor's. Eventually I managed to transfer myself from my chair to the floor, where I propped my feet up on a chair. Dr. Wyman came in and carefully situated me to make sure I was comfortable. Sure, I was on the floor and my hair clip was cutting into my scalp, but other than that I was fine. Gradually I felt better, and situated myself once again in my chair where I chatted with Lisa for a little while and sipped orange juice that she offered from her own lunch box. After a brief conference with my mom, who had been gone during my incident earlier but was now returned, I made the decision that I would continue with my appointment. So with a sigh and a grit of determination I plopped down in my chair once again and set to with getting out the silly contact. With more work I soon dragged the Thing out of my eye, and awhile later I succeeded in getting out the other. Oh dear now I had to get them in again. To my surprise, I got it in on my second or third try. Soon the second one followed, more maneuvering and they came out, then back they went in again. With a great feeling of triumph I left the office over two hours after I entered it. I had persevered and vanquished my enemy. Even though I had to use countless numbers of tissues to do it.
Poor contacts. . . they just suffered such a rough abuse from the likes of me. Now I shall give them some words of affirmation to boost them up again. Well, first thing, I don't have to worry about my glasses getting crushed anymore. I was in the gym this afternoon and I winced as a ball grazed my cheek then realized I had hardly anything to worry about. Another plus is that I can wear regular sunglasses--not just clip-ons. Not to mention that I can see things out of the corner of my eye in a way that you can't with glasses, then also I can possibly wear my contacts when I go swimming (if I'm careful of course) and then I shall be able to see much better. Last of all, I won't always be having Clyde incessantly pushing my glasses up my nose which is one of his favorite pastimes because he knows it annoys me. You so lose, Clyde.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Little Black Sambo
Last night after Sabbath meeting we were discussing some of the things posted on Katie's blog about her mom and my mom. They are a pair when their jaws start flapping at eachother in continuous teasing (all loving of course:). I guess my mom used to call her Little Black Sambo some years back, which was rather amusing. I had never heard the term before, so I was inquiring in wonderment where it could have originated. My dad came up with an astonishing reply something like this, "You know, the story about the lions that ran in circles that then melted into butter and poured molasses on their pancakes." Their was a brief moment of stunned silence before my mother and I went off into peals of laughter. My dad grinned, but he was adamant that yes, there was some sort of fairy tale like that which had a Little Black Sambo in it, and just because I had never heard of it didn't mean it doesn't exist. My mom did discover the book with Little Black Sambo in it this morning. However, whether it has lions melting into butter will yet remain a mystery.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
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Whoo-hoo I'm back.
Whoo-hoo I'm back. I've been gone to the Cousins from Monday to Wednesday having a high old time (both playing and working). I helped out a little on Vacation Bibleschool which was enjoyable, especially the water fight with the five-year-olds (four little girls and Jed:). I sometimes would have four of them squirting at me at once or have them in hot pursuit through the woods squealing, "Ooh, she's a good one!" And telling me to say my prayers and eat water. Very cute when it comes from a blue eyed, pig-tailed little girl.
I never enlightened you all about one of my family's first Forced Family Fun (or that's what it's called in the Paul Brown family:). Last Sunday for Father's Day we went down to the gym to play basketball for my dad. Everyone that was home played--even my mom! Yes, my mom can actually wield a basketball, something I'm not sure I'd ever seen her touch before this time. The teams were Daddy, Craig, and Mom against Clyde and me. Originally we were going to play to seven points, but we said they had to win by two so the game dragged on. My shooting was horrible, but my D was okay, considering I had to guard my dad who everyone knows is much bigger and stronger than me.:D I felt bad for Clyde that he didn't have someone better on his team though. I succeeded in getting a grand total of one point, and even that was surprising because as I shot my dad's hand soared up and my throw had a huge arch. . . right into the basket. In the end Clyde and I won 13-11 having played a good hard half hour of basketball with the family. And it was fun.
I never enlightened you all about one of my family's first Forced Family Fun (or that's what it's called in the Paul Brown family:). Last Sunday for Father's Day we went down to the gym to play basketball for my dad. Everyone that was home played--even my mom! Yes, my mom can actually wield a basketball, something I'm not sure I'd ever seen her touch before this time. The teams were Daddy, Craig, and Mom against Clyde and me. Originally we were going to play to seven points, but we said they had to win by two so the game dragged on. My shooting was horrible, but my D was okay, considering I had to guard my dad who everyone knows is much bigger and stronger than me.:D I felt bad for Clyde that he didn't have someone better on his team though. I succeeded in getting a grand total of one point, and even that was surprising because as I shot my dad's hand soared up and my throw had a huge arch. . . right into the basket. In the end Clyde and I won 13-11 having played a good hard half hour of basketball with the family. And it was fun.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Various happy happenings
Last night we went to Chad's play: the one and only Music Man. He was playing a lead role (Marcellus to be precise--I pity those who don't know who that is) and naturally I was very excited. I invited Jane and Diane to come with my family since Brandon and Mary were gone and we thought they deserved a fun break. My happiness was complete when I discovered the Cousins (if you don't know who they are, they're the E. Sandford kids) there also, in all their dirty tan glory.:D
The play was pretty good, but I've seen the movie so many time I know the dialogue pretty well and if they talk in a way that's not a bit alike to the movie, it feels quite odd (sorry that was kind of boring but it's quite true). Chad did a really good job on his solo song, Shipoopee, (yeah right, talk about bizarre) and sang really high. The only problem was that the mic. didn't seem to pick him up very well during then so we couldn't hear him satisfactorily.
I felt really bad for the quartet in the play. I had heard that they had had a really hard time finding people to sing in that role with its tricky parts. So apparently they just got who they could. Oh dear. Some of them weren't too bad, but the er, soprano (what else am I to call him?) didn't always sing his part accurately and he looked rather uncomfortable. They didn't always sing quite on key also, but to give them credit, they were singing acapella.
Afterwards all of us gathered in a cluster near Chad, and the lady who acted Mrs. Shinn came around the corner. She gave us a rosy grin and said, "So this is the Marcellus fan club, huh?" and laughed boisterously. We thought it was pretty funny. And even as we left to go out the door she declared, "There goes the Marcellus fan club!" We laughed and continued out into the damp night.
We didn't get home until ten minutes of midnight. When we did, I found a postcard waiting for me. It said in bold letters at the top: "A CHANCE OF A LIFE TIME; YOU COULD BE NEXT!" It turned out that it was an offer to compete in the Miss Newhampshire Teen USA Pageant. Good grief, how did these people get my name and know I was the right age? Maybe they send it to every single girl and hope she's the right age. It is a bit strange however. Don't worry, I don't think I'm going to try out to be Miss Newhampshire. It's not really my thing.:-)
Ooh, that was weird. I just looked down and saw a little green bug crawling on my arm. I slapped him repeatedly in hopes to end his miserable little life but he refused to die! Craig generously got me a tissue at my request and I squeezed him until I felt the relinquishing crush. haha (sorry, I couldn't resist!)
Anyway--ahem! Today Jane, Diane, and I played our songs that we prepared last week and it went really well. By the way, sorry I didn't finish my story of our last Sunday's experience; Mr. Hansen did feel badly and I didn't want it to seem I was leaving that part out just to knock him.
After Sundayschool we swang our way right into the potluck. Which reminds me. . . have you heard of the church that was so religious about not believing in luck that they called them potblessings? haha Well this potluck was adorned with salad of almost every kind, as well as the usual scrumptious desserts.
Awhile after we had stuffed our bellies to the limit, we went on to the good old softball. The grass was wicked slippery, the bugs were just a bit annoying, but the playing was great. I didn't do anything too fabulous though, except hit the ball, run, and stop a grounder. Others had awesome plays though from sweet catches to eye-squinting triples. No home runs on this game.:( But we ended with plenty of good will and my team winning. I love that combination.:D
The play was pretty good, but I've seen the movie so many time I know the dialogue pretty well and if they talk in a way that's not a bit alike to the movie, it feels quite odd (sorry that was kind of boring but it's quite true). Chad did a really good job on his solo song, Shipoopee, (yeah right, talk about bizarre) and sang really high. The only problem was that the mic. didn't seem to pick him up very well during then so we couldn't hear him satisfactorily.
I felt really bad for the quartet in the play. I had heard that they had had a really hard time finding people to sing in that role with its tricky parts. So apparently they just got who they could. Oh dear. Some of them weren't too bad, but the er, soprano (what else am I to call him?) didn't always sing his part accurately and he looked rather uncomfortable. They didn't always sing quite on key also, but to give them credit, they were singing acapella.
Afterwards all of us gathered in a cluster near Chad, and the lady who acted Mrs. Shinn came around the corner. She gave us a rosy grin and said, "So this is the Marcellus fan club, huh?" and laughed boisterously. We thought it was pretty funny. And even as we left to go out the door she declared, "There goes the Marcellus fan club!" We laughed and continued out into the damp night.
We didn't get home until ten minutes of midnight. When we did, I found a postcard waiting for me. It said in bold letters at the top: "A CHANCE OF A LIFE TIME; YOU COULD BE NEXT!" It turned out that it was an offer to compete in the Miss Newhampshire Teen USA Pageant. Good grief, how did these people get my name and know I was the right age? Maybe they send it to every single girl and hope she's the right age. It is a bit strange however. Don't worry, I don't think I'm going to try out to be Miss Newhampshire. It's not really my thing.:-)
Ooh, that was weird. I just looked down and saw a little green bug crawling on my arm. I slapped him repeatedly in hopes to end his miserable little life but he refused to die! Craig generously got me a tissue at my request and I squeezed him until I felt the relinquishing crush. haha (sorry, I couldn't resist!)
Anyway--ahem! Today Jane, Diane, and I played our songs that we prepared last week and it went really well. By the way, sorry I didn't finish my story of our last Sunday's experience; Mr. Hansen did feel badly and I didn't want it to seem I was leaving that part out just to knock him.
After Sundayschool we swang our way right into the potluck. Which reminds me. . . have you heard of the church that was so religious about not believing in luck that they called them potblessings? haha Well this potluck was adorned with salad of almost every kind, as well as the usual scrumptious desserts.
Awhile after we had stuffed our bellies to the limit, we went on to the good old softball. The grass was wicked slippery, the bugs were just a bit annoying, but the playing was great. I didn't do anything too fabulous though, except hit the ball, run, and stop a grounder. Others had awesome plays though from sweet catches to eye-squinting triples. No home runs on this game.:( But we ended with plenty of good will and my team winning. I love that combination.:D
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Leaping lice
Yesterday a beautiful day turned dark. The deep clouds from the underworld blocked the view of the sun and everything was tinted a gloomy gray. Very soon it started to rain. At least we thought it was rain at first. "It's hailing!" Clyde ejaculated, and he ran out to reel in his bike. I went out onto the porch to examine the falling material more closely, and yes, it was indeed hail! It was pelting down at a furious rate, as if some giants from heaven were bombarding us with their white bullet machine guns. After rescuing my bike from the torrent of pea-sized ice balls, I watched in fascination from the porch as the hail quickly accumulated on our walkway. It reminded me of a picture I had developed a few years ago when watching hail from the Hansen's front window and thinking it looked like leaping lice on the ground milling about in confusion. Ugh, what a picture. . . and I don't even know what lice looks like!
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Some simple things of life
This morning I found myself singing "A Spoonful of Sugar" as I went about the house. Suddenly I realized with simultaneous horror and amusement that I was singing, "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine stay down! The medicine stay dow-own, medicine STAY down!" For some reason that struck me as funny at the time. Ah, the oddities of life!
I had an interesting time messing with some great recording software on my dad's lap-top. I tried to record over while singing the different parts to "All the Earth Rejoice" but failed miserably. Then I tried the more placid "Dona Nobis Pachem" with a little more success. Wow I actually got to hear three of me singing at once.:-)
I also started on learning Morse Code. It was something that I thought would be a good thing to know as I got my ham radio licence, but I decided to wait until summer vacation before attempting that vast project. I had forgotten completely about it until yesterday, so I figured I better get busy. It's amazing how one has to memorize senseless beeps and screeches so that eventually those sounds actually take meaning. Very fascinating stuff, I think.
I had an interesting time messing with some great recording software on my dad's lap-top. I tried to record over while singing the different parts to "All the Earth Rejoice" but failed miserably. Then I tried the more placid "Dona Nobis Pachem" with a little more success. Wow I actually got to hear three of me singing at once.:-)
I also started on learning Morse Code. It was something that I thought would be a good thing to know as I got my ham radio licence, but I decided to wait until summer vacation before attempting that vast project. I had forgotten completely about it until yesterday, so I figured I better get busy. It's amazing how one has to memorize senseless beeps and screeches so that eventually those sounds actually take meaning. Very fascinating stuff, I think.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Glad to be proved wrong
I did a slightly embarassing thing last night. Clyde was on-line talking to Bria, and it reminded me that I had thought I had heard that Bria had cut her hair. Like really cut it--almost a boy's cut. So I asked Clyde if he'd heard that. He apparently hadn't, and he started uttering unthinkable curses to Bria and exclaimed with great incredulity, "YOU CUT YOUR HAIR!!!!" Bria's only response was, that no she hadn't. Anyway, to make a long story short, I looked it up in the e-mail that Cara had sent me about it and I found out that no, it wasn't Bria that cut her hair but someone else. I don't know how that happened--I wondered if I'd dreamed it. And I also was kind of mad at Bria for doing such a thing because she has like the prettiest hair of anyone I know. It's a good thing that I didn't tell the whole world the nightmare that I was believing.
Monday, June 13, 2005
"A little lass named Olga"
I own a troll. How many people own something like that? I am indeed very lucky. I had seen her when I was in Norway at various shops, and when we went to the Arctic Circle, I actually considered buying her. But she cost about 115 kroner (which equals roughly $18 dollars for you ignorant ones), and I didn't buy her. Then I saw her again at Geiranger, this time for 65 kroner (about $10), and I bit the hook.
Some would call her ugly, but I don't think so. I think she is actually quite cute. She has wild black hair that flies every which way, and bright eyes. She's crouched on two wooden skies, and a long nose and impish grin adorn her face. That is my troll.
Although I staunchly tried to name her Glinda, I have the distinct desire to call her Olga. Why would I want to call her by a name that I have never liked? The answer is quite simple: Dave Hansen. That's not simple? Well I shall explain.
Before we embarked upon our trip for Norway, Clyde asked Dave if there was anything that he wanted him to bring back for him. His only response was to bring him back "a little lass named Olga." He had no idea what kind of effect those words would have on our family. When Clyde told us the story, we thought it was all a great joke (especially since Olga isn't even a Norwegian name:), but then we began to look around us. Frequently we would see a native girl or a doll and wonder if that could be Olga. Could it be the one for Dave? We weren't really sure. In any case, we christened our faithful Toyota Caravelle "Blue Olga" just in case.
It was me that first came up with the theory that perhaps Olga could be a troll. I found one in the Trondheim mall and pointed her out to Clyde. Evil imaginings were provoked into action. The next day was our trip to the Arctic Circle, and there Clyde purchased Dave's bonnie lass: a wrinkled little lady, oblivious to her ugliness and admiring her mushrooms. The perfect match.
So that's my explanation. Who wouldn't feel compelled to name their troll Olga after a history such as this? I only hope Dave never reads this.
Some would call her ugly, but I don't think so. I think she is actually quite cute. She has wild black hair that flies every which way, and bright eyes. She's crouched on two wooden skies, and a long nose and impish grin adorn her face. That is my troll.
Although I staunchly tried to name her Glinda, I have the distinct desire to call her Olga. Why would I want to call her by a name that I have never liked? The answer is quite simple: Dave Hansen. That's not simple? Well I shall explain.
Before we embarked upon our trip for Norway, Clyde asked Dave if there was anything that he wanted him to bring back for him. His only response was to bring him back "a little lass named Olga." He had no idea what kind of effect those words would have on our family. When Clyde told us the story, we thought it was all a great joke (especially since Olga isn't even a Norwegian name:), but then we began to look around us. Frequently we would see a native girl or a doll and wonder if that could be Olga. Could it be the one for Dave? We weren't really sure. In any case, we christened our faithful Toyota Caravelle "Blue Olga" just in case.
It was me that first came up with the theory that perhaps Olga could be a troll. I found one in the Trondheim mall and pointed her out to Clyde. Evil imaginings were provoked into action. The next day was our trip to the Arctic Circle, and there Clyde purchased Dave's bonnie lass: a wrinkled little lady, oblivious to her ugliness and admiring her mushrooms. The perfect match.
So that's my explanation. Who wouldn't feel compelled to name their troll Olga after a history such as this? I only hope Dave never reads this.
An indecisive choice
I am now going to explain my blog address. Perhaps you've been wondering where something like that came from (Clyde thinks I'm really weird because of it). Frankly, choosing a name was literal agony. For those who know me, decisiveness is not my constant quality--I can very much relate to someone like Melissa or Craig, who are famous for their indecision. Perhaps a dozen different names swam through my noggin, how empty it may be, and I could find very little that was satisfactory. Ideas varied from the odd "Pigpen" to the more eloquent "king'sdaughtervictorious." I was really suffering. Craig even tried to be helpful. He gave the suggestion dogsnot.blogspot.com. This quite tickled me, but tempted as I was, I didn't think I could quite stand going to a site named such for the next several months. Who wants their address named dogsnot anyway?
I was browsing in Encarta (our 2003 computer reference library that's abounding in knowledge) about quotes concerning the pen. I pondered on one quote by Sir Walter Scott, "I'll make thee famous by my pen, and glorious by my sword." I liked it, but having an address like "famousbymypen" sounds a bit too proud. Then I came to it. The quote by Miguel de Cervantes: "The pen is the tongue of the mind." Thus another idea was sprouted, and apparently that was the one that grew.
I was browsing in Encarta (our 2003 computer reference library that's abounding in knowledge) about quotes concerning the pen. I pondered on one quote by Sir Walter Scott, "I'll make thee famous by my pen, and glorious by my sword." I liked it, but having an address like "famousbymypen" sounds a bit too proud. Then I came to it. The quote by Miguel de Cervantes: "The pen is the tongue of the mind." Thus another idea was sprouted, and apparently that was the one that grew.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Forgotten
I now know what it's like to be forgotten. Today Diane and Jane Turner and I had a song ready for church. It was just a couple of hymns that we were going to play with our various instrumental abilities (meaning violins, flute, and piano). We'd practiced a bunch this past week, and we got together early before church and set up, practiced and everything. Mr. Hansen, who was going to have the service, was there and thanked us for doing this. Well what do you know he forgot all about us. He went through the entire service completely oblivious to the fact that we were almost on the edge of our seats wondering when he would call us up. And he never did. oops
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Loosed from my chains
Okay. I'm actually doing it. I'm blogging--can you believe it? I first have a confession to make: I have not been fond of blogs. The reason is quite simple. Because of my family's internet protection thing I've not been able to access a single blog. Seriously, even as my friends have one by one gotten blogs I've been left alone in my own world of abandonment. Not quite. Though I did feel like the number of e-mails I received weren't quite as plentiful as they might have been had the person not been a possessor of a blog.
So there you have it. I have been bound in the chains of desertion and utter loneliness. Left alone in a dark cell, with a piece of cake that I am unable to attain because it lies just out of my grasp. That's what it has felt like to not have a blog, and so you can understand that is why I've not been particularly fond of them.
The fact remains, however, that I'm here. How so? My bonds have been loosed by none other than my dad, hero of heroes, who has somehow managed to change our internet protection just enough so that we can access and/or write blogs. With this, I've had a change of heart so that now I am a possessor of a blog, which I so recently secretly despised. Surprise surprise.:-)
So there you have it. I have been bound in the chains of desertion and utter loneliness. Left alone in a dark cell, with a piece of cake that I am unable to attain because it lies just out of my grasp. That's what it has felt like to not have a blog, and so you can understand that is why I've not been particularly fond of them.
The fact remains, however, that I'm here. How so? My bonds have been loosed by none other than my dad, hero of heroes, who has somehow managed to change our internet protection just enough so that we can access and/or write blogs. With this, I've had a change of heart so that now I am a possessor of a blog, which I so recently secretly despised. Surprise surprise.:-)
My incredible occurences
So now I shall describe my life. To do so would be an utter impossibility. Interesting things aren't always popping my way all the time, I'm afraid. So until I come up with fascinating stories about my children, or wait till when my sister breaks her wrist, or rescue my mom's glasses from whirling down the depths of a toilet, or until my skirt gets caught in my bike, or I have an annoying dentist appointment, or I cry "You shall not pass!" to my cat, or I attend a CPR class, or I get angry at some anti-Bush madman, etc, etc, etc, I'll have to content myself with doodling along until something incredible happens to me. Hopefully you won't have to wait too long.
Yesterday was quite a day. It was extremely hot and sticky. I did my Friday cleaning with as much vigor as I could muster in the weather. I cleaned the kids' bathroom, cleaned my room, and vacuumed upstairs, downstairs, and THE stairs. Vacuuming is quite warm work. It can even be a work out, depending on how heavy the vacuum is. Who knows, maybe it'll be the next Olympic sport--it's recreational, and productive!
Anyway, about my day. When I was done, I hopped on my bike and went down to the ball field to go running. Ouch. I came back with nearly every inch of me bathed in perspiration. I was very much relieved when not long afterward my mom took me down to the lake for a dip. I'll tell ya, it was freezing! I was determined to get wet though, so I plunged bravely onward into the lakes cool depths. One dunk and I was definitely cooled down.:-) After a little while longer the lake actually began to feel quite nice.
That evening mom, Craig, and I left for my violin class in Peterborough. We got there, and the hall was very hot. Two huge fans bellowing out windstorms barely helped. There were the four other pupils of my teacher, all a good bit younger than me (perhaps two 7-year-olds, a 10 year-old, and a 11 year-old), and mostly in the Twinkle, Go tell Aunt Rhody stage. The rest of the people mostly included a few doting family members.
One annoying thing was that there was an older sister, about my age or a little older, that for the world of me reminded me of Katie Griffith. That's not the annoying thing. The annoying thing was that I felt like she kept staring at me. I can't stand being stared at by total strangers. It's one thing if they're little kids, but an older one really should know better. I did end up feeling kind of bad for her though because she was playing Go Tell Aunt Rhody with her sister on the piano and she messed up as she tried to start. Then she purposefully made up for it later by pounding out some amazing piece after the recital was over, I'm sure just to show that she could play.
I played my song with mom near the beginning, and I was glad to get it over with because it was the one I had to play from memory. Sure, the song was only from Suzuki book 2, but I was a bit worried about different counting and technique stuff that I was supposed to do. Later I played In Dreams with my teacher, Diana, and Craig (who was on the piano), then Ashokan Farewell, which is a beautiful, sad piece by Jay Ungar. Besides that I was pretty much either playing accompianment for students or just watching them play. Afterwards we stood around munching brownies or deliciously cool watermelon that different families had brought. I chatted some with a grandmother of one of the cute little girls (Ursula by name), and she poured oddly sincere flattery on me about my playing which made me feel warm and fuzzy.
With the class behind me, we drove on to stop for some of the Trinity graduation. Jess Mosher was graduatiing, as well as Dave H.'s postulate brother, and Mary Cramb (who few of you know, but she's a great Scotland fan and was graduating as valedictorian of her six person class).
With this all said and done, we went home to have a slightly belated Sabbath meeting. The evening was rounded out by rhubarb pie and Andy Griffith. Two very adequate complements I assure you.:-)
Yesterday was quite a day. It was extremely hot and sticky. I did my Friday cleaning with as much vigor as I could muster in the weather. I cleaned the kids' bathroom, cleaned my room, and vacuumed upstairs, downstairs, and THE stairs. Vacuuming is quite warm work. It can even be a work out, depending on how heavy the vacuum is. Who knows, maybe it'll be the next Olympic sport--it's recreational, and productive!
Anyway, about my day. When I was done, I hopped on my bike and went down to the ball field to go running. Ouch. I came back with nearly every inch of me bathed in perspiration. I was very much relieved when not long afterward my mom took me down to the lake for a dip. I'll tell ya, it was freezing! I was determined to get wet though, so I plunged bravely onward into the lakes cool depths. One dunk and I was definitely cooled down.:-) After a little while longer the lake actually began to feel quite nice.
That evening mom, Craig, and I left for my violin class in Peterborough. We got there, and the hall was very hot. Two huge fans bellowing out windstorms barely helped. There were the four other pupils of my teacher, all a good bit younger than me (perhaps two 7-year-olds, a 10 year-old, and a 11 year-old), and mostly in the Twinkle, Go tell Aunt Rhody stage. The rest of the people mostly included a few doting family members.
One annoying thing was that there was an older sister, about my age or a little older, that for the world of me reminded me of Katie Griffith. That's not the annoying thing. The annoying thing was that I felt like she kept staring at me. I can't stand being stared at by total strangers. It's one thing if they're little kids, but an older one really should know better. I did end up feeling kind of bad for her though because she was playing Go Tell Aunt Rhody with her sister on the piano and she messed up as she tried to start. Then she purposefully made up for it later by pounding out some amazing piece after the recital was over, I'm sure just to show that she could play.
I played my song with mom near the beginning, and I was glad to get it over with because it was the one I had to play from memory. Sure, the song was only from Suzuki book 2, but I was a bit worried about different counting and technique stuff that I was supposed to do. Later I played In Dreams with my teacher, Diana, and Craig (who was on the piano), then Ashokan Farewell, which is a beautiful, sad piece by Jay Ungar. Besides that I was pretty much either playing accompianment for students or just watching them play. Afterwards we stood around munching brownies or deliciously cool watermelon that different families had brought. I chatted some with a grandmother of one of the cute little girls (Ursula by name), and she poured oddly sincere flattery on me about my playing which made me feel warm and fuzzy.
With the class behind me, we drove on to stop for some of the Trinity graduation. Jess Mosher was graduatiing, as well as Dave H.'s postulate brother, and Mary Cramb (who few of you know, but she's a great Scotland fan and was graduating as valedictorian of her six person class).
With this all said and done, we went home to have a slightly belated Sabbath meeting. The evening was rounded out by rhubarb pie and Andy Griffith. Two very adequate complements I assure you.:-)
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