Ramblings of One Stuck in the Middle of Inbetween

A Tight and Uncomfortable Fitting Word

2011-04-10T21:22:00.002-04:00

For those of you who don't know, I'm getting married in 111 days. Well, practically 110 days now. Which is insane. Seriously. I've been in/helped plan approximately 1 bazillion weddings. I have now been proposed to, bought my wedding dress, paid for my wedding dress, found a photographer, caterer, venue... You get the point. I am entrenched in all things wedding. And yet... I'm not sure it's quite sunk in yet. Probably just because of the weirdness of it. I'll be turning 29 a few weeks after the big day, and yet a (very) large part of me still feels like a little kid. I'm not entirely sure that I should be allowed to drive, let alone be responsible enough to have a family. But, alas and alack, we are very quickly and surely heading towards the big day.

Planning a wedding is fun. And by fun, I mean interesting. Or another word equally making-a-point and being slightly ambiguous at the same time. It is actually fun, don't get me wrong. There's the spending hours on wedding blogs and flipping through magazines and thinking of all the brilliant and unique ideas that you could do for your big day (ya know, the ones that you likely stole from someone else). Then there's the interesting parts. Like, really getting a taste for compromise for the first time.

Ah, compromise. Everyone's favorite word. I know it sure is mine. *Ahem* Compromise. I don't wear that word so well. It doesn't fit quite right. It's a bit tight and uncomfortable most of the times. Even with stupid things like, those adorable, brilliant and unique centerpiece ideas that you stole from someone else and your fiancee shot it down in 2.5 seconds flat. (How he could not think they were cute is beyond me...) Compromise.

The phrase "pick your battles" has been one that has come up a lot in conversation as of late. It's one that I'm sure I will continue to learn every day, and one that I will most likely continue to not enjoy. I don't do well with that tight and uncomfortable fitting word. I don't like to compromise. Probably because I've never really had to do it much and now I'm faced with planning a major event with someone else who doesn't always agree with me. Which, by the way, I simply do not understand. I mean, I'm always right. Always. (See my next blog about humility. Coming soon to a web browser near you.)

And yet, here I am. Picking my battles on silly, not-actually-important things that yet are still important somehow. I've been told that I care about everything. I'm pretty sure that statement is entirely accurate. Sure, the color napkins we pick it not actually important. And yet it still matters to me. So, here I am. Compromising. Just like a big girl who is responsible and mature. Whatever that crap is about.

I suppose that this is just one of those stupid life lessons that we all need to learn. Even if it is tight and uncomfortable.

The Death of the Book

2011-04-09T21:10:00.003-04:00

Today I did something that seems wrong. I bought a Nook. To someone who loves the feel of a book in her hands, it's like an adultery of sorts. An ereader. Is there nothing sacred anymore?? Perhaps I should be left out in the stocks for a day, or at least required to do 10 hours of community service.

Granted, I felt the same way when I switched from film to digital. The pixelization of our culture has just gone too far. And yet... there was a sense of giddiness as I hit the "Purchase Now" button on Ebay. Instant access to BOOKS! Yessssss.... Does it really get any better?? I like to think of it in the broader term of instant access to knowledge, but I think that might be stretching it just a bit too far. Though, I guess I can't really even call them books anymore. They're ebooks. Ya know, the infamous "e" that means you can't touch it, can't feel it, but its there in its pixeled glory. The McDonaldization of our society continues...

I have to admit that I was until recently a bit stupid about ereaders. Did you know that you can, wait for it... lend books. Well, at least with the Nook. Which, apparently, is superior to the Kindle on at least one level. Not only that, but you can borrow ebooks from the library. Seriously?? That's gold right there.

As I continue to feed my techie side with all of these fun toys (ya know, the ones destroying the good, old-fashioned-ness of life), I can't help but wonder what's next. It's almost like the Jetsons have come to life in the 21st century. Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but seriously. I'm waiting for Google's recent April Fool's joke to come to reality, along with a host of other things. Who knows, maybe in 20 years we won't even need to talk to each others (which some of us might not mind so much on certain days), and "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" will come to reality in a city near you.

I do love keeping up with the latest techie trends. For obvious reasons, like, new toys. But also because I'm always intrigued by what new way someone has discovered to pixelize yet another formerly material object, or ways that we can have even less daily interaction with society.

It's intriguing, if nothing else. And, even though I have my sense of guilt, I will anxiously await my package of goodness that is set to arrive sometime in the next week and a half...

Back Home Again

2010-09-15T20:57:00.001-04:00

Here I am. Back "home" in Guatemala City. This is my third trip back and, yet again, I feel as if I've returned to my heart. It's still difficult to describe the ghetto when you see it in person. It's not just the devastation of poverty, but also the sadness, oppression, spiritual destitution. I have not been to Guatemala in 10 months, and as I viewed the slums of La Limonada once again, there was the return of that familiar feeling. There is just so much need.

How do you even tackle something as big as La Limonada? With somewhere between 60,000 to 100,000 people living in such poverty, how do you handle that? Thankfully, Tita did not let the gravity of the situation daunt her 16 years ago when she began her work in the ghetto. I often wonder if my faith would have been as strong as hers, to know that me, as one person, can make a difference. Perhaps it is an insecurity on my part, or a lack of faith in my God, but it can be a conscious effort sometimes to remember that me, as one person, can make a difference.

I believe it was "God timing" that I am currently reading Richard Stearns' book, "A Hole in Our Gospel." The current president of World Vision, a Christian aid organization, Richard has been faced with this same feeling since he began his tenure. This morning, as I sat and read, feeling tired from a night of restless sleep due to my mind being unable to shut off from thinking about the ghetto, I read a familiar story that I desperately needed to be reminded of.

Richard spoke of the story of a man who was walking on a beach, seeing millions of starfish that had been washed up by the waves. Without their ocean environment, they would die. The man considered trying to help, but became discouraged by the gravity of the situation. "Even if I try to help, I can't help them all," he thought. Then, he saw a man walking down the beach. Bending over, then straightening up, bending over, then straightening up. As he drew closer, he saw that the man was picking up the starfish and throwing them back in the water. "What are you doing?" he called to the other man. "There's no way that you can help them all. It won't make a difference!"

As the man picked up another starfish and tossed it into the ocean, he replied," It made a difference to that one."

Back Home Again

2010-09-13T00:15:00.003-04:00

Here I am again. Back home in Guatemala. It's almost funny how comfortable I am here, considering that I've only spent 3 weeks here, combined, over the last 18 months. There's just something about this country that speaks to me on a level that most other places I've been to just don't.

My time here thus far has been simply to relax and do a little sightseeing. Tomorrow... my first full day in the ghetto since my very first trip here. Since I spent my last week in Guatemala at an arts camp at the coast, I didn't get to spend any time in the ghetto. I can honestly say that I missed it, and as much as I loved my time at the arts camp, I knew after that that my next trip would mean my days being spend in the ghetto. I just needed to be there. I'm a little anxious about my time here, mainly because I'll be teaching dance for 4 hours a day, after almost an entire year sabbatical. I know that I'll love it and it will go smoothly, but there will probably always be some kind of sense of restlessness when I teach in this environment.

I am also selfishly anxious about my emotional reaction to being back in the ghetto. I know that I will return to the Lemonade House completely drained each evening. Even though it is beyond worth it, it is an exhausting experience.

I will try to update you during my time here to share with you more stories from the ghetto. I know that they're not always easy to read, but they are filled with truth about the experiences of other living in much less advantageous circumstances. I beg for the audience of your attention and time...

Experts at Not Thinking

2010-09-08T10:38:00.001-04:00

I realized something today. Since my recent relocation into center city Philadelphia, I have spent the last 5 days intentionally avoiding drinking the water out of the faucet. I simply don’t trust the water to be as clean and tasty as I might want it to be. This also got me thinking about the things we take for granted. Which, as anyone who takes a few minutes to think about will realize, is a lot. As a culture, we’ve become experts at not thinking about all of the conveniences that we have at our fingertips. Experts at not thinking. What a strange statement to make, when you really think about it. And yet, it’s very true. We don't think.

We don’t think about how we turn a knob and water comes out. We don’t think about how we push a handle and a toilet flushes. We don’t think about the fact that we can afford trash removal, and thus keep our streets and lawns clean. We don’t think.

What a shame. What an utter shame that we don’t think while there are people out there without clean water, without running sewage, without trash removal. Without food, and medicine, and hope. We don’t think.

I leave for my third trip to Guatemala in 3 days. I plan on thinking a lot over the next few weeks. I plan on thinking about all of my blessings, on a job that pays my bills, on easy access to the necessities of life. And then I plan on thinking about how I can make a difference in the lives of people who don’t have these simple things.

I plan on thinking.

Reason #127 I Feel Like a Mom

2010-08-08T14:03:00.002-04:00

I've been puppy sitting for the past few days. I love animals, and have always wanted a dog, so this was a particularly fun prospect. Now, remember, I have two cats. And a small apartment. Mix in a 3 month old huskador (or is that labsky?) and it was a recipe for a very interesting few days.

There's the age old advice that if you're thinking about having kids, get a puppy first. I can tell you from experience, this is in fact accurate. Now, I realize that I don't have kids, but good Lord, it certainly feels like being a mother to human children must be something similar to this. My house has looked like a bomb went off, there are toys littering my living room floor. I can't keep sharp objects on the edges of tables. I get nervous taking a shower for fear of what I might find in puppy's mouth when I am done. I can handle hew chewing on most things, as long as it's not one of my cats' legs or anything. I've chuckled at myself more than once in the past few days, recalling things my sister has said about motherhood and realizing that I've been feeling the same way about my 4 legged furry charge. The things that have come out of my mouth have been strikingly similar to utterance of my sister to my nieces and nephews. Things like, "get that out of your mouth!" "Stop chewing on the furniture!" "Do NOT eat the cat poop!!!!" *sigh*

Having a puppy in and of itself is really not so bad. Sure, it's a considerable amount of work. You have to drag yourself out of bed 45 minutes early to feed the dog, walk the dog, and play with the dog so that you don't come home to find your bathroom totally trashed. I don't think my landlord would appreciate my toilet having a hole chewed it in. But when the living space is so confined and there are 2 cats involved.... yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaah.

Bella, being the scaredy cat that she is, has spent the past few days hiding behind the curtain on my bedroom window sill. I've seen her approximately 4 times in the last 3 days. Oliver, on the other hand, is way too curious for his own good. And also stupid. He definitely wants to know what this thing is that barks and runs around. However, little puppy just wants to play with him, which he will have none of that. The ensuing chase has to have my downstairs neighbor pulling her hair out, as it happens at least 3 times an hour. It most sound something like a stampede from her vantage point. Maybe I should write her a note and apologize....

I think that Reason #127 that I feel like a parent this week just about any mother can relate to: I get terribly concerned when it's totally quiet. Either someone has chewed on something they shouldn't have and are silently choking to death. Or some kind of bad mischief is going on. So, for goodness sake puppy, please make sure that I can hear you at all times. Seriously.

Conversation Phobia

2010-08-01T22:29:00.002-04:00

I've recently come to a terrible conclusion: I'm one of those people who never returns phone calls. Seriously. It's bad. Unless you're family (or practically such) most likely, if you call me and I don't pick up, chances are you won't be hearing back from me. I really and sincerely don't do it on purpose. I just really hate talking on the phone.

I just remembered this evening that I have yet to return a phone call from someone with whom I haven't spoken in quite some time. I have no idea why this person called. They left a very vague message. However, I can tell you with absolute certainty, that it has been 2 weeks since I received the message, and I haven't even been able to remember that they called, let alone actually return the favor. It's terrible. I'll be the first to admit it.

I'm not sure when or why I started to hate talking on the phone. I honestly think it's some strange social anxiety. I'm not actually a socially anxious person, but I do have this odd phobia about being able to keep up conversations. I've been like this for years. This phobia is one of the main reasons that I always hated casual dates. What if I can't think of anything to say? What if there are those horrible awkward pauses in which there is no words to fill the void? Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!! Yes, these thoughts to actually go through my demented little brain. Color me strange, but it's just the way I am.

I am now remembering all of the phone calls that I've received in the past few months that haven't been returned. I'm slightly ashamed of myself. If you are one of those people who are awaiting a return call, you may want to just text me. Really. I'm almost guaranteed to get back to you that way.

Where, oh where, has my motivation gone?

2010-07-28T22:25:00.003-04:00

I really hate to admit it, but I think its time: I have an ever so slightly addictive personality. I mean, not addictive in things like substance abuse. I don't drink beer everyday or sneak cigarettes. No, this addiction is much less harmful on the physical side, but does perhaps have repercussions on other ends of my life. Such as, the productive side.

I've mentioned in the past my obsessive nature when it comes to fiction novels, which is why I tend to avoid them. It becomes an addiction. I should also avoid things like, oh, say the TV show "24" because I suddenly find myself watching multiple episodes every single freaking night instead of doing something productive. Like, cleaning. Or writing. Or making art with those records I purchased for that very reason. Or finally put together the mixed media piece that I bought canvases for 8 months ago. But, instead, here I sit. On episode number three for the evening. I did manage to work out a bit and do the dishes. When I left work, I had full intentions of starting to sift through all my junk in the basement in preparation for my upcoming move. Instead, I did nothing. Granted, I do have a pulled back so I can't be lifting or bending too much at the present moment. But still! Geez!

I seem to have lost my motivation for most things productive as of late. I can blame it on all sorts of things, but really, I am the culprit. Maybe I'm using all of my creative energy up at work. I think I really just need to get my patoot in gear.

The City or Something Just Like It

2010-07-27T19:57:00.002-04:00

I get ashamed sometimes when I look back and realize how long its been since I've written. Sometimes I try to make myself feel better with the reminder that the better part of my work day is spent staring at words, so maybe it's ok if I slack a bit on my fun writing. But, really, its just inexcusable.

My last month has been filled with some pretty major life changes, not the least of which was a rather sudden decision to move. Signing another year-long lease in Philly wasn't exactly part of the plan, but, last I checked, life rarely goes as planned. So, really, I shouldn't be surprised. I discovered that my current lease, which I had originally been told when I moved in would go month-to-month after the initial lease expired, in fact would do the exact opposite. I would have to either sign a minimum 6 month lease or be out within 6 weeks.

Again, not part of the plan. My entire reason for staying in my suburb-y apartment in the 'Yunk was that my lease was going month-to-month. With it verbalized on no uncertain terms that this would not happen, the hunt began. I hate apartment hunting. I know that it should be exciting, the beginnings of a new adventure and whatnot. But it is stressful. Like, yikes! My lease discovery was made on a Friday. On Saturday, I looked at my first apartment in.... Rittenhouse Square. *sigh*

I love Rittenhouse Square. Sure, it might be a little hoity toity, but it's so pretty and fancy and close to all things city. My favorite restaurant is in Rittenhouse Square. There's a farmers market there every Saturday. It's within walking distance to all the good shopping. There's a Barnes and Nobles and Anthropologie right there. How can this possibly be bad?

A mere 6 days after my search began, I found my almost dream apartment on the prettiest street in center city. I say "almost" because the kitchen is teenser, the bathroom has pink tiles, and there is no washer and dryer. Yeah, my rent will be going up, and my overall cost of living is guaranteed to increase. But it's the city and I feel like for the first time in a very, very long time I'm doing what I want to do just because I can do it. To other people, it might not seem like the smartest decision, but at least I won't have regrets about not living in a downtown area. At least I'll look back one day and know that I made a decision for me for once.

I have a feeling that I'll be inspired just by being there. The excitement, the hustle and bustle, the controlled chaos... It's going to be good. Now, let the packing commence....

I Think I'm Obsessed

2010-06-06T21:31:00.004-04:00

I don't read fiction novels very often. I used to be, in a sense, addicted to them in my younger days. Mostly silly romantic novels that filled my head with inaccurate ideas about how life would turn out. Boy, was that ever dumb. I sometimes wonder why my mother let her 10 year old fill her head with such nonsense. I suppose she was just happy that I was voluntarily reading in the first place, rather than having my eyeballs glued to the Nintendo or other such silliness that destroys a child's imagination. Of course, when you're an adult, it's perfectly acceptable to spend hours on end playing Lego Star Wars on the Xbox. Not that I've ever done that or anything. *ahem*

As I matured, I found myself leaning heavily into non-fiction picks, mostly about heavy subject matter, like how much Iranians really do hate the United States, or child soldiers in Uganda. I do feel that the masses are blinded to the realities of the world and are choosing to ignore the harshness of others' mentalities and existence. The written word is a powerful weapon in unveiling these circumstances, and I discern that my free time is best spent learning about such things. However, let's just be honest, the cruelty of the world is sometimes too much to bear and we need a little lightness in life. So this is where I turn to fiction.

My hands haven't touched a fiction novel in months. Perhaps even a year. Several days ago, I decided that the time had come to pick one up. I went to my bookshelf in eager anticipation.... and discovered that I literally did not have a single lighthearted fiction novel that was unread. I was quite devastated. So, I decided on a classic that I had yet to read. Lord of the Flies.

I quickly remembered another reason why I tend to shy away from fiction. I become obsessed. Literally. I'll sit and read for hours, neglecting other important tasks, you know, like eating, just to get in an extra few pages. It's a serious problem. I once read a 500+ page book in approximately 26 hours. I'm pretty sure someone should have admitted me into some kind of self-help program or something, because that is nothing short of absurd. The McDonald's gratification of movies is why I suppose that so many people enjoy the cinema. 2 hours. In, bam, boom, done. You have the entire storyline handed to you in less time than it takes to pluck a rooster. Or at least I would imagine so. I've never actually plucked a rooster. Anywhoo, there is a lot to be said for the quickness of film. You don't need to invest hours upon hours of your life, crazily turning the pages of a bound beauty to find out if Dick or Harry ends up getting the girl in the end, or if Jack is ever discovered for the accidental murder of his lover's former boyfriend.

Granted, reading keeps my mind alert, my eyeballs exercised, and my vocabulary stretched. I will just have to work on the obsessed part now, and maybe it'll all work out for me in the end. Oh, and in case you're wondering, Lord of the Flies isn't really a lighthearted novel. It's actually pretty disturbing. And I did manage to take my time with it. It took me 2 whole days to read.

Respect the Semicolon

2010-06-05T17:10:00.003-04:00

I don't have very many pet peeves. Though, I'm sure I have more than I'd like to admit. One of these said pet peeves is poor grammar. I loathe it. Its like fingernails down the chalkboard, the fork across a plate, the grind of a dentist's drill. I hate it. Its another stark reminder of our failure as a society to properly educate the younger masses to communicate properly.

I understand that some people are just not as prone to the appropriate usage of the English language. We all have our strengths, and lord knows, our weaknesses. Don't ask me to do fast math in my head. Its just not going to happen. Its not my strength. On the other hand, my wonderful boyfriend has a head for numbers and can compute mathematical problems in his head with more speed than I can even remember the elementary way to figure out the solution. However, his spelling isn't the greatest. And his grammar is lacking. Typically, this would drive me insane. However, all of his other redeeming qualities far outweigh the constant asking of how to spell things. (I love you, honey)

So, this being said, we all have our strengths. Which means that certain tasks should be left for certain people who happen to have an affinity for said occupations. As most of you know, my career in marketing leaves a large-ish chunk of my day immersed in writing and editing and other things of the like. I definitely do not claim to be Tennyson or Austen, or even Dan Brown for that matter (who, in my opinion, couldn't write a decent book if threatened to have acid poured into his eyeballs). However, my sentence structure is decent, and I like to think of myself as a mediocre writer. I do get paid to do it. This would leave me to believe that other non-professional marketing masters should probably leave the writing to the pros. This, unfortunately, does not always end up being the case.

I work with several people who, for some reason completely unbeknownst to me, try their hand at writing when, clearly, they should not. It doesn't seem to click in their little brains that someone at the company's job is to write. Maybe, just maybe, they should leave the writing to them. Instead, my eyeballs are subjected to such awful writing that they sometimes start to bleed. Seriously, its that bad. And then said persons actually question me and look at me as if I bore two heads when I remark that the piece needs to be rewritten. I really do not understand how they can't tell that its awful. Truly and sincerely awful.

I suppose that part of my job description should be to not laugh in the face of others who have no command over the English language. Instead, I just fix their mistakes, defend my positions, and then pound my keyboard in frustration over their inability to see their terribleness of work.

And please, for goodness sake, respect the semicolon. Learn how to use it.

Dustbunnies Gone Wild

2010-05-17T19:43:00.003-04:00

I used to love hardwood floors. Like, love them. I sincerely thought they were beautiful and every home should have them. My, how things have changed.

When I was apartment hunting for my big exodus to Philadelphia, I stepped into my soon-to-be new abode and instantaneously fell in love. I'm pretty sure I recall myself actually commenting immediately to my mother about the gorgeousness of the hardwood floors. Sure, they were a little old, in need of some repair, what with the gaps between the boards and all. But still! Sigh. I may have even batted my eyelashes at them. I love them that much.

On Moving Day, I remarked to a good friend about how excited I was to have hardwood floors. Considering that she had many square feet of the glorious flooring herself, I was certain to receive a supportive comment back. I mean, really, how could one have hardwood floors and not love them? I probably scoffed a little when she gave me the "just you wait" lecture, declaring that hardwood floors are really nothing short of a total pain in the butt, nearly impossible to keep clean, and the roadway to many'a'dustbunny tumbleweed afloating on by. Pashaw, I thought to myself. It couldn't possibly be that bad. My magic microfiber duster will take care of any tumbleweeds that go blowing through my house!..............right?

Wrong. Along with more dustbunnies that I care to even count, there's the cat liter that gets stuck in the cracks between floorboards. I could probably use my "magic" microfiber duster every 10 minutes and still not keep things clean. Oh, let me tell you. There's no getting rid of it. I could probably crawl on my hands and knees with a straw, sucking at said cat liter, and it wouldn't budge. Those little buggers get in there and get in there good. And its not just the dustbunnies and cracks. There is cat liter everywhere. All the time. I can vacuum the entire apartment and within 2.5 seconds, its covered again. I don't know how it happens. I only have 2 cats, but I swear to you, they multiply temporarily or have invisible demon twins or something. I'm not entirely sure how they do it, but they manage.

I'm considering tying miniature vacuums to their tails. If they're making the mess, they may as well clean up after themselves. And, since they both loathe vacuums, all the running around trying to escape would be sure to mean a much cleaner house for me!

Futility or Something Like It.

2010-05-12T20:34:00.003-04:00

Life. I find the ridiculousness of it to be absurd at times. I mean, seriously, it seems to be nothing but sheer insanity and any "downtime" that one thinks one will have is bound to end up in 3AM condo painting sessions instead of exploring the nightlife of a new city. Or something equally as unexpected. Perhaps not every opportunity at relaxation ends up in life happening as it usually does, but it certain does appear that most do.

As of late, I've been ever increasingly finding myself wishing to spend my days wrapping wire around yellow antique glass beads to make a new and exciting pair of earrings or entertaining myself with writing blogs about whatever my little heart desires rather than wasting away behind a desk, trapped between the three barren walls that is my existence inside a cubicle. I blame this feeling mostly on my damnable creative side that has lately been dying to be expressed. However, I suppose that most feel as if their true passions are eating away at their insides.

I spent a bit of time on an airplane the other day reading an article written about how most people find themselves unable to make true time for their passions until after retirement. How tragic, I thought to myself. It does seem that the unlucky ones, who just happen to make up the majority, spend their entire lives working for a paycheck and not able to do that which makes them feel fulfilled. What kind of a crappy life is that? It seems that existence at that point is merely an exercise in futility with no true sense or purpose.

Sigh. Why can't a book contract fall out of the sky or some fabulous boutique in Philly approach me with a too-good-to-be-true offer to wholesale my craftiness. I suppose that it would help if I would put myself out there more, but that is entirely too frightful.

But, I suppose the alternative may be much scarier in the long run.

Time, Why Do You Punish Me?

2010-04-15T22:59:00.002-04:00

So, I actually have a few minutes of downtime, which seem to come further and fewer inbetween these days. I'm not really sure what takes up all my time, but I suppose between work, driving back and forth to Delaware, running, making food and sleeping... There's really not much time to do much else. Hence, why my blog posts have become scanter and scanter. Its sad really, how life seems to take over to the point that the things that you enjoy go by the wayside to such an extent as to become essentially nonexistent. *sigh*

I have come to the conclusion that life is entirely too busy, and that more time needs to be spent smelling the roses and all that jazz. I can count on 2 fingers the number of weekends that I've had free since November. Granted, life has taken a turn for the much better and I've been happier than I've been in years. However, making dinner at 9PM really isn't my idea of a good time. I have so many ideas and things that I want to accomplish, but I can't even find a Saturday afternoon to sit at Borders with a good book and a latte.

I have nothing spectacular to say tonight. My few minutes of freedom are over now and I must away to bed so that I don't cry when my alarm goes off in the morning. Perhaps I'll be able to steal a few moments in the near future to regale you with tales of running socks or life plans.

Until then, peace be with you.

Caffeine- Friend or Foe?

2010-03-25T13:08:00.002-04:00

I find it odd how us humans intentionally torture ourselves. We watch that movie, even when we know is going to make us cry. We read the news everyday, even when we know is going to make us angry. We run that extra half mile, even when we know our bodies will hate us the next day. I do something similar each and every day. I drink caffeine, even when I know that I'm going to have caffeine letdown. Perhaps I should get my sanity checked.

Caffeine letdown is serious. At least when you have a job that finds you sitting behind a desk each day, and not up and about and active. Its nothing short of a extra hand in the impending doom of sleepiness that occurs each day right around 1PM. My caffeine letdown also coincides with the post-lunch lethargy that is also inevitable. Its nearly cruel, really. Who in their right mind would do this to themselves on purpose? I suppose I never claimed to be intelligent, which is fortituous, considering the intended annoyance I put myself though on a daily basis.

Oh well. I suppose caffeine letdown is a small price to pay, when never waking up in the first place is the alternative. I guess I should learn how to sleep better, so that I can let go of my addiction at least a little bit.

Lessons on How to Turn a Bathroom into a Movie Scene

2010-03-09T20:53:00.005-05:00

Its been shamefully long since I last wrote. I don't even want to look at when my last post was for fear of wanting to stab myself in the eyeballs out of disbelief. I realize that this would be a poor choice of reactions considering how eyeballs really do help in proofreading. I may have to think of another alternative.

Because I have nothing better to write about, I figure I shall regale you with a tragic comedy of my day 2 Saturdays past. February 20 started off as most Saturdays, with a bit of sleeping in and relaxing. Sadly, that was not to last long. 4 days prior I had dropped off my little monster at the vet to be declawed and deballed. Its a terrible way to phrase it, perhaps, but true. My little man went in to have his manhood taken away and entered the world of androgyny. I hear its all the rage now. I mean, seriously, who needs a gender? Its the 21st century! (ok, for all of you who don't know me well, that was sarcasm)

One of his paws had been giving him problems, so the vet had kept him an extra 2 whole days. Now, considering how much that little former man impedes on my sleep, one would think this a blessing. However, the mommy in me felt horrible that he was as the nasty wasty vet and not home with his mother. I take much better care of him than anyone else can, after all.

So, to shorten a long, and rather disgusting, story, upon our arrival home, dear mommy opened the crate to discover that the nose curling stench that she smelled on the way home was not the normal vet smell that she thought, but a doozie of a poop. That now covered half of the crate and most of the backend of the little former man. Sweet mother of God.

The next hour or so was spent corralling the little beast in the bathtub, attempting to clean him while trying to be very cautious of his little paws and his... area.... *ahem* It was quite dreadful, as one might imagine. After cleaning off most of the crap (literally, crap), I decided that it would be a good idea to take the cone off. Now, I had instructions from the vet to not take the cone off, because he was likely to go after his stitches. However, his poor back end was drenched. Mommy= -1.

Worst idea ever. For future reference, if your vet tells you to leave the collar on, for the love of God, leave it on. The little former man ripped a stitch. And bled, and bled, and bled. On attempting to stop the bleeding with slight pressure, which I know must have hurt, he managed to blow a stitch in the other paw from all the struggling. Which then also bled, and bled, and bled. For hours. Now, I'm not talking a little blood. I'm talking he would shake his paw and a spray of blood would cover the cabinets. It was like something straight out of a bad slasher movie.

I waited, I think a rather reasonable amount of time, before completely freaking out and taking him to the little former mancat doctor, also known as the emergency vet. Never in my life did I think I would be taking my animal to the emergency room. However, after seeing a bathtub covered in blood, it was just more than I could handle. Plus, there's only so much of that stuff in something as small as a cat. In the back of my head, I was pretty certain that he was going to bleed out and die or something. Yes, I realize that that may have been a bit of a dramatic reaction. But, seriously, think slasher movie. There was alot of blood.

Anyway, the little former man recovered from his plight and bleeding wounds. Mommy, on the other hand, suffered from emotional trauma for the next 5 days. I believe that I am on the road to recovery as well. Its entirely possible that I may need some serious counseling. There may never be another declawed cat in my future. Ever.

Where do I go from here?

2009-11-30T19:57:00.003-05:00

Where do I even begin? Quite frankly, I'm utterly brokenhearted at being home again. I love my country, I love my family and my friends and sure, the comforts of home are nice. But, I left my heart in Central America and I think its there to stay. Its been years since I've cried this much this many days in a row. It was an incredible week, really, it was. Yet, my heart is devastated at the pain some of those children are going through. Take away the poverty, take away the lack of clean water, take away the hunger, and its still terrible. There are still gangs, there are still fatherless boys, motherless girls. There is still death, there is still tragedy, there is still loss. Add the poverty, hunger, dirty water, and it nothing short of shocking. God broke my heart much more on this trip. I sit here, with a pain in my chest greater than I can even describe. My heart has literally been aching these past few days. I feel shattered inside, I feel lost, I feel completely torn in two. I fell in love with those smiling faces with sad eyes. My soul is bound with a community that I never would have expected. Had you told me 2 years ago that I would be aching for Guatemala, and I doubt I would have believed you. I expected my heart to be sold to Africa and Middle East. Don't get my wrong, I feel tremendously for that region of the world. My heart hurts for the children of Uganda and I know that it always will. I hurt for the people of the Middle East and the way their land has been torn apart by war. But that is an expected pain for me. Guatemala hit me like a ton of bricks that came out of nowhere.

Two boys in particular stole my heart completely. Their home lives are enough to make anyone cry. I have a distinct remembrance of both of them from my last trip. One of the boys stands out in my memory because of the intense sadness that covered him. His eyes seemed to be pleading for an escape, for a respite from the daily existence that was his life. I had a few pictures of him, smile-less and empty. Things haven't changed since February. At the start of the week, he caught my eye right away, still stoic in expression. He ended up in one of my classes, and ritual began between us where I would give him a huge hug and kiss each time I saw him and would then proceed to push up the corners of his mouth into a smile. After a few minutes, it would typically turn into a real smile, however slight it might be. There would be times where the weight on his shoulders would win out, leaving that small mouth in a straight line. Heartbreaking doesn't begin to describe how I felt looking at this kid.

Something happened with him though... Perhaps it was the relief of being away from home. Or perhaps it was his soul getting a chance to express itself. Whatever it was, I began to see this boy come alive in my class. The transformation was shocking in its unexpectancy. He would get so excited when the music came on, as if it was transcending in its presence. That was the moment where the awful bus ride out to the camp, the heat, the sweat, the preparation, the anxiety was all completely worth it. Just for that moment of seeing him smile, unabashed and free. I swear I could practically hear the heavens singing the hallelujah chorus, rejoicing as much as I was at this boy being freed from the sadness that surrounded him.

I spent a chunk of the week going out of my way to make this boy feel loved. By the end of the week, the change in this kid was incredible. He was smiling and laughing and playing. I found out that the other boy that had taken me so much was his brother, so I knew that the same situation and sadness was around him as well. I don't recall ever feeling such violent love for kids that I just met. All I wanted to do was to help take the hurt away, to remove them from their reality and give them some relief. I loved them so much that it actually hurt.

I believe that I got a small taste of how Christ loves us. In a way that is violent in its sheer power, all consuming in its force. That love is nearly suffocating, to the point where breathing almost becomes optional because your heart is so full that your lungs don't have room to expand. Its the kind of love that takes you over, that would give you the courage to do anything, give any sacrifice.

It was hard seeing this little 12 year old boy the day after the camp was over. That sadness had come right on top of him again, the childish smile gone, the eyes back to that same emptiness. Saying goodbye to him was extraordinarily difficult... I felt as if my heart was being ripped out of my chest. As I told him that I loved him, his lips began to quiver. At that moment it hit me that he wasn't used to hearing those words often. At 12 years old, he wasn't used to being told that he was loved. No child should ever have to grow up like that.

I don't know where to go from here, honestly. I've only been gone for a few days and I feel as if I might explode. My heart is still aching in my chest, the tears are still running down my face. My heart is so broken, and as much as it hurts, I want it to stay that way. When God breaks your heart for people, it is the beginning of understanding his love. Its hard, its painful, but its the only thing that is truly worth it in life.

Such a medicine is love.

Great is Thy Faithfulness

2009-11-22T11:18:00.003-05:00

You know those days where you can clearly see a lesson to be learned? Friday was one of those days for me, without a doubt. I went through the first part of my day at the office, trying my hardest to concentrate, which isn't the easiest when you're about to embark on a journey of the proportions I knew my trip would be. I left early, hurried home, and began the final preparations of my luggage. My heart was undoubtedly pounding in my chest from sheer anticipation.

I am a naturally distracted person. Anyone that knows me should understand this one thing about me, if nothing else. It has to do with my overactive brain and inability to calm my thoughts down enough to relax. Its probably not the best quality to have, but its the way that I am and it probably won't ever change. The major downfall of said distraction is that one tends to not pay attention to the location of one's cell phone. This causes some problems when said cell phone is in one's back pocket and one attempted to use the restroom. My cell phone nearly came to its final resting place at the bottom of my toilet, which would have been the second phone this year to meet its end in a container of water. Its become a joke, really. A sad, pathetic, funny joke. Thankfully, my phone seems to be mostly ok. Last I checked only a few buttons were being fritzy.

My flight out of Philly was delayed for 45 minutes. Considering that I only had an hour to connect to my flight in Houston, I was definitely feeling a bit anxious. My plan landed with 20 minutes to spare, and naturally, it took a while to deboard. I took off the second my feet hit the terminal (I believe it was the first time I actually ran through an airport). They were boarding my flight by the time I reached my gate. Naturally, we sat on the tarmac for an hour after boarding, which is never fun. It was late, I was tired, and hungry, and had a nasty headache from not eating.

As I sat in my cramped seat, battling with hunger and pain, I started looking back on my day. My own rushing had caused my phone to nearly die. But it didn't. I almost missed my connecting flight. But I didn't. I was hungry. But I would be eating soon. I had a headache. But I had medicine for that. The faithfulness of my Father hit me like a ton of bricks. My phone definitely should not be ok. I had only missed one meal that day. There are millions of people around the world who don't have the conveniences of industrial life. There are millions of children dying from malnutrition. I had only missed one meal.

My savior's faithfulness was astounding. I don't know why it was so apparent to me on Friday. He is faithful every single day. But for some reason, it was my lesson for the day, and I have a feeling it will be my lesson for this trip. He is so faithful.

Great is thy faithfulness, oh God, my Father.

First Day Back

2009-11-21T22:42:00.002-05:00

The first day back in the ghetto was the same as most days in the ghetto: fast and busy. The day started off with not nearly enough sleep, lots of coffee, a few minutes lying in the newly hung hammocks and then the insanity began.

The first hour in the ghetto was spent with Dulce and her mom and sister. It was an amazing time. In February, Dulce was extremely shy, hanging back a bit with sideways glances. I felt as if I was a guest in her home, welcome but not quite part of the family. This time, everything was different. Dulce met me at the door with a massive hug that lasted at least 5 minutes. She was glued to me for the entire visit, sitting in my lap, showing me magazines, toys and the picture of me that I had given her. It seemed that I had become part of her family, her mom was more relaxed (and also made the most incredible papaya juice. Like, really, really good). Her dad was unfortunately not able to be there since he was working, but he did call to ask if I was there. It was hard leaving, as it was last time. I really felt that I had become part of her family, and another small piece of my heart was chipped of and left behind.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in meetings in preparation for the camp. They were as exciting as meetings usually are. This evening found Leah, Donnie and I out for dinner at Cafe Saul, housing the most incredible crepes known to mankind. Like, seriously. So. Freaking. Good. I may actually open a franchise in Philly. They are that amazing.

This trip has just begun. I'm tired already. I know that its going to be a hard week, hard in the sense that it will be demanding and exhausting. I'm very excited though. Excited for seeing God's hand in these kids, excited to watch His faithfulness continue to abound, excited for the things that I will learn and the ways I will be stretched. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it.

Round Dos

2009-11-16T22:09:00.003-05:00

In 4 days, I will be heading back to the place where I left my heart about 8 months ago. La Limonada has been on my heart and mind every single day since I left in February, and I have been craving to go back. This past summer when the opportunity to teach the kids at an arts camp arose, it quickly became apparent that God was clearing the path for me to go. Guatemalan kids.... sunshine... dance... the beach... Really, how can I say no to that?!

I'm a bit more nervous this time around. Last time, I was a little anxious about the actual traveling aspect, never having flown internationally and being by myself. This time, I'm nervous about teaching. This may sound ridiculous, considering the fact that I've been teaching for 10 years and it should be something that comes so naturally to me now. But, I have been on a sabbatical for the past 18 months, only teaching intermittently. Plus, this time I will be teaching with a language and a cultural barrier. Its just a tad intimidating. I'm excited, don't get me wrong. Very excited. But, I woke up this morning with my stomach somewhere around the region on my vocal cords, feeling way more anxious than I'd like to admit. I'm doubting myself and my ability to pull this off. Pretty severely, in fact.

Perhaps its just a spiritual test. We all know how much Satan likes to batter us down, make us feel like we aren't worthy or good enough. But normally when he does that, its because he's scared. He's scared because he knows the power that we hold when we are moving in our God-given talents and using them to affect other people's lives. If I were him, I'd be scared too. When we are moving in the things of God, we become warriors. Warriors with Uzis coming against an enemy with a water pistol. Satan is really rather pathetic when we look at him in his true light.

I covet your prayers over the next week and a half. I ask for prayer for the kids, for the teachers, and for the time that we'll get to spend ministering to them inside, and outside, the classroom. I know that its going to be an incredible week. Sadly, I may not be able to keep you posted to the same extent as last time, due to a possible lack of internet connection. But, have no fear... You will hear stories when I return.

City Living and Roaches

2009-10-22T23:59:00.005-04:00

I have come to the official conclusion that I hate old houses. Especially when they are in cities. I used to love them. Alot. Why is it that we can never just have nice things that we like without them being tainted? I wish I knew...

I found a cockroach today. Considering that I live in an old house in the city, I suppose this is to be expected. I hate cockroaches. I hate bugs. But cockroaches are up there with spiders and millipedes on my list of things that I absolutely abhor. Now, I would probably have been able to handle having a roach in my house. But this one happened to be found in my bed. My bed!! My sacred place of all things nice and cozy and warm! The devil invaded my very precious throne of goodness with its vile presence.

Now, this wasn't some tiny little cockroach. It had to have been at least an inch and a half long. I honestly wasn't sure what it was at first. I'm not used to having roaches in my house. There was the initial freak out of seeing it in the first place, and in my bed, which is possibly the worst possible place to find a large bug. I quickly scrambled out of bed and grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on. It happened to be a slipper. Not exactly the best weapon against one of Satan's minions, but it would have to do. I skirted around the edge of the bed, keeping a sharp eye on the monster, certain it might attack with those large claw looking things at any second. As I moved the covers to get a good look at it, it began to move much quicker than I would have liked. I'm pretty sure that I was dancing around in disgust as I swatted at it to get it off the bed and onto the flat surface of the floor before I could slay the beast with my almighty slipper. I really wished I had a blowtorch right around this moment. It would make my life so much easier.

I managed to get the thing off the bed, onto the floor and successfully smooshed. After discarding said beast, I made the very large mistake of googling cockroaches to see what they looked like. I know a roach when I see it outside. I'm not so certain when they're in my house and invading my bed. I'm pretty sure I wish I would have left well enough alone. I now have the creepy crawlies so bad that I can't even bear to put my feet under the covers. Its entirely possible that I may never sleep again. Ever.

Also, I'm not quite sure what the point is of having two cats who can't detect, let alone kill, big nasty bugs. I mean, really. Its just not right.

Effecting Change

2009-10-15T22:51:00.003-04:00

I have lofty dreams and ideas. Or maybe they're delusions. I haven't quite decided yet. The Superman complex seems to have overtaken my life, but not in the haughty, obnoxious way. I just want to save the world. Plain and simple. Becoming a catalyst to effect change has become a mission, a charge from on high that my life simply must echo, morph into.

My new job has afforded me the awesome opportunity to head up the philanthropic arm of the company, which is an incredible occasion for me to gain experience doing the things I actually want to end up doing one day. Its been awesome for me to have a team of people who want to effect change in the community around them, and were just waiting for someone to step up to the helm. Its been an interesting and humbling experience for me thus far. I had someone that I respect at the office tell me something along the lines of, "people will follow a leader like you... including me." I think that was one of the most powerful things anyone has ever said to me. Being a leader is not something that I have ever necessarily aspired to. I've never taken any steps intentionally in that direction. And yet to have someone point that out in me was... strange. Exciting, almost. Not in an egotistical way, but in the way that if I can be a leader, I can be that catalyst to effect change.

I have discovered that much of that effecting is tied to finances, which has posed a significant challenge. Fundraising has never been a feat I had to face. If you've never done it, it is daunting. Like, holy crap. Naturally, I don't have on my heart to do the simpler things, one that could be done with small contributions throughout the company employees (not that we aren't doing those things as well). No. Of course not. I have dreams of health clinics in Africa and building processing plants for plumpy'nut in remote areas of the world. I oft feel like I've completely gone off my rocker. Who am I to think I can accomplish such things?

I presume that God will just have to move some mountains.

Be the change you want to see in the world.- Gandhi

The Adventures of Brita

2009-10-13T22:38:00.003-04:00

Step 1: Remove filter from package. Step 2: Remove aerator from faucet.

You know you're in trouble when you get stuck at Step 2. I didn't even know what an aerator on a faucet was until about 20 minutes ago. One of the first things I discovered as a new Philadelphian is that the water down here is awful. I truthfully have zero desire to know what's swimming around in the stuff that comes out of my faucet. I feel a bit sorry for giving it to my cats, and they lick their own butts. That's saying a lot.

Upon my discovery, I started purchasing bottled water. I love the convenience of having bottled water on hand, but the expense of it adds up quickly (particularly when you consume as much water as I do) and I hate thinking of all my convenient water bottles ending up in some landfill that could be put to better use. Considering the fact that my refrigerator is approximately the size of a postage stamp, that excluded purchasing gallon jugs of water. 5 weeks after the big move, I had an epiphany. "I'll just buy a Brita filter! Eureka!" Sometimes I amaze myself at my own brilliance.

At my second trip to Target today, I find the Brita pitchers, thanks to help from a friend 60 miles away who knew where to find them (thanks, Tunes. I'd probably still be looking for them). But, alas! I suddenly remember that, due to the postage stamp, I can't actually get a pitcher. It won't fit in my tiny fridge. What to do, what to do?

I have no idea how I managed to forget that they have filters that screw right onto your faucet. Probably because I've never had need for one. Happening upon the faucet filtration system was terribly exciting, probably the highlight of my week. "I'll just take this little beauty home and screw it right on my little faucet in my little kitchen. Oh joy!" I thought to myself.

When I was hanging up with my dear friend who told me where to find the filters, she says, "I feel a blog coming on." "Oh ho ho ho" I thought. It can't be that hard.... right?

Step 2: Remove aerator from faucet. What is that? Apparently, the aerator is the little dojigger screwed on to the end of your faucet. You wouldn't even know it was there unless... well, unless you knew it was there. I managed to get that off, with ripping off minimal skin in the process, and placed the adapter in place. After screwing on the Brita filter, I said to myself, "Oh, how silly. Blog my foot! This was so uneventful!" Then I turned the water on.

WHOOOOOOSH!!! It happened so fast that I don't actually recall the water spurting from the top of the filter onto the front of my shirt. I just know that I was drenched instantaneously. Something was clearly not right. I tried to tighten the filter, because that surely must be the problem. Turn faucet back on. "That's odd," says I. "I somehow just got even more wet."

A few more attempts of tightening the filter found the filter completely fallen off, nearly breaking a glass, and getting me even more wet. I finally managed to get it back on and tightened to the point where water wasn't spewing everywhere. The stray stream of water is now mostly contained. I can't seem to get that dang thing on properly to get it to completely stop though. I figure its better to risk getting a little damp than die from gastro-intestinal distress from drinking Philly water.

This is one of those times when having a man around would really be useful.

Creatively Restless

2009-10-10T23:58:00.002-04:00

I crafted 8, yes eight, pairs of earrings today. I sliced the tip of one finger on beading wire, and stabbed another to the point of blood. I also put a paint brush to a canvas for the very first time in my life. Now, my brain is moving so swiftly that I have to write or my cranium may find itself in a dire situation from an outward explosion. Never in my life have I experienced the kind of day that I had.

To anyone that knows me, its no secret that I am a naturally restless person. I can't sit still, and God forbid I have to focus on a mundane task for too long. I fidget, I shift, my right foot sways back and forth at the joint more often than I'd like to admit. Restless. Its probably one of the defining characteristics that makes up the core of my being. But typically my restlessness is a result of my overactive brain, too much sitting, or boredom. Today, my restless resulted from an intense need to create. There was near a feeling of if-I-don't-create-something-I-may-just-explode.

It was odd, really. I consider myself to be a creative person, though not a terribly effective one. Jack of all trades, master of none effectively sums up my opinion of my artistic side. Yes, I am decent at a few things and most definitely have varied interest creatively. But nothing I do has that "wow" factor. Perhaps I am too hard on myself (most creative types are), but there is a mediocrity in my art that makes me look at it and say "eh.

However, this side of me took over with a ferocity that was near frightening. It was gripping, all consuming. Like a drug that seeped through my skin and found its way into my bloodstream and coursed through my body.

After driving around for an hour this afternoon (I still don't know where alot of things are around here), I finally came upon my desired destination of Michael's Craft Store. A danger zone with the kind of day I was having. Aaaaaahhhh!!!!! With a joviality that can only be compared to that of a small child on Christmas Eve, I raced through the aisles finding all kind of goodies, including several small canvases, some acrylic paint, a few brushes, and an easel. I have never, and I mean never, painted anything in my life. Well, besides those paint by numbers things, but they hardly count.

My first work of art is hardly anything to brag about, but I am still somewhat proud of my efforts. It was exciting to try something new and not have it look completely awful. I can hardly wait until tomorrow to go back to the craft store (now that I can actually find it) and purchase a few more items so that I can get this idea in my head out on a canvas. Oh joy!

I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I can probably chalk some of it up to the adjustment of being away from nearly everything and everyone I know. I am probably bottling up some emotions that are coming out through this need to create, rather than being soothed by the comfort of familiarity. Who knows. But, while it continues, I can only hope to be able to produce something decent out of it.

One can never tell. I might become an artist yet...

How Oliver Found His Meow

2009-10-09T00:04:00.003-04:00

I do believe that baby kitten meows are among the worst sounds in the world. My ears are currently bleeding from that very noise. Oliver has gotten somewhat better with his kitten-ness in terms of being calmer perhaps one half of one percent more often. This doesn't really equate to very much, but I'll take it.

His "growing up" also brought with it the maturation of a real live meow, rather than pathetic little squeak that use to emit from his little jaws. I actually felt bad for the poor sucker, what with not being able to really meow. I mean, isn't that part of being a cat? Its like the crowning glory of cathood, alot with a flowing tail. Considering I had one cat unable to meow, and another without a tail, things weren't looking so good in the household. Its rather tragic now that I think about it.

Well, silly me. Actually feeling sorry for the poor beast and his inability to meow. Whatever was I thinking? Clearly, I was not. About 2 weeks ago, Oliver found his meow. I rather wish he would loose it. Misplace it, perhaps. Even just forget he has it. Whatever the case may be, I would like it gone.

His naughtiness finds him locked out of the bedroom every night. He is not so much a fan of this situation. Being the pathetic little mancat that he is, he wants to snuggle and play with mommy at night when mommy is trying very hard to sleep. Mommy has to get up for work in the morning, unlike the little mancat. By the stroke of midnight, the little monster is oft romping around in the living room, being denied access to mommy's bedchambers. This was fine... until 2 weeks past.

The whole discovery of the meow has made the nightly ritual a bit more painful. Within 2 minutes of the door shutting, the meowing starts. And then continues... and continues. This typically last for at least 15 minutes. And then if I wake during the night, I hear it again. And then again in the morning. Its fun. Really. By fun, I mean its like raking screws across a chalkboard. Its enough to make one cringe. Not to mention the fact that I feel horrible because the poor little monster really just wants to snuggle and play with mommy.

I'm a mean, mean mommy.

Unfulfilled

2009-10-04T22:53:00.003-04:00

Lately I've felt like I have an invisible splinter in my soul. There is some sort of a thorn in the center of my being that I can't seem to find in order to take it out. There is an illusive something that is nagging me constantly and I can't seem to figure out what it is so that I can remove it or supply some kind of salve in order to take away the discomfort.

This is nothing new, really. Its been a nuisance for quite some time now. I think that this knowing that there is an element in my life missing has been what drove me to move away, constantly looking for what's next, and the force behind my desire to go to grad school. I'm not unhappy. Not at all actually. I believe that I'm the most content than I've been in a while. And yet, I find myself checking into grad school on a weekly basis, the neverending search for new hobbies, books, movies. Something, anything, to explore the nature of me to find what this splinter is, to discover the piece of the puzzle that is missing.

Perhaps this is part of the nature of life. I assume that this is nothing out of the ordinary, feeling this way. I assume that most people go through this same thing often. Its possible that its the continuation of my quarter life crisis. That time when you hit that brick wall of reality in the realization that this is life, this is it, this is all it has to offer. And yet, I hate the taste of those words in my mouth. I hate the thought. Its like a concession, a surrender to the ordinary. I don't want that. Who does want that? No one, if I had to guess.

That is what drives me to pursue something more. That will be what pushes me to continue to look into school, find new hobbies, books, movies. I don't think that this is bad, as long as its balanced with a sense of contentment. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I should give up this desire for more. Maybe I'm wrong. But I can't imagine that God created us just to go through life feeling unfulfilled. I want that fulfillment of my life meaning something, of my days being filled with purpose.

For the Love of Traffic- Part 2

2009-10-01T23:03:00.003-04:00

I love good stories. Good, random stories are even better. As I settle into my life in Philadelphia, I find myself making mental notes to self about the amusing things I can write about, and perhaps bring a bit of entertainment to all of you readers out there. For some odd reason, there is something in our humanity that is bemused by others misfortunes. Now, I don't mean misfortune in the sense of injury or serious calamity of any sorts. Misfortune in the sense of hapless circumstances. Considering my usual luck, that really works in all of your favors. I have just such a story for you.

Not too long ago, I relayed my distaste for traffic. An experience several weeks ago left me stuck on the Surekill much longer than I expected. Little did I know that was a mere taste, a spoonful of the reality of bad Philly traffic.

Tuesday morning found me at a stand still. On the ramp. I wasn't even able to make it onto the highway itself before I was stuck in the nastiest traffic I have ever seen. It took me approximately one half hour to get from my house to the actual highway. This drive typically takes around 5 minutes. I inched, literally inched, along up the ramp onto the freeway. I believe inching is a slight exaggeration. It may have been more like 3/8-ing, rather than full inching. Once you are on those ramps, you're committed. Forget backing up and going another route. I realized I was screwed with 2.5 seconds of making the turn onto the ramp. It was unreal.

After finally making the enormous trek up the ramp, I then sat at a complete standstill for about another 30 minutes. When I say standstill, I mean standstill. As in, the car was in park. On the highway. I have never had my car in park on the highway. Ever. It was really quite the sensational experience, and not one I'd like to repeat anytime soon.

After 90 minutes, I was finally able to go the full mile that it took to get to the next exit, so that I could take my leave from the disaster otherwise known as 76. "A backway will be much faster!" I told myself. Off I go into the unknown of suburbia, where I have zero idea where I'm going. Thank God for GPS. Seriously. They are a complete lifesaver in this situation. If any of you are psychotic enough to move to a heavily trafficked area, I strongly recommend one.

The backway didn't really prove to be much better. All of the other smarties must have made their way off the highway and decided to go the exact way that I did. An otherwise 25 minutes commute took over 45 minutes. Do the math. What should have been a 20 minute drive to work took 2 hours and 15 minutes. Yeeeeaaaaah...

I know that my patience is not the best when it comes to small kittens that like to chew on everything, but thank goodness I have relative patience in traffic. Otherwise, I may have arrived at work completely bald and bleeding. I did manage to pull up rocking out to 70s disco. One must amuse oneself when trapped in such a small space for that long.

However, I suppose it is also a reminder of our mortality. The traffic was caused by what must have been a not-so-nice car accident. I am unaware if anyone was hurt, but I'm sure some cars sustained damage to account for the backup. I am thankful that I made it to work safely that day, with everything still in tact and my car without anymore dents than it already has.

That's Business

2009-09-29T22:27:00.003-04:00

As the years go by and I find myself getting older and older (and older), I realize that my perceptions about life alter with the passing of time. My once stalwart conceptions begin to change, to take a different shape. Not utterly transform into something completely different, just morph into something I didn't necessarily expect.

My very first blog post, nearly one whole year ago, consisted of a rant of my distaste for Corporate America. I recognized its need to exist, but I certainly did not have much appreciation for it. If I'm not mistaken, that same theme has found itself threaded across several of my posts. Its strange, really, that after such disgust with the business world, I am lately finding myself having an entirely new appreciation for it. Mind you, the greed that is so evident across the bulk of Corporate America still makes me vomit in my mouth a tad. I don't see that ever changing. However, I have been seeing business through new eyes.

Not terribly long ago, I was introduced to the concept of microfinance institution, or MFIs as they are commonly referred to. In case you are new to the term, MFIs help to provide loans to low-income individuals and business in poverty-stricken areas of the world. The loans are folded into entrepreneurial endeavors, varied as they may be, ranging from purchasing a new cow or goat for a farm to soda pop production and selling. This provisions people who would never have been able to do it on their own to have a boost, a helping hand towards providing for their families. The lofty goal is to help people help themselves out of seemingly hopeless situations of extreme poverty. That's business. It is the business that enables people to eat, to put food on the table, to afford medical care, education for their children. Business gives them the basic necessities of life.

My desires to work for a non-profit one day have not changed. Helping people is still my ultimate goal, in a larger capacity than most corporate employments will be able to give. However, my perspective of business in and of itself are very much changing. I have a new found respect for our economic structure in leaning on corporate jobs for stability. I think I'm just looking at it from a different angle, an angle that makes sense to me. Perhaps for most of the monitor-heads sitting behind desks in a corporate job, it may be all about bringing home as much bacon as possible. For me, it will never be that. Yet, I respect it now. And I find that to be terribly interesting.

Stop Chewing on Mommy's Cellphone

2009-09-28T21:57:00.003-04:00

I imagine the things that you say as a pet owner, particularly of an infantile pet, are similar to the things that you say as a parent of a real, live human child. Things like "don't eat that", "stop licking the toilet", and "go ahead and put your nose in that hot cup of tea and see what happens." When I committed myself to this little ball of fur a few short months ago, I don't believe that I imagined the phrases that would shortly be emitting from my lips.

A few short months ago, I doubt that I would have believed you if you told me that I would currently have baby kitten teeth marks on my laptop. I may have giggled a bit if you told me that I would be worried about damage done to my cell phone from slobber. I most certainly would not have believed you if you said that this kitten would eat anything and everything, from ice cream, to potato chips, to grapes. To date, the only thing he has yet to try to eat or drink is wine. He goes to stick his little face in my glass and then backs up with his eyes half closed and his nose crinkled. Yes, in case you were wondering, kittens noses do crinkle. Now, my mother would tell you that he does that because he's smart and his instincts are telling him that wine is bad (hi, mom!), however I feel it has something to do with the tartness of the scent. Regardless, its rather amusing.

I have a grape currently rotting under some random piece of furniture of my apartment. I probably won't find it until it starts fermenting and the cockroaches that I'm sure exist in this house come out of the woodwork looking for their next meal. Cute little kitty will most likely find himself flung into the throes to fend off the evil beasts as punishment.

When Oliver first came into my life, someone said to me that perhaps this was a preparatory season for me, with the strong implication towards the future pitter patter of little feet. I admit, I am a bit sad that it is not ok to fling children across rooms onto beds (where they inevitably bounce and hit the wall. Not that I've done that with my kitten or anything...) I've come to learn that I do not have alot of patience for small things being constantly under foot and getting into simply everything. Did I mention that I left a bag of cat food out that last for about 3 minutes before it had 3 holes in it? Sigh.

This experience has made me seriously doubt my faculty at being a mother to real, live human children. If my patience is this low with something that I can lock up and ignore its cries for a while, how ever will a manage a household of screaming children that climb bookcases and spill cereal all over my newly vacuumed living room floor? I suppose that this is a preparatory season for me, regardless of if I ever have my own human children. My patience is being built up, even if I go kicking and screaming.

It is amusing to me the way that God chooses to teach us important lessons. My patience is being built up by a small cat. It is rather strange.

I wonder...

2009-09-27T20:07:00.003-04:00

How much am I willing to give up? I mean, actual, full blown reality. How much? I've been pondering this question innumerable times in recent weeks. One of my last posts touched on my inquiries into the depths of my soul and mind about my willingness to sacrifice, and this has continued to haunt me. I look around me, at all my "stuff", at my comfort, security, the normality that I've grown so accustomed to and I question whether I could give it all up if called to do so.

Its incredible to me how much security "stuff" brings. Having all the things that make up a life and a home, all those material possessions produce a sense of security, albeit false most of the time. What exactly do we think all of these "things" can do for us? In reality, what can they do? Absolutely nothing. Sure, they make our houses nice to look at and comfy to visit. But they don't provide any security, not really.

Our society is drenched in the want of "things." Clothes, shoes, jewelry, furniture, big TVs, lots of DVDs and BluRay discs. These things are all material and have no value aside from what we give them. One can't take these "things" to their mansion in heaven, they are only for our benefit here on earth, for the few short years that we can enjoy them.

The thought of storing up my treasures in heaven and not focusing on the "stuff" that can only weigh me down here on earth has been plaguing me. I don't consider myself to be a materialistic person, and yet, I opened my closet the other day and was filled with disgust. I have all this "stuff", "things" that have no intrinsic value. They're only as important as I've made them, and I became disappointed in myself for the worth I placed on them. If I put a dollar amount on the shoes and clothes in my closet, I wonder if I would be embarrassed by that. I wonder if I would be overcome by my selfishness. I wonder if I would think about how many children I could have fed, how many wells could have been built, if medicine could have been provided for that dollar amount. I wonder...

Now, I realize that there needs to be a balance. I understand that one cannot live one's life deny oneself of all pleasures because we have been blessed to live in a country that is financially stable. However, I wonder if I've tipped the scales in my favor, rather than someone else's...

I wonder...

Captcha, Kittens, and the City

2009-09-25T23:33:00.003-04:00

I find "captcha" to be a funny word. Its quite enjoyable to say, as well. It kind of just rolls off one's tongue like butter off of a piece of corn on the cob. I'm wondering if I took a poll right now, how many of you would know what that word is referring to. It may be more common knowledge now, but several years ago people looked at me like I was attempting to create my own form of pig latin or something.

In case you don't know, captcha is the computer generated way of ensuring that a human is posting something, like a comment on this blog, rather than just a spider out on the internet on a spamming trip. It shows up in the form of those funny words that you have to input into a text box. Some are sheer gibberish, but others are quite amusing. I must say, Blogger.com has done a fabulous job with their captcha words. They're variations of English words, or just odd spellings of them. Its quite entertaining, really.

On another note, I have been living in Philadelphia for 3 weeks now, and I have only been downtown once. This is nearly shameful. I believe that I have simply been too busy and tired to have the energy to venture out. I may have to carve out some time tomorrow. Because, really, wasn't being close to the city half the reason for me moving down here? Geez!

If anyone is in the market for a 5 month old kitten, please feel free to let me know. He is so cute that one almost can't stand it. And he'll only make you completely insane 97% of the time. He will snuggle up with you and then kneed his claws into your neck. He loves to play, particularly with any piece of flesh he can get his teeth on. You can have nifty art work on your hands from all the scratch marks, added bonus! He will bite your toes and jump on your face. I've learned to keep a water bottle attached to me at all times for the sake of my phalanges. But he sure is cute...

Coffee and Sacrifice

2009-09-20T15:30:00.004-04:00

First, I'd like to point out that I'm writing this while soaring thousands of feet above the ground aboard a 737 aircraft. I wonder what the Wright brothers would have thought if they knew that their first very primitive flight would eventually lead to such things. The advent of technology provides the average joe with luxuries that are almost silly in their unecessity.

However, I am grateful for the ridiculousness of modern day life because it affords me the opportunity to put down my thoughts, regardless of my location and proximity to solid earth. I have spent significant minutes and hours as of late pondering the concept of sacrifice. True, painful sacrifice. Not just the giving up of niceties that allows us comfort throughout our normal day. I mean the kind of sacrifice in that God asks us to give up everything, to leave behind the normalcy and amenities of Western life in an industrialized nation.

I attended a benefit performance this past Sunday that was raising funds for clean water wells in Africa. This is a strong interest, dare I say passion, of mine because of the seriousness of the lack of clean, sanitized water. Wars are fought over water. Thousands of people die each day from water related illnesses that are so preventable. Entire nations can be devestated with sickness, famine, and war all because of the scarcity of water. During the performance, each audience memeber was charged with a very simple task: drink nothing but water for the next 2 week. With all of the money that is saved from not purchasing soda, wine, beer, tea would be tallied up at the end of the fortnight and then sent to the sponsoring organization for the continuation of the project in Africa.

Simple enough, right? Try it and realize that the sacrifice of something so simple is in reality difficult. I have been drinking tea and coffee and beer and wine since then (although, I did not pay for any of it). The simplicity of needing that boost of caffeine in the morning or the casual drink with a friend after work is suddenly interrupted if you are sacrificing something so simple. I am ashamed of not giving up something so very elementary.

I suppose I am telling you this out of guilt. Yesterday found me picking up Elizabeth Elliot's biography on Amy Carmichael, a missionary in India over a hundred years ago. She decided at about the ripe age of 24 that God had a calling on her life to go to the nations. Twenty-four. Here I am, three years the senior, and I can't even give up coffee for 2 weeks. Its shameful.

I don't understand the concept of sacrifice. Not really. Sure, I may know how to give up the comforts of life sometimes. But could I do it permanently if so called to do so? Can I discipline myself enough to learn to give things up? To be selfless, truly selfless?

I think, like most things, sacrifice needs to be learned. Its most certainly not something that is built into our DNA. It is burning on my soul to begin to earnestly pray for a sacrificial spirit, for a heart that is willing to give up, to let go of all of my nice things. I don't want to get caught up in the worldliness that is rampant in our society. God help me, its the last things I want. There is no permanence, no immortality to the comforts of life. It is all fleeting, here today and gone tomorrow, never to be seen again.

I want my desires to be of things above, of heavenly worth and import. I can only pray that my heart will be changed like Amy Carmichaels. That my flesh will melt off, never to be heard of again. For this, I ask for your prayers.

For the Love of Traffic

2009-09-17T19:31:00.003-04:00

I've decided that I have quite a strong dislike of traffic. Not that this is necessarily any kind of life changing epiphany. I'm mostly certain that I've never particularly enjoyed traffic. But I do now know that I definitely, most certainly really, really don't like traffic.

This is perhaps a very unfortunate conclusion, considering that I just situated myself in one of the most densely populated cities in the US in terms of residents. I also have to drive, not once, but twice daily on the Surekill Expressway, as we like to call it round these parts. The number of vehicles on that road each morning and early evening is quite incredible. Whoever decided to make it a 4 lane highway, with 2 running each east and west, should probably be horsewhipped. It simply was not a smart idea. One bazillion cars do not easily fit on so few lanes for traffic.

It should only take me 40 minutes round trip to get to and from work. It takes me an hour on a good day. Sometimes that hour is spent going one way instead of both. Do the math on how much time I could potentially spend in the car each day. I am hearing my mother's sweet voice in my head saying, "why don't you look for an apartment closer to work?" This is such an excellent question. The answer would be that when I moved down here less than 2 weeks ago, I had one friend in the area. Who happened to live in Manayunk. Which happens to be a non-trafficed 20 minute drive from the office. I think any normal person would gravitate towards living close to someone they know.

I like Manayunk. Alot. Its kind of a yuppie area, which provides plenty of coffee shops and a Banana Republic right on Main Street. There are great restaurants and cute art galleries. And I can be in the heart of Philadelphia in 10 minutes. Without any traffic, of course.

I am not sorry that I moved to this lovely neighborhood. Not yet anyway. Ask me in a month and I may be so tired of feeling like I'm living in a 4 year olds dream of backed up matchbox cars, with definite crashes and explosions around that make such fun noises. But for now, I try to keep my frustration at bay and my road rage semi in check. I suppose I'll get used to it and probably will hardly notice after a while.

Until then, I'll need to find the closest library so I can get some good books on tape.

How Do You Punch a Noun?

2009-09-15T22:00:00.004-04:00

I do not enjoy allergies. At all. Those of you who have been following my blog for a while are much informed of my strong dislike for seasons of much pollen and other invisible contaminants that cause such violent reaction.

I've woken up for the past two mornings feeling like someone punched me in the face. Literally. My sinuses are about to explode (with what, I'd rather spare you details). My teeth hurt. My throat is sore. My eyes are akin to a leaky faucet. Its fun. Really. By fun, I mean like trying to clean railroad tracks with your tongue and some foaming bathroom soap.

I ate two full meals today. One of which I paid for. I can't tell you what either of them really tasted like because I've lost 97% of my sense of taste. And smell. I've only caught half of the conversations at both said meals because my ears are so clogged that everyone sounds like they're talking under water. I've smiled and nodded alot.

Every year round this time, I start getting a wee bit excited for fall. I love fall foods, fall smells, fall tastes (pumpkin spice lattes... mmmmmmm). I love breaking out the fall fashion of light sweaters and jeans and scarves. Especially the scarves. But the past few years have had me dread the gorgeous changing colors of the leaves because I know that means waking up in the morning with a small anvil dropped on my face. Its so not fun.

Oh well. I suppose it makes me thankful for the times of year when I can actually breathe deep and inhale the scents that remind me that I'm alive. There are much worse things in life to suffer from. I could have cancer or be missing limbs or be apathetic. I definitely believe I will take allergies over all of those.

I'm Sorry, what?

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

Some of you may be wondering why the lack of postings for the last month or so. Most of you probably know, though. Life does have a way of turning itself upside down and inside out in a matter of a few short weeks that can leave one reeling in its wake. I have had just that type of month.

On a whim, I decided to interview for a job in the Philadelphia region. Within a week, I was offered, and accepted, the position. This translated into a mad rush of finding an apartment, adjusting my expectations of the next few years of my life, and a general psychosis of deciding to, and then following through, with a major life change. In a very, very short period of time.

I started said new job yesterday, after moving into Manayunk, a delightful neighborhood in Philadelphia, and saying goodbye to everything that I've known. I can safely say that this was not part of the plan that I had for my life, but that is just like God to go completely against what one thinks is the right path.

I am excited for what my future holds, for the new and exciting experiences that I will have in the big city, and for more expectations to be blown out of the water. I have no idea what my life holds down in the Philly, but I do know that its going to be good. I am used to having to fight for things tooth and nail. For once, everything just fell into place beautifully and without a struggle. It was strange, really. Almost disconcerting in its simplicity. Its what I like to call it a "God thing." And I'm sure it will be quite the ride.

Demons in Disguise

2009-08-16T21:38:00.003-04:00

I've learned something new in the last week. Kittens are actually capable of morphing from angels to demons right in front of one's eyes. Its quite the phenomena. When I brought my new little delight home last week, he was so stinking cute. For about 5 minutes. And suddenly that little halo was replaced by two little horns that snuck through the soft baby fur.

4AM is apparently a great time to play. I must have missed that memo somewhere along the lines. I also missed the memo that elbows, laptops and cellphone make excellent chew toys. Particularly at 4AM. I didn't know that elbows were really that interesting. But when Mommy is sleeping and you want attention... they're easily accessible, so I'm learning. As are toes, noses, fingers, calves... I think you get the point.

The latest fashion is gnarled hands from excessive claw marks. Its really sexy. You should try it sometime. Its also best done at 4AM. Hair makes a great replacement for mommy cat. The soft texture must be reminiscent of mommy's belly, because little kitty tries to nurse on my head every time he gets tired. Which includes kneading his little claws in my scalp. Particularly at 4AM. Or... right now. That works too. When I move him from my head, he doesn't get the hint. The kneading just moves from my head to my neck. Which isn't any more comfortable, in case you were wondering.

Little Oliver (as he has been named) does have one thing going for him though... He's entirely too cute. While he may be a monster 97% of the time that he's conscious, his cute little baby kitten face combined with his little baby kitten meow makes him irresistible. Plus, when he does get tired (which doesn't happen often enough), he turns into a snuggle monkey and purrs like Jesus is coming back tomorrow and he needs to get all of those purrs out posthaste. This is also when the kneading claws come into play, but its almost forgivable because of all the cuteness. I have felt like I've had a small child in the house for the last week, dealt with excessive hissing from Bella, but its been worth it.

But mind you, I'm saying its worth it because it is not 4AM and playtime right now...

Kittens and Big, Nasty Angelfaces

2009-08-09T15:57:00.003-04:00

Today, I did something very stupid. I allowed myself to get suckered into taking a stray kitten. One thing to know about me: I am a softie. To the enth degree. Mix that with my complex of trying to save the world, one child and kitten at a time.... I'm totally screwed.

This little delight showed up across the street from my parents house and was happened upon by neighbors. My youngest sister finds out, and the first thing she does? Go ahead and guess... She calls me. Her big old softie sister. Who can't say no to small children and animals. Especially poor helpless little kittens who were obviously dumped outside by their previous owners. Naturally, my soft heart melted into a rather large pool of butter, leaving me virtually helpless in resisting.

The little kitten found its way into my house today, much to the chagrin of Bella. Momma's sweet little angel face is non too happy about sharing her castle with another animal. After I finally coaxed her out from behind the living room curtains, there was an excessive amount of hissing and batting at her beloved mommy. Naturally, I just laughed. The poor cat was in shock that I would be so cruel as to bring another animal home that she would have to share me with. How could I think of doing such a thing? Clearly, it is unacceptable. To say that Bella is mad at me is an understatement. That found her locked in the bathroom for a while. I think she may have calmed down, but I'm sure that won't last too long. Especially after the baby has her vet appointment tomorrow and I can release her into the rest of my apartment, instead of being locked in my bedroom as she is now.

So, the nameless kitty is sure to upset the peace and harmony in my home for a while. All thanks to my big ol' softie heart. I'm really hoping not to regret this...

Return of the Lost

2009-08-01T01:00:00.003-04:00

I find it incredible how certain elements in life stay with us forever. Its as if they are built directly into our DNA, so close to who we are that we will never be separated from them. As if God combined ourselves with these things, never to be fully parted, or life itself would feel dim, glum in a sense that is inexplicable.

Last year, I very painfully decided to resign from my post as a dance teacher at a studio I had spent 13 years at, 9 of which were dedicated to instruction. I began teaching at the ripe age of 17, still in my last year of high school. I had such an intense love, an exuberant passion for my art that sharing it with others seemed to be the only logical next step.

I was given the opportunity to not only teach at the studio that I was trained at, but several others as well. I saturated any opportunity I could to be involved. After 9 years on the job, I knew it was time to move on from my home studio. I had no other teaching position lined up, and thought that my time as a dancer may have come to a close. Many, many tears were shed after the finalization of my determination. Part of my soul felt empty at the proposition of leaving such an important part of my life behind, yet I knew that I had to move on from the position I had held at the studio for so long.

An entire year has passed since. The few chances I had to teach in those 12 months were cherished. I believe that the kids thought I was straight from the state hospital, because my level of excitement was so intense as to be easily determined psychotic. I really do turn mad when I get passionate. Its nearly a problem.

When the juncture arose for a position at a new studio, I jumped at it. Having missed so terribly participation in what had been a defining part of my life, I knew that I must return to it. The following week I began instructing ballet classes yet again. My body is remembering (slowly) how to move again, aided along with a class that I was able to take myself. Lots of aches and pains ensued, but I am returning to my second love in this world: immersing myself in my art and being an instrument of change in others lives through what I do. It has been a blessing to get back what I thought I may have lost. The experience was akin to being unexpectedly returned a precious item that the beholder thought lost forever.

I am also being reminded that teaching isn't easy. That my personality may conflict with my students, and that they will drive me crazy more often than not. However, I am reminded as well that most things in life that are worth it are not easy. And that crazy part of me is willing to put myself through frustrations for the love of what I do. Crazy, perhaps, but to me, it is well worth it.

God really does have a way of returning things to us. Maybe not all the time, and maybe he doesn't return to us things we wish He would. However, when He has placed a call on our lives, there is no getting away from it. We will ache, we will slowly wither away, until we remember our passion, and return willingly. God does take us away from our loves sometimes, perhaps just to remind us of what they mean, why we do what we do. That acceptance back into our calling is then welcomed, desired, longed for so strongly that we leap at any chance we can to return. This then morphs into an affirmation of what we were created to do, what our purpose is in life.

Nothing is ever taken away for good if God has bound you to it. Its rather incredible.

Lessons in Change

2009-07-30T22:22:00.002-04:00

So, news flash everyone! Barack Obama is not the messiah! Shocking, I know. I mean, come on, he was the Change that our country needed to be turned around.... right? Let's look at his track record, shall we?

Obama has now passed his 6 month mark as leader of our great country. He's approved funding for overseas abortion, spent $789 billion on a special interest stimulus package that was promised to turn our economy around, his healthcare reform is still struggling through congress because the few smart people that we have on the Hill are fighting it, he's siding with Palestine in the not-so-silent war between that nation and Israel, most of his nominees for his cabinet have been rejected due to tax fraud, his recommendation for the Supreme Court is way too liberal (besides, lets just face it, we all know she was nominated because she's a woman and hispanic). Am I the only one that this concerns?

Let's go back to the stimulus package for a moment. I know I've ranted about this in the past, but its such a juicy subject that its hard to stay away from. It finally hit the mainstream news today that part of the funding that went to the National Endowment for the Arts is going towards porn and other racey films. I'm so glad to see our hard earned tax dollars going towards the satisfaction of lust-filled men who are feeding their sexual addictions at the price of women who exploit themselves for the sake of the almighty dollar. Not only is the pork package doing absolutely nothing to turn the economy around and create jobs, Americans are now unwittingly supporting a disgusting industry. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn't it?

Healthcare reform! Ha! Obama's idea of reform will put small businesses out of business because they won't be able to afford to cover their employees as will be required by law. Not only that, but the cuts to Medicare will put our elderly population in a dire situation of not having enough health coverage. Some are even calling this reform a scheme of euthanasia. That may be a bit harsh, in my opinion, but I can sure as heck understand why one might call it that.

I am honestly afraid that this administration is going to do nothing but promote the degradation of our society and push us further into debt. Not to mention befriending terrorist nations and pushing us closer to socialism. Who knows, 3 years from now we might be a tyrannical country. Congress' approval rating is tanking and Obama's rating are slipping. Probably because the country thought that Jesus Christ himself was stepping into the Oval Office. Surprise!

Sigh. Oh well. Guess we all need to wear out the knees of our jeans and pray for a miracle.

I'm Taking a Lesson From Giraffe

2009-07-20T17:16:00.003-04:00

There is a great Robot Chicken sketch that I like to simply call "Giraffe". Go Youtube it immediately. In said sketch, there is a part where Giraffe yells rather perturbedly, "AAAHHHHHHHH I JUST WANNA BITE SOMEONE IN THE FACE!!" I had exactly one of those days today.

Without going into much detail, today involved alot of noise and being taken advantage of. I don't always do so well with either of those. My company just moved offices this weekend to the other side of Allentown (the side where people don't get murdered constantly). This new office removes me from my nice cozy work space with my BFF officemate to an open air office with approximately 15 million other people. Or at least it sounded like that many. Do you know how much of a din it makes to have about 20 full grown adults talking at normal volume simultaneously? Alot. As in, I had my ear buds in, music blaring, and I could still hear them. Its dreadfully hard to concentrate and get any sort of work done with that kind of noise. I'm sure I'll adjust eventually. Either that or I'll freak out and everyone will start tiptoeing around me so that I don't go ballistic on them.

Also, I've come to the conclusion that I may not be a great team player. Maybe that's why I never really got into sports. I don't do well with feeling taken advantage of and being "asked" to constantly do work that is completely out of the range of my job description. At my last job, I called myself "the dump person." The gopher. The if-anything-needs-to-be-done-just-go-ask-Bethany person. This is my fault, really, because I am incapable of saying "no." Ever. I am such a Yes person, that its nearly a compulsion to try to make everyone else happy, even if I'm miserable in the meantime. Really, I'm just too nice.I'm finding myself in the same position at my current job, because I still can't say "no." Ever. Let me tell you, when you don't ever utter the "N" word, people start coming to you with all kinds of requests. Its amazing. What's even more amazing is when you overhear conversations (which is almost shocking because of the 15 million other people talking at the same time) about how someone is going to ask you to do something simply because they know that you won't say "no." This is where I almost bit someone in the face. Right. There.

It was great. Hearing people walk towards me to ask me to do something because they knew I wouldn't say "no." I nearly did, just because of that. But, alas and alack, because of the parties involved, I knew that I wouldn't be able to do so, no matter how much I may have wanted to.

I suppose I'll get over it. Once my tension headache subsides and the next two days are over and done with, I feel that I may be able to continue living without wanting to hurt someone. I know that I need to be thankful, but I just don't feel like it right now. Maybe after I eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in a single sitting, I'll feel better...

Thoughts on a Monday

2009-06-29T23:28:00.003-04:00

I oft wonder if men are built with the same innate desires... no, longing, to be needed. As a woman, it is programmed into my DNA. I need to be needed. My lack of a husband and children often leaves that longing, in a sense, unfulfilled. I'm not really needed by anyone. Sure, there are people whose lives may not be as full without me, but I fear that it is still different.

Today, I felt needed. It wasn't for long, and it wasn't for much, but a friend needed me today. She didn't even ask, I offered my assistance to a very difficult situation. I was so grateful to be able to help, and, selfishly, to feel needed. I can never decide just how selfish it is to hunger after being needed. In that necessity, there is most definitely an unselfish act, that putting aside our own to be something for someone else. But is there still selfishness in that selfless act? It is a ponderance that I have mulled over time and time again. I don't know that I will ever quite have it figured out.

Today, I also experienced a miracle. I am planning on making another trip down to Guatemala this fall to be part of an arts camp for the kids. I was at first uncertain that I would be able to make the trip, due to finances. After some discussion, it became clear that God was calling me to make the journey and somehow figure out the dollars and cents that went along with it. Less than two weeks after making the decision to follow my heart, the financing for the trip has basically fallen out of the sky. I was nearly flabbergasted. It was some much needed encouragement for a not so great day up until that point. Jehovah Jirah certain does watch out for his children and provide.

I have nothing profound to say today. No soap box to climb up onto (although I'm sure I could if I tried), no great revelations or epiphanies on the meaning of life. Just some random thoughts that have been pressing on my tired mind. I do believe I shall try to sleep now. I do certainly believe I'll try.

I'm Sorry, Could You Translate That?

2009-06-26T23:11:00.002-04:00

There are times in life where certain things bring such sheer delight that it will continue to bring laughter to your soul hours after the occurrence. I encountered one of those very occurrences just this afternoon.

I think most of you dear readers would agree that mommies and technology aren't always so buddy buddy. All of those new, hip, trendy, newfangled techie... things... are like some alien device. My mommy happens to fall right into that category. She's a teachable student, thankfully, but at first it can be rather entertaining. She was always pretty good with computers, from what I remember. I do distinctly recall a period where she suffered from a rather serious addiction to Sim City, so I think she caught on to the computer age relatively quickly. We put her in a 5 step program to help her cope with said addiction though. My poor mommy had some very late nights glued to the computer screen, helping those little Sims build their cities. I can't lie though, she was pretty stellar at it. Her cities always beat mine with an awesome stick. If they had Sim City competitions, I'm pretty sure she would have been super supreme gold medalist. Might have even won the Sim City Olympics. She was that good.

Anyway, sometime after my mommy recovered from her Sim City obsession, she was introduced to a cell phone. Back in those days said cellular devices were less phones and more solid bricks with this little antenna sticking out the top. They made for a great weapon if you were ever being mugged though. They could cause some serious damage. I'd say that Mommy learned the basics pretty quickly. She likes things simple though, and always wanted the nice, easy, basic phones whenever a new device was acquired. Nothing fancy, no bells and whistles. Just nice and easy. Kind of like sunday morning.

Now, most of us know that technology is continually advancing. Text messaging has largely replaced phone calls between friends, acting as a substitute for actual talking. Humanity will one day forget how to verbally communicate due to text messaging and the internet. Mark my words. Anyway, even though most of the civilized world has been texting for years and years, Mommy has never had the need. Her babies know that mommy doesn't have text messaging on her plan, so you pick up the phone and call. Until yesterday, that is....

My dad informed me last night that Mommy's cell phone now had text messaging, due to it now being included on their family plan. Naturally, this concept sheerly delighted me. I decided to try it out this afternoon and send a text to my mommy, saying that I had heard she now had texting and just needed to learn how to actually use it. This was the reply I received:

Uh0 0 0 0 aao ok i knozw h6m to use it maybe wggg wheres thequestion marlk arde you crackhging u p yet

Crackhging u p didn't even begin to describe it. I was at work when I received that, mind you. I burst into hysterical laughter to the point of tears. She definitely succeeded in actually sending the message and it almost made sense, and that was highly impressive for her first time.

Thankfully, my little sister was there to give her texting lessons during this. Mommy informed me in her next few texts (which were perfect, FYI) that she was laughing so hard that she was crying. Glad I wasn't the only one. Mommy picked texting right up and is an old pro after just a few tries. Apparently, her thumbs need some exercise though, because she tired rather quickly.

Texting is just like anything else, Mommy. Just takes some practice and you'll have lightening fingers like the rest of us. That may even become your superpower- super duper fast texting. I'm sure that could save lives or something.

Oooooooh yeaaaaaaaaaahh......

A Skewed Sense of Justice

2009-06-23T22:14:00.004-04:00

Justice. Its a word that should bring people to their feet. Its powerful. Its truth. Its a force that brings about light and life to humanity. Or does it?

If any of you dear readers have been following the news lately, I'm sure you'll know what I'm talking about when I mention the Florida Cat Killer. For those of you who have not read up on the case, there was recently a killing spree of pet cats in the Sunshine State. People's animals were snatched from their homes and brutally murdered and dismembered. The 18 year old assailant was apprehended and arrested about a week ago. If found guilty on all 19 counts against him once put up for trial, he could face up to 158 years in prison.

Those of you who follow the news may also remember the tragic events last summer in which 2 Pennsylvania teenagers brutally beat a Mexican immigrant, who eventually died from blunt force trauma. The racially-driven murder attracted national attention because of its sheer ruthlessness. The young attackers, ages 19 and 17, were put on trial for their crimes. They were acquitted of the murder charges and sentences to 6 to 23 months of jail time. Potentially only 6 months. For taking a human life.

Does anyone else see the discrepancy here? Where is the justice? A foolish kid goes around killing animals and faces almost 160 years in prison. Were his crimes disgusting and brutal? Absolutely. And yet, 2 teens commit a racially charged murder and they nearly get away scott-free. Where is the justice? I certainly don't see it.

We brag about our government. We brag about our way of living. The rest of the world is wrong and we are the only ones who seem to have it right, all straightened out and peachy keen. And still, there is no punishment for taking a human life. Yes, they are young. No, I don't believe that their original intent was to murder. However, that was exactly what they did. And somewhere along the lines it has become more of a crime to kill an animal than it is to take a human life. We have certainly lost ourselves. We have certainly forgotten the meaning of justice and truth.

A nation that does not value life will fall. Period. We have murdered millions of unborn babies in the past 50 years. Now, its okay to murder a helpless man who couldn't defend himself. We have forgotten the value of life, how precious it is, and we will pay for that. PETA rained down fire on President Obama for killing a fly during an interview, and yet they didn't say one word about an immigrant who lost his life to 2 bratty teenagers who couldn't see past the color of their own skin.

Silence is a crime in and of itself. And we have developed a skewed sense of justice.

Cell Phones and Water STILL Don't Mix

2009-06-16T22:56:00.003-04:00

Some of you may remember a few months back when I blogged about my unfortunate tendencies to force cell phones and liquids to collide. As in, dropping my phone in various containers of water. Sinks, toilets, etc. This past weekend takes the cake, wins the trophy, goes down in history for the best one yet.

I may have also mentioned in the past my dreadful fear of critters. As in, bugs. Especially spiders. I hate them. As in, loathe, despise, abhor, detest. I think you get the point. I personally feel that Jesus was having a very bad day when he made spiders. Seriously, it was simply unnecessary. I love when people try to tell me that spiders are good because they eat other bugs. I tell them that they must have brain damage if they think that spiders are actually good. Who cares if they eat other bugs? My cat eats bugs. At least she's cute and cuddly and not sneaking around on eight legs and trying to literally eat people in their sleep. I suffer from extreme terror when I wake up with bug bites. Let's just be honest, they're from spiders. Which not only means that a spider was crawling on me in my sleep, but that it was also consuming my blood. It was feasting. On my life force. While I was unconscious and unable to defend myself. I personally think that Satan should have come in the form of a spider and not a snake. Spiders are way worse.

This past weekend marked the annual youth retreat with the youth group at my church, which I am a leader of. It is held each year at Tuscarora Inn, out in the middle of God-freaking-forsaken nowhere (oddly, and somewhat uncomfortably, close to where I spent my formative years). Do you know what's out in the middle of God-freaking-forsaken nowhere? Bugs. Particularly spiders. And not small ones. Big ones that probably wouldn't wait until you're sleeping to climb on you to suck your life force. They just tackle you and pin you down. Bottoms up, baby! Its dinner time! They are basically comparable to Shelab in Lord of the Rings. Or... at least in my mind.

Friday night found me hanging out on a dock by the shore of the Delaware River at Tusc. The spiders must have thought that was a good place to chill as well. After spotting one climbing a post reeeeeaaaaally close to me, my shrieks of terror sent one of the youth girls hustling off to find a few stones with which to slay the beast. This thing was ginormous. I mean, the leg span had to have been at least 2 feet. That's my side of the story, anyway. If anyone else tries to tell you differently, don't believe them. Its a lie straight from Satan. However, Jo successfully brought down the monster with a rock, only to have another one surface a few seconds later. I'm pretty sure that it was going to come after us in revenge for killing is fellow creature. This was not going over so well with me. Jo quickly went off in search of more stones with which to slay the new beast, whilst I cowered in a ball, probably whimpering like a little girl.

Immediately before throwing the stone at the Shelob, Jo mentions that it might be a good idea for me to move, because if she missed, the beast would probably make a beeline for me. My hysteria at the thought had me swiftly to my feet.... forgetting that my cell phone was lying peacefully in my very small jacket pocket.

*bounce, bounce, PLOP* No... it couldn't be!! My laughter started immediately upon the realization that, yes, my cell phone did just, in fact, hit the dock and bounce its way into the Delaware River. It was dark. And its the Delaware. I was not about to go jumping in after it.

My cell phone, may it rest in peace, is now making friends with the fish at the bottom of the Delaware. I have done nothing but laugh about it. I mean, its a great story. Its hard not to laugh about it. Plus, I'm up for a renewal on my cell plan next week, which means I'm eligible for a phone upgrade. The trusty old backup phone is being used in the interim. Good old, trusty old cell phone.

Lessons to be learned: do not, I repeat, do not try mixing electronics and water. It just doesn't work.

Little Pieces of Me

2009-06-03T23:13:00.004-04:00

I'm getting tired of slipping into funks. Work funks, life funks, relationship funks. We all suffer from funkiness on occasion and I don't believe that any of us particularly like them. My funks are typically not of the severe sort, just enough to bring my mood down to a brooding level and make me want to just sleep it all away.

I've been recently struggling with a funk that was previously unknown to me: loneliness. I'm not a lonely person. I've been forced over the years to be comfortable with being by myself and alone, to the point where I've embraced it and has become a necessity to get that time to myself. However, there is definitely some falsity to the phrase "you can't get too much of a good thing." I think I'm basically over all of my superwoman independence. I am beginning to dread coming home to an empty house at night, I'm learning that my conversation skills are deficient due to a lack of exercise.

My very good friend, Leah, spent a week with me while on hiatus from long-term missions in Guatemala. I can't lie... It was awesome coming home and being greeted by someone who did not walk on all fours and stand about 18 inches high. We had dinner, drank wine, asked about each other's days... And it was amazing. Silly, right? Something so simplistic as having someone close enough to share every day things with can really make such a tremendous difference.

I feared as Leah's time with me came to a close that I would depress. That my feelings of loneliness and isolation would be magnified even more. Its incredible how being reminded of the fruitfulness of relationships when it is sorely lacking in one's life can impact a person on such a level. I knew that this was true when my mom called after I had dropped Leah off at the airport and asked if I would miss her and I nearly burst into tears. I know its kind of selfish. Wanting someone to stay around simply for your sake. But it is what it is (and hopefully Leah will be flattered! Te quiero mucho!)

It was a stark reminder of how God created us to be relational beings. That we were not meant to live this life out alone. I was reading something the other day on the Eastern State Penitentiary (don't ask) and their method of solitary confinement during imprisonment. There were direct links in the prisoners of insanity from such severe isolation tactics. I couldn't help but find that interesting. We are so much meant to be with and around other human beings that the lack of a human connection can actually drive a person out of their mind.

I know that I am in this place of my life for a reason. Yes, I do struggle with loneliness. No, I am not miserable. Its hard, sure. But, most things in life carry with them a certain level of difficulty and this is no exception. Its a time where I can focus solely on the things that God has for me, on my purpose, on my personal path, and just wait to see what's in store. Maybe this place of reclusion will soon be at a close. Maybe it will be for the rest of my life. In the end, I know it will be for the best and I've learned to not want for things that I cannot change. Just to hope for a brighter tomorrow and trust that fate is not what controls my life, rather the hand of God.

Where is the love?

2009-05-30T23:21:00.003-04:00

I've discovered that I have an issue. Well, I have lots of them, let's just be honest here. But I have one issue in particular that really lights a fire under me: People who lack compassion. Oh. My. Gosh. I've learned that if I come across someone who is blatant about their lack of compassion for people who are truly and sincerely hurting, being exploited, starving, et cetera... I basically want to hurt them. As in, severely maim.

I had a certain situation this week involving some people who were displaying a total lack of compassion for the people of Africa. They came up with the worst excuses I had ever heard for their behavior and comments, and it was everything that I could do to keep from stabbing their eyeballs out. I now understand a bit more why Jesus went on a rampage through the temple. Righteous anger is an intense emotion, let me tell you. I do not believe that ever in my 26 years have I been furious to the point of physical shaking and my hearing buzzing. The anger I felt towards these people was mixed with sympathy for their unfeeling attitudes towards people, children no less, in horribly desperate situations that are beyond what those living comfortably in America can even begin to imagine.

I do not understand how a person can have any sort of knowledge whatsoever about the devastation around the world and not feel for that. How is that even possible? If anyone even mentions human trafficking, starvation, exploitation, regardless of who it is or where it is, my heart physically aches. The human side of anyone should hurt for that. And yet, so many of us are so caught up in our own lives that we cannot see past that. Or, we are so focused on our own passions or ambitions that we segregate our compassion towards a single group of people and leave the rest to their own defenses. This is not right. I do not believe that segregated love is the kind of love that Jesus taught.

How can we, in good conscience as a human being, turn a blind eye to suffering? How? This completely boggles my mind. I do understand that younger generations may need to grow into compassion, in a sense. That egocentric mindsets can be lessened with maturity and may be something that has to be learned, rather than coming naturally. However, I find any excuse still to be pitiful. If you cannot look at a suffering fellow human and feel nothing, you are wasting your life. Absolutely throwing it away. We were not created to be caught up in ourselves, to spend what little time we have on this earth focusing on our own wants and desires. We were created for a higher purpose, to uphold each other, protect each other, help each other. Anything less and we may as well just give up. It is pointless.

I had to pray for compassion on those who angered me so. It took me a little while to remember that their self-involvement and arrogance in the situation was most likely fueled by issues that I could not see, personal crises that could be skewing their perception. I also need to remember to have compassion on those who do not seem capable of the same at that moment in time.

"Compassion is the radicalism of our time." - The Dalai Lama

Cameras and Thankfulness

2009-05-24T23:49:00.003-04:00

I find myself getting frustrated often with technical difficulties that get in the way of my dreams. Like money. Money is a very big technical difficulty that presents a host of obstacles that clutter the path towards my dreams.

We all have those ideal careers, those things that we wish oh-so-hard that we could do well. I have quite a few of those. Things like, be a wild horse tamer, domesticate alligators to keep as pets, a best selling author, principal dancer for Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. But probably topping my list is to be a phenomenal photographer. I mean, the kind of photographer that makes people's jaws drop when they look at my photos. I have a decent eye for pictures, but I know that I'm not the most naturally gifted person out there. But I really want to be good at it.

One particularly massive obstacle in my path towards becoming the world's best photographer is that I don't have thousands of dollars just lying around with which to purchase top-notch camera equipment. In case you didn't know, let me enlighten you. Camera equipment is expensive. I mean, expensive. I've dug in my couch a few times to see if I could come up with enough loose change, but what I found wouldn't even buy a candy bar, much less super expensive equipment.

This is one of those times where I must learn to be satisfied, and remind myself that at least I have food on my table and a roof over my head. The important things in my life are more than taken care of, and that should be enough for me. I've been reminded lately of being thankful for what I have, and not to be longing and lusting after things out of my grasp. If God deems it fit, I will be blessed with my hearts desires for things I cannot afford. If not, I'll just be thankful for what I do have.

Its much simpler to just be thankful.

Presumptions and the Overwhelmption

2009-05-08T19:43:00.002-04:00

As previously mentioned, I had a penchant for being a ridiculous version of a hypochondriac. As in, a fake one. As in, I'm am not actually a hypochondriac, but I sure do have a famously good time pretending to be. As also previously mentioned, I am partial to another amusement: originating diseases.

Several of my recent imaginings include the Swan Flu and the Pot Belly Pig Flu. Both continue to make symptomatic appearances on a daily basis. An another fabricated medical condition that I suffer from regularly is known as the Overwhelmption. I may have enlightened you to this infirmity in the past. It is of the direst of all ailments, causing symptomatic distress that is equitable something dreadful. Like Ebola. The Overwhelmption causes its victims much mental distress and emotional angst. There are typically sleepless nights and heightened anxiety to the point of hardly being able to focus on any one thing. Its quite terrible, really.

Yes, my friends, I have been afflicted with said Overwhelmption much of the last few weeks. I have been investigating some circumstantial life changes and my chronic indecision and lack of being able to trust God to lead my life in the right direction has brought my underlying Overwhelmption very much to the surface. I oft wonder why it is that I still have such a dreadful time trusting that God is leading me. I have 26 years of experience under my belt with no apparent life-altering horrible decisions that led me completely astray. Even the times where I felt that may have happened, I have been brought to a place where I can really see God's hand so evidently working me just to the place that I need to be. As in, at age 22 I was certain that I had missed the boat. I had several serious regrets about my college decisions, wondering if I had managed to royally screw up my life. Yes, some remnants of those regrets still remain deep in my soul. However, I am watching my life take a turn in a new direction, with new passions, new desires, and had I followed the path I thought I should be on at 22, I would be in quite the opposite place right now. My true calling in life could have been completely lost under what my presumptions were in relation to my ideas on what my life should be.

It is rather fascinating how our lives turn out. It is typically so opposite from what we thought it should be, in our stupidity of years past. And yet, even when we don't see it, God is moving us along, towards our destiny of as close to perfection as we will ever be. To be what He molded and shaped us to be.

Tonight, I am glad that I am not in charge of my life. Boy, how I would have screwed it up....

There Are Still Some Kinks

2009-05-06T21:31:00.002-04:00

I found myself angry today. At me. In the rough wake of Sue's funeral, I was highly agitated at how I hadn't been there for her and her family more, how I hadn't called enough, hadn't emailed enough, hadn't put my own selfishness behind a bit and put her before myself. In complete honesty, I was afraid to go visit her. I knew how I had reacted the last I had seen Sue. It involved a total emotional breakdown. Not to mention barely being able to control the tears from rolling down my face at the skeleton of a woman I had once known while she was right in front of me. Looking back now, I realize the utter egocentrism involved. It never should have been about me, about how I would react, but about being an encouragement to someone I cared about. About showing my love, respect, care.

Love is not selfish, the Bible says. I know that my love still needs to be perfected, that I have yet to learn to love as Jesus loves me. Learning to become like my Savior is going to be a life-long process, and it is again blatantly obvious how far I have yet to travel on that journey. I will never be Jesus, but I will still strive everyday to be more like Him, to learn His character, to work out all the kinks in my life so that it matches His. It will never be perfect, but I will try like hell.

As my day progressed I couldn't help but be reminded of how we truly do need to cherish every day. All the cliche Carpe Diem phrases that we oft roll our eyes at suddenly have so much meaning in times such as this. There is no guarantee of what tomorrow holds, and only God knows where are life's path ends. Every moment should be regarded to be as precious as gold, and as savored as the most elusive herbs. Every instance where we can remind another of how we love them should be snatched up and put to use. The only guarantee in life is that there are no guarantees. That chance may never be had again.

To all my friends and family, I know I do not say it often enough, but I love you.

Ponderances and Decisions

2009-05-03T20:09:00.003-04:00

One of my favorite phrases is "life has been very life-like lately." Its a fabulous way of getting across that things aren't necessarily terrible, but they may not be so great either. I do feel that the last few weeks have been very, well... life-like.

Combine all the drama with my car, depression issues, sleep deprivation, and certain tragic incidences, its all been a bit overwhelming and I've found myself repressing the urge to smash my head into the corner of something heavy. Okay, so it really hasn't been quite that bad. But still, I feel that I can make the case for life being slightly less than desirable in recent weeks.

I have often been quoted as saying that I find it simply incredulous that children at the age of 17 or 18 are forced by society to pick their life's path in the form of a college major. I mean, seriously, at age 17 one is still so young and naive as to think that life is going to all work out exactly the way one wants it. Should people such as these be trusted with life-altering decisions? I think not! One of my most pressed suggestions with high schoolers is as follows: "take as many elective courses as you possibly can. Even if you're not sure if you'll like it." My reason for saying this is that, if given the right circumstances, one can learn so much about oneself in college through random course taking. One discover interests and talents that one never knew existed. One's path may alter completely based off of a single course.

Sadly, I was not afforded this opportunity in my advice during my college stay. Being an education major for my first 5 semesters of college, each semester was essentially planned out for me and jam-packed tight full of required courses. I believe I had 6 credits of free electives for my entire college career (how depressing!). However, one of those required courses did alter my career path nonetheless. A hellish semester with 5 required classes in my major (Secondary Education with a concentration in History) also brought along an Instructional Technology class that prompted a change of heart and brought about a switch in major midway though my junior year. A bit late for changing my mind, huh?

Here I am, nearly 5 years after college graduation. First off, I am flabbergasted that I am 5 years out from my undergrad degree. How does that happen? Each day pushes me closer to the 30 year mark, and I have a single thought that runs through my cranium every single day: What am I doing with my life? Yes! It is so true! I am about to head into my "late twenties" and I'm still relatively clueless as to what I am actually doing with my life. I have heard that this is a common theme amongst humans. I've had 50 year old people tell me that they still don't know what they want to be when they grow up. I do not find this encouraging. Another 25 years of swimming around in the sea of indecision does not sound like a good time.

I am on a quest to find out my life's calling recently. Well, not really recently. I suppose its more a quest that I've been on for the last 26 years, its just become accelerated as of late. I do believe that some light may be beginning to shine at the end of the tunnel. I'm hoping that I may get some direction soon, or I may just get steamrolled by the train that is attached to said light. Who knows. I do know that God knows the plans that He has for me. And they are plans to prosper me and not to harm me.

I'll simply take comfort in that. For now.

Sue Jakiela

2009-05-02T16:41:00.003-04:00

I first met Sue about 5 years ago. She brought her daughter, Esther, into one of my dance classes and I remember being struck by her quiet strength that just emanated from her. As I got to know Sue over the next few years, I discovered that her walk with the Lord was tremendous. She was one of those people who trusted her God for every single thing in life, was optimistic in everything, knowing that she would be taken care of and that nothing was too much for her to bear, as long as her Lord was beside her. Her son, Caleb, had a hearing dysfunction, which later contributed to learning problems once he was of school age. Still, Sue was strong. She was an inspiration to all, she would light up a room the instant she walked into it. She took care of her body, eating so healthy (I never understood how she could do that!), ran miles every week.

About 15 months ago, Sue came to the studio to drop Esther off and sat in the waiting area like she had done every Monday evening for the last 4 years. I noticed that she was holding her head off to the side, and naturally asked if she was okay. "Oh, I just woke up with this kink in my neck the other day and it will not go away!", she said. A trip to the doctor's later on that week revealed nothing. Sue told me the following Monday that the doctor had wanted to prescribe anti-depressants, since apparently that would solve everything. Because of the strength of her faith, Sue refused, stating that she knew that it was not an emotional issue that was causing the problem.

The following week, Sue was not there. Her husband was dropping off Esther, which was unusual. When I asked if she was okay, I heard those dreaded, dreaded words. Sue has cancer. I'm sure that utter shock must have registered on my face. "It can't possibly be!", I thought. Sue, of all people. The woman who had taken quite literally that her body was a temple of the Holy Spirit. The woman whose faith was a rock. That woman could not possibly have cancer.

As the details started pouring in, it was discovered that Sue had Stage 4 cancer in her collarbone and also her liver. Aggressive treatments were started immediately to try to slow the spread of the disease. I didn't see Sue for a while, but received updates from her husband often, and I called and emailed on occasion to find out how she was.

Last June, I was very surprised by Sue's presence at the dance recital. I struggled through several conversations with her that day. She had always been very thin, but she was down to about 90 pounds at this point. The chemo was ravaging her body and was not as effective as the doctors had hoped. She had started on experimental treatments in hopes that they would achieve better results.

That was the last time I saw Sue. I received word early this afternoon that Sue had fought, fought so hard, but had lost her battle with cancer. She went to be with the Lord at around 8 this morning. She was determined that the cancer would not get the best of her, and it never did. She kept her faith and her optimism until the very end. I know that she used her sickness to witness to many, and to be an inspiration to all she met.

In times like this, it is impossible to not ask why. Why?? With all of the Osama bin Laden's in the world. Of all those who spread hate, and agony, and misery.... Why someone like Sue? I heard it put so very well one time that God chooses the strong of faith and heart to endure these awful things sometimes because He knows their hearts. He knows their faith. He knows that they will be the epitome of His love because of the essence of who they are. Because they love Him above all else and will keep that in front of them at all times. Because they will be an inspiration and a walking testament of God's unfailing love and faithfulness in their lives. It is one of those things that is very hard for those that love them to accept. I don't want to accept it. But, I will. Knowing that God has her best in mind. That she was used of her Father in tremendous ways, and there can be no regrets there.

Sue, you will never be forgotten. We love you and will miss you terribly. Thank you for everything that your life meant, for all that you are, for what you were to your family and friends. Thank you for your life and the blessing that it was.

I Have the Swan Flu

2009-04-30T23:23:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I feel that I have no tact. Not in regards to relating directly to people.... but subtly. In ways that could most definitely be classified as politically INcorrect. I'm good at that one. Political correctness is boring and safe. Who wants boring and safe? Certainly not me.

My officemate and I have a dreadful habit of being "hypochondriacs." Not real ones, mind you. Hence, the quotation marks. Even the slightest cough in our office brings gasps of, "OH NO!!! You have the consumption!!!" This is unfailingly followed by hysterical laughter from both sides of the room. One time, I found these odd ridges on my fingernails. Naturally, my curious nature got the better of me (as it always does). A few Google searches brought us to the terrible truth... I had syphilis. It was either that or diabetes, but heck, I thought that having the syph sounded way more horrific. Now, mind you, it would basically be impossible for me to the syph. Like, actually. But still, the determination had been made. It simply must be true.

So, along with random outbreaks of Ebola, Mad Cow Disease, West Nile Virus, and perhaps the Avian Flu once or twice, we have recently had some, well... fun, for lack of a better word, with the swine flu. First off, it just sounds funny. Having newscasters seriously discuss the swine flu is prime for some giggling from certain tactless people, such as myself. I mean, seriously, who even calls pigs "swine" nowadays? Maybe some rustic farmers in West Virginia, but not the general population.

This week, every sneeze, cough, or sniffle has been followed by teasingly panicked comments about coming down with the swine flu. I was nearly kicked out of the office once or twice by my beloved officemate for what was simply allergy symptoms. Somewhere along the lines of all the goofing off, the new recent mutations of flu were aptly renamed. Actually, they were renamed twice. The media should be alerted to no longer refer to the impending pandemic as the "swine flu", but the "swan flu" or the "pot belly pig flu." Really, that just sounds so much better! "Yes, I have the swan flu." Could you imagine tuning into the news and hearing "There are additional reported outbreaks of the pot belly pig flu in Florida and Colorado." How could you not giggle?

For those of you that I may have mortally offended with such an insensitive post, I am not making light of the fact that this flu has caused a large number of deaths in Mexico and is rapidly spreading through our own country. It is just an attempt to keep life interesting and not get caught up in the panic that the media is doing its best to spread. I swear that the greatest pandemic the world will ever have is the the media spreading fear. They do it so well and it is unstoppable.

Maybe they could come up for a vaccine for that...

And so it goes...

2009-04-29T22:33:00.003-04:00

Its been one of those weeks. You know, thooooose weeks. In my last post, I lamented about the struggles of the single life, along with the anxiety that goes along with unintentionally purchasing Satan's retired car. He was smart to trade that sucker in. I was a sucker enough to buy it after he had had his way with it. After getting home on Friday evening, I was pretty certain that things had to look up the following day. I mean, if for no other reason than the fact that it was Saturday. .......Right?

After safely arriving at the garage post getting pulled over on the way, I was sure to mark very specifically on the little night owl envelope containing my key that was dropped through the mail slot that I simply must have my car returned to me as early in the day as possible. I woke up Saturday morning with a slump in my heart and sped out the door as swiftly as could be, just to get out. I entertained myself a good chunk of the morning with a book and an iced coffee. Then the walk back home. Then an entire movie. It was now 3PM. And Bethany was not happy. I rather irritatingly phoned Midas to find out what the hold up was. And would you know... "oh, its done. We just hadn't had the chance to call you yet." Awesome. Thanks for that.

20 minutes later found me in the lobby of Midas, signing my soul away on the dotted line of the credit card receipt. My spirits were still pretty low and the price tag of the fixes certainly didn't help. I moseyed out to the Crapwagon, put the key in the ignition, turned it... Yes, the car did start just fine. What was not fine, however, was the indicator light on my dash that said the door was open. Which, by the way, it was not. So, out I went to close all the doors just in case. Key in ignition, turn.... Same thing. "You have GOT to be freaking KIDDING me," I thought to myself. Or perhaps I said it out loud. Who knows. Anyhoo, back out of the car, furiously slammed all the doors again. Back in the car. Key in the ignition, turn.... "Seriously?!?! No... SERIOUSLY?!?!" I'm sure that there were some other choice words in there as well, as I got back out of the car (again), did the "I'm going to kill someone" dance, yelled to my friend Juli (who had very graciously helped tote me back and forth the garage several times that week), and stormed (yes, stormed) back into Midas.

Apparently the tech has noticed the light and they just "forgot" to tell me about it. What? Like I wouldn't notice? Seriously. "Well, you'll just have to bring it back in again next week." Something tells me that if looks could kill, the poor man would have dropped over dead instantaneously. Bless his heart.

After storming back out to the car, Juli and I headed in the direction of the Promenade Shops. I called my mother to vent my frustrations while driving along, minding my own business. Suddenly... "No," I thought to myself. "It couldn't be. It just couldn't be!!" Flashing red and blue lights. Again. "Sweet Jesus, save me!!" I'm pretty sure I said that one out loud.

I love when cops ask if you know why they pulled you over. I mean, c'mon. Really? Naturally, I said "no", just in case it wasn't for my car registration, even though I was pretty sure it was. Ah, yes. My registration had been expired for 2 weeks, and not a single cop had paid any attention to it. Now, twice in less than 18 hours. Naturally, I didn't have the card that the nice officer had given me a mere 16 hours prior, but thankfully, this Mr. Policeman decided to trust me on the fact that I was taking care of the situation. Granted, it might have had something to do with the glistening tear tracks that I'm sure he could see on my face. It was not a pretty sight.

So, the past week has been filled with lessons on patience, thankfulness, and self-control in not physically harming people. My car has been back in the shop since Monday night, and I found out this afternoon that it will not be ready until tomorrow. Apparently, the part didn't come. Yeah, okay. Or maybe you forgot to order it and just don't want to admit negligence. Whatever. I do have to be thankful for kind friends who have close jobs and therefore available cars for me to use. Otherwise, this all would be so much worse.

My advice to you all: be wary of cops. Make sure that your current address is updated with PennDOT, not just on your license, but your registration as well. Always remember that Volkswagons equal the Devil (check in the thesaurus. Its listed right there as a synonym.)

And also, God bless us. Every one.

Life Has a Way of Figuring

2009-04-25T00:08:00.004-04:00

You know those days? You know... those days. Actually, most of my day today was quite good. I didn't feel like death when my alarm went off this morning, which is a rare occurrence. The day warmed up quite nicely as it went along, I actually got to do some creative designing at work, which is a tremendous rarity. I was in a good mood, listened to classic 60's R&B music for most of the day. Talked about food extensively, which is medicine for the soul for me. Especially when it involves fresh salsa, as it did today. I came home, made said salsa (which was delightful), caught up on what my mother refers to as my "soaps" (okay, so Grey's Anatomy does nearly fall into that category), then headed out to my favorite coffee shops with one of my favorite friends and one of my favorite godsons. It was a good day!

Was. Now, I feel that I need to preemptively say that the following events do not really constitute an awful evening and I fully recognize that. I've just had one of those weeks. You know... those weeks. I am not prone to feelings of loneliness. I spend copious amounts of time alone, and have for the better part of the last 5 or so years. I am very much used to being by myself and embrace that time that I get to spend in solitude. However, lately, I have been succumbing to periods loneliness and mild depression from just being alone so much. Its really not bad, and I push through it just fine. This week has been a little tougher though. There is no real reason why. I have just been.... alone. As usual.

I knew during my afternoon at work today that I was going to have to find something to occupy myself with this evening. I was wired (which isn't very common), actually had energy for once, and was freaking sick and tired of spending my evenings alone. Now, it would not seem such a feat to find a friend to spend the evening with. However, when 99.9% of your friends are married, it can cause a serious damper to your social life. My normal hangout buddy, one of the 0.01% that is not married, was busy. This left me in quite a predicament. I tried to get a hold of a few other people, who, naturally, actually had plans. Apparently, people who have real lives do have plans on a Friday night. Thankfully, my friend Rachel initiated a coffee date with us and her son. This took up a few hours. Awesome.

So, now what? By 9:30, I was back home on my couch. Feeling pretty sorry for myself, truth be told. At about 11:30, I was off to drop my car off at the garage (this is a topic for another blog. I don't even want to talk about that right now). By this point, I had already settled into a pathetic mood. After turning at a green stoplight, I see something that every driver dreads: flashing blue and red lights. Oh, how my night just got better! Part of my trip to the garage was to get a headlight fixed, which should have been replaced when my car was in the shop yesterday. For some reason completely unbeknown to me, this had not been done. Let me tell you, I was loving life. When the officer came to my window, I asked what the problem was, even though I was pretty certain I knew. After telling me about my headlight (which I quickly interjected that I was literally on my way to drop my car off), I discovered that the US Postal Service had not done its due diligence in delivering my car registration renewal. Awesome. "It so freaking figures," I thought to myself. I already had a headache with the repairs on my car, I was still in the middle of throwing a pity party for myself that I have no life, and now I could practically feel the citation with a triple figure price tag attached. Perfect.

I think that the officer felt bad for me. Which is obviously unusual for a cop. However, I am grateful for his consideration. Maybe he could see my party hat on and decided to have mercy. I don't know. However, I'll take the faulty equipment notice with a warning that I need to take care of the headlight (insert reiteration of taking it to the garage now here) and also must get my registration current within 5 days, at which time I must go to a Bethlehem PD office and get it all checked out. Or else I will get that triple digit citation.

I have yet again discovered the healing powers of stress eating and drinking. My day has not been awful, granted. But I'd sure as heck like to to be over. In the meantime, I'll continue to shove my face in this bag of veggie chips in an attempt to stay away from the ice cream.

I may not be able to hold out much longer.

Controversy and Conflict and Enigmas

2009-04-14T22:47:00.002-04:00

I find myself in a conundrum of conflicted feelings tonight. I tend to find myself inexplicably drawn towards controversy. This I find a somewhat odd aspect of my person, considering that I run from conflict. By run, I mean flee in the opposite direction as if someone has lit my underpants ablaze. Perhaps this seeming disconnection of self in regards to a love of controversy against a hatred of conflict has to do with one being a battle of intellect and the other a clash of a physical nature. Controversy involves ideas, ideals, virtues, blacks and whites and greys. Controversy includes varied thoughts between opposing parties that begs the question of right and wrong. It is oft an issue of morality. Conflict, on quite the other hand, is an extroverted expression. It involves arguing, fighting, more physical manifestations of adversarial feelings. As a course of nature, controversy and conflict do meet and cross paths. Some might even argue that there is actually no true separation between the two.

But, in typical Bethany fashion, I do separate the two out in my mind. Conflict, bad. Controversy, good. I do enjoy the mental and moral workout that controversy provides. I believe that ones values only become true after they are tried and tested. I am the type that encourages questioning one's faith, values, beliefs and only after that do they truly become one's own. Controversy is like a playground for moral exercise, forcing you to go up and down and around and through your values to find out what the truth is, to discover what one's backing is and if perhaps one needs to reevaluate.

I watched a film tonight, one that has highly controversial content. I nearly feel bad for enjoying it, but it was excellently created and filmed, and I am so much about the art of movies that I have the capacity to overlook things that perhaps I should not. The film had an underlying theme of humanitarian murder, which is perhaps one of the most oxymoronic phrases ever devised. Murder is not humanitarian. Ever. Period. And yet, the controversy behind the theme moved me. Yes, the actions were wrong on the deepest level, and yet... There is this other level that my humanness can relate to and understand, even if that part of me that can comprehend it belongs in the deepest part of hell. The fact that I can associate with what the character's intent was, and I believe most of you reading this would be able to as well, does not change the fact that the point of controversy is still wrong. If I know that beyond question, I do find it interesting that I still connect with it. Knowing something is remarkably wrong on moral grounds, and yet still relate....

It is an enigma, is it not?

Pleasures and Nail Polish

2009-04-08T23:08:00.003-04:00

There are few simple pleasures in life that can really bring true joy. Brownies, ice cream, and pickles are on my list of things-that-can-make-me-smile-even-when-I'm-really-crabby-and-stressed-out. Like today. I was very crabby and stressed out. I blame this partially on my job and partially on my back ache. I get very cranky when my back hurts. It must make my blood pressure go up or something, because it simply is not a pretty sight. In case you were wondering, yes, I did eat several brownies today. I'm so glad that I was successfully able to ruin my diet due to lower back pain.

I have another simple pleasure in life that is really rather odd: nail polish. I love nail polish. Alot. I'm not altogether sure why, since I've been a compulsive nail biter for most of my 26 years. I have come to the conclusion, however, that wearing nail polish is somewhat of a cure for my preoccupation. I tend to stay away from my nails when they are painted pretty colors. I do not know why. It doesn't really make sense. But, heck, I'll roll with it.

I had managed to stop chomping on my fingers last spring and had actual long nails for the first time.... ever. It was lovely! I started buying nail polish like I buy accessories (I do love accessories). Forget checking out the earrings when I went shopping. Nail polish was the drug of choice. Then, one very, very sad day, I had a few nails break within a few hours of each other. And also got very stressed out. Possibly due to lower back pain. Anywhoo, low and behold, my fingernails met their fateful end. They have yet to make their triumphant return, although I cannot blame that on anything but habit and stress, as I have not had continuous back pain for the last 6 months.

Last week, I concluded that it was time to put my big girl panties on once again and buckle down on my daily chomp fests. There was only one obvious way to accomplish this tremendous feat: purchase some new nail polish.

So, off I went. I'm not necessarily a bright color person. I tend to go for the dark, brooding colors. Because I'm the dark, brooding type, naturally. However, in celebration of spring time, warm weather (minus the snow showers today), and the hope that comes with newly budding flowers and trees, I decided upon a lovely coral colored polish that brings warmth and joy to my heart with every glance. *Sigh*

Silly, I know. But those simple pleasures are what gets us through life, so I'll take it.

Mismatching Chromosomes and Brain Damage

2009-04-07T21:59:00.003-04:00

Men. The end. Do I really need to say more? Anyone reading this who has matching chromosomes understands the connotation behind that single word completely. It means a host of things, most of which involve frustration and irritation. You men can occasionally be cute and cuddly, and serve functional purposes like taking out the trash and supplying us with the sperm needed for procreation. Ergo, we decide to keep you around.

Today I encountered one of my least favorite things: being sexually harassed by a disgusting XY-er passing by in a muscle truck that is supposed to compensate for what he's lacking in manliness. Mr. Smalls sped up on the highway, rode my tail until the first instant that he could safely pass me without taking off my bumper, and then whipped around, slowing for a moment so he could yell something through the glass (which I can safely assume was obscene) and then finished the tirade with a smooch to the window pane and then raced off. My blood came to an instantaneous boiling point, but I managed to resist the urge to flip him off. Well, at least until he couldn't see me anymore.

I've heard rumor that there is a scientific reason that men can sometimes seemingly lack in cerebral functioning. Although I (sadly) cannot back this up with research or proof, I've been told by reliable sources that men are *drum roll* ...... brain damaged. Yes! Ladies, all those times that you pondered to yourself whether or not the tripod in front of you has any brain waves going on is backed by at least a hope of an explanation! It may not actually be their fault. Seriously, brain damage would explain alot. Including why men think that its even remotely okay to make unrequested advances, even if its at 65 miles per hour. From my understanding, there is some kind of a disconnect between the two sides of the brain that occurs in utero that is quite literally a form of brain damage. It makes total sense!

To me, being checked out, given the sexy eyes, or even being kissed at from another vehicle is highly degrading. Being made to feel like a piece of meat is far from my idea of a good time and does not in any way, shape or form make me feel sexy or desired. It makes me feel dirty. Like, give me a shower. Now. *Shudder* It is a simple matter of respect and any mother who does not teach her sons how to treat a women should be sent to compulsory parenting class. Its common sense. Any man that does not listen to his mother in regards to this should be taken outside, beaten with a switch, and forced in to the stocks for 9 days with only being fed scorpions and warm tomato juice for the duration.

I feel very strongly about this subject. Probably because I'm very tired of feeling like a piece of arse for the better part of the last 10 years. Guys who are reading this: if you do not treat women respectfully with your manners, eyes and thoughts, you better run. Or I'm coming after you and will drag you to your mother by the ear for a lecture on how Jesus wants us to treat each other. And then I'll do the beating and putting you in the stocks myself.

Seriously.

Thumbs of Doom

2009-03-31T22:51:00.003-04:00

After 5 years of suffering with shoulder pain and dealing with numbness in the last two fingers of my left hand, I finally caved last week and went to visit a chiropractor for the first time. Ever. Now, something that needs to be known about Bethany: she doesn't go to the doctor for pain unless something is hanging. By a thread. And even then its questionable if she'll make the trip.

I figured that 5 years was long enough to have nearly constant aching, not to mention the numbness and tingling, so I cracked and picked up the phone. My dad has problem with his shoulders too, and his chiropractor was able to offer him some relief, so off I went.

I love the body charts that they have you fill out at doctors offices. You know, the drawings of the back and front of the body, with a legend consisting of different symbols that represent an assortment of aches and pains. One is supposed to draw on the body diagram to pinpoint the areas which are having issues with the appropriate symbol. I seriously considered circling the whole body and then putting a giant X through it. I mean, really? Someone like me who has abused their bodies for 13+ years dancing? I have had issues with just about every part of my body.

I decided that the X through the diagram would not be presenting the best attitude, so I focused on the areas that have been giving me the most trouble lately. This perpetuated some very interesting events. Such as my foot being manipulated and cracked back into place. Yes, I did say my foot. I've had problems with that sucker for the better part of 10 years, with issues ranging from nerve damage to bone spurs to tendinitis. Not to mention a pretty nice sprain 2 years back. It seems that there's been a bone out of place. Or at least it was. She took that puppy on and it had no chance. CRACK!!! It shockingly didn't hurt (I feel that for how loud it cracked, I should have been melting to the floor in tears).

The most fun part of the visit was the work on my shoulder. By fun, I mean that she may as well have released a cageful of scorpions into the office and then locked me in. (okay, it really wasn't that bad) I have learned the Dr. Rimby's thumbs are registered as illegal weapons in 15 states. I had them digging into my ulnar nerve for 10 minutes. That was 5 days ago. And it still feels bruised. Ouch.

So, today was my second visit back. I still have all sorts of soreness and tingling and numbness. She cracked my wrist today, which was freaky but nearly as much as my foot *shudder*. She found the world's most massive knot under my left shoulder, which would be attributing to some of the numbness and shoulder pain. She had mercy on me, just for today, and kept her thumbs mostly away from it. I have 2 more appointments scheduled in the next week and something tells me that the weapons will be coming out of the holsters then.

I'll be sure to say my prayers before I arrive.

(PS- if anyone is looking for a chiropractor, I highly recommend Dr. Rimby! While her thumbs are very scary, she's amazing!)

The State of Are

2009-03-29T23:20:00.004-04:00

I feel the need to write tonight. I have nothing profound to say. I am not climbing atop my refrigerator soapbox to spew about the injustices of the world. I'm not sad. I'm not particularly happy, either. I just am. Its that place of near nothingness where no spectacular, or even unspectacular, events have occurred. There is no excitement, no real joy, no sorrow, no depression. That place where you just.... are.

Its like the opposite of Neverland. In Neverland, you never grow old. You use your imagination to feed yourself brilliantly color mush that is neverendingly satisfying. There are faeries, and magic, and tick tocking crocodiles. There are sword fights with pirates and food fights with friends. In Neverland, there is constant action, adventure, danger, and amusement. There is always something. Some purpose. Some presence. Some meaning.

In this land, for which I have no name, everything has a grey tone. There is no color, no faerie dust, no green grass, no crocodiles. There is boredom, and lonesomeness, and dull aches. It is so... there... that it shall remain nameless because a proper noun attached to it would give it some meaning that is undeserved. Some presence. Some purpose.

I am not sad tonight. I am not depressed. I have no cause for happiness or delight. I just am. Its not a terrible place to be, I suppose. It is better than lying collapsed in a heap on the floor, sobbing from some terrible occurrence. It is more desirable than suffering with pain or sickness or grief. But, I am still longing for more. Longing for a purpose, for a reason to keep going, for some delight and joy and happiness. Really, I am waiting for my life to begin, and that is a depressing thought. At 26, my life should be well on its way. But, alas and alack, that is not the case. I suppose that I shall have to continue along this grey path until I can manage to break through the dull brush along the side and into a land where there is something. Some purpose. Some presence. Some meaning.

A place like Neverland.

Soapbox Activist

2009-03-24T22:22:00.003-04:00

For anyone who even remotely knows me, it should come as no shock that issues of social justice is a very large soapbox that I oft find myself climbing onto. I basically have "social justice" scratched on the front of said box with a permanent marker. Its that obvious when I'm about to get going on the topic. I have this recurring mental picture of myself climbing aboard this massive refrigerator box (my soapbox is that big) the instant I open my mouth and out comes this virtually unstoppable word vomit in projectile form that would do "The Exorcist" proud. How's that for a tasty mental picture for you?

I have had many conversations in recent weeks on the subject of human trafficking. Trafficking in persons is not something that is on the forefront of most people's minds in this day and age. Especially in America, it is very common to believe that slavery went rolling out after the Civil War ended well over a century ago. Admittedly, it isn't a topic that I had spent any considerable amount of brain power on. Poverty, social inequalities, gender discrimination.. sure. But human trafficking? Yes, I knew it was there, but I think I preferred to believe that it was as dead as Elvis and surely not working in such profitable circumstances as to be a true source of wealth and "business" around the world. It isn't a pleasant subject, not something that one wants to acknowledge, perhaps for fear of what it would do in upsetting one's perception of the world even further.

My recent piqued interest on the subject of human trafficking prompted me to go see the movie "Taken." I already wanted to see it, even before I knew how much it focused on trafficking, purely for the adrenaline aspect of it. When I discovered that its primary focus was on the sex slave trade, I basically wanted to jump in line immediately to view it. Mind you, this was not out of any sick sense of sadism. I am a firm believer that people need to know what's going on in the world, regardless of how uncomfortable it is and how it might impede on their personal sense of satisfaction in ignorance. I was very pleased to see that a mainstream movie was taking the leap into such a massive issue that is not much in the public eye in America.

The fact that the subject had made it to the forefront in a major motion picture encouraged me that perhaps these items of discomfort to the soul of humanity may have a chance of being brought to some form of justice, purely through awareness. If the world remains in ignorance on the real issues occurring, there is no hope of any change coming to light in the dreadful darkness of the realities that exist. I know of many people personally who would rather not know. I have heard a host of excuses as to why they wish to remain ignorant, but I do not understand the benefit of this, besides their own personal sense of comfort. I know that this may sound harsh, but we need to know. There are people around the world who are literally dying because of their circumstances. If the world turns its head because it makes them uncomfortable, more and more will pass away everyday.

I think that this act of knowing is even more important for the people of the Christian church. It is our duty as Christians to reach out to the lost, to feed the hungry, to protect those who cannot protect themselves. We are denying the very life of Jesus when we stand by and do nothing. I am not meaning this as an attack towards Christians, but more as an encouragement to open our eyes, take in the horrific scenes and stories around the world, and then act. In whatever way you can. Become an activist, even if it is only through prayer and spreading the word to others.

I am currently working my way, somewhat slowly, through the 2008 TIP (Trafficking in Persons) Report put out by our government. It is a compilation of statistics and strategies to prevent human trafficking and prosecute those responsible for enslaving other humans, whether it be for labor or sex. It is very enlightening on the subject matter, and I am sure to have information to share with you all once I have a chance to better wrap my brain around it....

Officer Obnoxious

2009-03-19T19:34:00.004-04:00

I have issues with people who feel that they have to assert their authority because... well, because they're probably inwardly insecure and need to show their power to reaffirm themselves. Ok, that may be a tad harsh. I had a trade show event at the local community college today. My company is a technology company and therefore, when we do these types of events, we bring approximately 2 full carloads of equipment. This does not lead to very easy loading and unloading experiences. At all. Thankfully, the unload process yesterday was fairly simple, with ample places to park while unloading. Due to the crowds at the event... reloading everything back up.... Not so easy. At all.

Since no curb space was available, I did what several other people did as well. Park in a handicap stop with my 4-ways on. I mean, seriously, one would think that considering there was an event going on where people needed to load their cars up that campus security would be a bit lenient. But, clearly, I forgot that I was at my alma mater with the uptight, slightly obnoxious campus security staff.

After a pretty hefty loading of tons of equipment onto a dolly, I venture back out to my car. I may have been gone about 20 minutes. I get back out and as I'm nearly my vehicle I notice the security officer stepping out of his. I swear to you, his pencil hadn't even touched the paper before I said, "Are you really going to ticket me when I'm right here?!" His reply was, "well, this is a handicap spot. You don't have a placard." No... Really?! I hadn't noticed! (I managed to refrain from saying that. When my feet hurt from standing all day... I get kind of cranky) I quickly explained that we had tons of equipment to load and my car had been parked all the way across the lot and there no other spots available when I had pulled around. I also mentioned the 5 other cars without placards that had been parked there as well. His response: "Well, someone complained. And when someone complains we have to take action." Mind you, there was a haughty looking fellow standing right there watching this, arms crossed and a superior expression on his face. He walked away right then after I shot him what couldn't have been a very nice look. I tried to reason with the guy (who STILL hadn't started writing the ticket), and he only responded with (this one is my favorite!) "well.... (he said that alot).... if you can afford a car like this, I think you can afford a $25 ticket." Oh. My. Gosh. I wonder what my expression was! I quickly bit my tongue because I know what I wanted to say (it would not have been very Christ-like). It wasn't even the fact that he had just said that, it was the way he said it. I drive a Volkswagon! Not a BWM! ARGH! My blood was boiling by now, I wanted to give this dude a piece of my mind and possibly a good slap to the face. So Not. Cool.

He handed me the ticket and walked away. I purposefully left my car right where it was when I went to help my coworker load up his car. Perhaps a little obnoxious, but I felt justified after his unnecessary comments. Needless to say, I'm not a very happy camper. And also needless to say, his superior will be getting a phone call from me tomorrow. Fine, give me a ticket. Do not assert your authority with me in demeaning ways. It is not taken lightly.

Anyway, on that note, I'm going to go unwind and perhaps shed some of this crankiness that I'm feeling right now. And then maybe sleep. I like sleep.

I Have a Puppy Demon

2009-03-17T23:16:00.003-04:00

I believe that I've run into a problem. I want a dog. Not like "awww, puppy dogs are so cute and they might be fun to have around." No, like "I WANT A PUPPY DOG AND I WANT IT NOW!!" Sounds a little desperate, right?

Now, first, I feel I must remind all of you that I do love my cat dearly. I wouldn't trade her for the world. Well, unless the world was made of alot of chocolate and maybe french fries. I might consider it then. But, seriously, she's momma's little angel face and I love her dearly. Its just.... well.... I can't take her out with me. My bonding time with Bella is restricted to the hours I spend at home. I can't take her out on a walk. I can't bring her with me to my families houses (although, they may not be too keen on the idea after all). I could do all those things with a puppy.

I think a large part of the problem is that little Miss Independent herself is starting to get lonely living alone. Its not really even a loneliness that I necessarily recognize on the surface. Its more of an underlying I-don't-really-know-its-there-unless-I-pay-really-close-attention kind of loneliness. Maybe I'm trying to fill the husband/children void with a dog. I don't know. Maybe I just desperately need something to change in my life, so I want a dog. Or maybe I need to feel like someone is relying on me, so I want a dog (what is it with us women, anyway? Always needing to be needed!)

I have yet to decide if I'm going to cave to my nearly irresistible urge for a small ball of cuteness. I have found some absolutely 100% I-may-not-be-able-to-control-myself cuteness on petfinder.com and am about to jump in my car right now and drive to Langhorne to pick up a long haired dachshund named Winston. First, he's a doxie, my absolute favey. Second, he's long haired and that's just too cute. Third, his name is Winston. That just rings with so much class and style. I need a classy dog. And Winston is begging for me to come and take him home with me. "He wants to come HOOOOOOME with me!!! The puppises the doggises!!!" (sorry, inside joke for those of you now twisting your faces in confusion and shaking your heads) AAAAAHHHH!!!!! I really don't have the time or the energy or the yard space (although that last one isn't entire true) for a dog. I work. I want to travel. Although.... I do have a friend who volunteered to watch said puppy if I'm ever out of the country.... Yes, in case you were wondering, I AM trying to talk myself into this. And out of it, all at the same time. *sigh* However, its late and I need to stop thinking about Winston and start dreaming about him while I'm sleeping.

The puppy is calling me... Can you hear him?!

Why the HECK isn't this key working?!

2009-03-10T23:34:00.005-04:00

As I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before, I tend to be a very restless person. This is one trait that I personally cannot stand. It causes problems. Like, taking away much needed sleep because if I go to bed, I'll just toss and turn and toss and turn. So, instead, I stay up and do things to exhaust myself. Like read the Bible in Spanish. Or I should say "attempt" to read the Bible in Spanish. Because me reading the Bible in Spanish always includes my new BFF freetranslation.com. Whoever thought of online translation engines should get a sticker. Or maybe even a cookie. Seriously. They are that cool. What is not cool, however, is that the control key on the keyboard is in different places on a PC keyboard and a Mac keyboard. Considering that I switch between PC and Mac every single frickin day... This causes a problem. I'll go to hit "control" and then whatever key.... and I can't figure out why the heck it isn't working. And then I realize that I'm not actually hitting control. I'm actually hitting the apple key. Or alt. Depending on what platform I'm working on. It really causes problems.

Other things that cause problems are screwed up shoulders. I taught a ballet class last night for the first time since before Christmas and my shoulder has been reminding me of that all day. Its just this nice little dull pain that says "Hi. I'm your shoulder. And I hate you right now." Its really not displaying the love of Christ at all, and I have to keep reminding it that Jesus simply would not like its behavior right now. Maybe I should send it to confession or something. Yeesh.

One trait that I do possess that I do find particularly winsome is my ability to be completely and totally random. Exhibit A: this posting. Its completely pointless and full of information that is of absolutely no value. Except, some of you may have learned that the control key is on different places on PC and Mac keyboards. Which is knowledge that may come in handy in case you are ever on Jeopardy. If you're not, then hey, you got a new wrinkle on your brain today. Aren't you lucky?

On that note, I think I'll go jog around the block or do some pilates or maybe start learning how to juggle knives. I really need to get to bed sometime soon....

Spontaneity is Like Vitamins

2009-03-07T13:22:00.002-05:00

Spontaneity is good for you. Its like vitamins. Or V8. One of the two. I have never been a particularly spontaneous person. I'm entirely too insecure and plan-oriented for that. Until recently. The past few months I have changed to the extent of hardly being able to recognize myself at times. I find myself going on adventures that I never would have expected. Saying things out of character. Becoming even more opinionated than I used to be (I know... how is that even possible??). And suddenly significantly more spontaneous than previously. I cannot even give you an example of said spontaneity... Which probably means that I have not had the resources to take advantage of my whims. Whims that my desire to partake in seems to have exponentially grown to the point that I may do something completely crazy and out of character one of these days. Like pick up and take off to Africa out of the blue and eat scorpion kabobs or something. Perhaps my dislike of my current situation has finally gotten to the point where I'm snapping and thus willing to do something totally nuts. Who knows. I certainly don't.

However, I have decided to just go along with this new crazy me. I'm sure it will be an interesting ride and I will do some crazy, spontaneous things. Maybe I should dye my hair pink and purple today. That would be spontaneous.

Mazes and Follow the Leader

2009-03-01T21:40:00.003-05:00

My time back in the States has proven to be emotionally stabilizing as it continues on. My first day back in the grind was very difficult. Each day has continually improved, with less feelings of utter dismay and disgust. I have found my mind and heart constantly wandering back to La Limonada. But, I have come the the conclusion that I am where I am right now, and that is where I am supposed to be for the time being. It may not be what I want, or think I want, but I am in this place for now. Discontent never does anyone any good, so I am keeping my life in as much perspective as possible. I am thanking God every day for his provision in my life, for his direction, that he is molding me into the person that he created me to be. I may not know who that person is yet, but he knows. He has always known. There is a tremendous comfort in that thought. It somehow makes all the things that don't make sense have some kind of purpose. Life oft seems like a maze, guessing at which way to take, making mistakes, having to turn around and try a different direction. But when we are playing follow the leader with God, he knows the way right through that maze. Sure, we may straggle off on our own sometimes and get stuck. But, as we grow, as we learn to trust, we will continually discover that God really does know the path that we are meant to take.

How incredible is that?

Imprints

2009-02-23T17:49:00.005-05:00

First day back. I can't lie... It was brutal. Returning to life as usual after an experience that has essentially altered who you are is akin to attempting to shove a round peg into that square hole. It just doesn't seem to fit. Even if it was something that fit previously, you now have new edges, new curves, a new shape that simply will not match up to the person you were before. It is unnerving, frustrating, disturbing. This change is something that was needed. Desperately. I longed for it, invited it, welcomed it. But, the question to be asked now is... Where do I go from here? Where do I fit? What do I do with this new me that is unfamiliar, in a sense, a stranger?

It was well known to me that I would come back a different person. It is impossible to go through experiences such as I have had the past week and remain the same. Impossible. But when one is longing and desiring that change, I dare say that it brings even more of an effect than perhaps expected.

I almost felt like a teenager today. One that was going through that time of life when the body is changing at a rapid pace. There is that awkwardness, that self-consciousness, that unknowingness that accompanies swift change. How does one act? How does one react? How does one adjust, compromise, realign with this new person that is unfamiliar?

All these questions have been running through my mind today. My dislike of the materialistic and selfish lifestyle that we call the American Dream has been nothing but a burden today. Its difficult hearing of money and resources being wasted when there are children around the world that are literally starving to death. Its hard having people look at me like I have two heads when I say that I plan on returning to the ghettos of Guatemala, and other places around the world, soon. What I simply do not understand is how people do not understand that. We have such an opportunity as citizens of a wealthy nation to make a difference in the lives of fellow human beings around the world. How can we sit idly by while knowing that there is such a great need? It baffles me. It angers me.

I know that I will re-acclimate to my life here. I just pray that the change in me will stay. I do not think that the difficult things in life are worth it unless the change they produce remains. My true desire is that my life, my heart, and my soul will not return to the way they were. That the imprints left on my soul will continue on throughout the rest of my existence.

That... is my true desire.

Dia Siete- The Last Day

2009-02-21T21:22:00.004-05:00

Today was the last day of my being able to see and smell all the things that makes Guatemala everything that it is. This week has flown by at a velocity that was incredible. In a sense, it feels like I've been here no less than a month, simply because there were innumerable experiences packed into a mere 8 days. I have seen, felt and encountered more than anticipated. My heart has hurt more than it has in all my 26 years on this earth. My mind has been chaotically skipping around in every direction, burdened by the thoughts of poverty and tragedy that consumes La Limonada. Every sense that I have has been bombarded on every side by the faces and voices of the ravine of the ghetto. I wish that I could do more, be more to these people. To be able to provide a salve for pain, for the injuries that life has caused them. I know that I cannot reach every person, but I will do my best to help the ones I can. There is so much need. So much hunger. So much pain. Yet so much hope for tomorrow, which can be seen in the eyes of the children. They simply need a chance.

At 9:15 tomorrow morning, the soles of my feet will leave Guatemalan soil, headed towards the country I call home. I know that the transition back into my life will be difficult, but I also know that is where God has me for now. My heart will ache, my mind will constantly wander back here. But I can only pray and do what I can to help the tiny voices of La Limonada to give them a hope for a future.

My life has been forever changed. It has been an incredible, amazing experience. One that I will cherish the rest of my life.

Dia Seis- Last Day in the Ghetto

2009-02-20T18:08:00.003-05:00

Today came with the sad promise of another goodbye, this time to the ghetto and rest of the children in Las Esquelitas. Whoever would have thought that saying goodbye to such a filthy and desperate place would be so difficult. My heart went out to the small faces of the ghetto the moment I laid eyes on them, and I believe that it may stay here with them. These kids just give so much love and are just looking for love in return.

It has been an incredibly difficult week. I have been exhausted in every way possible, my body simply aches with physical stress and lack of rest. But the thought of leaving, of returning to my life as usual, is enough to make me want to cling to a chair in Tita's dining room and scream if anyone tries to drag me away. While I miss my family, I miss my friends, I will miss this place horribly. There is something about just pouring everything that you have into other people that is so fulfilling. It is unlike anything else. This week has really been a reminder to me of the important things in life, how success is really measured in the lives that you touch and the relationships that you hold.

I have spent so much time this week in prayer and deep thought about my calling, about what God has created me for. I believe that my experiences here have brought some passions and desires of mine to the forefront. It has been an eye opening experience. I'm not sure where I will be going from here, but I know that I was called for a time such as this and with these passions for a reason. I don't know where God will take me, but I do know that it will be places that I never expected. Its amazing how God works that way. You can always expect the unexpected with our God.

As I said goodbye to the ghetto today, I knew that it was not for long. I can't come here, meet these amazing people, kiss all the tiny faces and then leave forever.

I will be back... And soon...

Each Tiny Face Has a Story- Ismael

2009-02-19T21:16:00.006-05:00

This is Ismael. He is about 4 years old. And he no longer has a daddy. His 8 year old sister found their father after he had hung himself this past weekend. His mom dropped him off at school today, only 5 days after his father's death. He clung to her, while sobbing hysterically. Leah picked him up to comfort and pray him. I have never, ever seen such sadness in a child's eyes. Especially not one so young. There was a desperate sorrow that words cannot express. They were devoid of any other emotion. He will now go through his life without his father, a figure that each boy needs during those critical years of growing up.

His father had been involved with the gangs, with a history of alcohol and drug abuse. Despite repeated attempts to change his lifestyle, he was unable to break the ties that bound him to his demons. He lost his battle when he took his own life, leaving behind his wife and children.

Thankfully, he will be loved and fed an taught the love of Christ at La Esquelita Limon. Please, pray for this tiny face and its story.

Dia Cinco- The First Goodbye

2009-02-19T19:49:00.004-05:00

I had to say my first goodbye today. Dulce is in the morning session at La Esquelita Limon and due to teachers meetings there is no morning session on Fridays. Because of this, Monica (one of the teachers and now my friend) took the class to the park so that I could spend more time with Dulce and romp around with her and the other kids.

After a wonderful time at the park, we headed back to the school, myself with sore shoulders from pushing the kids on the swings for somewhere in the ballpark of 45 minutes. At this point, I wasn't sure if I could possibly be blessed anymore on this trip. I've had an amazing time with amazing experiences that have left me forever changed. But, as life often goes, just when you think you couldn't experience anything more.. it happens. Dulce's mom shows up a few minutes early to pick her up with a gift that her and her husband had purchased for me on their extremely limited budget. Surprised. Blessed. Humbled. None of these words suffice. I couldn't even begin to thank her.

I was reminded of the story when Jesus and his disciples were in the temple. Many wealthy people entered the temple and put many coins in the offering box. Then a shabbily dressed woman enters and places in the box a few coins, worth less than a penny when combined. Jesus told the disciples that the poor woman's offering was more of a treasure than the others, because "they all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on." (Mark 12:44)

The small gift that I received from Dulce and her family was worth so much more than any gift of wealth, because I knew that they gave out of their poverty. That it was a sacrifice of greater proportion than I can imagine. It was such a consequential gift to receive. It will always be something that I treasure. Siempre.

I am in disbelief that my trip is starting to wind down. Tomorrow will be my last day in the ghetto. I honestly have a sense of dread about returning to my life of comfort. Even though I am exhausted, mentally, emotionally, in nearly every way possible, I have been so touched by my time here. Even though I have always known of the poverty in the world, living among it for a week has opened my eyes, heart, and soul to the needs of the people of the world. They are hungry. Not just physically, but spiritually. Being in a position to be able to help those needs is unbelievable. I sit here writing, with tears rolling down my cheeks. I am so blessed. I know that I will never be the same, and for that I am so thankful to my Father in heaven for that.

I wouldn't trade this time for anything in the world.

Dia Cuatro- Darkness and Smiles

2009-02-18T19:43:00.007-05:00

Day four. One would think after spending a few days in the ghetto that the heartsickness would taper off just a little, allowing some relief for the feelings of dread and pain of seeing people living in such conditions. This wasn't the case. As I made the trek into the ghetto to La Escuelita Mandarina, my heart quickly began to ache once again.

Living in a nation with a more stable economy and an active, albeit declining, job market, it is hard to comprehend the poverty seen in the ghetto of La Limonada. This section of the city is seen as an embarrassment and is largely ignored by the more fortunate population on the outskirts of the ravine. Even the work that is being done in the ghetto by Tita and Lemonade International is largely funded by churches and individuals in the US. There is not much concern by many of the natives of the city for this desperate ravine that holds sixty thousand people.

Today, I saw an even darker side of the ghetto. We visited a man who was shot twice over the weekend. He had been involved in the gangs, but had walked away from them and returned to his faith in God. In the past year, he stumbled in his walk with God and started mixing with the wrong crowd again. On Saturday, he was shot once in the abdomen and once in the thigh. After less than 48 hours in the hospital, he was back at home, surviving through the pain on only ibuprofen.

His house consisted of two rooms,that are separated by a walkway covered only by corrugated metal, each containing two double beds. Seven people share the space, 3 of which are children. The one boy, I sadly cannot remember his name, was born with Down Syndrome. The kids' faces and clothes look like they haven't been washed in at least a week. Dried mucus covered their noses and lips, and their coughs came from deep in their little chests.

Its incredible, though how, amidst all the constant hardship and pain of living in the ghetto, the children continue to smile. Their faces reflect the glow of the love that they are given at Las Esquelitas Limon y Mandarina. Leah will sometimes point out one of their smiling faces to me and tell me how that child never used to smile. One would never know that now.

Amidst the darkness... there is light.

"Let your light so shine before the world that they would see your good deeds, and glorify your Father, who is in Heaven." - Matthew 5:16

Dia Tres- Dulce's Casa

2009-02-17T21:18:00.006-05:00

After breakfast ("desayuna") and a time of worship for the little ones, Leah, Monica, Dulce and I headed out for a visit to Dulce's home. My stomach was in a bit of a knot from a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Its an interesting position to be in, going to visit the home of a child who's education you are helping to support. I wasn't sure of what to expect, I wasn't sure of what her home would be like, how I would react to seeing the very core of the ghetto.

Dulce held my hand on the walk, stopping and waiting very patiently as I paused to take photos of the sights on the way. She quietly rattled on a few times, which I mostly didn't understand, so I just smiled, nodded and said "si!" Its the best cop out answer ever. If you just pretend to know what's going on, no one else will ever know that you are completely clueless.

We stopped at a black gate on the walkway. Dulce opened it and walked through, letting her tiny hand run on the solid concrete walls of the house next door. Up another small walkway and we were at the door of her house. She knocked timidly and waited for it to be opened. Her mother opened the door with an enormous smile and a greeting of "buenos dias!"

We were given quick tour of the house, which consisted of 2 small bedrooms and the kitchen. Dulce slept in one room with her parents, and her older brother and sister shared the other bedroom. On Dulce's bed was the monkey that I had given her the day before. Her mom informed me that she slept with it in her arms the previous night. We headed up to the roof, where her mom brought up an orange drink for us. The view from the rooftop showed most of the ghetto. The house was located up towards the top of the ravine and looked down onto the other homes and trash heaps.

As a surprise to me, Dulce's father showed up to meet me. He greeted me, telling me how blessed he was for what I was doing for Dulce and for the love I was giving her. I didn't know what to say besides, "de nada" and "gracias tambien". It was just so humbling.

Dulce and her father snuggled for a good portion of the rest of our visit. Considering that most fathers are absent in Guatemalan culture, it was an incredible sight to see. Even in homes where the father are present, there tends to be a lack of an affectionate relationship. Seeing him hugging her and the look in her eyes when she looked at her father... Amazing.

Before we ended the visit, I had the greatest honor of my trip so far: I was able to pray for the family. Standing in the kitchen, laying hands on Dulce and speaking the love of Christ over the family was phenomenal. It was evident that this family relied completely on God to get through every day by their response to the prayer. I am so incredibly blessed to be able to experience that kind of bond with a family to which I have a unique tie.

As we all hugged goodbye, Dulce's parents asked when I was coming back again to visit. They said that I was welcome in their home any time with open arms.

It was just so, so, so humbling...

Dia Dos- La Limonada

2009-02-16T14:55:00.004-05:00

On the drive from Tita's house this morning into the ghetto of La Limonada, city streets gave way to barely paved pathways. Billboards were left behind and trash and decimated houses filled the landscape. La Limonada is located in the center of the city, in what is essentially a ravine. Tita dropped us off on the outskirts of the ghetto, since there were only walkways between the buildings. Stray dogs came close, some following, looking for any morsel of food they could snag. As we moved further into the barrios, the streets narrowed even more, people mingling on the sides of the walkway, stepping around trash and dog feces.

When we arrived at the La Escuelita, some of the children were already there, waiting to get in. Several of them nearly bowled Leah over as they rushed to greet her "buenos dias" and give her a hug. Even though they had never met me, I was next in line, bombarded on every side with small arms, heads lain on my chest and back, greeted by the small voices of La Limonada. A few of them started rattling on in their native tongue, and I quickly explained (as I did many times today) that "hablo solo un poco espanol." They smiled and nodded, while touching my face and the cartilage piercing in my ear.

Probably my favorite question of the day was, "que color es sus ojos?" What color are your eyes. My blue green eyes stand out like a sore thumb in a sea of brown eyed children. I was informed that mis ojos es "verde", green. My eyes were the center of attention for at least 5 minutes.

Shortly after we arrived at the school, a woman came up to me, and practically threw her arms around me. I couldn't understand what she was saying to me. Leah stepped in and found out that it was Dulce's mom, the little girl I sponsor. She kept hugging, thanking and telling me that I was a blessing. I cannot even begin to describe the emotions that flooded me. After seeing the small part of the ghetto that I had, seeing a tiny glimpse of how these people live, then knowing that I am able to help ease life just a little bit for them... Completely indescribable. I was nearly overcome, and had to struggle to keep my emotions in check.

Leah and I settled into the classroom with the 4 and 5 year olds, since that is where Dulce was. Leah caught her eye and pointed at me. Dulce got the most adorable look on her face and quickly hid her eyes behind her hands. She barely moved for the next 10 minutes.

The kids are fed a breakfast every morning. Today it was eggs, beans and bread, along with a cup of milk. For some of these children, it will be the only meal of the day they that they receive (the school has 2 sessions every day, morning and afternoon, to allow the children to attend public school as well. Because of this, each session is fed one meal). Looking at their tiny faces, knowing that their bellies will go hungry for the rest of the day... it was simply heartbreaking.

I went over and sat next to Dulce after a while, and she shyly asked me if I was her "madrina" (they call sponsors "godparents". Madrina means godmother). We sat and put together puzzles, she educated me on the Spanish names of all the animals in the puzzles.

We eventually walked over to the "new school" on the other side of the ghetto. It has only been open for about 6 months and the building is mostly gutted. The rain was leaking into some of the rooms. The back of the building is barely finished, showing the mountains of trash and raw sewage rushing past. Typically, the sewage is stagnant, but heavy rains caused to flow past rather quickly. Looking at the scene, knowing that people are living in these conditions... it just ripped my heart out of my chest. Its hard to imagine anyone living in this squalor, let alone the children.

On the way back to the car early this afternoon, we came across a woman that Leah and Tita know. I discovered on the ride home that her husband had been shot and killed 3 days prior. There were no leads as to who the murderer was. Tita told me that this was the third murder of someone that was connected to in the past week.

Tomorrow, I will be visiting Dulce's home at the invitation of her mother. I'm sure that it will be another eye opening experience, getting to see the inside of one of the homes in the ghetto.

I have yet to be here for 48 hours, and I can already tell that my heart is being changed, filled with a different breed of compassion for the poverty of Guatemala. I can only hope and pray that this change continues and spreads into other areas of my life.

Dia Uno- La Antigua

2009-02-15T21:37:00.004-05:00

After a somewhat restless night of sleep, Leah and I spent the morning kind of bumming around, drinking coffee and looking like dorks sitting next to each other with our MacBooks. We certainly are nerds, and I love it that way.

This afternoon we headed out to La Antigua, a very old town about an hour outside of Guatemala City. This area attracts many tourists from all over the world, due to its incredible beauty and historical ruins. It is home to several of the best language schools in Guatemala, bringing in many students from all over the world. There are also several volcanoes surrounding the town, two of which still apparently spew some lava and smoke, but alas and alack, it was too foggy today and thus could not be seen.

What was seen, however, were brilliantly painted buildings. Incredible shades of yellow, orange, red, blue and purple assaulted your senses left and right, but in the best of ways. Women walked around dressed in traditional Guatemalan garb, some nursing their children right out in the open. They were stunning. Also to be seen were people sitting on the sidewalks, with a cup extended out in front of them, begging for a few coins. The drive to and from Antigua also showed a bit of the poorer side of the city, with people walking through traffic at stop lights with baskets and cups. While this is something that can be seen in the States, it still struck me hard.

We were able to take a horse and buggy ride through a section of Antigua, costing 10 Quetzals (approximately $1.25 USD). It was a beautiful way to see the sights of the town, without walking for miles. There were vendors on the streets, hocking their wares. We passed many BMWs, Volkswagons, and Suzukis on our ride, along with tourists galore all over the place. Women with their diamond jewelry, men with leather shoes. There were unbelievably beautiful hotels, restaurants that made me drool just smelling the food.

After roaming around the town for a while, being drawn by nearly every vendor in the mercados, we headed back to Guatemala City. On the way back, we passed over a bridge that overlooks the slum of La Limonada. It was dark at this point and hard to see, but the contrast between La Limonada and La Antigua was very clear. It was tourist rich versus local poverty. Tomorrow will be my first day heading into the ghetto, and I'm sure it will be even more consequential after my experience in La Antigua today.

I will be meeting my little girl that I sponsor through Lemonade International and I am so excited about that. How incredible is it to be to be able to put my arms around a small child that I am able to help! I can't wait:-)

Anyway, I will be posting pictures on Photobucket.com once I have a chance to edit them. The photo above is of the Catholic church in La Antigua. Absolutely gorgeous!

Thank you for all of your prayers. I can feel them:-)

The Arrival

2009-02-15T11:28:00.004-05:00

Wow, what a long day of traveling! I left my apartment yesterday morning at 7AM, with two very large bags in tow (mostly full of art and craft supplies that were donated for the school). My backpack was filled with other necessary items, including my laptop, camera, and whatever other important items that needed to come along.

My parents dropped me off at Philly airport at about 8:20AM, and I (thankfully) flew through check in and security, leaving me seated at my terminal at 8:40. Unbelievably fast! I can't say I had ever made it through security that quickly, and I was definitely not complaining that it left me with some time to hop online and watch the past week's episode of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice. God bless free wifi:-)

I landed in Miami right on time for my connecting flight with no problems on the first leg of the trip. I then had 5.5 hours of... time.... To do nothing. I don't always do so well with being bored. There wasn't much to look at in the airport, so I spent a bunch of time texting and talking on the phone. Miami does not have free wifi, in case you wanted to know. Lame!!

I spend a good chunk of the time in prayer, just asking that God would prepare my heart for what I will see and experience here. I know that hearing the stories of the tragedy of this culture will be very difficult.

I've been fighting the beginning symptoms of a cold since Friday, which came to fruition during my long wait. Not cool. I'm on my way to a third world country, and I come down with a cold! I guess it will give me an even better perspective of how it is really is to live here.

My flight was delayed for over an hour in Miami and didn't get to Guatemala City until about 9:30CST. My first sight of Guatemala City was the golden arches of McDonalds! Nothing like familiar fast food to make you feel right at home:-) I was able to get through immigration and customs with no problems. I can't lie, it was a bit nerve wracking. I've never traveled internationally and the whole thing was an entirely new experience.

By the time Leah and Monica picked me up from the airport and we drove the 15 minutes back to Tita's house, I had my initiation into Guatemala.... my very first bug bite. Right on my face, too! I'm sure I'll get many more during the next week, so I was almost glad to get it over with right away.

I still haven't gotten to see much (the ride from the airport was about it so far), but today we are heading to La Antigua see the gorgeous sites of the ruins and to see the dormant volcanos. I'm so excited! I just really want to get immersed in the culture here and see as much as I can. I want to know how the people here live and the country they are surrounded by. I am certain that I will have an incredible experience here and I can't wait to get started. I know that God is working in my life already, and I simply cannot wait to see where this goes.

Buenas dias, mi amigos! I covet your prayers over the next week:-) I so very much just want my heart to be broken for these people and the children...

Last day in the good ol' States

2009-02-13T21:55:00.002-05:00

So, tomorrow is the day. Finally. I've packed my bags (mostly) and am all set and ready for the big journey to the currently unexplored (to me) world of Guatemala. I can't lie... I'm pretty nervous. I've never traveled internationally before and I'm just not sure what to expect, how I'll react, and how my life will be changed. I know that I will never be the same after this experience. That is scary and exciting and uncertain, and a whole host of other emotions all at the same time. I covet your prayers and will be sure to keep you all abreast of my exciting adventures!

Hasta luego!

Those Hillians Love Their Porkulus

2009-02-07T12:32:00.004-05:00

And so, the Einsteins on the Hill have done it again. They've reached a new low of idiocy that I didn't think could exist. This whole "stimulus" plan has taken center stage in the news recently, and for good reason. It passed the House with out a single vote from any representative from the GOP. Thankfully. It is now stuck in the Senate, with quarrels and squabbles amongst both major parties. Why, you might ask? Allow me to enlighten you.

This "stimulus" plan (or "Porkulus" as it is being called) includes several (or tons) of very interesting line items of funding for special interest groups. This includes $200 MILLION to replace the sod on Washington Mall. Yes, my friends, it is true. Nancy Pelosi has deemed it necessary to spend $200 MILLION on mulch because it was trampled due to an expansive turnout for the inauguration. I'm sure that a few hundred mil on sod will really help stimulate the economy. And while we're at it, let throw a few hundred million in there to supply contraceptives. Oh, and a few more for Planned Parenthood. Because, clearly, with the downturn of the economy people simply can't afford to kill their babies anymore. Naturally, the government should step up to help them do that.

We are trillions of dollars in debt as of right now. Most people blame the Bush administration for that. Now, I know that he is far from innocent in helping to lead us into the greatest deficit we have ever know. But, let's look at this from a different angle. We have a democratically controlled Congress. Both the House and the Senate have been overrun by the Donkeys for the past few years. Congress has to approve ANY budgets that are proposed by the Presidential administration. So, what has happened these past few years with the budget proposals sent to Congress? They have been not only approved, but added to! People who pointed the finger at Bush for our deficit should perhaps review the situation and understand that it was the democratic Congress that is even more to blame.

So here we are, massively in debt. And our President and Congress are pushing to pass the most expensive bill ever, not to actually stimulate the economy, but to put money into the pockets of the special interest groups that Nancy Pelosi and other Hillians want to promote. Its awesome, isn't it? We are now at the lowest unemployment rate in 25 years, and its more important to put new sod on Washington Mall than it is to create new jobs and maybe put some money into the coffers of the American people. Absolutely unbelievable.

Also, whilst Congress is funding abortion, they are also looking to where they can cut expenditures elsewhere. Like national defense. While Obama had promised to increase the Army and Marine Corp numbers, its is being proposed to drop somewhere in the ballpark of $50 billion from the defense budget. Does this scare anyone else? Iran just put a satellite in space and is claiming breakthroughs in nuclear technology, and our defense budget is being cut. Awesome. Also, it is being researched to increase the price of insurance on military dependents. Mind you, the stimulus plan is looking to increase the insurance benefits to the unemployed with the price tag of $36 billion, which sounds great. Except that it runs the risk of actually increasing unemployment because people will be less likely to take a job if the government is already taking such good care of them. The welfare system is completely screwed up.

Anyway, maybe we should all write our Congressmen and beg them to not pass this special interest bill. If passed as is, it will not help the American people and could potentially make an already bad global economy much, much worse. Maybe they should take that $900 billion and put it into the hands of the people. Even the last bailout measure, if put into the hands of the people where it belonged, would have been a better idea. I think every American would have gotten something like $200,000. Want to stimulate the economy, oh thou Hillians? Maybe you should reconsider where that money is going....

I'll Take That With a Side of Censorship, Please

2009-02-02T20:43:00.005-05:00

I seem to have developed a reputation for being "passionate" about politics. I put passionate in quotes, because its the nice way that people say "Bethany, you're completely insane. Please shut up." I was never like this before. I believe that certain circumstances in my recent past have awakened in me a zeal for politics, or more specific, a crazed obsession that causes me to spout out my opinions on things happening on The Hill. Typically said spouting is neither asked for nor desired by the parties that find themselves victim to it.

I often try to censor myself as to not offend anyone with my opinions, but I'm beginning to believe that perhaps censorship is a farce. Perhaps, people should be able to divulge their thoughts without fear of reprehension from others. It is, after all, a constitutional right. The right to speak one's mind is one that should be taken advantage of, in a proper way. Now, don't get me wrong. I am not speaking of self-righteous blabbering that has no concern for anyone else's feelings. I simply mean that one should be able to talk about one's opinions in a thoughtful manner and not feel fear of needing to be "politically correct."

That being said, I have become very afraid about our country in terms of foreign affairs. There is a gent by the name of Oliver North that some of you may have heard of who seems to have things spot on in terms of our President's knowledge on foreign matters and the history surrounding it. Apparently, President Obama has been quoted as saying that he wants to restore the "respect and partnership that America had with the Muslim world as recently as 20 or 30 years ago." Funny... History shows that such "respect" and "partnership" between the US and Muslim countries most certainly did not exist 20 or 30 years ago. 1979, 30 years ago, Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran returned to his country and led the Islamic Revolution, and declared the US "the Great Satan." I don't sense any partnership or respect here. Oh, and also, the US embassy in Tehran was attacked and 53 American citizens were held captive for well over a year. Partnership? Respect?

OR, how about 20 years ago? Maybe there was some respect and partnership there. Let's see, shall we? Yeah, pretty sure that the Libyan dictator attacking a US Navy ship isn't exactly a sign of a partnership. Or, Khomeini issuing an order for a British novelist to be killed because of a book he had written. Nope... No respect there.

Now, mind you, currently in Iran there are college students setting themselves on fire as a demonstration against the US. There is propaganda covering the streets, store fronts, school campuses... all calling for the death of the Great Satan. Obama wants to have a diplomatic relationship with these countries that loathe and despise us. I can't blame him for not wanting to go to war, but seriously, this isn't exactly a schoolyard squabble between friends.

How on earth can he know how to deal with these nations that want to destroy us if he doesn't know the past? If he wants to get back to this mystical existence of tolerance and peace and love and happiness... Maybe that time should have existed in the first place. If it did, it certainly wasn't 20 or 30 years ago as he seems to think.

This is really a frightening fact... The President of the "leader" of the Western world is basically ignorant as to our past relationships with the nations over the big pond. Ones capable of building nuclear weapons to wipe us off the face of the earth. I guess we can only pray that his advisers and cabinet are more informed than he is.

I am not saying any of this to bash Obama. After January 20th, he became my President just as much as yours. I will respect him for the office that he carries, but this does not mean that I have to agree with him or appreciate his ignorance. All presidents have their faults, but he is coming into office with a massive handicap in the form of inexperience. His lack of a background in politics and his obvious inattention to detail in history is putting him in a danger zone with the potential to make some staggering mistakes.

We can only hope and pray that he does the country good on the domestic side. We may be completely screwed otherwise. God bless America.

Click to read Troubling Talk by Oliver North

The Language of Stupid

2009-02-01T22:04:00.003-05:00

Again, I have been slacking in my blogging duties of blogginess. Life has been very spastic and random the last month, and I'm afraid that my brain has not has much room for thinks like... well... thinking. Ergo, actually writing something that would make any sense whatsoever is a rather difficult task.

I leave for Guatemala in 1 week and 6 days. Not that I'm counting or anything. I am officially EXTREMELY excited and also VERY nervous. Being my first international trip and also traveling alone has my nerves in a bit of a tizzy. I tend to do well with traveling independently, however, so I'm sure that I will be just fine. I bought a pocket Spanish dictionary today, along with a phrase book. Whoever thought up phrase books should get a gold star, and maybe even a cookie. Its just fabulous! I shall carry it everywhere with me, so that I shall not forget how to say things like "where is the bathroom" or "does that come with caviar"? Just as long as I don't mix them up and ask if there's caviar in the bathroom, I should be okay.

I purchased some educational CDs for the purpose of refreshing mi Espanol and learning some new phrases back in the fall. My self esteem still has not recovered. I started on the final lesson in that series yesterday and still feel that I am equally as stupid as I was back in October. This is highly disappointing, if for no other reason than I spent money on those darn CDs. Had I had the motivation to keep up with that and listen religiously, it may have actually worked. After the bombardment of a bazillion and a half vocabulary words involving food couldn't even keep me going, I knew that the situation was pretty hopeless. If talking about food can't get me excited.... I'm not sure anything can.

I really need to just take a class. I work much better that way. Plus, its incredibly difficult to really learn how to speak another language when... oh.... you know... you can't actually PRACTICE with anyone. My cat isn't exactly the most beneficial study partner. I think meowese is a universal language. Lucky cat.

But, alas and alack, I cannot join a class and magically learn to speak fluent Spanish in a little over 2 weeks. Hence, I will need to keep my nose in my flashcards and my ears glued to the nice lady on the CDs and pray fervently that my head will not explode in Guatty due to foreign language overloadiness.

May Jesus bless my poor brain. It needs it.

25 of the Most Random Things I Can Think Of

2009-01-28T18:01:00.000-05:00

1. I have a dry erase board on my refrigerator that I bought so that I could do things like... write myself notes to stay organized. I basically haven't used it at all in 2 years. My mom wrote a note on it about a year ago that says "Mommy Loves You" that is still there.

2. I'm addicted to throws. As in blankets. I love them. I have four of them just on my couch and a few more downstairs in the garage in storage. I think its a problem. Maybe I should go to therapy for that.

3. I hate when hands come out of weird places in movies. Like that part in The Sixth Sense when the little girl's hand comes out from under the bed. Or the part in Signs when the alien hand comes out from the coal chute. Or the part in Gothika when the hand comes out from behind the staircase. Etc. It totally freaks me out.

4. I strongly dislike dusting. I think that dust shouldn't exist. It has alot of nerve getting all over the place for me to clean up.

5. I think that Internet Explorer should be struck from the face of the Earth. The end.

6. I have nerve damage in the inside sides of both my big toes from dancing on pointe. I had essentially no feeling in them for years.

7. I never used to wash dishes with gloves. I don't know why. This doesn't make any sense.

8. I dislike most wallpaper designs. I'd like to know who got paid to think of something as awful as massive flowers in a repetitive pattern. Seriously, doesn't anyone know what that does to your visual senses? I think I'd rather stare into a strobe light for hours on end.

9. I use Google to check my spelling of certain words.

10. I'm incredibly picky about winter coats. I only buy them when my last one is falling apart because I know that its going to an ordeal.

11. Bad acting makes me want to claw my eyeballs out. So does bad singing. And bad dancing. And bad art.

12. The last 2 fingers on my left hand go numb often. Maybe I should get that checked out.

13. There is nothing better than a good cry when you need one.

14. I find "asterisk" to be a very strange word.

15. I would like a grape arbor when I finally buy a house. I think that they're very spectacular and beautiful.

16. I think that Jesus wasn't thinking very clearly when he created snow. I mean, come on. Seriously?

17. I find wrapping up in a big blanket to be one of the most comforting things in life.

18. I find the way our ankles, toes, knees and hips bend and work together to be fascinating.

19. I typically like indie films much better than mainstream ones. Same thing goes for music.

20. I can't wait to turn 30! I've heard many people say that their 30s were way better than their 20s. I could go for some of that.

21. I think 2009 is going to be my year. I can just FEEL it!

22. I fully support arranged marriages. Whoever thought up dating ought to be drug out to the street and shot. Who needs to actually be in love with the person they marry? Pssssshhhht.

23. I think red nail polish is awesome and I'd wear it constantly if I didn't bite all my nails off all the time.

24. I'd really like to fluently speak another language one day. I only have one problem... I am simply not motivated enough to do it.

25. Today is Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. I DO appreciate bubble wrap. It prevents me from causing bodily harm to other people. You know what they say.... Therapy is expensive, bubble wrap is cheap. Any questions?

Cell Phones and Water Don't Mix

2009-01-14T22:01:00.003-05:00

It seems that certain people are just prone to a particular kind of accident. I have a friend that loses sunglasses. Constantly. Its like a compulsion. There must be a part of her brain that works in cahoots against her in regards to sunglasses. She will often purchase several pairs at once, just so that they'll last her a week. Combined. I've never seen anything like it. I have another friend who is persistently misplacing her keys. Its rather unbelievable. She's lost her keys in grocery stores, Walmart, church, her own apartment. Basically, unless they are attached to her body in some fashion, they are at a high risk of getting lost.

I happen to be prone to a certain kind of accident myself. Not one that I'm very fond of, and it can be rather expensive at times as well. I break phones like nobody's business. I've had cell phone service for about 8 years now, and I believe I've only made it to Verizon's "new every two" deal once. My first phone met its fateful end in a toilet (and yes, it was a public bathroom. And no, there had been no "business" done in that particular bowl when the fateful drop occurred. Thank God). My next phone was dropped in such excess that the screen finally gave out. A phone or two after that was pulled from a high height by my nephew while it was plugged in (I had stupidly put it on top of a armoir with the cord dangling down. That is rather irresistible to a 2 year old). The force of the fall broke the part of the phone that the charger snaps into. *Sigh*

My current phone recently had a very close brush with its eternal demise in a bathroom sink. Clearly, I should never take my phones anywhere near water. Its begging for disaster. I had gently placed the phone on the sink counter and turned on the water when... *plop*... "Are you freaking KIDDING me?!" I thought to myself. I had just had a fabulous weekend at a youth workers retreat, filled with good worship, good teaching, and some very, very good laughter. And here, while I was living on practically no sleep mind you, my weekend ends with my cell phone sliding its way into liquid.

After hurriedly drying it off, I removed the battery and let it air dry. I was convinced that it was dead after attempting to turn it on several times only to have it completely freak out and spaz on me. I conceded myself to the fact that it was, in fact, dead. Gone. Kaput. Peace out girl scout.

Thankfully, my family has a weird habit of keeping all of their old cell phones. Probably because it has become apparent that I will continuously destroy my phone, so I need to have some sort of backup. I was able to get a hold of my parent's old cell phone, which, by the way, I had used last time my phone broke. Luckily, all of my contacts were still saved in there.

And then, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum. Okay, so it wasn't the forum. It was really the trash can. I was about to toss my poor dead phone into the garbage when I decided, what the heck, I may as well try it one more time. It had been 2 days since the fateful plop. Perhapsly the inside mechanisms had dried out and unfried themselves! I push the power button... and what do you know! It turns on without a problem! No buttons pushing themselves on their own, no crazy fritzing on the screen. Nothing but pure, sheer workingness! Amazing! It was a sign from heaven that Jesus does love me after all, even though I keep insisting on having my phone in the bathroom with me.

So, I am able to use my phone for another 6 months, at which time I will be able to upgrade. I will be sure to start taking precautions, like maybe keeping my phone in a plastic bag, or gluing it to my hand or something. Lord knows I need to do something...

I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to see some Identification, please

2009-01-04T22:12:00.004-05:00

Apparently you now need to be "of age" to purchase cold medicine. Yes, I know. This is truly absurd. I discovered this gem of insight last week, while practically dying of sickness, what with a cold and all. I had spent the day at home, working from the comfort of my couch. A quick trip into the office passed me by the local grocery store, which I decided to pay a visit in search of tissues and something to stop the coughing and constant drippage of my nasal passages.

After managing to infect a few aisles with my germs, I headed to the self checkout since I only had a few purchases to make and I wouldn't have to wait in line. I was minding my own business, carefully scanning each item. When I came to the cold medicine, however, something very odd and off putting happened. The machine started talking to me. It sounded something like this... "PLeaSe shOW tHE CAshIer yOUr IdenTIfiCAtion." (they do tend to emphasize the most akward parts of a word... Why is that?)

I must have stood there for about 30 seconds, sheerly stupified by the request. "Show the cashier my ID? For what? Its Tylenol Cold!" I thought to myself. I stole a few glances at the box in my hand to make sure that they hadn't legalized crack cocaine over the weekend and started selling it in your friendly neighborhood store without my knowledge. No matter how many times I looked at the box, it continued to say "Tylenol Cold". I apparently had not missed any major changes to the legality of street drugs.

In my utter confusion, I finally decided that it may be a good idea to turn my puzzled look over towards the cashier (who I could tell was not so happy at missing her afternoon soap opera). She then mumbled the same strange words..... "Can I see your ID?" I must have looked at her as if she had just asked me to produce an elephant out of my behind or something. It took me a full 15 seconds to recover myself enough to fumble around in my purse for my driver's license.

This experience would definitely classify as one of my most awkward and strange trips to the grocery store. It seems that the youth and druggies of the world must have come up with a way to make meth out of antihistimine. Who knows. Its all just strange. Very, very strange.

At a Loss for Words....

2008-12-21T22:28:00.003-05:00

There are days, weekends, weeks, months, that remind you how fragile life is. How your existence, your mind, your emotions, your soul, can be snatched away in an instant, with no warning. I have known four separate people who have lost someone close to them within the last 3 weeks. It is just unimaginable, especially during a season where life and family are celebrated. It just doesn't seem right. There is an almost unethical sense to it, that it shouldn't be allowed to happen during this time. Its just... wrong.

I have personally never lost anyone close to me. At least not to death. Because of that, I can't necessarily relate to people who are grieving the loss of a loved one. I don't know what to say, how to help them cope, how to make it better. I have this thing where I always need to make things better. Times like this make my heart bleed, because how can you make this better? How can you take away some of the pain, or even provide a salve? You can't. You can only be a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear. Not that those are small things, but they don't fix anything. There is no magic cure.

I thank God that my babies are healthy. I thank God that their organs are working and that their body isn't fighting against them. I thank God that my family and friends are vibrant in life, that their hearts and livers and brains and all their other important organs are functioning fully. But I pray, and my heart goes out to those who are suffering, those who know loss on a more intimate level than anyone should. I won't give you the pat, Sunday school answers about how "everything happens for a reason" and "one day, all of this will make sense." I will just listen and love and be a shoulder.

And I will pray.

Snow/ or The White Flakes of Death

2008-12-18T22:39:00.002-05:00

Snow. I don't recall ever really liking it. Maybe for a winter or two between the ages of 8 and 10. But that is hardly significant enough to mention. There may have been some fun days of sledding back then, and I have distinct memories of digging tunnels through the quite high plowed snow in the lot next to our house (and, okay, that was pretty cool). But even with those few memories of joy amidst the white, powdery stuff, I mostly recall one thing: the cold.

Snow is really very cold. I suppose it has something to do with its being frozen and all. I don't like cold. At all. I find cold to be one of the most disagreeable things on earth, along with ingrown toenails and straight tequila. Cold is just not nice. Not only is snow cold, but its everywhere. I may not mind it so much if when it snowed, it just came down in specific patches so that not everything was completely drown in cold whiteness.

Along with getting everywhere else, it gets on my car. And around my car. Which requires me to brush off my vehicle and sometimes even shovel it out. Which requires me to be in the snow, and even get some on me. And then sometimes you're so stuck in your parking spot that you can't even get out of it without being rescued by some random guy that happened to be visiting a neighbor down the street (remember that, Becca?!). Then the roads become a disaster, all slushy and sloppy. Then, to make it all worse, it melts a little and then refreezes. This turns surfaces into ice skating rinks and then you get stuck and can't go anywhere. And I mean all surfaces, including my wooden front steps, which causes me to almost slip and fall and break something. Are we having fun yet?

I was recently told that I am now required to not hate snow, what with my having a niece and nephew and all. Apparently, children are brainwashed into liking snow. I don't understand that. Are they given visions of it in the womb and told that its fun to play in? Seriously! I can't think of any other explanation. I do refuse to like snow, though, and while I may be occasionally forced to make snowmen and snow angels and perhaps go sledding... but I will not succumb. I will not like it.

Tomorrow is promising to have the first real "weather" of the winter. I never understood why people call winter storms by the single word "weather." "We're going to have weather." When snow is described like that, its basically guaranteed to be bad. I'm not at all excited about the "weather". Or the snow. Or the ice. Its just not fun for me. The only good thing is that I may leave work early and finish my day out at home. I suppose that I shall have to make the best of it with working in my sweats while drinking tea and singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs. Perhaps it will be a good day after all.

95/5 Is Not My Idea of Fun

2008-12-17T21:44:00.004-05:00

I realize that I have been slacking in my blogging... um.... responsibility... as of late. Or whatever it is. Life has been very life-like lately and thus my mind has been scattered on other things. Not fun things, mind you. But life things. The kind of things that make you want to scream and freak out and hide under the bed for the rest of your existence. I've seriously considered the latter part there many, many times over the past few weeks. However, after much consideration, I decided against it on the basis that it may be upsetting for some people that like me, for whatever reason that is. I, however, believe that hiding from life under my bed with the monsters and dust bunnies sounds like a marvelous idea. I would no longer have to deal with anything, besides maybe being a little cramped and starving to death. But, hey, those sound like easy challenges. Right?

Sometimes is does feel like "life" is synonymous with "crap"... and "hell"... and "awfulness", doesn't it? When God said "in this life, you will have trials and tribulations", He sure as heck wasn't kidding. I think he said that to cover His butt. That way we can't turn around and yell at God and say that he didn't warn us. He sure did. Personally, if I were God, I believe I would have phrased it slightly different. Like "life blows. Get over it."

Sure, life isn't all bad. It does have its brief moments of non-awfulness, however far and few in between they may present themselves. I'd sure like more of an even split. Why not 50/50? Half crap and half amazing. Heck, 70/30 would even be an improvement. This whole 95/5 uneven keel is just not cutting the cake. It simply and purely is not my idea of a good time.

I am focusing on the hope of a non-crappy tomorrow. It may not be a literal tomorrow, but one day... things will get better. The new year is just blooming with promise of less crappy-ness of life-like crap. Or at least I keep telling myself that, since I have no real proof to back it up. Its just hope. Sometimes it does feel like hope is more of just a lie. But I guess in this case, its a good lie. A lie for the possibility of good, even if it seems improbable and unreachable. Or maybe life will surprise me... That would be nice.

No More Scrooge for Me

2008-11-30T22:35:00.003-05:00

There is so much to enjoy with holidays: time spent with family, gorging oneself on massive amounts of deliciously yummy food, decorations. During the Christmas holidays, I tend to find myself a bit of a Scrooge. I used to love Christmas. It was a love affair that typically had me listening to holiday music way too early and insisting on putting up the decorations the day immediately following Thanksgiving. Then somewhere in the past few years, there was a disconnect. My sister told me it was because I became bitter and cynical. As much as I'd fight that point, I secretly knew she was right.

Since my nephew and niece were born, I knew I had to start adjusting my attitude towards the season of holiday cheer. One cannot be the fun aunt if one hates Christmas. Thus began my conscious effort towards removing the blues and replacing them with silver bells in my heart. Naturally, I did this by following the code of the Elves:

Treat everyday like Christmas
There's room for everybody on the nice list
The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear

Buddy the Elf would be proud. I've spent the last week singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs. My officemate and I started the cheer a bit early this year by indulging our Christmas spirits in the sounds of the holidays before Thanksgiving. Speaking of which, has anyone else notice how Thanksgiving gets streamrolled more than any other holiday? I mean, seriously. Christmas decorations are making an appearance before the cornucopia even has its chance to make it to the table. The turkey is being cooked to the tunes of Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney. It simply isn't fair. Every holiday should have its own chance to shine. Thanksgiving is just underappreciated. We should all be glad that it hasn't disappeared into the woodwork yet, never to make an appearance again. That would just be tragic. That particular holiday has better food than any other. I do love turkey comas.

So, here I sit, writing to the light of the bulbs on my Christmas tree, with Dean Martin crooning the tunes of Christmas cheer while still full from Thanksgiving day leftovers. It is delightful. My Scrooge heart has yet to make an unwelcome arrival this year and I plan on keeping it that way. Or else it shall be beaten away with a stick. A big, ugly stick. And who likes ugly at such a pretty time of year?

Speranza Designs open for business!

2008-11-29T16:25:00.002-05:00

I officially opened my very own Etsy shop, featuring jewelry designed by yours truly! I decided to call my jewelry line Speranza Designs (meaning "hope" in Italian). A portion of each sale will be sent to a charitable organization to bring hope to communities in need. There are not many items posted right now, but I will be adding items often. You can check out my shop here:

http://SperanzaDesigns.etsy.com

These will make excellent Christmas gifts! Please check it out and let me know if you have any questions. I do take custom orders.

Decisions of Doom/or Automobile of Death

2008-11-22T23:33:00.003-05:00

One of my mother's favorite sayings is "Make the best decision that you can at the time." The key part of that phrase is "at the time." Considering the way that this saying is phrased, it points to the likely conclusion that it is being stated while looking at hindsight. Which means that the best decision that you made at the time most likely turned around and bit you in the behind.

Sadly, I find this statement to be very true in relation to the vehicle that I stupidly purchased 3 years ago. The rear tire nearly came off while I was driving it approximately 10 days after I signed my life away in car payments. This really should have been a very big, glaring sign from God that I should force them to buy the car back. Basically, God was up in heaven booming into His megaphone saying, "BETHANY. SEND BACK THE CAR." Did I listen? No. Granted, I was in a bit of a bind when I bought the automobile of death because my former car had up and died and I was essentially stranded. A decision needed to be made very quickly, and so I made the best decision that I could at the time. What a mistake that was.

About 4 weeks after selling my soul to Satan, an O2 sensor went. Thankfully, I was intelligent enough to purchase an extended warranty on the Deathbox. Otherwise, I would have had a $500 bill before my second car payment was even due. This was not looking so good. A near catastrophe and a sensor blowing within a month? My warning bells were going off. Unfortunately, it was too late. Way, way, way too late.

Over the next 2 years, the silver car of dreadfulness was in and out of the shop on multiple occasions. I think it may, may have passed inspection once without needing any major work. Maybe.

Last November brought along inspection time. I hate inspection time. I relate it to going to the dentist. There is just that dread and feeling of doom. One can never tell what trials and tribulations that inspection time might bring. The fact that I was smart enough to not wait until the last minute like I normally do should have been a neon sign in the sky that I was going to have some serious issues. I can't even remember everything that was wrong with it, but I do know that major things, like the mass airflow sensor and the catalytic converter needed to be replaced. The aforementioned extended warranty did cover much of the damage, but I still paid out quite a pocketful of cash. I was also minus a vehicle for a vast portion of the month. I had an entire week of vacation during that month. Most of which was spend in my living room because I had no car. It was a great vacation. Best ever. *Ahem* I nearly lost my sanity that month. I seriously considered setting my car on fire or hiring a hitman to "take care" of it.

So, here we are again. November. I've been shuddering at the thought of it since September. "What ailments will this inspection time bring this year?" I've been pondering to myself. I also tried to ignore it in hopes that it would just go away. It didn't work. I dropped my car off at the garage last night, and waited in awful anticipation for my phone to ring all morning. When I saw the Midas number on my caller ID... My heart nearly stopped. "Oh no!" I thought to myself. "What messages of doom will Midas manager Kevin have for me today?!" Gingerly, I answered the phone and tried to make jokes, hoping that it would put him in a good mood and he'd forget all the bad news that he had called to give me. This didn't work either. Midas manager Kevin rattled of a very long list of everything that they had found wrong with my car. "Ugh." I thought. "Maybe I can pay off Kevin to take a blowtorch to it." However, the idea of going to jail for insurance fraud sounded a bit more awful than a big bill. I decided against it.

A thousand dollars. One thousand dollars. And that's just to fix the requirements for inspection. Not including everything else that needs to be fixed, but just not right now. I will now spend the weekend waiting to find out how much my warranty will cover, and also banging my head against the corner of my kitchen table, asking myself why on earth I had to buy that particular car. One of the worst decisions I ever made, right up next to my high school boyfriend. I have no idea what I was thinking then either. But, alas and alack, we can only make the best decision that we can at the time, regardless of how bad it may be later on. I suppose that its all a part of learning life lessons and whatnot. And I also suppose that one of my father's favorite sayings is also true... "Have car, will spend money." I hate that saying.

Intertwining Tendrils of the Heart

2008-11-19T22:54:00.003-05:00

Matters of the heart are strange things. Particularly a woman's heart. Us dames have a particular affinity to feel on a much deeper level than our male counterparts. Our emotions can control our lives if not kept in check and can completely overtake every thought in a day if left to run rampant. They are the monsoon on the unstable tiny private islands that is a woman's life whom, if left without a life raft, is likely to drown in their overwhelming force. Regardless of whether we like it or not, women are emotional creatures. Personally... I dislike this tremendously at times.

While my hard exterior shell is often deceiving, I am an exceptionally emotional woman. I was recently equated to an M&M; hard on the outside, all soft and gooshy on the inside. This fact is little known to the average person, and can only be seen once one is allowed up close. Life circumstances have forced me to become "tough", or at least it felt forced to me. My independent nature largely prevents me from being able to accept much help or emotional support from friends and family. I do believe that it drives them all insane, and I am trying to get better at that.

With my tough exterior come some misconceptions. My M&M shell leads people to believe that I am incredibly strong and secure. Ha. Several years ago, I was talking with my sister about an episode taking place in my life and she said to me, "I don't understand why you are having such a hard time with this. You're so tough." My very first thought was, "My God.... I even have my own sister fooled."

My sister Faith is my best friend. I tell her nearly everything and she knows more about me than any other person on earth. The fact that at one point I had her fooled about how "tough" I was probably means I should get an Oscar for Bullcrapper of the Year. She has wised up since then and I think can see through my charades more often than not. As a result, I think my shell has started to melt a bit, allowing the squishy insides to start oozing out a bit.

A rather copious downside to my squishy, emotional interior is this: I have an astonishingly hard time letting go. When it comes to those matters of the heart that are so very near and dear to me, I simply cannot easily loosen my often vise-like grip. I want to keep those things close because it just pains me to such an extreme to let them go. I hold on to hope well beyond the point that I should because of the "just in case." One who is not quite so emotional would likely be able to release those things easier. For myself, it is akin to prying an orange out of a monkey's grip. Good luck.

The phrase "Let go and let God", as cliche as that may be, is an obvious valid point. Simply letting go of that grip that I keep on the matters of my heart would remove my clumsy attempt at controlling a situation and allow the Master of my heart to take over. He wants and knows what is best for me and I should be trusting Him with those things most important to me. This is all great in theory, but putting it into practice is a completely different affair altogether. Actually let go of that which matters most to me? Its horrifying. And yet, we are commanded to do so. I... am commanded to do so.

But how does one do that? In reality, how does one release something that is so intertwined in one's heart? It pains me to simply think about it. Yet, I know that my God will take so much better care of the matters of my heart than I ever can. He knows my past, my present, and most importantly, my future. He knows. Who better to trust with my most valued treasures than Someone whose existence revolves around me?

These realizations leave me with no choice, and surely no better choice, than to continue learning how to release. Figuring out how to put my emotions aside and let the King of Glory step into my heart and clean up the mess that I have created. It will be painful, no doubt. But the end result will be more than worth it.

Twenty-seven Foot Bubble

2008-11-18T22:25:00.004-05:00

As do most people, I require a certain amount of personal space. I am a self-professed vast personal space needer. I can't be crowded or pushed or smothered. Those will only make me want to freak out and hurt people. I find myself having near physical reactions to emotional deluging that include flailing and spastic flinging. It's not good.

"They" say that politicians typically require 27 feet of personal space. I've oft said I should go into politics. I most definitely fall into this personal space realm. 27 feet. Yes, I can handle that. Now, please don't misunderstand. This requirement does not go for all people. If I like a person and consider them a friend, they are permitted into my personal space. Usually. However, there are those whom I would much prefer to keep their distance. Maybe even extend it out to 50 feet. Heck, just pick up the phone and call me! From another state! That will solve all the spacial issues.

Not only do I sometimes need physical personal space, but perhaps moreso, emotional space. As has been previously stated, I do not always do so well with intrusions into my life. 'Tis not always a favorable trait, however, until I learn how to not be so me, it is what it is.

Lately, I have found certain situations in my life taking no heed to the 27 feet of personal space that is mine. Areas of my life have been invaded by persons that I would much rather not be there. I have been finding my privacy being swamped and become nonexistent in particular areas. Unfortunately, these issues are such as that I cannot control nor change. I have so far been able to refrain from any spastic flailing or undocked freaking out, which may involve pencils and other people's eyeballs. I cannot guarantee how much longer I shall be able to subdue said freaking outedness. You may soon read about me in the news.

In circumstances such as this, when one cannot control or avoid an unpleasant state of affairs, one certainly finds oneself asking the question of "what is the lesson to be learned?" There is always some hidden nugget of truth to be found behind every hardship, with which one can come away armed with a new knowledge of oneself. These assignments are hardly ever fun and often result in the loss of hair. I fear I may be completely bald before this one is over. I am making every effort to keep an eye out for all the wonderful lessons I am supposed to be learning, however. That way my bald head will not be in vain.

In the meantime, I will continue to have venting sessions with my office mate, who regularly coaches me in Lamaze and removes sharp objects from my reach. Apparently, she likes me too much to see me go to jail.

And yes, in case you were wondering, she is allowed within 27 feet of me.

Here Comes the... Social Awkwardness?

2008-11-15T22:44:00.003-05:00

Ah, weddings. The day of joy and celebration where a man and woman unite themselves in the sight of God and man. There is feasting and dancing and festivities. I used to love weddings. "Used to" being the operative phrase. I do believe that a few years of intense wedding going, and many of those including myself the bridal party, has stained my former love. And by stained I mean essentially destroyed.

I no longer look forward to weddings with the same eagerness I used to. Now, I ignore their comings in hopes that they'll just go away. This has yet to work. The wedding day typically comes with moaning and complaining on my part. I begrudgingly pin up my hair, put on a dress and heels, and get myself to the church. With the moaning and complaining. Did I mention that part already? Ugh.

I can't really say what it is that I dislike about weddings. I think that between them being so long and exhausting and socially uncomfortable, its just sucks all the fun out of it. I particularly dread the reuniting with people I have not seen in years, who, for some reason unbeknownst to me, think that we are still such good friends. It is horribly awkward. Particularly since I don't have a life. The "So, what are you up to these days?" question is returned with an... "Um... Well... Work. And.... Work." I have nothing new to report since I last saw you 5 years ago. My life still revolves around that place that I'm forced to go to every work day. And that's really it. Not to mention, my closed off nature makes it very difficult for me to talk about anything even remotely personal with someone that I don't really know. And this scenario is therefore horribly oafish.

I am now seriously considering just heading to Vegas if I ever strap on the ball and chain. Considering my dislike of weddings, it may not be very considerate of me to put other people in the same position that I found myself today. Or, maybe I'll just get over it by then and decide that I'd like to be a princess, just for one day. Guess I'll find out if that day ever comes...

Chocolate and Ibuprophen

2008-11-11T23:08:00.003-05:00

Many people ponder how they will meet their final end. Car accident, natural causes, accidental puncture through the eyeball with a spork. There are pleasant ways to croak as well: death by chocolate, for example. That sounds like a fantastic way to go. I can just see the obituary: "Bethany Streng, 26 years old, expired from excessive brownie and ice cream eating." I think it would read very well. However, I am relatively certain as to how I will come to meet my maker: gastro-intestinal failure from exorbitant ibuprophen consumption.

I've been a chronic headache sufferer for my whole life. Sadly, some of my earliest memories are of feeling like a sledgehammer was being taken to my skull. Lovely, huh? Forget the butterflies and roses of childhood memories. Pain and agony instead. No wonder I'm so screwed up!

My ibuprophen intake has increased significantly the past few weeks due to the sinus issues and my toofies. Headache pain I can normally deal with relatively well. Tooth pain, however, is on an entirely different level. Its sharp. And shooting. And feels like someone is shoving wire through my teeth. Unfortunately, the antibiotics course I am on is apparently not fixing the issue. Figures, right? Heck, I'll just destroy my system with drugs and they won't even help! Awesome!

My impending GI failure due to drug consummation does leave me with several excellent thoughts though. Since my innards will be giving out on me anyway, I may as well go on a strictly chocolate and ice cream diet, right? Maybe it'll even help the process along! I feel that life is way too short to not eat good food as it is, so this is just another excuse.

And I'll take any excuse I can get to eat chocolate, guilt-free!

Beads, Wires and Pliers, What Fun!

2008-11-09T21:19:00.003-05:00

I seem to be one who is prone to pick up hobbies. I merit this to boredom. It doesn't take much for me to start twiddling my thumbs and walk around aimlessly. Movies and reading work to an extent to stave off the dull nature of life, but movies often lose my attention and I have to be able to focus to read. On occasion, I'll bake cookies or biscotti, but that isn't the best for my waistline and therefore I try not to indulge myself in that too frequently. Recently, I find myself either learning more Spanish vocabulary or blogging, but that can only take up so much time before I'm back to wearing down my carpets. Ergo, it was time to find something else to occupy my time with.

For those who know me, its very obvious that I have an addiction to accessories. Shoes, hair clips, purses. But the worst of my vices in the accessories department is by far jewelry. I'm drawn to it like white cat fur to black shirts. Its bad. I walk into a store and if there is a jewelry counter hidden behind racks of clothing, I'll hone in on it immediately. I have often related that I really should start making my own jewelry, because, let's face it, I do have good taste. I'm also very modest about that. Ahem.

I happened upon a jewelry starter kit at the craft store last week and decided that it was time. No, I was not in the craft store on purpose, in case you were wondering. I had spent the evening consuming oh-so-yummy beverages at Barnes and Noble and my lovely sister needed to go find more crafty goodness for her barrette making adventures. So off we went to Michael's.

For those who know me, you will also know that I am not a crafty sort of person. At all. I respect people who have the patience and creativity to make.... things... but I've never equated myself with being crafty. However, I do feel that jewelry making is on a bit of a different plane with me, since I am such an accessories fiend.

Since the purchase of said starter kit, I've been addicted. Its incredibly soothing, making jewelry is. I get out all my aggression by assembling beads on wires and head pins. I've spent hours over the last few days assembling earrings and even had occasion to gift a pair. Oh, tis such fun. I went back to Michael's today and made tons of fun of myself for bead shopping. Bead shopping! Ms. Non-Crafty herself is beading shopping. Ridiculous! I'm also learning the differences between different gauges of wires. I had no clue that wire came in different gauges. 28 gauge is not so great, in case you wanted to know. Its too thin and doesn't hold its shape. However, I hear of this thing called "memory wire" that is supposed to be wonderful. I'm excited about it. Excited about wire. What has happened to me??

Depending on how much energy I have, my creations may be coming to an Etsy store near you...

The "D" Word

2008-11-06T22:37:00.003-05:00

As stated in a previous blog, I have been suffering from not-so-very-nice toothaches as of late. I had attributed this aching to allergies issues. God bless sinus drainage, right? I had been crossing my fingers and waiting for the pain to subside after my allergies lessened. And waited. And waited. And waited. And... well, you get the point. The achiness of doom had yet to diminish after nearly a month and a half. I realized that.... it was time. Gulp.

The "D" word. Oh, how I hate it. I'd basically rather scrub a public toilet with a toothbrush than have to visit the dentist. I quite literally shiver when that dreaded noun is uttered. I loathe everything about it: the picks, the scraping, the drilling, the novocaine, the fluoride treatments. But especially the picks and the drilling. They make dreadful sounds. Ugh. One might as well scrape a fork across a chalkboard. Its that bad.

After last night left me clutching the right side of my face for an hour, I knew that the time had come to call the dreaded D word. While I was relatively certain that the pain was due to my sinuses, there was also a possibility that the massive filling in my one tooth had an absess and was pussing into my bloodstream or something. That would have been bad on many levels. Not to mention really disgusting. I hope none of you reading this were eating. If you were, you're welcome. I just assisted your latest dieting fad.

Early this morning, I phoned the office, explained the situation, and was able to schedule an appointment for this afternoon. This was almost an annoyance for two reasons: first, I had to take a few hours out of my work day, and second, I didn't have enough time to mentally prepare myself for the impending terror.

2 PM rolled around, as it does every afternoon, and I put my big girl panties on and stepped into the office. Shoving down the near panic and dismay I felt, I wondered if it may have been better to continue on with the pain and purchase a few bullets to bite rather than go through the agony of the dentist chair. Ugh.

I managed to not die, or even have a coronary, during the whole appointment. Lots of poking, prodding, tapping, and blowing of air showed no particular pain points. X-rays revealed that there was nothing absessing or pussing or exposed. So, all of my dreading and panic is apparently due to what I thought it was in the first place: obnoxious sinuses. Now I start course #11 of antibiotics in the last year. Maybe that will help the sinus headaches and clogged ears as well. As much as I am not a fan of the cold, I am looking forward to allergy season being over!

Lessons in Nailbiting. And Stress. And Panic.

2008-11-04T21:45:00.003-05:00

I am on my couch, stress eating while wrapped in a blanket to stay warm. And watching election coverage. I failed to mention that part of my stress eating involved my fingernails. Disgusting, I know, but I'm a compulsive nail biter. I've managed to break this nasty habit on several occasions, but it tends to get worse with stress and considering my mental state at work as of late.... I think it goes without saying that my nails are no longer growing.

My stress level has skyrocketed today with the impending election results. Each presidential election for the past 12 years has found me terrifically alarmed while watching the results roll in. Being that I am one of the few, but more intelligent Americans, that does not pay out way too much money for cable TV, my eyeballs are now glued to my computer monitor instead. God bless modern day technology. Seriously! While it often drives me insane, I can watch live election coverage online. For free. So to all you suckers that pay for cable, be jealous!

I have to say that I find myself increasingly irritated with the media. To say that it is biased would be the understatement of at least the last 3 years. Pathetic, ridiculous and obscene are words that come to mind in trying to describe the blatant leanings of the media. I have been watching the news for the better part of the last 6 hours and McCain's name has hardly been mentioned. Granted, I am a conservative voter, but I believe that I would be equally beleaguered if the media focused almost solely on the republican candidate. Equality. Imagine! Such a concept.

I want unbiased, factual reporting, not an agenda being pushed on me through what is being reported and the way in which it is presented. I spent a few months several years ago looking at different news sources, ones known for being liberal and ones known for being more conservative, to see the differences in the reporting. It was amazing, really. If you've never done it, I recommend it. You'll be amazed at the incredulity behind the media's bias, whether liberal or conservative.

Not to mention, the media's bigotry turns a blind eye to the facts such as, oh, I don't know, that Obama is a complete socialist. I mean, hello?!?! Has no one paid attention to his taxation plans??? And yet, no where have I read that this is a point of concern. In fact, I've hardly heard it mentioned at all, except to be skewed that Obama is "for the middle class". Bull. Crap. He is not for the middle class, he is simply a straight up socialist who wants to redistribute wealth among the nation's citizens. For anyone who pays any attention to history, this should be cause for some very serious concern. But, considering that the majority is ignorant when it comes to politics and the media refuses to report the truth... I don't even know what else to say about it.

I am dumbfounded by the lack of interest in politics among the general public. We have the incredible right to vote, for which many, many lives have been lost in that defense. And yet, many do not take the time to research into the issues and stances of the candidates. Being a psychotic politically and socially minded person, I simply do not understand this. Choosing our nation's leaders is a hefty responsibility and as a voter, we should all be informed as to what their beliefs are. If not in depth, then at least the surface stances on the major issues. So. Frustrating.

My fingernails are taking a serious beating tonight. As are anyone's eyeballs who are brave enough to try to chat with me. And my sister's eardrums. She told me to stop yelling at her. I tried to explain that I wasn't yelling at her. I was yelling about the lack of interest of people in the issues. In people who are either don't care enough or don't want to make the effort to discover the truth behind what is transpiring in the world. The apathy incites a fury in me, not just in politics, but in other things as well. Social injustice, in particular. That gets me really heated. I've had encounters with people who don't even want to discuss social issues because "its upsetting." Yeah, well, no crap. That is precisely why you should know about it! Deep breath. If you can't tell, I get very, very worked up about politics and social issues. People who are not like that tend to avoid these sort of conversations with me. Ya know, the ones that involve my soapbox. I think it makes them uncomfortable.

Well, according to the results so far, Obama will be taking the White House in January. McCain's campaign just announced that they do not see a path to victory for this election. I will be selling my internal organs tomorrow to put a down payment on my island. I've had several takers so far in joining me in that. So, if you'd like to pitch in as well, please let me know. We'll start a communal society. Maybe learn how to farm. Or fish. Or maybe just eat coconuts and bananas for the rest of our lives. Kumbaya will be required singing around the campfire every night, as well as the recitation of the baby Jesus prayers from Talledega Nights.

"Dear little 8 pound, 6 ounce tiny infant baby Jesus...."

Lessons in How to be Terrified

2008-11-03T22:22:00.006-05:00

Election day. The day that comes every 4 years, and I have yet to dread it any less. Tomorrow, the fearful day is upon us and our beloved country will choose a new leader. Or elect the anti-christ. One of the two.

In all seriousness, neither candidate looks particularly appealing. McCain is quick tempered and old, Obama is inexperienced and.... well.... I'll just stop there before I get in trouble. I'm considering writing in Nemo on the ballot, because it looks that an animated fish may be the better choice. I considered not voting, but I refuse to give up my right to complain about the government so off to the polls I go. I do enjoy complaining about the government, considering that they all have smarts equivalent to fruit flies.

This election will be historic, regardless of the outcome. Either the first black president or the first woman Veep. It will also be the first presidential election since 1988 which does not carry either a Bush or a Clinton on the ticket. And the first election in something like 50 years in which neither an incumbent president nor vice was not on the ballot. I think that point makes my nerves a bit more sensitive, being that the elected will be completely new to the White House. Ugh.

Not to mention, the policies presented by both parties are seriously lacking in any sort of feasibility. I mean, seriously, fining people for not having health insurance? I cannot think of anything more retarded than that. Hey, you can't afford to pay for health insurance, so the government is going to fine you as a result. Sounds like a great idea! Let's come up with completely unfair taxing practices which will remove taxes from the middle class and tax the upper class 65% of their income! Socialism, anyone? Awesome! And while we're at it, let's yank all of the funding out of charter schools and make home schooling illegal. Great! Or we can just keep our men and women in uniform in the Middle East for the next 100 years. Clearly, that will just solve all of the problems in the Muslim world. The level of brilliance in Washington astounds me. Really, really just... bewildering.

As previously mentioned, I have been looking into purchasing a private island. On the eve of the election with no good choices, this is a very appealing option. I'd much rather be ruler of my own beach with pineapple trees and monkeys than leave the fate of the nation I occupy to the idiots on the Hill. Before you know it, we may either be a military or communist state.

On that note, make sure you get out and vote. Protect your right to moan about the government!

Lessons in Insomnia

2008-11-02T01:23:00.003-04:00

Sleep. Oh how I love it. It finds itself near the top of my list of favorite things to do. Along with snuggling, drinking coffee and badminton. Okay, badminton may be a bit of a stretch, but you get the point. I do enjoy sleep immensely. It is a 6 hour escape from reality, in which time my brain, body and emotions get a respite.

However, there is a glitch to this certain favorite thing of mine: I tend to not be able to do it. It is currently 1:21. AM. And considering that daylight savings time has blessed us with an extra hour, my body is telling me that it is actually 2:21. A in the freaking M. Sigh.

I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a concert in Filthadelphia this evening. I returned to my abode at 1 AM, sheerly worn out from a long day. I quickly changed into my jammies, grabbed my laptop, and hopped into bed. And.... boing!!! My eyes are wide open. I could hardly stay awake on the car ride home. And yet, now that I'm all cozy in my sweats and under my oh-so-soft-and-wonderful comforter... Sleep eludes me. How in God's wonderfully green earth does this make sense?? GOSH!

From what I understand, sleep and I have never gotten along especially well. I believe that I was probably one of those infants that woke up its poor exhausted mommy every few hours. My poor mommy. My sleep issues have gotten worse the older I get. The past 5 years or so have found me with on and off phases of insomnia. There are occasional weeks were I have no quandary with falling into that blessed relaxed state rather quickly. But, then the tide turns and its back to lying in bed for several hours before I finally doze off. And lately, that dozing is interrupted by work-induced panic attacks at ungodly hours of the night. So. Not. Fun.

May I also point out that I am not one of those people who does well on little sleep. Not really so much at all. I get whiny. And cranky. And sometimes semi-miserable. I want to throw things at people if they try to make me think. Or function. Then I drink too much caffeine to try to wake up, and I get all jittery. Which brings its own set of problems.

So, on the cursed nights such as tonight, I will find myself getting out of bed to have a cup of tea, wine, or herbal sleep supplements to knock myself out. If that doesn't work, then I may resort to smashing my forehead on the corner of my dresser.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Conundrum of Thoughts

2008-10-31T18:55:00.004-04:00

Relationships stagger me in their volatility sometimes. They can be won or lost in an instant. One moment the connection is there, the next it has disappeared. You can be walking unsuspectingly down the street and have your life changed in an instant by meeting a new soul that coheres with your own.

Due to the first point made, I do wonder why so much effort should be put towards relationships, for friendship or romance, if you stand the risk of losing it at any moment. Having stake in another person can lead to emotional demise if life paths split. Being that one cannot control or influence another person in any real manner, it does seem like a futile aspiration. Pouring yourself into another's life is risky business, without any guarantee of a return on the investment that you made in them. Your efforts may be reciprocated, or may not.

And yet, we were created to crave human relationships. A deep want in us to have that soulful affiliation with another which cannot be denied, at least not without the risk of becoming a miserable and hardened person. A soul dies without connection. We feed off of that fastening of ourselves to another life, as the power supply that energizes and revives us.

Adam walked in the Garden with the very presence of God every dusk. And yet, he was lonely. This is such an illustration of our need, our undeniable necessity of human interaction and relationship. To stroll with God, and yet have a hole in a deep part of himself. Its an exceptional, and somewhat absurd, thought and yet it is part of our engineering: to need another human to fill our lives.

This is a difficult concept for me to grasp: to need someone else. I don't particularly like to need anything. Especially another person who has the ability to leave me, to hurt, to disappoint. No, thanks. I'd rather be completely self-sufficient. Call it harsh, but I believe that some of your reading this can relate to that on some level. I am by no means saying that this is a good way to be. It simply is. And yet, I am cognizant of the reality that not only will I never be able to be without human relationship, but a life devoid of kinship would merely be a passing of 70 or 80 years. It would not be a life.

Besides, it cannot be refuted that nothing else on earth can bring the same joy, the same comfort, the same satisfaction as the human relationship. Not even chocolate can do that. This knowledge is the driving force behind taking the risk of becoming involved, in letting another person invade my personal space. Yes, I receive an emotional battering from this on occasion. But pain reminds us that we are alive and in this case can reveal that we have felt and been felt by another person, made evident by their absence.

Please do not misunderstand, I have no intent nor desire to ostracize myself. While there is an inherent tendency to be a social hermit, I do not succumb to it. At least not too often. I am merely poignantly stating thoughts as to the reasons behind our ambitions driven by nature, and the oft contradictory character of our desires and personalities. It is, after all, interesting how we can fight with conundrums that make up ourselves. The lack of straightforwardness behind personalities, souls and minds is reminiscent of the reality that it takes more than a lifetime to really know oneself. That all of the grey parts that construct a person have no real definition for most of our time on earth.

Life really is a journey of discovery.

"Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same." ~Flavia Weedn

Soliloquy of Stillness

2008-10-30T17:22:00.004-04:00

There is a certain quality of stillness that is tremendously enticing. And yet not something that one can oft achieve. Particularly when you are someone like me who just simply cannot stop thinking. Not even for a fraction of a second. There is a certain irritation that accompanies the inability get that grey matter in one's head to simply be still for just a while.

I don't find myself to be a particularly envious person. Especially not of the opposite gender. However, I am covetous of the male mind on one point: it can actually accomplish the feat of not thinking. At all. Men utterly confound me with their proficiency to not think. Like, actually, not think. The capacity of the male mind to shut down any and all analytical reasoning is astounding. And I want that.

There is a comedian whose name escapes me right now that has a fabulous sketch on the differences between the male and female minds. How womens' brains are able to focus on many different tasks simultaneously and are incapable of rest. Men, however, are only able to focus on a single thing at a time. The male mind is like a chest of drawers and everything is categorized into its own separate drawer. But, alas, the male mind has a drawer specifically set aside for nothing. Nothing! This drawer is aptly labeled "The Nothing Drawer."

Ladies, you have to be able to relate to my invidiousness to this skill. Can you imagine even a few seconds of sheer mental stillness? And yet, how many times have you asked your man what he is thinking about and he looks at you with this dumb look on his face and says.... "uuuuuhhhhh..... Nothing." Now, your immediate natural and well-understandable reaction to this most likely goes something like this: "How can you not be thinking about anything? Nothing? Not one little thing? Nothing at all?"

Ugh. The word "jealousy" does not begin to scratch the surface of my sentiments towards this ability. It would just be marvelous to be able to be completely and simply still. Just once!

But, alas and alack, I was born with the wrong chromosomes for this talent. I suppose that I shall have to just continue on with my constant ponderings and over-analytical brainal functions.

I'm going to hope and pray that "Nothing Boxes" are on sale this Black Friday. I will stock up on them and perhaps sell a few on Ebay. I'm sure I would be able to finance my private island off of that. And before you ask, yes, I shall set one aside for you.

Grievances, Punching Bags and Private Islands

2008-10-29T23:54:00.005-04:00

Today was yet another day of wondering if I should have my head examined. My morning and afternoon were reminiscent of the thanksgiving turkey right after it had been decapitated before it made its way to your dinner table. There's a great mental picture for you. Anyhoo, stress seems to be in the air at the office, with no one able to run away from it. I believe that it gets into the vents, and well... There is no escape. I may need to invest in surgical masks.

The non-stop-so-you-better-buckle-up-and-learn-how-to-ride-it-out-graciously theme is our company motto. There never seems to be any downtime that exceeds 2.7 seconds. Ever. This is cause for approximately 8.3 mental breakdowns per hour, split between my office roomie and myself. Granted, it is not a 50-50 split. More like 70-30, with myself being the guilty party. I've discovered recently that I really do have a knack for complaining. This isn't a good thing, considering that there is no career path geared towards Professional Complainer. If there were, I could be a millionaire and buy a private island and then have to be more creative in finding things to complain about. Like the lack of coconuts for my pina coladas. Speaking of private islands, did you know that you can find relatively cheap islands for sale on the internet? I'm looking into it quite seriously, dependant on the outcome of the election.

The verse "do all things without complaining or arguing" has harassed the forefront of my mind lately. I personally think that God was a little too optimistic about the human race when he formed that thought. Being a chronic complainer who is attempting to rid myself of bemoaning, it just seems to me that our dear Lord may have entirely too much faith in my ability to shut my piehole. Venting keeps me from hurting people at work. Or taking a nail gun to my eyeball. Or yelling "WE'RE CLOSED!!" every time a co-worker opens my office door. Oh wait... Yeah, I'd continue to do that one regardless.

Perhaps I need a proxy for my grievances. Like a punching bag. That may help. Or maybe I can channel my frustrations into knitting scarves and blankets and then sell them on etsy.com to pay for my island. Speaking of which, you simply must see my lovely sister's lovely creations on her Etsy store if you haven't already. Its basically baby barrette heaven.

Oh well. On my quest for a complaint-free attitude, I shall just continue to force my mouth to stop spewing word vomit by stuffing it with food. God bless stress eating. Quite frankly, I would have been committed by now if it weren't for mashed potatoes and ice cream.