Of handshakes and heartbreak.

pearl

2009-11-24T17:07:00.002-06:00

Names.
What's in a name?
We are bitter, victorious.
I am a pearl,
I say, with a hint of apology.
As if I know that immediately
You will say,
Quietly and in false sincerity:
I am not the pearl.
I am the tiny grain of sand--
The source of irritation
That produces a thing of beauty.
It was only in jest,
I know it was.
(Right?)
But it worked its way into my fragile shell,
Rested in my subconscious,
And it's fighting for my attention,
Destined to become another pearl
On a fraying string, tied so tightly
I can barely breathe.

With a little help from my friends

2009-11-20T22:59:00.004-06:00

The holidays are quickly approaching and I'm so excited! I love this time of year! Christmas is still five weeks away, but hey, the earlier I start celebrating, the longer I can enjoy it!

Who's down for some...

Heck yes.

So if I seem a bit hyper, it's because I'm super happy about spending time with friends. I've been quite socially deprived of late and last night I FINALLY went to Fuel again for the first time in about a month. (Fuel is a young adult group that meets for study and worship every Thursday night at The Crossing in Quincy, IL. Crazy awesome.) I went with my next-door-neighbor Jordan...I've mentioned his sister Lauren in at least one previous post...anyway, it's always great to fellowship with people closer to my age. At my home church we have a young adult group, but it's mostly comprised of married people in their 30s. Obviously, I'm a minority in that group. And they don't seem to get together too often, obviously because of kids and other stuff that most fully-grown adults deal with on a day-to-day basis. Most of the crowd at Fuel are college-aged/20somethings, so I fit right in :p

I haven't had much social time lately, outside of work...oh wait, work doesn't count as social time, my bad. I've made tons of friends there, but most of them don't wanna invite me to their parties or whatever because I don't really enjoy watching football or playing beer pong. You know, that's just not my scene. So I feel like a junkie or something whenever I do get the chance to hang with friends. Last night I was so wired after Fuel...actually, I've just been downright loopy lately. As much as life sucks sometimes, God's been constantly reminding me of just how much He loves me...I finished a Beth Moore Bible study on Esther a couple of weeks ago and even though I sometimes felt like I was totally lost, it was a huge blessing. I've had some really great conversations with people lately, Christians and non-Christians...nothing earth-shattering or super profound, but just the kind of stuff that makes me think, "Maybe I'm really not that crazy. Someone feels the same way."

I know I'm just rambling now. Usually I have some sort of direction for what I'm gonna write about, but you know, that's why I never blog. Because I usually feel too scattered. But I've decided it doesn't matter. (I know that totally rhymed, and I didn't even do it on purpose. Awesome.)Some of my best writing has come from places in my mind and heart that I never knew existed.

P.S. I promise I am not on drugs right now. Although I kinda sound like I'm tripping or something, right?

So, yeah. Tomorrow I'm going to lunch with Lauren and then Mara and I are going to a young women's conference at The Crossing. Sunday is church and work. Monday night Mara's coming over and we're making cookies! The rest of the week will consist of working (32 hours, woot woot!) and helping out at home with Thanksgiving preparations. My grandparents, my pastor and his wife are coming over on Thursday for the big feast. On Saturday I am going to the Hy-Vee Christmas party with Mara, Aaron (possibly) and Jordan. And eventually, Mara, Lauren, Jordan and I are gonna see "New Moon"! I am convinced that all four of us need to see it together or else! So...yeah! Good things!!!

I have been contemplating lately the idea of taking on a pseudonym. You know, a pen name. Something like "Lucy Goosey," "Chelsea Dagger" (with apologies to The Fratellis). I am open to suggestions.

Also thinking I should try fasting from Facebook. We were talking last night at Fuel about the importance of fasting and you know, it definitely wouldn't kill me to spend time with Jesus instead of Facebook stalking my friends.

That is all for now. Peace out!

what the world is missing?/Veteran's Day/Christmas tune-age

2009-11-11T11:12:00.009-06:00

Back again. Between work, church, Bible study, trying to sort through the disaster area that is my bedroom and bathroom and just generally slacking off, I seem to keep forgetting my blog.

I've decided to establish a bit of a theme for my blog, to keep me coming back to it...keep the ball rolling, so to speak. Yesterday I was reading a blog on Conversant Life and stumbled across this funny post about cheesy/bizarre album covers. One of the covers shown gave credit to a website, bizarrerecords.com. Being a lover of all things bizarre and music-related, I had to check it out. It's been a source of amusement, but I admit I'm saddened to find that most of the crazy vinyl album covers listed on the website are the work of forgotten gospel groups and evangelists. There are SIX selections from Tammy Faye Bakker and her family listed, to give you an obvious example. I was glad to see that no one has dug up anything from the archives of the Roberts family...yet.

We Christians are a peculiar people, indeed...but to our credit, I think everyone looked strange back in the era of vinyl. Heck, I'm already laughing at photos of my friends and myself from a decade ago.

Without further ado, here is today's Strange Album Art, brought to you by The Griffin Family Singers.

Yes, it's painfully funny and embarrassing...but I have to agree with this fashion-impaired family that nonbelievers truly don't know what they're missing -- and it has nothing to do with following the latest styles.

It would be out of line for me to blog on Veteran's Day and not thank our vets for the sacrifices they've made to preserve our freedom. In this day and age, I wonder how many more Veteran's Days we'll have before we forget what it's like to be free. So thank you Floyd, Lowell, Ray, Daddy and everyone else who has served in our military. Whether you've fought for us overseas or guarded us stateside, we would be lost without you.

Christmas is about six weeks away, and I'm getting uber excited about it. A decade or so ago, my mom gave away/sold a basket full of Christmas cassette tapes we'd been listening to every year since the mid-1980s. We had finally joined the digital age and we had no use for tapes anymore -- huzzah! For a family that always seems to catch up on the tail-end of technology, CDs were the wave of the future as the new millennium approached. However, two of our favorite Christmas tapes, which we later regretted parting with, have been nearly impossible to find on CD/MP3 until recently.

To quote the liner notes, "Inside Fezziwig's...the Spirit of Christmas Past" by Ed Sweeney is a collection of "reels, waltzes, rounds, jigs and slip jigs ... perhaps, something you may have heard if you were at Fezziwig's party (in Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol")." In 1990, my parents picked up this album on tape in the Amana Colonies, after my dad heard it playing in one of the shops and fell in love with it.

The last couple of Christmases have gone by with us wondering where we could find "Inside Fezziwig's..." again. Mom and I did some digging on Amazon and learned that it was released on CD in 1994 and later discontinued by its manufacturer, Kicking Mule Records. Only one copy was available on Amazon. The seller was willing to part with for the low price of just $94.25. Meh. We looked elsewhere on the Internet and found that a handful of brand new copies were being sold on music-disc.com, a place out of Denver that sells hard-to-find music and memorabilia. We prayed the site was legit and ordered the CD, which arrived about a week later in mint condition. With shipping and handling, it cost only about 20 bucks. It sounds better than ever, now that all three of us have it on our iPods in crystal-clear digital format :)

I just searched for "Inside Fezziwig's..." again on Amazon and found that another used copy of the CD has been put up for sale...only $35. I'm glad Mom and I didn't wait for that one.

"Music Box Christmas," from the collection of Rita Ford, is another album we've sorely missed. Mom had "Music Box Christmas" on a vinyl record, which slipped out of her hands in the early '80s. She and Daddy later found it on tape at our hometown Disc Jockey (which closed in the late '90s and is now known elsewhere as FYE). Over the years since we discarded our Christmas tapes, we've bought at least two CDs that appeared to be the long-lost "Music Box Christmas" -- only to find they were sorry substitutes, recordings of cheap, tinny music boxes fit for the shelves of a dollar store.

Amazon came to the rescue this time. After reading the customer reviews (all of them positive) and listening to track previews, Mom downloaded the MP3 version of "Music Box Christmas" from Amazon. Listening to it brings back such sweet memories of decorating the tree and learning to wrap presents on the living room floor in our old farmhouse.

As much as I love the pubescent holiday cheer of Hanson's "Snowed In" and the stripped-down, folksy melodies of Sufjan Stevens' "Songs for Christmas," "Inside Fezziwig's..." and "Music Box Christmas" are two of my favorite Christmas albums simply because of the memories they hold for me. They help me relive the years when everyone actually came home for Christmas, when Grandma and Grandpa's house was lit up and packed full of laughs and suitcases and enough food to last until my birthday (two weeks after Christmas). When I used to play with the porcelain Nativity set (the one with only two wise men because Balthazar got broken) on the hearth. When I used to trace patterns in the fog my breath left on the picture window, cut snowflakes out of typewriter paper, shake all the gifts with my name on them under a tree decked with crocheted angels and plastic candy canes and cookie-cutter ornaments covered in watercolor paint and glitter. You know, the kind you make from cookie dough that's not meant to be eaten. Do kids even make those anymore? Probably not. They're too busy writing letters to Santa, asking him for all the coolest toys with the most hard-drive memory, playing on the Wii in their Hannah Montana pj's and drinking Bug Juice.

Wow. That's a tangent if I ever heard one.

Well, now that I've done a thorough update and given you enough links to choke a Shetland pony*, I'd better get back to work. I still need to eat lunch. Today's menu: Stovetop Stuffing! Or Campbell's Chunky Soup! I know, we're such gourmet chefs. Mom and I need to make a Walmart run to finish our Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes, which have to be turned in by Sunday. Nothing like putting it off until the last minute. I need to figure out what I'm gonna do with all this crap that's taking up unnecessary space in my room and bathroom, and then vacuum, dust, and clean once I can see the floor and shelves again.

And at some point, I need to get an iTunes gift card so I can buy the New Moon soundtrack. Finish re-reading Twilight and New Moon before the 20th. And figure out who I'm gonna go with to see "New Moon." Because I'm just so popular in the tri-state area. Ha. Ha. Seriously, my phone is just ringing off the hook right now. And finally, I need to finish this strange to-do list so I can hit "publish post" and actually start my strange to-do list. OK. Hitting "publish post." Right. Now.

*no Shetland ponies or other animals were harmed in the writing of this blog

look what the cat dragged in.

2009-10-18T22:21:00.005-05:00

What is belief without doubt?
I've been knocked on my face
Turned inside out
Out of the shadows I call for You
When all else has failed
What more can I do?

That's right, I have returned. (This sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?) I attribute my latest burst of creativity to having attended my fifth Hanson concert in St. Louis on October 1. As always, it was face-melting, magical, etc.

Also, my return to the blogosphere comes as a result of cracking open the cloth-bound journal I bought at Border's in Tulsa two-and-a-half years ago. I've filled only half of it. (My journaling, like my blogging, is fickle and sporadic to say the least.) The stuff I've poured out on those pages fills me with a mix of nostalgia, embarrassment and wonder. Mind you, two-and-a-half years ago I was a junior in college. It's safe to say a lot has changed since then. There's more than a few entries that I barely recognize as my own work. I would like to know who is responsible for forging this eccentric fodder, dated 2-27-08, 3:10 p.m. (it's really long and really crazy; brace yourself):

I was wrong
Always wrong
Always flawed
On a blanket
in an ugly dead field
with best friend
And Jack's Mannequin
Weird bugs and
big sunglasses
and awkward couples
in the shadows
of an awkward
building
What is hope?
What is fear?
Why am I
still here
Awake
and can't breathe
Can't find the
words to catch
your ear
Can't make the
right moves
Or cut my
own bangs
So I'll hide
behind them
and smile back
at you
A little shy
and unprepared
and the right
words don't
come easily
The new feeling
trips me up
every time
You wink, I blush
You touch, I jump
You smile, I melt
When did I get
so fearful
Always been
a bit clumsy
A bit ill-equipped
But I never wanted
to fall inside
so completely
Never wanted
to run so badly
and everything
I wanted before
doesn't shine
so much anymore
It won't hurt
to split
The pain is
inevitable
The wound
won't matter
for very long
The scar
won't forever
remind me of
forbidden kisses
and desperate hands
Clawing through
bedhead and
dresser drawers
for the right look
the perfect mask
bloodshot eyes
full of sleep
and the ghosts of
tears
It's OK
just another
red-letter afternoon
Another
knee brushing mine
Another brush of
a calloused hand
Another smirk
Another knowing glance
To pierce the veil
I hide behind

Oh, the memories that flooded back when I came across that piece. It makes me wish I could always be so faithful about writing down my thoughts and feelings. That was a beautiful afternoon. In fact, I even took a picture:

Oh, mai Razberri Creem Puff. How I miss thee.

I suppose the point of this blog entry was to let the world know I'm out of my slump, at least for the time being.

More to come.

hints and allegations.

2009-05-19T08:25:00.002-05:00

You say there's three types.
Which are you?
Which one conceals himself
behind the screen
so far from my reach
and yet too close
for comfort?
Which one makes me laugh
without making a sound?
Which one has begun
to permeate these four walls
without moving further than
the fridge?
Here's a hint,
do with it as you will:
I am waiting for the right moment.
It's electricity
on the tip of my tongue,
in the curve of my spine.
It is fighting to be heard,
dying to be read.
It is facing down a declaration
that may never come.
It is daring you to speak,
but fearing the words.
And it is wearing thin.
If my head is a balloon,
then you're the glass ceiling
I encountered on my flight
to the wild blue yonder.

walking in memphis.

2009-05-10T12:16:00.011-05:00

Put on my blue suede shoes, and I boarded the plane/ Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues/ In the middle of the pouring rain

During my break at work yesterday, I heard the song "Walking In Memphis" by Marc Cohn for what was probably the thousandth time in my whole life. As a kid I thought, "Why is this guy so excited about Memphis?" Of course, the only Memphis I knew of back then was Memphis, Missouri (pop. 2,061 as of the 2000 census). Anyone from around my neck of the woods knows that most small towns in northeast Missouri aren't much to rave about. (No offense to my friends in Clark County; you know I love you.)

Here I go again, waxing poetic about my all-time favorite movie, so if you've heard all this before then be patient with me. In the movie "Elizabethtown," the main character Drew Baylor (Orlando Bloom) takes a road trip that begins in his father's Kentucky hometown and winds through some of the most unexpectedly beautiful places south of the Mason-Dixon Line (and later through the Bible Belt, which I grew to love during college). These are places I hope to go someday, because I am a romantic who doesn't yearn for the glitter of the Eiffel Tower or the artificial glamour of Times Square. I'd rather lay my money down for a ticket to Memphis, Tennessee.

Which seems crazy, considering I've never really seen much of the South with my own eyes. But something about that part of the country just captivates me. The place where rock 'n' roll, country western and blues intermingle. The eye of the storm during the civil rights movement.

I won't be heartbroken if I don't make it to Graceland.

I guess it's only right to put in an appearance there, as long as I'm in the neighborhood, but I won't linger too long in front of those wrought-iron gates. Seeing as I'm not a diehard Elvis Presley fan, it's just not a priority.

More than anything I want to walk down Beale Street.

I want to look out over Wolf River Harbor where Jeff Buckley breathed his last.

I want to step inside Sun Studios and strain my ears for the sound of a steel guitar and the low, gravelly voice of Johnny Cash and Elvis in his better days.

And at the end of the day, I'll stretch out on a bed in the Peabody Hotel.

The next morning, before I hit the road, I'll pay a visit to Lorraine Motel, where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., awoke for the last time.

So maybe Memphis is nothing too fancy or grandiose, but that's never really been my style...maybe it's not such a great place to live, from what I've heard. But all I'm hoping for is just a couple of days to breathe that air a little further down the Mississippi. I don't know how or why, but it runs deep in my veins.

They've got catfish on the table, they've got gospel in the air/ And Reverend Green will be glad to see you, when you haven't got a prayer/ But boy you've got a prayer in Memphis

pretty. static.

2009-05-04T23:49:00.004-05:00

Pretty.
Pretty average.
Pretty average hands.
Pretty average hands can.
Pretty average hands can create.
Pretty average hands can create something.

All the so-and-so's
Line up around the block
And here I stand
Just another one of them
But I cut in line
Fashionably late
And under-dressed
Their eyes, full of questions
Fall critically
I'm a counterfeit
A not-so-sorry substitute
Another dot in your Morse code
Another blip on your screen
Full of static
Love the sound of static
How it churns and crackles
Even in static
I find a rhythm
I find a niche
Lulled to sleep
Taken to another place
Where I didn't pay the bills
Didn't sing for my supper
An apple tree and three channels
The rest was static

reverie.

2009-04-27T22:33:00.002-05:00

Eyes downcast
To that scar
On my hand
Careful glance
At the clock
The second hand
Screams betrayal
Slipped away
To a land
Time forgot
Reality suspended
Say everything
I wait to hear
One chime
Breaks the spell
Of wishful thinking

she loved.

2009-04-20T15:13:00.005-05:00

Why do we like to hurt so much? -Paramore

I wish I knew the answer to that question.

Why is it that the people who hurt us most are often the same people we pursue most fervently? I found myself getting so frustrated when a friend told me how much he cared about a girl who basically used him and hung him out to dry. Far be it from me to ever pass judgment on someone who falls into that trap, though. It is hardly even a temptation to judge him for that. Because I've been there, too.

We are all gluttons for punishment in that respect. And if we are not, it is because we have shut out the world and have hoarded our hearts away where they won't be endangered. On the other end of the spectrum, we leave our hearts on the curb and offer a piece to anyone and everyone who passes by. And when the pieces have been left in the sewer or flattened by traffic, we scramble to salvage them and mold them back together. But we are never really the same after that. Our bandaged hearts still perform the functions necessary to sustain us, but the rhythm is different. We heal, but we are warped.

It is so hard to find a balance. Because we can't love in moderation. It's all or nothing. But either way, we pay a high price. Either we leave this world with nothing to show for it, or we are laid out with scars exposed.

If there is one force of nature that science can never explain away, it is love. Love isn't a machine. It isn't an element on the periodic table. It is the be-all, end-all of our existence. It is the one driving motivation in life that can simultaneously push us to euphoria...drive us to insanity...

After I have left this world, there are two words which I hope will be the summation of my life:

"She loved."

suspense.

2009-04-19T13:46:00.003-05:00

So this is where you are, and this is where I am. Somewhere between unsure and a hundred.

Man, when I go for it, I don't hold back.

I came home in December with very little hope of ever having a social life here. I was dreading these last few months. But I'm too busy now to feel trapped or out of place.

Somewhere inside there is still a part of me that feels incomplete. It started as this tiny puncture, like a needle through fabric, but I feel it stretching ever so slightly with each day that passes. I know God is taking care of it but I get tired of waiting for Him to patch it up. But then I stop myself, because I have felt this same hollow ache before and all my shallow attempts at relieving it have failed miserably.

I still think He should hurry up though. Seriously. Come on. I know I still have some growing to do but could I just take a peek behind door number one?

So this is where you are, and this is where I am/ So this is where you are, and this is where I've been/ Somewhere between unsure and a hundred -The Fray

hearts in hands.

2009-04-17T23:18:00.003-05:00

Oh, heart of my heart
At your core
You're still beating
But your walls
Are so thin
The things you pushed out
They are punching holes
In your defenses
Far above is the brain
It's buzzed
Light as spongecake
Deliciously dizzy
And full of dying dreams
And if the eyes are
Windows to the soul
Then I tint them
Squeeze them shut
Behind cheap shades
And expensive eyeliner
Hoping the world won't see
I shed a tear for him today
If my feet are vehicles
To places I've never been
I'll squeeze them into skates
Roll out of this town
And if my hands are caged birds
I'll set them free
To fly
To create
I'll show them all
What it means
Even if I'm just making it up
As I go along

appendages.

2009-04-15T10:41:00.003-05:00

My feet are not ready for summer.
My hands are not ready for anything.
I stuff them in my pockets.
Stuff my feet in my shoes.
Stuff my heart full of acoustic melodies.
Pumped full of estrogen.
Hold my head a certain way.
Raise my cup to uncertainty.
Hide my eyes in a magazine.
Wrap myself in punch drunk dreams.
Fabric tears, rip out the seams.
Never the type to play ball with the boys.
Longed for a pony, lost in her toys.
Never made a living with lemonade stands.
Grass-stained feet, Crayola-stained hands.
Indian summer, bare hands and feet.
Kool-aid grins were saccharine sweet.

More later? Maybe?

six degrees.

2009-04-14T20:52:00.002-05:00

Six degrees of separation ... refers to the idea that, if a person is one step away from each person they know and two steps away from each person who is known by one of the people they know, then everyone is at most six steps away from any other person on Earth. -Wikipedia.com

Or, as they say in Disneyland, it's a small world after all.

Today I went to Coralville with Lauren, a wonderful new friend of mine who moved here from Colorado in December. Her dad pastors a local church.

Our day together was a lot of fun, and to my relief we both managed to leave the mall without doing any major financial damage.

However, things got truly interesting when our shopping excursion was over. Before heading home Lauren and I paid a visit to Coldstone Creamery. We had settled in at a fairly clean-looking little table, Lauren with her cup of cake batter ice cream laced with gummy bears, and I with my less adventuresome treat, listed on the menu as "Cookie Doughn't You Want Some."

It always amazes me how a conversation evolves. When my friends and I are on a roll, we can weave together topics that would seem totally unrelated. I think it started when I mentioned that a friend of mine used to work at a Coldstone. This friend often wears polo shirts with cowboy boots. But otherwise he is fairly capable of putting together an outfit. From there we launched into our gripes with fashion and the average male. But some of them can't be blamed for their style choices, as I pointed out. Like my dad, who is somewhat colorblind. Others...well, they're too busy checking out what the opposite sex is wearing to really care what they put on their own bodies.

Which brought us to the subject of my ex, whom I called out one day in chapel at ORU for wearing navy pants, black shoes and a brown belt with a very tacky shirt -- after he'd criticized my haphazard fashion sense for about the millionth time.

"At least I match," I had retorted.

But let's face it, many men who are as obsessed with hiking as my ex-boyfriend really don't spend too much time perfecting their wardrobes. I added as a side note that this particular ex is from Colorado.

"Where in Colorado?" Lauren asked.

"Brighton," I told her.

I added that he, too, is a pastor's kid as I filled my spoon with more ice cream.

"Wait...what's his last name?" she asked, a note of hysteria in her voice.

I told her. The spoon sank back into the ice cream, forgotten for the moment as I watched Lauren's reaction.

"No way!"

She started to laugh. Then I started to laugh. I laughed even harder as she spewed a mouthful of ice cream down her chin and then rushed from the table to get another napkin. Meanwhile I nearly fell out of my chair, laughing more hysterically. The woman behind the counter shot us several wary glances.

After Lauren had cleaned up her mess and I had regained my equilibrium, I found out that she met my ex's brother, Nathan, at an airport a few years ago when her sister, Kristy, went on a mission trip with him. Lauren and Nathan crossed paths again on PK retreats and still keep in touch.

The giggling never fully subsided during the rest of our time at Coldstone. And on the way home I spilled my guts about the whole ordeal with...well, I've made it through this entire entry without using his name and anyway, it isn't worth mentioning.

Maybe that whole six degrees of separation thing is truly bringing Lauren and me closer together. Or at least I'd like to think so. It gave me a chance to impart some wisdom I gained out of that messy experience. I think we both opened up a lot today.

But if nothing else, at least Lauren got to hear a really funny story involving a bird and a pan of beef stroganoff.

the remedy.

2009-04-13T15:44:00.005-05:00

In an attempt to break my writer's block I am blogging. To anyone who would rather have a root canal than write, it may sound like an oxymoron. But it has been known to work for me.

So if I ramble a bit, like I usually do, at least I have an excuse.

When I got home from school in December I started reading again. I mean, reading for my own enjoyment. Textbooks don't count. Recently the bookworm in me has crawled back into the damp earth, because usually by the time I am able to sit down and totally relax I would rather get online and talk with friends, or flip on the TV because I'm too braindead to do anything else.

I was home by myself for a couple of days late last month, and that was when I picked up the last book I read. Whether you like Bill O'Reilly or not, his memoir, "A Bold Fresh Piece of Humanity," is really interesting. I agree with him most of the time, though, so I'm probably just biased.

Things have gotten weird since I finished that book, however, and the next one I'd planned to read is still lying (laying? my grammar is sketchy sometimes) on my bedroom floor, unopened. Family issues, stress over my job situation and some minor concerns in my personal life would normally have me on emotional overload. But I've found that in some ways I have run out of the energy necessary to really care. I mean, I do care to an extent. I care about doing a good job at work. I care about serving God and being with the people I love. But maybe I am taking on too much lately. Maybe that is part of my problem.

Or maybe I'm just disorganized and somewhat irresponsible. And maybe I'm still using that as a crutch for why I never follow through on things.

This would explain why I am sitting in my room, surrounded by small mountains of discarded but clean clothing and other paraphernalia. In my bathroom closet is a laundry basket that is filled to capacity. My Bible is waiting patiently but forlornly upstairs in the TV room.

I guess that next book will just have to wait until I can get my act together.

now hear this.

2009-04-10T22:23:00.004-05:00

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'" -Isaiah 30:21

I have incredibly sensitive ears. Whether it's the high-pitched drone of a muted TV several rooms away, or "muzak" wafting through the mall corridor, I don't miss a beat. It drives people crazy when I stop whatever I'm doing, cock my head, make a face and say "I hate that song." Or I just start singing along. My music nerdiness has something to do with this, too. (So if you ever see me stocking shelves by myself at Hy-Vee and my lips are moving, I'm not talking to myself. Usually.)

And yes, the whole selective hearing thing...I have a knack for that too.

Lately I've also been hearing things that aren't so audible...things God has to say. For a long time I've wanted those spiritual ears of mine to open up, and boy is He ever speaking.

If ever there was a time when I needed to hear from my heavenly Father, I need it now. I'm at such a crossroads with my career, my family, my relationships that I can't afford to let His counsel fall on deaf ears. And there is just always something about this time of year that makes me feel more...alive.

Could be something to do with the fact that this is Easter weekend. But it goes beyond even that. June 23rd of this year will mark my 10th "re-birthday." At 13 I gave my life to Christ one night at church camp and He has been doing a new thing ever since. It really doesn't seem like it's been a whole decade, having taken one step forward and two steps back quite a few times. I will never really be "there" until the Lord finally calls me home, but that doesn't make me any less excited about the opportunities He's been placing in my life lately. And really, all He desires of me is that I strive more and more each day to be like His Son.

See...He really doesn't require more of us than we can offer Him. It may be challenging in a world that is spinning at a dizzying pace, but all we have to do is listen a bit more carefully above the noise. And prayerfully, that "still, small voice" becomes anything but still or small.

chatter.

2009-04-09T11:05:00.003-05:00

Frustrated. Insatiated. Infatuated. Underrated. Relegated.

Complicated.

If I could name myself after a song, I would henceforth be known as "Chelsea Dagger."

I hate talking on the phone. I think maybe I always have, but I will blame it on Cassidy, who over the past two years has cemented my addiction to texting.

Always, without fail, I must have some anchor of eccentricity in my life. At least one wide-eyed, blog-writing insomniac who says things like "meh" and "bleh" a lot. Such friendships nurture the Emily Dickinson in me. But I think if I am left to my own devices long enough, my worst nightmare (wildest dream?) of becoming a crazy cat lady will be reality.

So the daydreaming types are complemented nicely by the ones who relish the benefits of a full eight hours of sleep, who seem to have their heads a bit more firmly affixed between their shoulders. They may cast a longing glance or two at the uncertain and potentially dangerous, but barely stray from the tightrope.

In my brief life, I have been a little of both.

What is my point?

I don't know. I just felt like writing something. Sometimes it feels good to write and never really make a point. Especially when I go back later and realize I'm not as crazy as I thought I sounded.

Not that crazy is always bad.

i'm ready.

2009-04-08T22:30:00.005-05:00

I like making lists. Correction. I like starting lists. Finishing them is another story.

Kind of like this.

Things I want to do before I die
1. Write a book
2. Get a tattoo
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.

You get the idea.

Facebook has an application that allows you to make mostly useless top five lists of albums, books, movies, etc.

Only five?

Well, it's not like I can do much better at list making.

Anyway, one of the lists I made just couldn't stop with number five. In no particular order, I present "Songs That Saved My Life."

Number one was an obvious choice.

"I'm Ready" by Jack's Mannequin
from Everything In Transit, 2005

I discovered Jack's Mannequin in the spring of 2006, totally by accident.
It was the best accident ever. Their debut album "Everything In Transit" became my soundtrack. With finals looming in the near future, I was slipping further into mediocrity. At first glance, it seemed like I was getting everything I wanted. Sure. And it all kept slipping away as quickly as it had reached my grasp. The things I wanted most were the things I needed the least. If "Everything In Transit" was my soundtrack, "I'm Ready" was my anthem:

I wake up to find it's another
Four aspirin morning, and I dive in
I put on the same clothes I wore yesterday.
When did society decide that we had to change
And wash a tee shirt after every individual use?
If it's not dirty, I'm gonna wear it.
I take the stairs to the car
And there's fog on the windows.
(And I'm finding the words...)
I need caffeine in my blood stream,
I take caffeine in the blood stream.
I grip the wheel and all at once I realize:
(And you're getting away...)
My life has become a boring pop song
And everyone's singing along.

Sophomore year of college was supposed to be a turning point. A life-changing experience. But I'd gone home for Christmas feeling spent and disillusioned. Trying to find fulfillment (yes, there's that word again) in all the wrong places and people. ORU or SCC, the environment made no difference because my perspective on life was the same.

But spring came! And everything was new again. I was given a second chance, or so I thought.

It was "Dark Blue" that I heard in my head in an empty parking lot late one May evening on South Memorial Drive. But long after that night lost its sparkle and the phone stopped ringing, "I'm Ready" was in heavy rotation.

I am aware, I've been misled
I disconnect my heart, my head
Don't wanna recognize when things go bad
The things that you'll accept
Except that I am finding the words...

Oh Andrew McMahon, how well I can relate.

I can't say that I haven't disconnected my heart from my head a few more times since then. But every time I do, this song comes back to haunt me.

Next on the list: "The Scientist" by Coldplay. But that's for another post.

journey.

2009-04-07T17:32:00.005-05:00

I want it all. I want it now.
But You keep telling me to wait.
I want out. I want to run.
But You tell me it's all for my sake.
How long, O Lord? How long must I wait?
Everything within me is crying out.
You say, "I am sufficient. Find your fulfillment first in Me."

It's all too much, Lord. But it's not enough.

You say, "It seems like too much now. But I promised never to give you more than you can handle."

This is a test. This is only a test.
Will you turn and seek My face, and praise Me for what I am going to do in your life?
Or will you continue to argue and complain?

But I have so many questions, God.

And I will answer them, daughter. But not in your time. For you, time is measured in such short intervals.
My thoughts are higher than your thoughts.
My ways are higher than your ways.

O Lord, how I know it.
I am so broken and flawed. I still don't see it. How can You use such an imperfect vessel as myself?

That is why you need Me so much. I make all things new. Place your life once again in My hands.
It's not a quick fix.
And it may be painful at times.

Oh how I know it.

But trust Me, child.

I do trust You.

Do you, really?

Well...I guess I haven't. But I want to. It's just so difficult.

These things take time, beloved. But I am here for the long haul.
Maybe it's not the open road you need -- not yet, anyway. But this process of trust is a journey in itself.

I don't know if I can make it.

Not on your own. And that's as it should be. In the times when you are weak, then you will see Me work most powerfully -- because I will carry you.

from the vault: my new way of expressing frustration, or "life goals"

2009-03-16T18:51:00.005-05:00

I wrote this on Facebook almost exactly a year ago (3-15-08) and got a huge kick out of re-reading it just now. Thought I'd give it new life here on my blog. Enjoy.

I've come to the conclusion that most of the awkwardness I experience is self-induced.

That is why I am not returning to ORU after spring break. Instead, I've decided to become a nun.

I'm pretty much cut out for a life of habit-wearing, chastity, and praying the rosary at 5 am...hopefully I'll wind up in an order that allows undercover lounge singers who perform Motown songs during mass.

That would be wicked sweet.

Unfortunately, I'm not Catholic--nor do I care to become one (no offense to my Catholic friends). Also, as much as I really wanna run away and not live under the expectations of having a career and/or a family after having nearly earned a bachelor's degree, I'm pretty sure I could never be a nun.

So instead...I think I'll aspire to becoming a crazy sweatsuit-wearing cat lady who drives a station wagon, has 20 cats, and wants all her groceries double-bagged. In paper. And I'll write nutty poems on those paper bags and stow them away under my tube socks and rain bonnets, and someday I'll be hailed as a modern-day Emily Dickinson.

Also, most of my poetry will be dedicated to my cats. It's not like I'll have anything else to write about.

priceless

2009-03-16T18:43:00.002-05:00

A friend of mine received this in an e-mail and posted it as a note on Facebook. It's just too crazy not to pass along. I found it a bit too ironic after we talked about credit card bill collectors last night in our Financial Peace University class at church...

This is so priceless, and so, so easy to see happening, customer service being what it is today.

A lady died this past January, and Citibank billed her for February and March for their annual service charges on her credit card, and added late fees and interest on the monthly charge. The balance had been $0.00 when she died, but now somewhere around $60.00. A family member placed a call to Citibank.

Here is the exchange :

Family Member: 'I am calling to tell you she died back in January.'

Citibank : 'The account was never closed and the late fees and charges still apply.'

Family Member : 'Maybe, you should turn it over to collections.'

Citibank : 'Since it is two months past due, it already has been.'

Family Member : So, what will they do when they find out she is dead?'

Citibank : 'Either report her account to frauds division or report her to the credit bureau, maybe both!'

Family Member : 'Do you think God will be mad at her?'

Citibank:
'Excuse me?'

Family Member : 'Did you just get what I was telling you - the part about her being dead?'

Citibank : 'Sir, you'll have to speak to my supervisor.'

Supervisor gets on the phone :

Family Member : 'I'm calling to tell you, she died back in January with a $0 balance.'

Citibank : 'The account was never closed and late fees and charges still apply.'

Family Member : 'You mean you want to collect from her estate?'

Citibank : (Stammer) 'Are you her lawyer?'

Family Member : 'No, I'm her great nephew.' (Lawyer info was given)

Citibank: 'Could you fax us a certificate of death?'

Family Member : 'Sure.' (Fax number was given )

After they get the fax :

Citibank : 'Our system just isn't setup for death.. I don't know what more I can do to help.'

Family Member : 'Well, if you figure it out, great! If not, you could just keep billing her. She won't care.'

Citibank: 'Well, the late fees and charges will still apply.'

(What is wrong with these people?!?)

Family Member : 'Would you like her new billing address?'

Citibank : 'That might help...'

Family Member : 'Odessa Memorial Cemetery, Highway 129, Plot Number 69.'

Citibank : 'Sir, that's a cemetery!'

Family Member : 'And what do you do with dead people on your planet???'

(Priceless!!)
You wonder why Citi is going broke and need the feds to bail them out!!

scrappy

2009-03-16T14:28:00.004-05:00

At long last, I have dusted off my blog again. Yes, it's been a whole six months since I've contributed anything of substance--scratch that--anything at all. I'm a little further off the mark than I thought I'd be right now, having finished school three months ago. A couple dozen job applications and one job interview later, I'm still living at home but building up my financial independence one paycheck at a time. I returned to my "first real job," running a cash register at a grocery store, still only part time.

As you can tell, lately I've fallen into the habit of measuring my success in time and numbers. It's easy to do when I'm waiting for something and I don't know what it is. With every day that passes without a single response to the scores of applications I've sent out, I get a little more restless. It seems funny to me that I'm not making enough money right now for Obama to deduct federal tax from my paycheck. Like he's doing me a favor. Like that's any consolation for the fact that I have a college degree and very little to show for it. Like I need a handout from the "rich."

Is this what being an adult is all about? Scrounging away every dollar I can squeeze out of my paycheck? Succumbing to the welfare state or fighting to rise above it?

An hour or so ago I was chatting on Facebook with an old classmate. We've known each other since preschool or kindergarten and truly brought out the worst in each other at times. But like most kids are prone to do, we've grown up a bit. He's learned some kindness and respect and I've learned to keep my chin up and keep a tighter rein on my tear ducts. Now we can talk to each other like civilized adults, something I would never have foreseen back in high school.

Anyway, in the midst of encouraging one another in our individual pursuits, this person said something that astounded me:

"You've always seemed scrappy. I'm sure you'll kick some a** once you get your foot in."

This is high praise coming from someone who used to tease me until I was in tears. Life really does come full circle.

So I guess maybe I'm scrappy enough to make something of myself, even if it means I'll be counting back change and stocking shelves for a little while...it's just a season and a time to discover why I'm here...

Step outside

2008-09-17T14:47:00.005-05:00

My blogging habit (or lack thereof) needs some serious work. This is basically a guilt post, because I really have nothing specific to blog about today.

My semester has been off and running for a few weeks now. By mid-September the time doesn't feel as though it's flying by or dragging along...just kinda strolling, taking in the scenery. But a month into my last semester, I wish life would slow down. Half the time I'm trying to wake myself up, and the other half I'm trying to stay on top of everything...homework (mostly Strat-related), meetings (again, mostly Strat-related), Oracle and exercise...somewhere in there I manage to find time to eat and sleep. Oh yeah, and breathe.

All the while, I'm like, "God? Um, mercy?"

And my friends wonder if they should send out a search party.

Once things slow down...I'll be done. Sorry guys, outta here.

Bummer.

Yesterday I kinda zoned out (don't worry, it didn't last long) while I was walking to class and -- this will sound crazy but just play along -- I felt like someone else. I know that's really weird, but I don't know how else to describe it. My head felt like a balloon that escaped a child's grasp and slipped into the sky (which was clear blue and cloud free at the time, by the way). I started wondering, "What if the last 12 months have been nothing more than a really trippy dream? What if I wake up any minute and I'm laying in bed in Frances 107, smelling coffee brewing next door and hearing my neighbors arguing in the bathroom?"

Maybe I'm still asleep. But more than likely, I really did lose two friends and my cat -- who was "only" a cat but just as much of a friend. I walked the streets of a broken neighborhood, past little rooms full of hungry, angry, lonely humanity, clutching the grubby hand of a child who "nobody" wants. I survived the summer of "the flood," a ride in an old plane, a maze of gravel roads in a forgotten county. I caught glimpses of better days gone by in my grandma's clouded eyes...glimpses of better days to come as I wandered familiar streets with a brother I once thought I'd never see again.

I put my heart on the line and it got bruised, but certainly not trampled.

The way I see it, we've never really lived until we've stepped outside...whether "outside" is North Tulsa, another continent or the front step, it doesn't matter. Wherever you go, I hope you step outside yourself.

Baby steps

2008-08-23T23:45:00.005-05:00

I don't have many words of wisdom this week, no startling insights or revelations. (Not that I usually do.) I've seen, done, said and heard things since I last posted that served as painful or reassuring reminders that I am still alive.

Splashing through a slip 'n slide and always landing where it hurts, sitting alone in my dorm room with tears in my eyes as another country song reminds me how torn I am, laughing so hard I can barely breathe as my friends hone their skills of song improvisation.

And I revel in the small accomplishments. Not losing my temper with, er, boisterous people. Going to bed well before 2 a.m. (my favorite bedtime, but not conducive to a schedule full of 8:50 classes). Doing laundry before I run out of clothes. Praying, in my own quiet way. Letting go. Letting God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do. -Edward Everett Hale

Planes, trains and cardboard boxes

2008-08-15T15:26:00.001-05:00

Geez, has it been two months already since the last time I updated? Well, pardon me, I've been working full-time all summer and had neither time nor inspiration enough to think of any reason to blog.

I'm back at school now; day two of the first day of my last semester is complete. Still with me? Good.

Oddly enough, I'm actually a bit excited about some of the classes I'm taking this fall. It's only day two though, so whether or not I come home bald at Christmas after ripping out all my hair in frustration remains to be seen. I'm working with a stellar team in Mass Comm Strat (which is pretty much the make-or-break senior communications class). The team selection process yesterday was extremely scary, I won't go into detail because it's hard to explain, but I think I handled the pressure of helping choose my team pretty well. I felt like I was on a reality show the whole time, though. Or in the middle of a human trafficking sting. We were paying with fake money to outbid each other and get the teammates we wanted. It was a bit disturbing. Seriously. I kept waiting for Donald Trump or somebody from "48 Hours" to walk in with a camera crew.

I'm also working with another small-but-mighty team in PR workshop to boost readership and community support for the University Oracle. I'm also taking Interviewing, Principles of Advertising and Volleyball.

And speaking of the Oracle, I've willingly been demoted from section editor to staff writer. It's not like I'll have a whole bunch of free time this fall, right?

After one or two brushes with awkwardness and some really ridiculous reunion scenes, I'm hanging out with my friends as much as possible before Strat consumes my life. They've reminded me just how much I miss being here, but is it silly of me to want to put down roots in Tulsa because of them? Because most of them are moving away after graduation and scattering to the four winds. And I'll kind of need to get a job and eventually move out of my parents' basement into something that is not a cardboard box. The nice thing about a cardboard box, though, is I can pick it up with surprising ease and carry it a remarkable distance. I could get some job that would allow me to work from anywhere in the world, but then I'd need a wireless connection and some way to charge my laptop battery. The cardboard box's electrical and wireless capabilities have not yet been perfected, I'm afraid. Also, it's terribly drafty and not at all weatherproof.

I could try strapping myself to a lawnchair propelled by helium-filled balloons, like that guy in Idaho or Oregon or wherever. Then again, a priest in Brazil tried the same thing and they found his body in the ocean several months later.

Too bad I can't be some rich jetsetter and fly somewhere different every weekend to spend time with all of them. Like I just wake up one morning and say, "I'm going to see Aandra in California." Bam. I'm there. Then I'll go see Rhema in action at her newspaper job in Colorado. After some hiking and taking pictures of mountains and whatever else is in Colorado, I'll fly back to Tulsa.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I need to marry a wealthy pilot.

Obama "rules"

2008-06-17T13:48:00.005-05:00

I found this online and got a kick out of it...

Obama Rules
It is forbidden to distract people with the following Obama facts:
-His connection to Rev. Jeremiah Wright
-His connection to Tony Rezko
-His connection to William Ayers
-His connection to Rashid Khalidi
-His connection to Hatem El-Hady
-Hamas' endorsement of his candidacy
-His appeasement policy towards America's enemies
-His father's Communist ideology
-His childhood Muslim ideology
-His liberal ideology
-His Chicago background
-Bitter-gate
-His "sweetie" gaffe
-His "57 states" gaffe
-His middle name
-Anything his wife has said in a press conference
-Anything his wife has said at an Obama rally
-Anything he has said at a press conference
-Anything he has said at an Obama rally

S.O.S.

2008-06-16T12:01:00.002-05:00

We're starting to drown out here in the Midwest.

Steamboat Days in Burlington ended Thursday night as floodwaters began seeping into the parking lot at Memorial Auditorium, and when I went home last night, Front Street was underwater and water was creeping up Main Street. Fort Madison is a mess, too, and the Keokuk-Hamilton bridge is closed.

It's predicted that river stages will surpass the records set in the flood of '93, and in some places it already has. Levees are breaking. Communities can hardly sandbag fast enough to keep up with the rising water.

Drivers are gawking at the damage, being careless on the roads, or they are getting out of their cars and standing in the way of emergency crews. Yesterday in the newsroom I heard a request for crowd control at the Burlington riverfront on the police scanner. In a town of 27,000, that isn't usually a problem. And as always you have people using flood water for swimming and boating, exposing themselves to dangerous debris and chemicals.

Homes and businesses are disappearing underwater; even many buildings at the University of Iowa in Iowa City are flooding. People are being forced to evacuate in parts of northeast Missouri and in several towns throughout The Hawk Eye's coverage area. Not everyone is leaving their homes so willingly, especially the elderly. Law enforcement have had to threaten to arrest some who don't want to leave.

I guarantee you that all of us are being affected in some way, shape or form, even if the flood waters don't reach our homes. Roads are closing, people are without running water and/or electricity, the postal service is at a loss, and I'm sure that's not all. I also heard yesterday that flooding here in the Midwest will jack up food prices. So even if you don't live anywhere near a flooded area, this can affect you too in a small way.

I want to ask everyone reading this to please pray and consider donating to the Red Cross or another relief organization, if you aren't doing so already. I can't believe this is the second major flood I've seen in my lifetime...and they (whoever "they" are) call this a "500-year flood." Ridiculous.

"How could it be any better than this?"

2008-06-08T20:44:00.002-05:00

It was three months ago yesterday that Rachel D. and Gloria were called heavenward. I used to think about it with every breath, every gust of wind that hit my face, every morning that I woke up and realized all over again that the room next door was empty. Now when I remember, I remember in bits and pieces. In the strange and not-so-strange details of everyday life. Everytime I'm exhausted at the end of a day and my knees feel like Jell-O, I remember that moment of revelation when I fell into Rachel McG's arms and my legs nearly gave way. When I hear someone at church speak with passion about what God has done for them, I remember Rachel D's unswaying faith.

Rachel D. and I, August 2007

Last night as I was driving home I had my iPod on shuffle as usual. I can never decide what music I'm in the mood for so I let my iPod decide. As I wound my way through Fort Madison, I heard the low, familiar strains of a string section and Jason Wade's husky voice pleading: "Find me here, and speak to me. I want to feel you, I need to hear you. You are the light that's leading me to the place where I find peace again."

Gloria's roommate put together a slideshow of photos for a candlelight memorial held in the Prayer Garden, and the song she used was "Everything" by Lifehouse. I've always loved "Everything" but it took on a whole new meaning after losing the girls. The lyrics totally reflect how Gloria and Rachel D. lived their lives, and anyone who's ever heard the song knows it has a stirring quality...

find me here
and speak to me
I want to feel you
I need to hear you
you are the light
that's leading me
to the place
where I find peace again

you are the strength
that keeps me walking
you are the hope
that keeps me trusting
you are the life
to my soul
you are my purpose
you're everything

and how can I
stand here with you
and not be moved by you
would you tell me
how could it be
any better than this yeah

you calm the storms
and you give me rest
you hold me in your hands
you won't let me fall
you still my heart
and you take my breath away
would you take me in
take me deeper now

and how can I
stand here with you
and not be moved by you
would you tell me
how could it be
any better than this

and how can I
stand here with you
and not be moved by you
would you tell me
how could it be
any better than this

cause you're all I want
you're all I need
you're everything
everything

you're all I want
you're all I need
you're everything
everything

you're all I want
you're all I need
you're everything
everything

you're all I want
you're all I need
you're everything
everything

and how can I
stand here with you
and not be moved by you
would you tell me
how could it be
any better than this

and how can I
stand here with you
and not be moved by you
would you tell me
how could it be
any better than this
would you tell me
how could it be
any better than this

When I join Rachel D., Gloria and all those who have passed into eternity, perhaps I will find myself wondering, "And how can I stand here with you, and not be moved by you? Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?"

Just another manic Monday

2008-06-02T21:54:00.000-05:00

This was one of those days that gives Mondays a bad rap.

As usual, I have little time to blog so I will make this quick. In a nutshell, my dad woke up this morning showing symptoms of what could be Lyme disease. I wrote my first city council meeting story (even though Mondays are one of my days off, it couldn't be helped). I got an assignment for tomorrow that took about an hour for me to prepare for (it helps if you know where you're supposed to be going to actually COVER the story). I went to the vet and browsed through a catalog of pet urns, trying to pick one out for P.J.'s ashes. (Another sure sign that I'm on my way to becoming a cat lady.)

I guess this day hasn't been as stressful as it has been just downright weird.

The long-awaited update

2008-05-31T08:53:00.001-05:00

Two weeks without an update? For shame!

With almost two weeks of my summer job at The Hawk Eye behind me, I'd say it's gone pretty well thus far. It didn't take me long to get back in the game, and I'm feeling much more comfortable there now than I did about halfway through my internship last summer.

I've written probably a dozen or so stories since I got back, and in this morning's paper is one that I'm pretty pleased with. Three guys from California Baptist University are kayaking down the Mississippi this summer and yesterday they stopped in Burlington for a break. They're raising awareness and money for the International Justice Mission, an organization that rescues victims of human sex trafficking. They want to raise at least $20,000 by the time they reach New Orleans in July, and so far they've already raised about $12,000. Check out their blog, it's pretty sweet.

On a sad note, last weekend I said goodbye to a very dear friend. My cat P.J. was almost 15 years old and very sick. It was with a heavy heart that I watched "Princess Jasmine" close her wide green eyes for the last time as our vet put her to sleep last Sunday. I stood as close by as I possibly could and kept my eyes on hers. I wanted to be the last person she saw before she left. More than once last weekend, I cried harder than I had cried in a long time. But after P.J. had passed, I cried mostly because I was so relieved that she was no longer in any pain. It hurts sometimes to go to sleep without her curled up beside me, purring loudly and rubbing her head against my hand...but I know I did what was best for her.

1993

2005

Workin' it

2008-05-19T10:06:00.000-05:00

Somewhere close overhead, Daddy is walking around on the roof of our house with a leaf blower, blasting "whirlygigs" (maple tree seeds) from the gutters. We got a double whammy of whirlygigs this spring because the maple trees didn't produce them last year.

Well kids, these last couple of weeks spent loafing around the house have been fun, but now it's time for me to join the ranks of the gainfully employed. I'll be working at The Hawk Eye (the newspaper, not the restaurant!) in Burlington for the next eight weeks. Today's my first day back in the newsroom, so I'll be leaving for B-town in a couple of hours. I'm a bit nervous, but at least it's a familiar environment; I did my internship there last summer. The big difference this time is that I'll be on the payroll as a full-time employee--though I'll still hold the title of "news intern"--so more will be expected of me.

No pressure, right?

Fungus, and other guilty pleasures

2008-05-11T20:55:00.001-05:00

Pardon the lack of recent updates...I've had plenty of time to write but not much to write about during my first week of summer vacation.

My first full day back home, last Sunday, I went mushroom hunting with Daddy after church. As a first-time collector of this aromatic, rich, and delectable fungi, I'd say I did pretty well. Between the two of us, Daddy and I brought home about 60 mushrooms. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the strange traditions of us Midwesterners...these mushrooms are no joke. You can bake 'em, fry 'em, freeze 'em, or dry 'em. They are absolutely delicious but you need a lot of patience and several hours of free time to find a decent amount of them.

I've had plenty of time this week to read for enjoyment. I'm wrapping up the complete works of Jane Austen. I finally finished reading Emma, completed Northanger Abbey, and tonight I read the first two chapters of Persuasion. I've resolved to read everything on my bookshelf that I haven't yet finished before buying or checking out any more books. And if I can't willingly finish one, it's getting booted from the shelf.

I'm not an avid TV fan. It's not because I hate it, I'm just very picky about what I watch. The most recently-made sitcom I enjoy watching is Home Improvement, a show that ended its 8-season (or 9-season?) run nearly a decade ago. Call me out of the loop, but I don't like most of what the general public considers "funny" these days. I've only enjoyed a couple of shows that have been on the air in about the last 10 years, and both were cancelled after one or two seasons.

Fortunately, my mom has recently overcome her previous dislike for Home Improvement. Nick at Nite has been showing several episodes of it every night, so it's become part of our evening routine. I loved it as a kid until the storyline got a bit too heavy and dramatic. I appreciate the later seasons more now that I'm older, and I'm glad I don't have to watch it by myself anymore when Daddy's on the road.

In all honesty, my favorite episodes of Home Improvement will probably always be the ones featuring Jonathan Taylor Thomas. The last season was a bit empty without him. I guess it's true that you never forget your "first love."

And on that slightly self-deprecating note...I will now review this entry and wonder why I can't think of anything more deep and profound to write about. Perhaps later I'll embark on an Indiana Jones-style quest to recover my small but mighty collection of JTT posters.

I seem to be digging myself deeper. This is getting embarrassing.

Tagged.

2008-05-05T15:51:00.002-05:00

Because of finals, packing, and the move back home, I haven't had much time for blogging in the past week. I got home on Saturday night and it has been wonderful thus far to be back.

Audrey tagged me quite some time ago and I've just now gotten around to posting my own response. Here it is:

I am: the apple of God's eye.
I think: a bit abstractly.
I know: this summer will be even more rewarding than the last.
I want: to be part of that mission trip to the Czech Republic in June. I look forward to the point in my career when I will earn vacation days from work.
I hate: mosquito bites on my ankles.
I miss: my friends from school.
I fear: for certain circumstances in my future. But I try not to, because I know God is taking care of those things.
I feel: thrilled to be home.
I hear: the ticking of the kitchen clock, the clicking of my dog's toenails as he paces around the house, the lawn mower in the front yard, and cars rumbling up and down the street.
I smell: nothing right now...the scent of last night's fried mushrooms has finally faded.
I crave: another hike in the woods like I had yesterday. It was glorious.
I search: in the wrong places sometimes for the things that are right under my nose.
I regret: a somewhat painful decision I had to make during the school year...even though it was for the best. Growing up really sucks sometimes.
I love: how God has been working lately.
I ache: sometimes when I think about Rachel and Gloria. But I know they aren't hurting...far from it...and all the pain will be forgotten when I see them again.
I care: so much that it hurts sometimes.
I always: find myself thinking way too much about things that are of little importance.
I am not: perfect.
I believe: that God has a sense of humor.
I sing: slightly off-key. I neglected that skill long ago.
I cry: less than I used to.
I fight: to be heard, a bit too much sometimes.
I write: constantly.
I win: ...at...life? Um, OK...next one...
I lose: perspective when I try to do everything my way
I never: thought I would grow to love country music, or the prospect of living in Iowa by choice.
I confuse: friendship with simply trying to "love as Jesus loves" at times.
I listen: better than I used to.
I can usually be found: somewhere on campus, or safely tucked away at home.
I am scared: that I will never have an answer to this one...?
I need: to finish unpacking.
I am happy about: life in general.
I hope: to have my own place within the next year or so.
I am tagging: Rachel W. and Rhema

False alarms

2008-04-24T16:17:00.001-05:00

I don't think I mentioned this in my last entry, but on Monday I got a call back from The Hawk Eye. They offered me a full-time, paid internship for the summer!

Nothing else is new, really. Except there's been fire drills on campus every night this week and last night was the first one in Frances. I was just starting to fall sound asleep at around 3:15 when the head RA who lives on my floor came into my room and told me to get up because the fire alarm had been set off. I wouldn't have minded it so much if I hadn't already gotten in bed. Part of the reason I went to bed so late was because I was afraid I'd just be rudely awakened by alarms...and what do you know, it happened.

People from Claudius and EMR were running wild when their alarms went off around 1:30...I heard them screaming and running around in the rain, mud wrestling, boogey-boarding in the trench in front of Towers. Security was chasing them all over the place. Some guy slipped and fell into the landing outside Chick-Fil-A and the Internet Cafe...not down the stairs. He literally fell over the side. He spent the rest of the night in the hospital. I haven't heard much more about what happened to him.

The alarms went off in Michael as well...twice. By 3:15, when our alarms went off, it was no longer pouring down rain. But most of us stayed in the Fishbowl lobby. The Fishbowl roof was leaking big-time and there were huge puddles in the hall. Some of us slipped and almost fell, myself included. After about 10 minutes they let us come back down the hall and then stopped us around the Susie elevators and a security guard spent about 10 or 15 minutes more yelling at us. This guy is a retired firefighter and so you can imagine all the horror stories and scenarios he used to try to scare us. He barked at us to hang up and turn off our cell phones and warned us of the consequences of pulling a fire alarm...begged us to turn in whoever was responsible if we knew who's been behind all of this. He was so angry, I thought he'd never let up.

Trust me, if I knew who was behind all of this, I'd have no reservations about snitching on them. Because this is ridiculous. Rumor has it that this will continue every night until the end of the semester, and that they'll do it half an hour later each time. It's a darn good thing for me that I only have one final and a final sketch left. I feel sorry for those who still have a ton of finals and papers; this fire alarm business is really disruptive and immature. It was funny the first night, but not anymore. RAs in Claudius got word of last night's alarms, knew what time it was gonna happen and everything.

The alarms have been tripped in Susie and Wesley as well this week but they didn't get set off last night. Gabby hasn't had any issues yet, but that's not surprising.

You would think security would have been more vigilant after the first night...it happened almost simultaneously in Claudius and EMR. I doubt that whoever is doing it will ever get caught...supposedly they're not even pulling the alarms, just setting off smoke alarms in their rooms. So this could go on for awhile. Meantime, the rest of us will keep getting yelled at and treated like criminals.

I guess I'll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.

How sad. I can't even think of a title.

2008-04-23T00:44:00.000-05:00

I've been slightly bored this evening. It's nice though, considering that I haven't had time to be bored in months.

The pile of assignments and tests has dwindled to an sketch in acting due on Monday and a comm theory final next Thursday. Also, I need to start packing. I'll be heading home a week from Saturday.

The remainder of this week and the weekend ahead should be pretty fun and relaxing. I'll be watching Juno, my new favorite movie, with Aandra and Heathyr tomorrow...visiting the Philbrook Gardens and Museum, er, sometime hopefully...going to a student publications staff barbeque on Saturday...Rachel T's birthday party on Sunday. Stump and Richard were talking about a trip to Lake Skiatook at some point.

I apologize if this entry is a bit dull, but I'm tired and will probably hit the hay in the next half hour or so.

I'll leave you with some photos I took yesterday in the midst of studying.

An energy drink that actually tastes good...Amp Overdrive. Like Code Red, but with an extra kick of caffeine.

My room was pretty tidy until I got back from spring break...

Post-it notes, postcards, movie and concert tickets. Life's little scraps.

I think I was using the aperture priority setting, with no flash of course. It was around 7:30 or so. My favorite time of day during spring...

Sweet nectar from heaven

This is why I don't have a roommate...dumb stuff like this. Just kidding, sort of.

Ugh, so nice out...and I was stuck inside.

I miss Rachel. Whoever was in her room last left the blinds up. Whenever I look outside I still find myself looking into her window--even though she's no longer there to smile back at me. I can't believe it's been about seven weeks already since she and Gloria went "home."

*Yawn* Alright...lights out now.

Of earthquakes and infidels

2008-04-18T14:59:00.004-05:00

Early this morning an earthquake rocked the Midwest. It was measured as a 5.2 on the Richter scale. The first time my hometown has ever experienced an earthquake in my lifetime--it was the first one in the Midwest in forty years--and I was sound asleep in Oklahoma. I must admit I'm a bit jealous, although I doubt I would have even felt it. I'm a pretty sound sleeper.

I just remembered the earthquake practice drills we did in daycare when I was a kid. I think that's what we were practicing for anyway...would hiding under a table protect you from an earthquake? Hmmm. Unless someone thought we were still in the midst of the Cold War ;)

What's strange is that the famous San Francisco earthquake happened 102 years ago today. Also, I was just on the phone with Mom and she was speculating on the significance of this morning's earthquake in light of recent events in our country. Take, for example, Jimmy Carter's defiance of the U.S. and Israeli governments in meeting with the chief of the Hamas militant group. OK, let's just call them what they are. Terrorists. I think it's pretty obvious but I'm gonna say it anyway: Jimmy is 1. incompetent and 2. a traitor.

News flash: Hamas leaders and their cronies are not a peace-loving crowd. Furthermore, we will never achieve world peace. Try telling that to Jimmy "Give Peace a Chance" Carter. I think we need another earthquake to start right under Jimmy's feet. That might knock some sense into him.

Birdbrain

2008-04-14T17:39:00.003-05:00

I'm taking a quick break from writing.

To write.

It's something I always find myself doing at the busiest times of the semester. My head is cluttered, a ball of twine unraveled and twisted in hopeless knots. Then I try to break in through the noise with obligations. With deadlines. With papers and articles that must be written.

Lately I feel a bit like a baby bird. Teetering on the edge of the nest, flapping my wings to no avail. For now they are pinned. My feathers rustle in the breeze, and I feel something new in the air. It's on its way, but there are still preparations to be made in the nest before I can make it on my own two wings. When I am free, I want to soar without a fear of falling. The winds and seasons will change, but God's direction will keep me in flight.

Meanwhile, here in the nest, conditions seem favorable for an all-nighter. I'm going to get back to work before I start picking apart what I just wrote.

"Take time to dance alone, with one hand waving free..."

2008-04-13T01:52:00.022-05:00

And from the ballroom floor we are in celebration
One good stretch before our hibernation
Our dreams assured, and we all will sleep well
Sleep well
-Dashboard Confessional, "Stolen"

Suits, ties, and frilly dresses...

Glitter, glamor, thumping bass...

Friday night was awesome. A bunch of my friends live on Susie 6 and Wesley 6 (Alpha Omega and Goodfellas) and Jeremy invited me.

Here's a few of my favorite pics from the evening.

Jeremy and I

Aandra and I...ow ow!!!

The 'Fellas singing a song for their sister wing

When the last song was played, this was pretty much all that was left of the banquet crowd

And now the roses sit across the room next to a borrowed sweater, still lovely even as they fade. The dress is hanging from the top of my closet door. Another evening captured and frozen and tucked away to be treasured...augmented by nervous compliments, awkward dancefloor encounters--face to face but he turned away, side by side but he shuffled across the floor, lost in the music.

And I smile and laugh.

Because we're cool...we know how this goes, how it ends.

It's okay.

Shut up, you're contributing to global warming.

2008-04-09T15:41:00.001-05:00

"Well!" I think to myself. "Here we are again. Caught in the rain."

I should have kept my eyes to the sidewalk as it collects small puddles and turns a deep shade of greyish-brown. Instead I look up at you, still biting my lip, hands shoved in my pockets. And in return you give me one of your assorted odd looks. This one is perhaps a look of surprise, both brows raised, blue eyes wide. As if to say, "She looked at me. Sigh." Whatever it is that I see in your eyes, it always makes me want to run.

*ahem*

Heh. I guess from time to time I like to share a brief glimpse of my life at its most awkward.

Rain has a strange effect on me. And here in Tulsa, we've been getting plenty of it lately.

Oh, my mom told me last night she came across my blog after seeing a comment I'd left on Audrey's. A few years ago, that information would have mortified me...scratch that. It DID mortify me, and for good reason. But I'm an adult now. I write about useful, productive, and overall mother-approved topics. I have nothing to hide...which doesn't mean that "nothing is sacred," of course...

Oh. My. Goodness. The rambling needs to stop.

In a nutshell: Mom, if you're reading this, I hope you're enjoying it.

This post seemed a lot more interesting when I was coming up with it in my head, on the way back from class. That seems to happen a lot. I often don't recognize my own thoughts once they're out of my head and on paper or on my monitor.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out how to write my editorial. Among other assignments. It's hard to believe that this time next week, all I will have on my plate for the rest of the semester are two final exams.

I'm slowly learning how to multitask. Tonight I'm having dinner with the bestie, after which I will work on my editorial, another Oracle assignment, a PR assignment, and two Comm Theory papers. I'll be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow for the OCPA conference in Stillwater. With the stud pub crew in tow, it's bound to be a good time even if we don't bring home any awards.

In my newfound desire to be more aware of the world outside "the bubble," I've been reading/listening to all the buzz about plans to withdraw our troops from Iraq. I hate talking about politics and such until I'm blue in the face, so for once you can be sure that I won't ramble.

So here's where I stand: I really don't know.

On the one hand, it seems like we're wasting a lot of money and human life. I'm still uncertain as to whether or not the Iraqis want our help. I'm also not sure that if we should have gone in the first place.

I try my darndest to avoid being negative and whiney about how much it's going to cost me, how much it's going to hurt me, but how it's going to improve or impede the common good. There are an awful lot of pansies running around these days, and a lot of them have decided they're going to become leaders. It seems like the anti-war sentiment in our country comes not from the fact that we are hurting innocent people--whether or not we are is something I need to research, yes I'm ignorant--but because "waaaah, I'm tired of this war, it's taking too long. I might need to make some sacrifices, boo-freaking-hoo."

My grandparents are part of what our country calls "the greatest generation," and they earned that name because they fought and sacrificed for what they believed in and held dear.

Yet we think we have it soooo tough. We've hardly had to sacrifice anything.

They say the war is all because of oil? There are secrets, locked in laboratories, that could decrease or even do away with our dependence on foreign oil. But there are people in our government who want us to think that the environment is screwed and that the ozone layer is turning to swiss cheese, so we have to buy organic bread and organic shoes and organic everything else and then we go put in down payments on gas-guzzling SUVs.

I lied. I rambled. And now I'm not really sure how to wrap this up in a coherent manner. I got on a tangent and then I kind of lost it.

Maybe that's a good thing though...I need to conserve some energy for all the work I have yet to do.

Alright, well, I'm off to use the bathroom, not flush the toilet, walk to dinner in my biodegradable shoes with my hands dripping wet because I didn't use paper towels, then I'll stuff my face with tofu and later insist that skylights be installed as a substitute for fluorescent lighting in Saga.

'Cause green is just so hot right now.

And (social) justice for all?

2008-04-08T01:18:00.006-05:00

Random fact: Few things satisfy me more than the smell of rain and the sound of thunder.

This week for the Oracle (last issue of the year!) I have the rare opportunity to write an editorial. I've only written one once before and it wasn't very good; it was for Feature Writing class last year. So now I'm wondering if I've gotten in over my head on this assignment, but it's something I'm passionate about and if I have a bit of guidance I'm sure I'll be fine.

The topic of this editorial is the recent social justice movement and how organizations like TOMS Shoes and To Write Love On Her Arms are becoming a "trend," a fashion statement for college students and twentysomethings. If you think that's controversial, it gets dirtier. I've noticed this year that ORU missions teams are struggling more than usual to raise money. Part of the problem could be that ORU has lost funding from those who support Oral Roberts Ministries. But take a look around campus and it's easy to spot those cute TOMS Shoes slip-ons, Love Alliance tote bags, TWLOHA t-shirts...

After the annual Spring Outreach event, which is coming up this Saturday, there will be a "Style Your Sole" after-party. I'm not sure how many students actually forked over the money, but for $43, outreach participants have been given the opportunity to buy a pair of TOMS Shoes to decorate at the after-party.

All the while, missions teams face the prospect of staying home because they didn't raise enough money to reach "the ends of the earth." TOMS Shoes, TWLOHA and other social justice organizations that sell products to raise money are great causes, no doubt about it. But what about that mandate on ORU that the deans and chapel speakers are always drilling into our heads? Doesn't it start with us? Shouldn't we be supporting our own student body as they go out on the mission field?

Am I just a bit radical and a bit poor, or is there something wrong with this picture?

That, in a nutshell, is what I will address in my editorial.

Heads may roll. Ah well, it's another notch in my journalist belt.

Startin' out for God knows where...

2008-04-07T15:10:00.005-05:00

I chose to start a new blog today in celebration of completing my senior paper.

The topic of my senior paper?

*clears throat and continues in dramatic tone*

The Blogosphere and its Role in the News Media.

All 46 glorious pages are printed, bound, and laying on Freudenrich's desk, just waiting to be devoured.

I guess I've never been consistent in blog updating, because frankly I never thought I had much to say that was of any importance. I'm still not sure that I do. But I have to start somewhere, so here it is. I, Megan the budding journalist, the super-senior who just submitted her senior paper, do solemnly swear to nurture and feed this blog.

Heck, I even tried really hard this time to come up with a cool URL and blog name. The name is a bit long, but it's borrowed from one of my favorite songs ("Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard" by Simon & Garfunkel) and it perfectly describes my current situation in life.

I'll explain my URL as well. Hwy61revisited should be recognizable though to just about anyone who likes Bob Dylan. It's also the title of this really cool book that I got last fall at Border's.

For those of you who don't know, I have fallen in love with my native soil now that I'm no longer confined to the smelly, dilapidated town where I spent the first 19 and a half years of my life. I plan on going back to Iowa...just not back "home."

I blame it first of all on the movie "Elizabethtown." If you don't know what I'm talking about, just...watch it. There are no words that can sufficiently describe how much that film inspired me.

The beauty of eastern Iowa really took hold of my spirit during summer vacation last year. I was a news intern at
The Hawk Eye and I had an hour-long commute from my house to the newsroom. It was always a treat to get an assignment that required extra travel--although I got lost a few times. Note to self: Mapquest lies. My dad apparently slipped from the womb fully equipped with a built-in GPS system. I, on the other hand, cannot find my way out of a paper bag.

Again, I digress.

I have a lot of those moments when the beauty of the world around me leaves me speechless. The things I find beautiful are often homely on the surface. Last summer, I observed and interacted with a world I took for granted most of my life. I went to a kennel, run by a Christian family, and talked with them about what it was like to lose several of their dogs in a horrible fire. It was out in the sticks, I was sweltering in nearly 100-degree weather. The dogs were laying in the shade, ears twitching as they dozed in front of fans. Inside the birthing house, an expectant mother pug gazed at me from sleepy eyes, her tongue drooping from her mouth.

I sat on a screened-in front porch, enveloped in cigarette smoke, with a gangly teenage boy named Dusty Trail. (Yes, Dusty Trail.) He mumbled in a deep country accent about his love for go-kart racing, spurred on by his proud mother who sat nearby and did most of the talking.

I followed a group of girls around the Des Moines County fairgrounds, scribbling down my observations on a soggy notepad as they engaged in hydro-warfare. The faintly sweet scent of hay and the pungent stench of manure returns every time I remember those county fair assignments.

I used to think I was too good for all of that. I wanted the big city life. Quirky coffee shops...a concert every weekend...metal monstrosities that stretched beyond the clouds.

Then I went home last summer, and I rediscovered what made me hate to move to the city limits of my hometown. Tall rows of corn glistening in the afternoon sun...trails of dust rising from gravel roads...acre upon acre of untamed wilderness.

Somewhere in Iowa there's a job and a little house waiting for me...hopefully not far from the banks of the Mississippi River, in some po-dunk town off Highway 61.