Monthly Archives: August 2010

My first venting post… whoot.

Right about now, I’m feeling especially pessamistic and that my life sucks. Oh, no worries, I have plenty of reasons to support this:

a) I have back problems, and those don’t pair well with sleeping on the top bunk. So I started camping out on my floor, which was ok because it felt better than sleeping on my crappy mattress, plus I got to store things where my bed used to be. Score!… until my older sister wanted to sleep on that bed. Mom agreed with her, and apparently it’s all settled. Great. Back to storing my crap all over the room again.

b) Today was my last day as nanny for the three wonderful Page boys, Calvin, Reese, and Jude. When I first took on the job my mom had suggested, I didn’t know that she had planned for it  to last only two months. And here I thought I’d be able to get to watch these little guys once a week for, well, much longer than one day out of the week for seven weeks. Woo-hoo to the school year starting and having to give up every single extra-curricular.

c) I’ve not the slightest idea how it happened, but I’m eating crappily again. You probably don’t know that I’m what some friends dubbed a “healthfreak” and as such try to stay on a plant-based diet. Pretzels sneaked their way into my snack-time. Tooonnns of fruits (aka, 100% sugar – albiet natural sugar, but sugar nonetheless) rather than veggies (aka 100% phyto chemicals – extremelely beneficial to our bodies) traipsed into my mouth. Because of my back pains, I can’t run on a regular basis and I can’t quite tolerate jogging, either. I try and walk, but since it takes *much* longer to build up a sweat walking than does running, it gets quite boring. Whether listening to my iPod for forty-five minutes or reading a good book… they bore me. Fast. So from lack of proper exercise and over-consumtion of very unhealthful foods, I’m feeling pretty low.

d) If I don’t kick myself into focusing on catching up on science and math (both of which are my worst subjects, and of course I’m behind an entire year on them), I’ll be a senior next year, instead of a graduate like the rest of my friends. I know I’ll hate it if I don’t graduate on time, but I just can’t seem to find the motivation I need in order to do so.

e) Did I mention I hate it when I feel like I have a best friend who doesn’t think of me as their best friend?

Those are just a few examples. A rule I made up recently for myself is that: For every low, think of a high. I’m too funked out to do that now, though. Gah.

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Butterfly Kisses, And Moose Kisses Too

I babysit this little girl – among other children – on Sunday nights. Her name is Katherine, though almost everyone calls her “Kat.” Isn’t that cool? It wouldn’t be naerly as cool if they were spelled “Catherine” and “Cat.” The K makes it so much better. I love little Kat.

This past weekend during babysitting I lounged on this hard pillows-stuck-together-with-felt thing, laying on my stomach and tickling the kids’ stomachs with a thick stick as they darted by. Taking a break from this (the kids were running a bit too fast and screaming with delight a bit too loud and slamming into one another a bit too much  for my comfort) I turned to lay on my back.

Just then Katherine ran up to tackle me, and I wrapped my hands around her  stout little stomach and hoisted her in the air above me. She giggled with delight, and I lowered her till our faces were nearly touching. Still smiling, she placed her lips on my own and gave me the softest kiss imaginable – what I call a butterfly kiss. Slightly stunned, I carefully rolled her onto the ground, and watched her the remainder of the time.

We’ve been babysitting for this group for a few months now, but I honestly didn’t think the children liked my older sister and me that much. Yes, I knew they loved it when I brought paint and they could follow my [bad] example by painting on their hands and feet as well as the paper, and I knew they loved us chasing them around the room pretending to be a Tickle Fairy (“monster” was too scary for them – or so they informed us), and I knew they liked to stick books in front of us, climb onto our laps, and make us read them – at least – three times. But enough to feel comfortable giving us precious kisses? I love them so much!

The second kind of kiss a child has given me is what she informed me is called a Moose Kiss. When little Jennifer “Jenna” gave one to me, (I’m sorry, I don’t have a picture of her) I looked at her very surprised, and she explained – in that slight stutter most four-year-olds seem to possess –  “Don’t worry, my Grandpa gives them to us all all all the time, and I I I I wanted to give give you one, too.” Though it was a special moment, I discreetly wiped off my cheek the slobber she had put on it – for little Jenna’s ‘moose kiss’ consists of her gently pressing her mouth to my face, then sticking her tongue out the tiniest bit. Kind of disgusting, but adorable to hear her explain, nonetheless. Ah, God has so blessed my life by pairing me with all these wonderful children!


This Is Me

The beautiful, shiny, wood acoustic stood there, in its case, still closed upright before me. The case I had personalized by smothering it over top with stickers and pictures of my friends, family, and hobbies.

A short, black bar stool squatted next to the big case. Oddly enough the only light was that shining from two spotlights, one on the stool and the other on the beautifully creative case.

Tentatively, I reached forward, unsnapped the clasp at the head, neck, middle and body of the case, smiling in anticipation as the metal pieces clanked apart. The front half opened without so much as a creak, and there it was. Just as I had left it, dusted, shining, and so perfect.

My head turned to glance in all directions, but since it was so dark I could not tell if anyone sat watching – if anyone waited to listen to the fruits of my self instruction, my hard work, my life.

It had taken me two years to get this far, and even now I did not dare try comparing myself with others more practiced than I. It did not matter much, anyway; I was set and determined to learn anything and everything about this instrument.

Slowly, carefully, I wrapped my fingers around the neck and gently lifted it out of its velvety encasement. My arms and hands fit just as perfectly around my acoustic friend as my legs were the perfect length for the bar stool upon which I sat.

My mind wandered back to the first day I had made the decision to learn a few chords. I remembered how hard it was; how complicated to strum, how impossible to reach the different bars with my short fingers; how frustrated I became after the first thirty minutes of attempting. How I had wanted to chuck the guitar across the room and flush that darned red pick down the toilet!

A smile stole across my face. Just seeing how far I had come since those two years made me feel practiced, in tune.

As I set my left hand fingers in place and grabbed that faithful red pick out of my pocket with my right hand, familiarity washed over me, and in a manner of three seconds I was lost to the real word, enveloped in my own.

For old times’ sake I started out at a slow pace, but soon forgot myself in the speedy strumming, whamming, plucking and sliding on the steel strings. How amazing it felt! I let myself be overcome with the many beats and rhythms I thrummed as the minutes whizzed by.

At last, after I do not  know how long, my arms ached and my fingers cramped, and it was all I could do to halt the exhilarating joyride. But, even though my hands no longer created any beautiful, coordinated noise, an endless stream of music continued floating along through my head.

*based off a kind of day/dream I had quite awhile ago. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it 🙂

**I’ve no idea who painted that picture (I snagged it off the ‘net) but KUDOS to whoever did because it’s flippin’AMAZING!