Starfruit and Pomegranates

Merry Christmas, all!
Christ is born - Glorify Him!

As was anticipated, it was an extremely white Christmas here. So very white. A very good day, overall.

Many children, I am given to understand, receive fruit in their stockings on Christmas morning. An orange or a grapefruit is probably usual, given the season. Growing up, I always got a starfruit, and my sister always got a pomegranate. It was wonderful and special, and I always looked forward to it. These fruits only came at Christmastime.

My sophomore year of college, during the spring semester, I had a revelation regarding this. One day, the cafeteria had two large platters piled with sliced starfruit. I was excited, and loaded up a plate with them. But something I could not quite put my finger on was gnawing at the back of my mind, bothering me about the occurrence. As I was eating, trying to convince my friends, none of whom had ever had a starfruit, to try it, it hit me.

I realized that I had this belief of sorts in the back of my mind that starfruit and pomegranates grew at the north pole. Now, this is not to say that I still believed this. But I think it was one of those childhood beliefs that is fairly minor, so it never really gets disproved or actively disbelieved, but rather is just put away in the back of one's mind until such a moment as I had. Thinking about it, it does seem a reasonable explanation for a small child, to explain why those very special fruits only came at Christmas. Of course - Santa grows them!

I do not know if I came to this conclusion by myself, or if I was told it. I asked my mom about it and she says she does not remember saying anything like that. My inclination is that my sister convinced me of it at some point, because it seems like the sort of thing she would have told me. (Do you remember anything like this, dear sister?)

So, this Christmas as I pulled a pomegranate out of my stocking (sadly, no starfruit for me this year), I wondered if anyone else had a similar story, of a minor childhood belief, inconsequential to most of life, that was realized years later. If so, please share!

Wishing everyone a most glorious Nativity feast.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

One Day of Freedom

I got out yesterday, after being house-bound since Wednesday. I actually had not left the house since Monday, simply because I did not have any reason to go out on Tuesday, and I had no reason to suspect I would not be able to leave after then. It took a lot of work to be able to leave. You see, my house is situated at the end of a one block road, off of the main road, that comes to a T at our driveway. (See diagram. It is not to scale. Sorry about that.) So any traffic that had barreled through the massive amounts of snow down the road either turned left or right, pushing even more snow toward our driveway and not giving us any help on getting cleared out. And even if we could leave the driveway, our cars were too low to the ground to make it out in the tracks that had been put in the road, because they were all made by trucks, which have higher centers than our cars, so we would have gotten stuck anyway. Make sense? Following so far? Good.

So, on Saturday, three neighbours got out their snow-blowers and snow... -blowed? -blew? a lane clear down the one block road. They did not clear out the front of our driveway, but at least now if we got out of the driveway, we would be able to get out to the main road. So Dad worked really really hard Saturday night, and I was able to leave on Sunday. I went to church, and had a five hour shift at work. It was very very nice to get out of the house.

But then last night, the stupid plow people came along and ruined everything. You see, they plowed our road. We had it fine! It was accessible, people were getting in and out; it was hard, but doable. But then the plows came. And where do you think all the snow from that one block in from the main road ended up? If you thought "why, the magical snow faeries must have magicked it away!" than you thought incorrectly. It ended up right in front of our driveway. There is now a barrier about four feet high and five feet wide blocking us in. We have it much worse than the neighbours, being right at the T of the road. From what I could see, they have maybe a foot high, two or three feet wide. Stupid plow people. And it is snowing again, lots and lots. We have gotten perhaps nine or ten more inches.

I have another shift at work tomorrow, and I hope I will be able to get out for it. And I have Christmas presents to mail, which will be rather late. I do not know that that is so bad, though, since it extends Christmas for people. I have always enjoyed late gifts; I have an aunt who was usually two or three weeks late on birthdays. But I also have to mail out two books that were bought from me on half.com, and I am supposed to mail them within a week of their being ordered. I will likely email the buyers and apologize profusely for being snowed in and unable to get to the post office. Mostly I am just worried about making it to work. I really need the hours, and the money that comes from them. On the plus side, snow is very beautiful. Here are some more pictures that I took before this latest storm:
















































































Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Snow, Snow, Beautiful Snow

It has not stopped snowing in over a day.

Last night we set a record for most snow in a twenty-four hour period.

When I woke up this morning, there were over twenty inches on the ground.

Here are some pictures. They are not very good, because they are from inside my house, but later I will go out and take some better ones and post them.




The SUV parked across the road.













The fir tree in my backyard.
And part of my backyard.
You can see, down at the bottom, a bit of the walk.
My dad has shoveled three times this morning, starting at three o'clock am.















Our dogwood tree in the backyard.
And the itty-bitty baby maple tree, off to the right there.
And most of the rest of the backyard.












I do love snow.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

I wish I could write like this.

Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's the funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.

It is passages like this that make me so glad to be a part of Lewis group.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Discipline and Procrastination

I tend to be one of those people who put off a ten-minute task for days or weeks at a time. For example, I finally just updated my blogroll list on the right side of my page. Silly and small, perhaps, but something that I thought about doing every day, but always put off. Other things are not so silly or small. I have no discipline in my life, and I need it desperately. Even college did not provide enough structure for me. I need maximum structure in order to really be productive. High school was good for me in that way - nevermind that those providing the structure did not really teach me anything. Two separate issues, there.

Other things that fall into this problematic category:
- cleaning my room
- applying for jobs
- applying for grad schools
- prayer
- reading
- eating (sometimes. like now, for example. I am hungry, it is nearly two hours past lunch-time, but I do not feel like putting in the effort of fixing and eating lunch)
- blogging and/or journaling
- staying in touch with friends
- shopping for Christmas presents (two actually valid reasons for putting this off are my lack of money and my dislike for shopping)
- buying a mouse for Esmeralda to eat
- filling Esmeralda's water dish
- responding to emails
- figuring out student loan stuff

Pretty much everything I ought to be doing in my life, when I look at it all typed out there. Tragic.

So, what am I actually doing with my life, then?! Not much. Sitting around thinking how I ought to do things. Playing solitaire and/or minesweeper. Reading through archives of comics. What a sad, sad existence.

Every once in a while I do actually get something done. I applied for four jobs this morning, and now I am updating my blog. And I do plan on eating sometime today...sigh. I really need to get my act together. But I do not know how to start having discipline in my life. With no definite deadlines, I lose my motivation. With no bells and schedules and teachers, I have nothing to keep me on track. I have an agenda that I try to use, but it requires internal motivation. As I mentioned, that is lacking. Blah. Off to find lunch.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

I...do not understand.

So, I continue to torture myself by reading the housing classifieds folder on BUBBS (for those non-school folk, that is our email/message board system). And, because old habits die hard, instead of having the housing folder on my desktop, I have the general classifieds folder (even though I do not really read that one anymore). Today as I was passing through there, there was a post titled "adorable mouse." I was curious, mostly because I have never really viewed rodents as being worthy of adoration. So I opened it, and was greeted by this this text:

I have a beautiful Albino mouse that needs a home. I'm looking for someone who is loving and gentle and prefers calm electronic music, that is what my mouse is used to. Also, I will only sell the mouse with the condition that you promise to keep it's birth name "The Dog". She is really quite sweet and well behaved and loves it when you open doors for her so if you are interested in purchasing The Dog please contact me. She has alot of personal and emotional importance to me and she is so well trained so I am charging $45 or the highest offer. Please don't argue over her with your friends if many of you want her, she's a one man mouse and so you will have to figure it out via a gentleman's dual, that is how The Dog would prefer it.

Um...what? I have read this over several times, and honestly can not figure out if this person is being serious or not. BUBBS does not always allow for sarcasm to come across very well. My inclination is that it is a joke...but what if it is not? Would someone actually pay forty-five dollars for a mouse? A white mouse? You can buy a white mouse at PetSmart for about two dollars. I should know. I do so once a week. To feed to my snake. Goodness. I hope this is not serious.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Quick Update Time!

Well, I survived (and even enjoyed) Thanksgiving.
And I survived the day after, opening at Bath & Body Works. I nearly enjoyed it, but it was insane and crazy. I now know that I can manage working retail, but it is certainly not what I want to do for the rest of my life.

I finally got all caught up on Alien Dice, which is happy. One down, twelve to go. Plus, you know, various videos/tv shows I'm supposed to be catching up on. Three of those, I think?
I changed my desktop background on my computer for the first time in two years. Does this mean I am starting to move on and heal? I hope so. Besides, Swiftpaw is just so cute!

My room is still a mess, and while it bothers me, I can not seem to find the energy to clean it up and get more organized.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

3. Recycling

This subject, like several others in my list, is somewhat obsolete in my life right now. But I may as well write about it, because it is something I thought about a lot over the past year or so. In California, they give you money for recycling. The way the system is supposed to work is that they charge you an extra five cents when you buy a bottle or can (water, soda, &c.) (or ten cents, for larger containers), and then reimburse you this money when you turn the bottle or can in for recycling. However, most people do not bother to turn in their recyclables. The thought process seems to be something like, "oh, it is only five cents. it does not matter that much." But, you see, five times twenty is one hundred (one dollar). And there is a lot you can buy with a dollar. And if you do not spend that dollar, but save it, and get more dollars, you can buy bigger things. Like gas. Or rent. Or a trip to Russia.

I started collecting recycling from the garbage cans around campus last October, in an effort to make money to help me go on the Russia trip. It did not fully pay for it by any means, but I ended up getting about two hundred dollars from it. That is a lot of money, pulled out of garbage cans a nickel at a time. I wish I had kept better track of how much I collected. I continued my collections this summer, to off-set the price of gas, and to be able to buy food, and so forth. Usually I would only collect from the library. I know where every garbage can is in that building. I know what route to take to maximize the efficiency of my time. I kept my receipts for a bit in October, once I decided to write about this. Between the third and the thirteenth, I collected $42.47. (They go by weight, now, rather than exact count, which is why the number is not divisible by five.) That is a little over four dollars a night, from the library alone. My rounds took me about half an hour, so I was making about minimum wage for this. Not too shabby.

I got quite a few weird looks from people, especially when I started. After a while people got used to my coming around in the evening. A few people would even save their bottles out on their table for me, instead of throwing them in the trash cans. Those people made me happy. Some people laughed at me when they thought I could not see/hear (from within the study rooms). Those people made me sad and insecure - but not enough to give up. Once I encountered two people in a room (yes, I was shameless enough to collect from the study rooms while people were in them. most were very kind. no one ever complained, even if they thought I was strange.) who were very excited about what I was doing. The girl exclaimed, "Oh! I am so happy you are doing that! I was looking at the cans in the trash and thinking how sad it was that no one was doing anything about it, and then here you came!" And then the boy made up a song about how happy they were. It pretty much made my night.

Fun times, overall.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

{Insert Witty Title Here}

I wandered around Wal-Mart for about an hour tonight. I needed to get out of the house, and everything in town was closed, except for Denny's and Wal-Mart. And it is cheaper to wander Wal-Mart than sit around at Denny's. And more distracting, which was good.

On the front of the store, the lights in the 'M' were out, so it said Wal-art. This amused me.

They already have a giant Christmas decoration section. This makes me sad. I do not like the over commercialization of Christmas, nor do I like how overlooked Thanksgiving is. Thanksgiving was always my favourite holiday growing up. Mostly because I like autumn, but also because gatherings tended to not be as big then as at Christmas and Easter. I am an introvert, and my parents never allowed me to be reclusive when family was over. Santa was in the mall, today. I think the commercialization has made me cynical about Christmas, which I also do not like.

The craft section of Wal-Mart is my favourite. I do not particularly like crafting (I have boxes filled with projects begun and never finished), but I love craft supplies. Especially paper. Paper fascinates me, as does cloth. So much beauty (for only a small price). I also like parenthesis (and those are free).

I bought a pack of Mike-n-Ikes (Mike & Ikes?). I was interested by the man at the checkstand. I think his name was James. It started with a 'J,' anyway. He was an older gentleman, and seemed nice. He had a fairly thick country accent (different from, though similar to, a southern accent), quite the drawl. The type of accent that makes people think that a person is uneducated - a silly assumption, in my opinion, but a common one nonetheless. I wondered if James was happy with his life. Is he content to work the night-shift at the checkstand in Wal-Mart? How would I feel, in that position? I think that there was probably a point in my life where I could have taken that route, and have been perfectly happy. I am not sure when, though. I could not do it, now, and be happy. I think too much, now. I wonder if James is happy. The world needs those people. If the world were only full of philosophers, we would never be able to get anything done. What separates me from James? Is it just an education (assuming a lack of one on his part. actually, I am using him as a symbol now, less as a person. forgive me, James. I wish I knew your story.)? Or is there something inherent in a person that sets them apart for their particular path in life?

It is cold here. I had frost on my car this morning, it had to warm up about fifteen minutes before the windows were clear enough to drive. I need to remember that on Thursday night, and plan accordingly for the morning - I start work at five.forty-five on Friday. I am nervous about that - my first experience in retail is opening on the day after Thanksgiving. I am sure I will get trampled, small as I am. Perhaps I will wear heels, give myself a couple of extra inches.

I went to the grocery store with my mom tonight after dinner. The checker there was nice, as well. Mom thinks it was because of me. She says they are never that friendly when it is just her. I wonder if he was flirting. I wonder if I flirted back. I never can tell (Emily:flirting :: Winnie-Ther-Pooh:bees). Harmless, I suppose, when it is a person I will likely never see again. But what happens when I inadvertently flirt with a new acquaintence? What if it is mutual flirting and I do not even realize it? I certainly do not have time or emotional energy for something like that. Goodness, I do not even have emotional energy to worry about something like that. My mom bought me a pomegranite at the store, which was lovely.

My mind is random, and I am essentially typing my train of thought right now. I find it vastly amusing. Usually I think things through before typing, and go back and edit. But not tonight. Tonight you get something that is somewhat akin to what you would get if I handwrote you a letter. Or what you have gotten if I have done so. A glimpse of the workings of my mind, I suppose.

I am tired, but not sleepy. I have been having trouble sleeping lately. I am stressed about several things which I will not detail here. Perhaps I should go to bed. I have been reading a lot - rereading good fiction books, always fun. I am cold. Autumn is gone, now. The leaves are off the trees and it is frosting at night (but I already mentioned that, I suppose). I miss warmth. Not really, but in my mind I do. I do love winter, but to make the jump rather than easing into it does make a difference. I have a space-heater in my room, though, which helps quite a bit. I have also been playing a lot of solitaire - a good mind-numbing activity. I miss California.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Please not Haley, Please not Haley...

Ok, so I know that it is not totally healthy to get as emotionally attached as I do to characters in a webcomic. But Order of the Stick has a very special place in my heart, and I am very emotionally attached to the characters. Especially Haley. And the author is really good. And today's update...terrified me (the first one. it seems that there were two today...). On the other hand, the second update is excellent (and continuing in the terrifying category as well). I love Belkar. Not as much as I love Haley, and in a different way. But he is excellent. The author seems to be on a rampage today, as in his other comic (Erfworld), I think the main character just burst into dust? I am not really sure what happened, though, and I am not nearly as attached to him as to Haley.

I like webcomics. I follow too many already, and I have more of which I am currently reading through the archives. I do not add them to my 'others of interest' list until I am caught up on them. I made a list to keep track of what I am/ought to be reading, and I think there are seven or eight that will eventually be added to that list. And by the time those are added, there will likely be more to add.

My latest is Alien Dice. It is wonderful. Yay for that.

I do not think I could even choose a favourite among them. There are certainly ones that I like more than others, but within the group that I like more, I could not pick an absolute favourite, or order them in any way. They are all so good! Oh well. I guess I do not have to pick a favourite. It is just that I like order so much, I feel as though I ought to. Lists are happy. But not as happy as Girl Genius.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Gas for $1.88? Yespleasethankyou.

Last night Stacey asked me what the most positive thing about being in Washington is. Besides the fact that here my world is not being consumed by fire, the lower gas prices are a wonderful thing. One eighty-eight is the lowest that I have seen, it ranges between that and one ninety-nine. So yes. That is nice.

Driving here is fairly miserable, though. I am used to arterial roads having a speed limit of around forty-five. Here, on roads that look nearly the same as those faster ones (two lanes each direction, but with a middle turn-lane rather than a median), one is not allowed to go faster than thirty-five miles per hour. I am not sure how strictly this is enforced, but people follow it. On Evergreen, the road off of which my house is located, people like to go thirty, or sometimes twenty-five. It is horrid. The freeway is not much better. Through the city, the speed limit is sixty. And if you are going sixty, you should probably be in the left lane. The middle lane goes about fifty-seven, and the right lane goes about fifty-five. These people would die in California - not so much from accidents, but from fright at the cars going seventy-five or eighty.

This is taking adjustment. But at least the gas is cheaper.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Yesterday

I got horribly homesick yesterday, right after church. There was the annual parish meeting, and I stayed for about half of it. And during Fr. Michael's talk, he mentioned that this weekend, at the baptism in Wenatchee, he met a couple from St. Barnabas in Costa Mesa, and then proceeded to hold that church up as a good example for us, mentioning that they generally receive about thirty new members every year at Pascha. And I broke down (quietly). Because, for one thing, two of my dear friends, Sara and Jimmy, were fewer than two-hundred miles away from me and I could have been there and I missed the chance. (edit: as it turns out, this Sara and James were not the Sara and James that I know. odd.) And for the other thing, it just made me homesick. I know about half of the people who were baptized last year at St. Barnabas. I probably know about half of the group that will be baptized there this year. These are my friends - my dear friends - and I miss them. It was awfully hard for me. It is especially difficult at church, even though they have all become a wonderful family for me, because people can not seem to comprehend that I didn't want to leave California, that I want to go back. Comments like, "great job making it out alive!" make me want to cry. But I do not want to cry, not there, for that.

I also worry, because part of me is terrified of getting too attached. I do not like being torn between places. I am scared to make friends here, because I hate leaving friends. I know that that is not right, that it is not healthy, but that is my gut reaction. I miss my friends and my life so much, I just want to go back - even with all the horror that has been happening in the area with the fires as of late.

Then, last night, my best friend came over. I can not praise Glennda enough. She has truly been the best friend someone could ask for, especially in supporting me through all of my conflicts and confusion over the past year. She is being especially patient with me right now. I apologized profusely last night, through my tears. She is so glad to have me back here, and all I do when we are together is vent about how homesick I am. Poor dear. She is so good to me. I do not deserve her, but I am glad I have her. She just smiled, and reminded me how many times I sat and listened as she poured out her own heart in mourning.

Then after I pulled myself together I started trying to convince her to move to LA with me. As always. I will not understand how someone would move to Russia in a heartbeat, but would not even visit California when her best friend lived there. Not that I do not understand the wanting to move to Russia part, just the not even wanting to ever set foot in California part. But, as I explained to her, it would be much easier for me to move her down to LA than for me to move my whole life from down there to up here. She mentioned how then she would be in essentially the same position that I am in now, except worse, because no family there. Which is true, but I pressed on: "You'd get along great with my friends. I have excellent taste in friends." At which point we both collapsed laughing, and I wrote down what I had said in order to post it later. It is a conversation we have had many times, too many to count. She will not move to California, and I will continue to try to convince her to do so. I am so glad for the times that I have with her.

Then we kept talking as I sorted through some boxes of old things, from high school and before. I found my collection of her letters, from summers she spent in Oregon and I at camp, and read them aloud to her. Then I found some pages ripped out of an old journal, from my sophomore year, and read some of the entries to her. Highlights: "Glennda is my best friend in the whole world. I can tell her almost anything." Then, from a later one, "Confession - I am totally and completely in love with [name]. No one knows. Not even Glennda." We laughed so hard over that. Apparently that was where the 'almost anything' came up. She was confused: "Really? I didn't know?" I am pretty sure she did not, until after I was over it. Or if she did, she never said anything, because she is just an awesome friend like that. It was good to laugh with her, and remember.

My day ended much better than it began. But I am still sad. Sometimes I dislike the complicated emotions that come from being human. Why can't I just only be sad about being away, or only be happy to spend time with my best friend? Well, that is likely enough for now. I have survived three weeks.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

2. Gatorade

I have decided to start writing intermittently on those topics listed below. I am starting with Gatorade, because it is easy and unemotional. Mostly amusing observations. Right now, I am on my laptop in a lovely little cafe with free wireless. I don't particularly like using my parents' computer. It is an old PC, with awkward keys and an old internet browser. I don't have administrative privileges, so I can not download any programs, and my dad won't...I think that he thinks it will slow the computer down more. Which may or may not be true. Anyway, it is always nice to be somewhere where I can use my own computer. This cafe is especially nice. There is a large television with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade playing, which, while distracting, is rather fun. Good movie.

Anyway. Gatorade, yes? I never have cared much for the drink. But two things are on my mind about it. First is a series of commercials that was on television a while ago. I do not remember when...it may have been a few months, or a few years. Each commercial would have one or several athletes being athletic, and they would be...oozing neon liquids. It was strange. And then, at the end, it would say on the screen, "is it in you?" And all I could ever think was, "Oh goodness, I hope not."

The other thing was more recent. One day, when I was collecting recycling, I came across an energy drink can. This is not at all uncommon. In fact, it is tragically very common. I do not understand how people consume these things, really. There was often one half-full in a trash can, which I would have to dump out, and I simply can not imagine drinking something of that color. Anyway, this particular can had written on it, "By the makers of (Gatorade symbol)" If you don't know, the Gatorade symbol is an orange lightening bolt. So a normal person should have read it as "By the makers of Gatorade." But I, of course, read it as "By the makers of lightening." And then my associative mind jumped to Zeus, and the idea that he would make energy drinks, which suddenly made sense of them, considering all of games the gods always played with the mortals.
My mind? Random.

Blessings on your travels.
Emily

JobJobJob.

That is to say, I got one.

I am now officially a "seasonal sales associate" at Bath and Body Works. Minimum wage, variable/non-guaranteed hours, but much better than nothing. It will keep me busy and out of the house, help me to start saving to move back to California, and give me time to look for something more permanent. Plus, a thirty-percent employee discount. So, um, family will be getting lotion for Christmas.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Grief

Hello again. Thank you for your patience.

According to dictionary.com, my constant source of definitions, grief is keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret. a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow. I wondered, because I have been thinking about grief a lot over the past week.

I wanted time away, to grieve, as I mentioned below. Last week was difficult in this, as my mom's boss was ill so she was home from work for the week. I did not really have any time alone. My parents want me to be happy, in the they are upset that I am not sort of way. And I want this situation to not be entirely miserable, so I do my best to not upset them. So I did my best through the week. I even went out one evening, by myself, which seemed to please them. After all, if I'm out at a ballet, I must be all right, right? (I saw the Moscow Ballet perform Sleeping Beauty, which was wonderful, despite the idiot behind me who seemed to think that one comes to a ballet for the plot and would not stop whispering about how there were too many dances. Idiot. And despite the music being recorded rather than live. And a few other annoyances. And my being alone.)

Anyway, I waited out the week, looking forward to this past Tuesday. I had decided that that would be the day where I could grieve, good and proper. I fully planned on lying on my bed in the dark, listening to angry music and crying a lot. I went out to the store Tuesday morning and got bread and cheese and ice-cream, because those are good and proper grieving foods. It did not last very long. As it turns out, you can not induce those sort of days, however much you think you need them. I have decided that my idea of grief is vastly Romanticized. I had this picture of what I ought to look like at this time, and wanted to fulfill that. Which, when you think about it, is rather silly. Of course, I am a rather silly person, so I suppose nothing different should have been expected.

I think that it is likely that that sort of thing will happen, eventually. The lying in bed all day, not wanting to move or do anything but cry. Just not yet. And I know that I need to allow that. I am grieving, still, although I am not staying in bed with my blinds shut and refusing all social interaction. I do cry, I do wish dearly to come back home, back to where my life is. I grieve that I have been torn away from the places and people I love. I grieve in the way that is natural for now, because foremost I need to survive, so that I can return.

Tuesday I ended up getting back up after about an hour, getting dressed, eating some bread and cheese, and then going for a drive. Driving is very therapeutic for me, especially on fairly empty, familiar roads. It was raining, which helped. I drove out to Camp Four Echoes, my Girl Scout camp, where I spent several weeks every summer for ten years, and many weekends in between. I love that place, and I love the drive. It has been driven so many times that it was all automatic. I needed that - the familiarity of something beloved, familiar enough that I did not even have to think about it, I could let my mind stay on my grief without having to worry about the road or traffic, just winding through the countryside.

So, for now, I am back online. I will be in touch, and write more frequently than I did when I was in California (since now I am not seeing my dear friends every day, so updates are more necessary). But do know that when the grief does hit harder, as I expect it will eventually, I may disappear again for a time.

I miss you all so very much.

Blessings on your travels,

Emily

Beginning of the Beginning

I made it back to Spokane, managing neither to drive headlong into an oncoming truck, nor sneak off in the middle of the night to drive back south. I do not want to be here.

The end of one chapter? Yes, I suppose so. So that makes this the beginning of the next. But that does not mean that I have to like it.

I am going to take some time away from the computer. After some thought, I decided that I need time away to grieve. The past two weeks have been so filled with people and emotions - it was beyond draining for such an introvert as myself. So I need time. I will be back. My word on it. But for now, I am going to disappear for a bit.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Rambling

As I was driving to campus tonight, Led Zeppelin's Ramble On came on the radio. The first ten lines particularly struck me:

Leaves are falling all around,

It's time I was on my way.

Thanks to you, I'm much obliged

For such a pleasant stay.

But now it's time for me to go,

The autumn moon lights my way.

For now I smell the rain,

And with it pain,

And it's headed my way.

Ah, sometimes I grow so tired...

-

Both my identified readers know that I am leaving, moving back to my parents' house. I am full of pain this autumn. The initial shock has worn off a bit, these few days, leaving me fairly numb as I tell the few people I hadn't yet talked to. But smaller things are hurting, as I think of them.

I won't be able to see the TTC play. I was really looking forward to it - to seeing one for the first time that I didn't already have memorized from a semester of involvement.

I will be missing the senior art show of a dear friend from my Torrey group.

I will be missing the dead kitty party at Christmastime, which is somewhat silly, but was something I had thought of happily when I made the decision to stay here for the year.

I just bought groceries, and now only have a week to eat them. What am I going to do with several packages of frozen vegetables?

-

Biola HR called me today. "We were wondering if you could come in for an interview." "Oh, for what position?" I asked, half-hopeful. "Oh, no, just an initial interview, the next step in the process." "Oh. Well...you see...*explains that I'm leaving, trying not to cry*" "Okay, we'll withdraw your application then. Thanks for letting us know! (*way too cheerfully*)" If only the HR department wasn't so horridly slow.

-

If onlys plague me. If only I had started applying to jobs sooner. If only I had applied to more places. If only I had one more month. If only I...I don't even know. I have a bad tendency to live in the past, and am trying hard to not do so right now. Several people have reminded me that I have not failed. This is not a step back, it is the next step forward on my journey. I'm in too much pain to really see and understand and believe that right now, but I know they are right. It feels like my life is over, but it isn't. I will live through it, and perhaps become stronger. Or perhaps it will break me, but I will not die of it.

-

I am tired of moving. Since graduation, I have moved from the apartment into storage, from storage into the crazy lady's house, from there into the house where I am now, and now will be moving from there. That is four times in five months. Too often. I thought that I would not have to move again after graduation, now that Biola isn't forcing me out of housing every few months. And, horror, I plan on moving again within the year, back down here as soon as I can. But I do not look forward to bundling up all my things yet again, forcing them into my car (the poor dear, she has been so patient with me these few years) and driving them 1500 miles away. And each of these (aside from the moving into storage) has come with change of address notifications for everyone who sends me things, closing and opening post office boxes, calling magazines, letting Biola know my forwarding address has changed yet again. I just got settled in and fully unpacked - it simply isn't fair that I have to move again. I get more weary just thinking about it.

-

And leaving is such tiring work, even before the packing begins. My agenda is filling up quickly with seeing people. Having all of my friends wanting to take me out to meals doesn't do much for getting those groceries consumed, however wonderful it is to be able to see people before I go. And seeing people is so bittersweet. I have never been good at goodbyes. I do not like change, and saying goodbye is so definite, even though I will be back. I said goodbye to the IT desk this morning. Stayed up too late baking cookies to take, and didn't have enough time to spend talking there. I want to hang on to every last moment, I don't want to walk away. I hate it terribly. The gentlemen there have been so dear to me for the past two years. It is like this for everything and everyone I have to say goodbye to...it is just that that was particularly hard for me today. Next Wednesday, Bible study/alum discussion group will be the same, although for that there will at least be cake. *half-hearted smile*

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Well, I think I have rambled on enough tonight. I do still plan to write about the things in my list below, but for now, I have enough on my mind.

-

Blessings on your travels,

Emily

A list.

So, apparently, Jane now reads my blog. (Hi Janegirl!)

And, apparently, this means that I ought to post more.

Which I suppose is legitimate, since as far as I know, she is the only person who does read my blog, due to the fact that NO ONE EVER COMMENTS. (bitter? me? what?)

-

Along with my having the problems with posting detailed in an earlier post, (goodness, was that already over a year ago?!) this week has been somewhat preventative on the posting front. Ever since Jane told me that I need to post more, I have been thinking of things to write about. I have come up with quite a list, as you will see. And it is not that I lack for time, not having a job and all. I simply have discovered why I have trouble writing. I have magnificent thoughts, ideas about which to write. And not magnificent ones as well - even quite plain ones at times. But I find it difficult to get them down on...computer screen. I have explained to a few of my friends this trouble I have, where I have what seems to be a full thought in my head, but once I attempt to put it into words, I can't seem to do so. This is even giving me trouble as I type right now! (I nearly put as we speak, but was prevented by the fact that neither of us are currently speaking. Well, you might have been, as I typed this, but I will probably never know.) So, anyway, actually writing things down that are swimming around in my (apparently liquidey) mind gives me trouble.

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My other problem this week is that I seem to have lost my wit. I don't like writing without my wit, or even carrying on conversations. It is so dull (or perhaps terrifying?) to interact with people without a proper defense mechanism to retreat to. It has been a very long week, quite emotionally straining, and I just do not have the energy for wittiness at the moment.

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You see the trouble I have with putting down thoughts? The title of this post is "A list." That would seem to imply that there will be a list here, but I have not even touched on it until just now, four paragraphs in. Goodness. Anyway, due to my two difficulties that seem especially aggravated this week, I have decided to give myself a to-do list. Or rather, a to-write-about-and-post list. Here is my list of things, deep and otherwise, I have considered blogging about over the past week:

1. Belonging
2. Gatorade
3. Recycling
4. Gmail/Facebook
5. Photography/Art
6. People in Oxford
7. List of things to write about (I suppose I can check that one off!)
8. Religion
9. Defense mechanisms
10. Coupons
11. Trust

So, I can not promise that I will get to all of these. Just know, dear Janegirl (and others?), that I do not write for a lack of topics, simply for a lack of...ability to write about them.

Yes.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Last night I dreamt of snow.

Well, it was actually more this morning, as I was dozing after my alarm went off. I rarely have dreams, so it stuck in my head particularly. I dreamt that I woke up and looked out of the window and that it was snowing. There was already perhaps an inch on the ground, and it was coming down at a moderate pace. And it filled me with such happiness.

And then I woke up for real, and could tell even with my blinds closed that it was another ridiculously sunny day.

I miss seasons. California is silly.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Lately...

The past few months have been rather crazy for me. I haven't really had time to write, although I often want to. This won't be an exhaustive post, but a quick update of my life. The semi-nannying job got more and more difficult as I came to the realization that my employer was insane. So this past Friday I moved back up toward the school. Now I am renting a room in a house from a nice couple, who seem to be sane so far - a plus in my books. However, renting costs money, which I don't really have. I barely have enough to last through October, whatwith rent, phone bill, insurance, and foodstuffthings. Nevermind that Isabel (my car) is overdue for a check-up, and is leaking oil. I desperately need a job, but can't find one. I was promised my entire life that once I had a college degree, I would be able to get a job, no problem. Seems that this is no longer the case, whatwith the economy downturn, and with everyone having been told that and subsequently going and getting a college degree. It nearly makes me wish I weren't taking the year off of school. I know that once I get my master's degree, I will have no trouble finding a job - SLPs are in high demand right now. But until then...notsomuch. I put in at an employment agency, and am hoping for a call from them...right...now. *sigh* Alas. Hopefully within the week. Also applying to jobs listed on craigslist.org, but that is somewhat discouraging, as I usually don't even get called, and have not had a call-back after any of the few interviews that I have had. So I am discouraged on that front. And attempting to not spend any money at all until I find something. This is difficult.

One thing that I worry about is gas money. Of course, who doesn't nowadays? I'm spending less than I did when I was living in RSM, since I was driving in two to three times per week. So that is good. However, when I was living there, I left my church and began attending a church in San Juan Capistrano, a few miles further south from RSM. I have fallen in love with it, and in the two months that I have been there I have felt so welcomed. I do not want to stop going there. But again, it is about thirty-six miles each way. Isabel gets maybe twenty-five miles per gallon on the freeway, so that is about three gallons per trip, or a little over fifteen dollars per week to drive to church. Right now I feel like since that is the only extensive driving that I am doing, it is okay for now, but I might have to skip a few weeks. We shall see, I guess.

So the job-hunting and lack of money is mostly what has been going on lately. I am glad to be back near Biola, back near my friends, though. It seems that most of them are fairly happy about that, as well.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Comfy clothes?

I like clothing. It interests me. And so, as might be expected, I was very happy at the homerathon this past weekend, when Joi, Dr. Reynolds, and I discovered a very important theme of clothing and appearances running through the Illiad and the Odyssey. As is usual after the homerathon, I do not really remember most of what was said. But...it was important and interesting!

.

After four homerathons, I have learned to come very prepared. After having spent my first, freshman year, cold, hungry, and in pain, I now bring a change of warmer clothing, a good amount of food, and drugs (among other things such as a sun-hat and cough-drops). It is a testament to the weather lately that I did not have to change into my warmer clothes (jeans and a t-shirt and a sweatshirt) until about two in the morning. When I did emerge from the bathroom after changing, the girl waiting said, "oo! comfy clothes!" This puzzled and somewhat amused me. To me, these were the sadly necessary, non-comfy clothes. My idea of 'comfy clothes' includes the sun-dress out of which I had just changed. Jeans are not comfortable. They do not allow for movement. They are not twirly, and do not blow in the wind. Long skirts/sundresses are all of these. And they are also pretty! If jeans were comfortable, I would have worn them in the first place. Why dress up for a homerathon?

.

I do not believe, and never have believed, that there is a single way in which all people should dress. I have never been an advocate for all girls wearing dresses and skirts. I do believe that people should wear what is comfortable to them (within reasonable limits, without scandal to those around them, of course). I feel most myself, most comfortable, in dresses and skirts. I understand that this is not true for many women, and that is fine.

.

That night, we talked a lot about proper clothes for different times, and what clothes say about a person or situation. But I think we forgot to even think about comfort, and what that says. I think that while we were right in thinking that what a person wears influences them (I do not recall what led to this, or how to rightly explain this idea), but we also forgot to talk about how what a person wears reveals them. If all people wore what they found comfortable, you would likely be able to tell much about a person. It is an interesting thought, anyway. I shall likely think more on it.

.

Blessings on your travels,

Emily

Moments in time

"I love having you stay here - you're so fun."

As Nicole says this and hugs me goodnight, my heart melts and the frustrations that had built up this evening don't seem so important. Semi-nannying for a ten year-old is mostly easy: she is pretty self-sufficient, and my job mostly consists of making sure she eats dinner and goes to bed at a reasonable hour. Sometimes, though, it can be difficult. Tonight, she wasn't hungry, and I was exhausted (having danced for four nights and three days straight). My patience was at its limit, toward the 'you know, I don't even care' end. I finally got her to eat some scrambled eggs and a cup-o-noodles. *cringe* Being a traditionalist, I hate that that could be considered a 'dinner.' By that point it was nine-thirty. I told her she could relax for an hour, then lights out at ten-thirty. Ten-thirty hits, and she has ten minutes left in the movie she was watching, so I let her finish, then said, 'okay, bedtime.' But she asks to call her mom to say goodnight, and of course I have to let her. She talks to her mom for about fifteen minutes, then asks if she can take a bath. Sometimes I have trouble getting her to take a shower or bath, so I say all right - somewhat frustrated at how late it's getting, but also glad that this one was voluntary. Twenty minutes in the bath - it is now eleven-fifteen. Then she disappears into the other bathroom. I think she is changing, brushing out her hair, &c. Fifteen minutes. "Nicole, what are you doing in there?" She opens the door, holding a bottle of mouthwash and her mouth full. I nearly roll my eyes. Now I know she is just begging for more time awake, she just doesn't want to go to bed. This is the child who regularly complains about having to brush her teeth. "Bed time. It's really late." She apologizes, says she 'wanted her teeth to feel good.' As the daughter of a dental assistant, I have the immediate supportive reaction to that, but again, I am frustrated that she is stalling. I'm tired - I barely slept this weekend, and I need to go to bed as well! (although, as you can see, I haven't yet...) I've almost snapped. She asks if it's okay with me that she has music on at night (she has taken to sleeping with her radio on. I understand - I went through that phase when I was about her age, too.) and I say yes, but it is a bit loud, and maybe she could turn it down some. And then the hug, and those dear words: "I love having you stay here - you're so fun."

I feel in a tricky position sometimes. I am technically in charge when her mom is gone, but she calls and appeals to her mom a lot. I will say "bed at ten." Mom will drop by around nine forty-five and tell me that she's going to let her read until ten-thirty. I say bed at ten, and then she still has to brush her teeth, call mom, take a bath. I know I need to talk to her, explain to her that bed at ten means taking care of these things before ten, but it is so hard, especially when she says something like, "I love having you stay here - you're so fun."

It is moments like that, a short moment in time, a moment in the middle of all of the frustration and exhaustion, that make me glad that I took this position, that makes it so that I love staying here, too.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Mixed Emotions on Two Subjects

It snowed yesterday, with more in the forecast. Probably warming up to mid-sixties by the weekend, though! On one hand, I'm happy, since I missed the best winter that we have had in goodness knows how long. (well, the weathermen and statisticians probably know, but that is beside the point.) On the other hand, however, it is June, and there really should not be snow in June.

I visited my library yesterday - the one in which I grew up, learned to read, learned to love reading, checked out so many books at a time I could barely carry them all, &c. This summer they started an adult summer reading program. I have not been in a summer reading program in a really long time. Even a 'goodness knows how long' time, with no caveat this time, since my librarian (Wilma, whom I love and who was the one who got me into reading and encouraged me and gave me more books than I could carry) said they do not have records of past years. The deal is that if you read three books between June first and August thirty-first, you get a two-for-one entrance coupon to the Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture. Which is pretty great, really. So Wilma got me to sign up. Here is my mixed emotions on the subject:
On the one hand (let us say, my left hand), I feel sort of silly signing up for it. I read anyway. I read lots and lots and lots. I sort of feel like this type of program is to encourage those who do not usually read to read a bit. On the other (right) hand, I feel somewhat slighted. See, my first book on the list will be Crime and Punishment - I am currently about one hundred pages from the end. The next one will be Nicholas and Alexandra - again, about eight hundred pages. Most people, I am sure, will be reading short books with little content for the same prize. And, on top of that, I will be finishing all in June, as I am flying back to California on July second. I hope that I will finish in time to actually use the coupon to the museum.
I like reading.