thank you for visiting...

...but please visit the new site; emilysparkles.com! There you will find NEW posts and --wait for it-- EVERY post within this site is over there, too!

See you there! :)

Shoes, Camera, ACTION.

I have the most amazing best friend in the world. Not only is she a tried & true friend, and also the best at making me laugh, but she is a line-pushing, mind-blowing artist. Who is this lady? Keelia Paulsen, the genius (and sweat, blood, and tears) behind Khenri. (All of a sudden I'm kind of a big deal, huh?)

Alright, clean the drool off of your keyboards (we all drool when staring at fashion, it's okay.)

So Khenri has been getting press weekly for at LEAST a couple of months now. To keep the momentum going, and thanks to the brilliance of videographer and Paulsen pal Robert Whicker, a promotional video for Khenri was conceived! Staying true to her DeMo roots, Keelia recruited clients and twitter friends (and me..or did I recruit myself? hmm...) to be the models for this video. Of course I was on board, and this past Sunday afternoon we all convened at the undeniably gorgeous Halo Salon for le shoot!

The lovely models (Macy, Meghan, Ariel, Nicole, and yours truly) all donned are basic black dresses and gasped in awe at the treasure chest of Khenri footwear that Keelia had brought for the occasion. (Besides the Khenris we already owned and brought ourselves. I have 9 pairs total. Not to brag or anything.) Once the camera started rolling, we were ON. Ideas were shot around, shoes were changed and changed again (seriously, talk about the royal treatment!), and the fun never stopped. It was actually as good of a balance of professionalism and fun as I have seen, ever.

From Halo we went on to the unbelievably beautiful Salisbury House, and then onward to our beloved East Village. (FYI, and this is from the girl who sprints in heels, but walking the stairs up to the top of the Historical Building in this weather? Yeah.) After one last shot in one of our city's many charming alleyways, we headed back to HQ at Halo for champagne and Twilight Dark Godiva chocolate. (Said chocolate is in no way affiliated with the series that should not be named.) (If it were I wouldn't eat it.)

Macy, Meghan, Ariel, Nicole -- you girls are lovely and it was SO much fun working with you. Nicole; VERY glad the iPhone is okay. ;)
Robert -- I hope you are as proud of your work as you should be; I had high expectations and you blew them clear away. You have a phenomenal eye and the skill to make it work.
and Keelia -- suck my sparkle. WHAT!! ((you surprise me every day with your creativity and your drive for life; you are the most balanced person i know {fact}, and you make me want to be a better person, too. I am so so proud of you, and very blessed to call you friend. I love you!))

AND NOW!! the video :)

Khenri-Final from Robert Whicker on Vimeo.

Rock & Runway Model Search!

Tonight was the first annual Pulse 99.5 model search for our up and coming Rock & Runway fashion show! The word had been spread on-air, on facebook, on twitter, and on the lips of many of DeMo's finest; the turn out proved it! The models-in-waiting started pulling up to Fox Creek Center early, setting the tone for one heckuva fun night!

As hoped for, a wide variety of ages and looks were represented by the brave Pulse listeners who showed up to strut their stuff on our runway. After handing in their paperwork, getting their measurements and a head shot taken, the auditonees waited for the action to begin.

In charge of the event was our Rock & Runway choreographer and model recruiter Karena Steir. And when Karena is in the room, nothing less than high energy will do! The models did a few trial runs on the runway before the real auditions began.

Once the auditions were officially underway, the Pulse music started pumping (everything from Family Force Five to Skillet) and the models got going. First they worked the runway commercial style, and by the end the ladies and gents were bringing the fun by singing along, throwing out dance moves, and even high kicking to beat the band. The next round was editorial, and although much more serious, the auditionees kept the energy high by powerfully working that runway and smiling and laughing while waiting their turn.

After the try outs were done, the models talked amongst themselves and I had a chance to chat and share in the fun with a few. Overheard were things that make me, as part of the Rock & Runway committee, melt inside; "I don't even care if I get picked, that was FUN!" I even got a lesson in moonwalking from one of the girls who - you guessed it - moonwalked on the runway. Awesome.

A huge thank you to everyone who helped make the model auditions happen! If you tried out: be proud; you're beautiful, courageous, and fun! And for those who are part of the Rock & Runway process; let's keep the momentum going! This show is going to be LEGENDARY! :)

Jehovah Jireh :: my provider

Rolling, verdant countryside does indeed exist. Even in West Des Moines, Iowa. Gently sloping hills dusted with waving trees; inhabited by blue and gold swallows and any number of other aviary companions providing a sweet soundtrack to the peaceful view. The raucous summer skyline shimmering overhead is never boring.
This is the view when I step outside of my new office.
This is but one part of the blessing of this new career.

I’m in sales; terrifying yet not. When I look at it from one perspective I see myself as accomplishing quite close to nothing thus far. (It’s my second day if you’re wondering.) When I look at it from that painful, twisted angle of objectivity to self… I’m kind of proud. Or at least satisfied. Multiple phone calls have been made and one sponsor for an upcoming event secured. This is GREAT… but I’ve never been one to focus on what I’m doing RIGHT. *sigh*

Some ponderings:
I am amazed at how so far the grand majority of the calls I have made have been received positively. The calls may not have resulted in dollars (yet) but the people themselves are still wonderful. God is absolutely giving me the fortitude to face strangers in this way. To ask them for donations; of time, money, and open ears. It’s quite scary. But with His help, by leaving it in His hands… so far, so GRAND. 

{{SIDEBAR}}
I’m at Mars Café right now. The people are diversity defined… and man, people are BEAUTIFUL. All of them. Wow.
{{end sidebar}}

A dear friend and mentor told me that she thought this job was going to change my life. Not just because of new skills or the increased earning potential, but in a wholistic way. I think she may be right…

Since I started writing this post over a week ago, God has been pretty in my face about just how much He cares about my life/me. How much He cares about EVERY detail. Examples to follow:

• Computers. Of course we think we cannot live without them. For the past four years I’ve been using an hp notebook that has gotten the job done, Windows Vista and all. Well, a year ago it crashed like a boat on dry land after virus overload but thanks to Geek Squad it was fine again. Lately she’s been acting up. My virus protection just expired and since the majority of my internet usage is done from coffee shop public wifi, I suppose that could be an issue. I’d finally warmed up to the idea of becoming a Mac, but due to ridiculous financial constraints, just threw a Mac book on the wish list in my mind. Cut to Tuesday. Sales meeting, staff meeting, and then the boss requested a one-on-one. Mundane, yes? NO. He hands me a powerbook G4. (these terms still mean nothing to me by the way.) “Here you go.” That was it. I hope I thanked him adequately, but frankly I was dumbstruck. Perhaps a better computer was a bigger deal than I realized, perhaps God just likes to give; regardless of why, new computer? DONE.

• Cell phone. Yep; another form of technology that we cannot live without. Especially as someone in sales, who is juggling quite a few eggs in that one cellular basket. Especially as someone whose boyfriend is out of state for the week. My Pre had been acting up lately, as most technology that dares to be close to me inevitably does. Last Tuesday night as I drove to VBS at Freedom for Youth the phone DIED. I’m not talking about a dead battery. I’m talking about it being physically impossible to turn it back on again for a multitude of reasons. I panicked, naturally. But went to VBS and loved those kids and had fun nonetheless. Afterwards, at 8 pm or so, jumped in that car and drove off to the nearest Best Buy (wdm location—they are AWESOME) to put that priceless Black Tie Protection to use. Long story short, had to send the Pre off and snag a loaner phone. Long story short, I had $130 in cash to my name. THAT WAS IT. The loaner phone fee, as I learned after they set it up, as I learned after 9pm when the store technically closes, comes to $159 after tax. I explained my situation, decided that somehow I’d make life work sans phone… and then the clerks and manager simply over-rode the price (as it’s refunded in the end anyway) so that the loaner phone total came to $129.42. HOLY CRAP. God is good.

• Now, if you are still reading this, I love you. Also, you may have noticed that I just spent all abut 68 cents on a phone. I was now BROKE. (not counting my pile of debt, of course.) It was Tuesday night. Payday was Friday…. Thursday at the very soonest. I was low on gas. Low on everything, really. Crap. I drove home from Best Buy praying fervently; tearfully; a mixture of ecstatic gratitude for God’s provision and numbing fear over being without monitary means. The answer came clearly and immediately, although it took me a few hours to accept it. “Wait through Wednesday.” I was offered money that night by someone quite sweet, and was torn over accepting it. **See below for my philosophy on why we must accept help. But still the Voice said, “Wait through Wednesday.” Cut to Wednesday morning… and my boss coming in with my first paycheck.

Jehovah Jireh; my provider!!

**From my devotional today, that freaked me out in an awesome way and also convicted me to finish writing this post:

Excerpt from My Utmost for His Highest/Oswald Chambers; “The Habit of Wealth.”

“…the first habit to form is the habit of realizing the provision God has made. ‘Oh, I can’t afford it,’ we say – one of the worst lies is tucked up in that phrase. It is ungovernably bad taste to talk about money in the natural domain, and so it is spiritually, and yet we talk as if our Heavenly Father had cut us off with a shilling! We think it a sign of real modesty to say at the end of a day – ‘Oh, well, I have just got through, but it has been a severe tussle.’ And all the Almighty God is ours in Lord Jesus! And He will tax the last grain of sand and the remotest star to bless us if we will obey Him. What does it matter if external circumstances are hard? Why should they not be! If we give way to self-pity and indulge in the luxury of misery, we banish God’s riches from our own lives and hinder others from entering into His provision. No sin is worse than the sin of self-pity, because it obliterates God and puts self-interest on the throne. It opens our mouths to spit out murmurings and our lives become craving spiritual sponges, there is nothing lovely or generous about them.”

This song.... & today.

Again {Flyleaf}

I love the way that your heart breaks
with every injustice and deadly fate
Praying it all be new
and living like it all depends on you

Here you are down on your knees again
trying to find air to breathe again
And only surrender will help you now
I love you please see and believe again

I love that you’re never satisfied
with face value wisdom and happy lies
you take what they say and go back and cry
you’re so close to me that you nearly died

Here you are down on your knees again
trying to find air to breathe again
And only surrender will help you now
I love you please see and believe again

they don’t have to understand you
be still
wait and know I understand you
be still
be still

Here you are down on your knees again
trying to find air to breathe again
Only surrender will help you now
The floodgates are breaking
they're pouring out

Here you are down on your knees
trying to find air to breathe
right where I want you to be again
i love you please see and believe again

Here you are down on your knees again
trying to find air to breathe again
Right where I want you to be again
See and believe!

Joyful Uncertainty

From My Utmost for His Highest:

“We are not uncertain of God, but uncertain of what He is going to do next.
If we are only certain in our beliefs, we get dignified and severe and have the ban of finality about our views; but when we are rightly related to God,
life is full of spontaneous, joyful uncertainty and expectancy.” (emphasis mine)

I have a new job. I have been looking for a new job for months. Actively. Utilizing connections; creating connections! I was not alone; one of my dearest friends and coworkers was in the same boat. This job hunt, while devastating, drew us closer together. A blessing. Together we would pray for the search, proofread and even rewrite cover letters, send emails full of potential future jobs. Three of the number of our “allies” left during these months for their new careers. Were it not for this friend, and her Godly influence (peppered heavily with snarky understanding,) I would have been much more desperate; not “joyful” in my uncertainty; not expectant. Like most trying periods of life, I am very grateful that I was forced to the decision of whether I would rely more heavily on God or if I would abandon myself to my own meager resources. And that I chose the former.

The old job was full of corruption. I wish I could say I rose above it, but far too often I gave in to the atmosphere and returned cattiness with cattiness; game for game. I did not stoop to deceit. But the longer I remained the harder it was for me to *love* those who were having affairs, abusing substances, and lying habitually. I judged them. I made less and less of an effort to be a light. Often during my search I wondered if God was punishing me for this behavior… that common tit-for-tat picture of The Almighty being allowed room to roam.

Somewhere, I wish I could pinpoint the moment… although I know I wavered from time to time… but the moment when I gave in. Instead of praying for this or that job application to be noticed and get results, I began to pray “Lord, if you want me to stay here, I will.” That’s it. And I began to relax. “Be Still” is a command that I have to remind myself of quite often when it comes to the relationship with Him. It’s not a suggestion; it is a command. It is perhaps one of the best to test if you doubt His desire to grant you what is best for you. In this case, it brought peace. It brought the ability to fulfill my job’s expectations beyond just getting by. It brought freedom to experience that “joyful uncertainty and expectancy!”

The changes began to bleed outside of the work life; perhaps it has something to do with the work life not mattering so much? I began exercising again, but less strictly. I began eating better. I began seeking out time spent with friends on weeknights instead of a routine of isolation at home. There has got to be some connection.

I knew that taking better care of me would result in feeling better about me; that was no shocker.

What I had forgotten was how letting people in can transform your life. Yes, it complicates it. However, it’s still easier to carry a one-ton load with assistance than it is to carry a quarter-ton load alone. Or something like that. :)

Entering into situations without presuming to know what the outcome will be has never been my strength. Tell me the upcoming event and I will plan out at least 2 possible outcomes. The more time I have to plan the more long term I will go with possible consequences, be they good or bad. The more connections/reasons I will draw. The more I will raise either my fears or my hopes.

The new job I have, while in a different form of broadcasting, is in broadcasting still. From the moment I had an interview my mind went to the hopeful route of “so THIS is why I’ve been working in broadcasting these 2 years!” Thankfully I had friends to keep me grounded without dashing my hopes. Thankfully during the strange delays of the process, I’d let people in enough to begin to listen when they said I have more to offer than I believe.
Thankfully God gave me this job for HIS reasons and not my own.

These days I feel differently than I have for the past few months.
Some days, I feel like George Costanza; I will do the exact opposite of everything I feel I should and somehow things just work out.
Some days, I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Some days, I’m just plain *happy*.
Some days, I can’t even think in one single stream of consciousness for the wonder of Christ overwhelms me.
Some days, I’m terrified and doubt myself on every front.
And some days… some days I just GET it... that life is taken one step at a time, regardless of the future steps I lay out mentally.
And that He always gives me “just enough light for the step I’m on.”

Getting Lazy

Why yes it HAS been a long time since I have blogged. {punching myself in the face.}

To catch up on things in the easiest (read: laziest) way possible, here are some things I've seen and enjoyed over the past month... {in no particular order.}

Tip: more fun if you click on the links!

1. 40 baby geese. Or goslings, if you want to be pretentious.

2. A moonlit bike trail, a forest whipping by, and friends completing the ambiance.

3. Productivity and dedication that gets results.

4. The power of He who answers prayers.

5. New beginnings; new careers.

6. The Power of Love.

7. The Good Samaritan; two off-duty Ankeny police officers changing my flat tire on the side of 235.

8. A package of peanut butter m&m's on the seat of a car.

9. God's timing. This number deserves an entry all to it's self... hopefully quite soon. :)

10. Tony Stark.

Hmmmm.... Tony Stark.... Oh! Sorry. Well; this is a meager attempt at an update.
Truth be told, so very very much has happened... and sometimes, especially when matters of the heart and matters requiring professional discretion are involved, it's just not possible to share all that I dearly wish I could.

The Taylor Swift Experience

So last night my friend and I went to the Taylor Swift concert. I didn't even know she was in town until yesterday afternoon when a co-worker who had tickets she could no longer use gave them to us. "Why the heck not?" we decided. We opted for a couple of drinks and talk-time at a local brewery instead of the two opening acts (Kellie Pickler and Gloriana?). I still stand by that decision. As we walked into Wells Fargo Arena, the ticket woman enthusiastically told us "Taylor's just about to take the stage! Congratulations, you didn't miss anything!"

Boy was she right. Here's what I tweeted during the concert:

Just arrived at Taylor Swift, & I must say this chick knows how to target her demo! Hilarious & adorable.

I cannot understand a word taylor swift sings. Also want to shave her head. Her choreography = hair flipping. Yikes.

Ok, I'm sensing a connection. Taylor Swift distracts you from her off-key singing w/ an average of 28 hair flips per minute.

Taylor Swift also likes to take 20 minute breaks between songs to hug fans. At this point I wouldn't be surprised if a live unicorn shows up

Oh snap! T. Swift is covering a Justin Timberlake song! (the attempts @ dancing must be seen to be believed.)

32 hair flips in her last song. THIRTY TWO! I counted them, Ms. Swift. Are you even conscious right now?!

We have glitter guitar!! (i confess I envy her that.) fun facts: ben stiller & richie sambora's twins are her back up guitarists.

HEART SHAPED CONFETTI & THE PIERCING SHRIEKS OF THOUSANDS OF 8 YR OLD GIRLS!! #TaylorSwift

Staged catfight between Taylor & backup. Involving drums disguised as pipes & hair flipping. THIS IS REAL PEOPLE!

Thank you for letting me share the Taylor Swift Experience with you, twitter. I couldn't have made it w/out you.

So, basically the ingredients of a Taylor Swift concert are thus:

*1,000,000 hair flips. Must be full-on, bend at the waist and snap it back.
*A personal story with a moral between songs.
*A minutes long break between songs to hug audience members and ignore the cameras shoved in your face.
*Several awkward attempts at strutting.
*Rhinestones. Rhinestones. Rhinestones upon rhinestones.
*One inaccurate representation of the Shakesperean period.
*One long, dramatic pause to stare at the sea of waving glow sticks wherein you waver between batting away tears and laughing like a child.
*Several jam-alongs with extra creepy back up musicians, both male and female.

Snarkiness aside, I'll do my best to give Miss Swift her due.
She and her team know their target demographic, and cater to them perfectly. (I see a career in advertising in her future!)
Encouraging girls to play guitar and piano rather than, oh, I don't know.. Party in the USA? Amen.
And whether her awestruck appreciation of her fans is authentic or feigned isn't for me to say; I just know from the faces of the kids around me that they dug it. And humility is always a beautiful thing to see and lesson to learn.

Drip, Drip, Drop.

The spring rain has abated for the time being, leaving a small, clear pool of water amongst the grass and clover. A single square walkway step's corner juts into its center. From the eaves above, where the adjacent porch's corners meet, drips the draining rainwater. One constant drip hits just northwest of the stone corner. Another drip intermittently lands on the stone itself; occasionally joined by a third droplet.
Like three elongated fingers of an aquatic pianist, the drips beat a cadence; a sure rhythm.
The song of spring rain; the heartbeat of the flora; so recently refreshed and encouraged, as always, to grow.

Confused.

How much more broken can I be?
I shudder to utter that sentence; it's an open invitation to worsened circumstances.

I'm broken and drained;
Won't you fill me up?
(Yes.)
I'm stuck in this rut;
Won't you move me?
(Yes.)
I am draining my pride, my trust in myself;
Won't you use me?
(Yes.)

I'm doubting and scared.
I'm hopeful and thrilled.
My heart is in a constant state of breaking:
The pity and pain of what I see 8-5;
The beauty I see every time I look outside.
The fears of old that never cease to torment;
The joy in the smiles of the lives I've met.

Call me Bitter Sweet;
a mind divided.
A lady in waiting,
a mystery to myself.
Ever shifting: smiles to tears; frowns to laughter.
Clinging to the One consistency,
Ecstatic in His presence through the chaos of all other circumstances.

I asked for this Broken Heart;
and there it lays; cracked open like an egg.
The necessary operation taking place.
The poison draining;
the antidote pouring in.

Urban Tutoring / First Day

So, clearly this post is going to be about my first night of tutoring. And, being the word vomitter that I am, I feel the need to indulge in background information.

The program I am tutoring with is called Whiz Kids, and it's one of many awesome aspects of Des Moines' own Freedom for Youth Ministries. I first heard of this organization from one of my Bible Study leaders a couple of weeks ago, but trust me -- this place is something you have to SEE to appreciate. (So go see, locals!) My Bible study group went there to prepare and serve dinner to the teen boy group last Tuesday. That experience was fun, and while I got to talk to a few of the kids and volunteers, I mostly bonded with my fellow study groupers. We did get to take a tour and see the campus, though. And afterwards one of the directors gave us some leaflets just to give us more tangible info. I opened up the pamphlet and saw they had a tutoring program. And I knew, at that moment, that I had to get involved.

I've been looking for an organization to tutor with for a while now. It's harder than you'd think, unfortunately. I even signed up for and started the preliminary process to tutor with another local organization... but mysteriously have yet to hear back from them...
Anyway, I told the director how I was interested in getting involved and she gave me the name and number of who to call. I called the next day and spoke with the woman in charge of the Whiz Kids program... and she was fantastic. And told me they had one girl left on the waiting list. And at THAT moment I definitely knew I had to do this.

And I was terrified. I do love helping others... but my modus operandi is spontaneity. I see a need and meet it, move on to the next one. Because, you see, when you are a spontaneous volunteer, you're still allowed to be selfish. Because you can be selective. Because you aren't really committed. I absolutely agree that we should be an ever present state of awareness when it comes to our surroundings; we should actively look for needs that we can meet and then follow through. But when we take that next step, to finding a cause, finding a permanent need, and committing to it; that's a whole 'nother world.

Yesterday I woke up, packed my stuff in my brother's car (after about half a pot of coffee, which really, should go without saying.) I then sat cramped in my brother's Ford Focus (we brought home a weight set circa 1970 with us) for the next 5 hours or so. I'd slept on a broken futon at my dad's for 3 nights, I was tired and achey. The coordinator at FfY knew I might not be able to make it. The entire trip home I was torn between going to the tutoring night or not. But in the back of my mind... I knew I would go. Tired or not. Achey or not. Sneezing or not. It was the right thing to do.

As I pulled into FfY, I entertained a group of kids as I tried to squeeze into a parking place. As I walk in and catch the coordinator's eye, she's telling that same group of kids - and one girl in particular - that the new tutor was here. They all laughed good naturedly, telling her how they saw me in the parking lot. And then slightly more formal introductions were made, and a basic lay out of what the evening would entail.

We sit. We talk. We put together what we agree is the easiest Bob the Builder puzzle ever made, and obviously we are both too old for it anyway. (She's 11.) She stands close to me like I'm already her family while we go through the dinner line. I mention how I'll not be eating my share of mac 'n cheese as I'm lactose intolerant. She says she can't eat it either. (True? Too soon to tell!) :)

Kids Bible lesson time; I chat with another tutor. Kids game time; I laugh and cheer them on. Breakaway for study time; Myself, my tutee, her younger sister, and her sister's tutor all head to the art building to decorate our folders and do some 'get to know you' worksheets.

My tutee speaks three languages; French, Swahili, and English. She likes math the best. She likes to read and draw. She likes Family Guy and dolphins. She moved to America when she was 6. She lives in an apartment with her 3 siblings, 2 cousins, Uncle, and Aunt. We're going to work on spelling and reading. I suspect she's eager for approval.
She never wants to go back to Tanzania, and is baffled that I'd ask. "That's where you get killed. That's where you get killed if you go back or leave or stay. The men with their big guns...no," she matter-of-factly says in her beautiful accent.

All too soon it's 7pm; time to go home. Her sister and she join up with the group they walked over with to walk home. They point out my red car to me as we exit the building. They smile and wave. Smile and wave again. As I'm waiting to turn my car onto MLK to start the drive home, the group is in the parking lot across the street standing; watching; smiling; waving.

Tutoring at Freedom for Youth is the right thing to do.

numbers.

Dyscalculia is defined as a “genetically-linked learning disability which affects a person's ability to understand, remember, or manipulate numbers or number facts.” (wikipedia…I know, sad source choice.) I was recently urged to learn more about this disorder by a good friend who wondered if my lifelong issues with math were caused by it. After scouring some websites, I was numb. My feelings can best be described as equal parts terrified, ashamed, and comforted. Imagine, growing up being told how bright you were, how intellectually superior even you were, “except…for math.” Imagine staring at your bank statement and your bills and literally not seeing any connections. Imagine being half-mocked for your sensitivity to loud noises and bright lights and never, ever realizing that had anything to do with anything and then finding this one disorder that encompasses it all. It was extraordinary. I’m still processing it, to be honest.

The basic premise of the disorder did get me to thinking, though. Essentially for someone with dyscalculia, numbers have no value. And frankly, I think we could all learn a lesson from that. Following are examples to explain my meaning…

Bank account. Salary. Credit limit. The number of years old your vehicle is. The number of dollars your house cost to build. I could harp on the evils of consumerism and greed. The sorrowful side effects of materialism. The tragedy of letting the bottom line blind you to the beauty of a blooming flower. I could even go into the all too real presence of disparities between the classes. The corruption at every level of society; EVERY level of society, the world round. But I don’t think it’s necessary. We all know these things are a sad mess. Furthermore, I do not feel qualified. As a member of this dysfunctional society, as a girl who literally cannot balance a check book or even see the point in it… well, I’m part of the problem in a way. By paying my bills late, I’m somehow hurting everyone.

Followers. “Friends.” In grade school it wasn’t so much how many friends one had as *who* those friends were. Popular or not; A-group or not. Whatever you called it. Ageing doesn’t change that too much, but somewhere along the line for all of us the amount of friends DID start to matter. Now more so than ever, thanks to facebook and twitter. Who cares if you have hundreds of spambots following you; it’s the amount that counts. What difference does it make if you friend every student at your State University as long as you appear to know them all. Back in college, if I saw someone on facebook had 800 friends, I was impressed. Legitimately impressed. Now I’m impressed by those who have fewer than one hundred. Even more so by those who have deleted their accounts. (Depending on motivations, of course.) More and more I wish that we/I could value friendship for what it is supposed to be; for quality instead of quantity (of course).

Weight. Numbers on a scale. Numbers in your jean and dress sizes. Numbers listed under the heading “Nutrition Facts.” Now here are the only numbers I can get behind; the only numbers I can understand and calculate. The numbers that haunt me and very nearly killed me. For that reason I do not own a scale. This decision was recently confirmed for me after a standard visit to the thyroid doctor. Weight is always taken. For the first time in months I saw those numbers. That digital dance as they climbed ever upwards. If only I had the willpower to look away from them. But no. I saw the verdict; and the loophole in my calculating deficiency sprang into action. 43 pounds heavier than I was five years ago. 43. That’s the kind of weight-number society applauds people for losing. That’s the kind of weight number that is qualifiedly significant. I don’t know if we’ve met in person or not. When people describe my physical appearance (granted, few actually know of my EDO past), they use adjectives like “tiny, skinny, so little.” Now do you see why I cringe at those descriptors? In my mind, I am decidedly NOT tiny. A person who is walking around with 43 pounds more body than they have carried and survived with in the past cannot possibly be tiny. I don’t care if I’m still in a size Small. I don’t care that my weight may seem higher than I look due to my low body fat/ lean muscle mass. Because when I see those Numbers on that scale; it takes every ounce of strength I have, every drop of Faith, to NOT register my value as a life form accordingly.

So.

Instead of thinking about the amount of money I make or don’t make, it’s time that I use what I do have wisely. That I find a way to conform to the rules of paying bills.
Instead of thinking about the number of people I know, be them acquaintances or “big names,” it’s time that I appreciate them fully consistently.
Instead of thinking about the number on a scale or inside a waistband, it’s time I think about the number of dance moves I’ve learned and can execute with my now healthy heart and body.

I physically cannot comprehend the way numbers work mathematically without a little more effort than the everyman. And given the ways numbers sadden me, as illustrated above, I’m finding this to be a strength.

Spring Awakening...

i don't know why spring is so amazing. but i do know that it is. i also know that every sentence i type after this one is highly unlikely to be original. but i want to type them anyway.

during the winter months, i despise being outside. my bones shiver at the merest hint of a draft let indoors. if i do spend time out of doors, my lungs are tortured; the menacing cold air greedily leaps into my lungs, constricting them, burning them, pounding on my ribcage with steely fingers, leaving a trail of crystallized, foggy evidence as it escapes. my fingers and toes deceive me; going numb so passively only to burst into flames at the slightest touch of water indoors. each step outside requires effort; navigating around piles of snow and slabs of ice. even our vehicles protest the conditions...

but then comes spring. without warning; always without warning. one day is all it takes. one moment. once she has decided to return; she will. spring comes to us gently; often on a Chinook. there may be a snow shower or two after her arrival, but she merely smiles and shakes her head at Jack Frost. she's already incubating the earth in her bosom; she is strong and will prevail. her arrival is heralded by the birds first; you see something flitting in the corner of your eye; was that telephone line always so crowded? and then it's as if someone has removed cotton balls from your ears; chirping, singing, and even a squawk or two have replaced the winter soundtrack of muffled breezes. i've heard it said that the Robin is the official bearer of spring; i believe it's so. i imagine the Robin so loved her that she stretched out her finger and lightly traced his breast; ever-warming his heart to give it that brilliant red hue.

in spring nature beckons us to connect with her. the trees are awakened; their veins tingling with life. place your hand on a tree trunk and feel the movement within. the soft earth longs to be tread upon by bare feet once again. the mud squishing through your toes; the growing grass offering itself as a handy towel. the sound of water running is rampant; floods may come, but the earth's capacity to drink it in is never-ending. and should we be surprised? who isn't dehydrated after a long winter's nap?

the sun is warmer. the sun is closer. the sun says hello.

even the wind is in a better mood; blowing a satiated warm breath upon us once again.

annually i welcome spring; annually spring welcomes me.

Genesis 1: 11 ‑ 12

Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation: seed‑bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds." And it was so. The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.

"Creative Writer" Blogger Award !!

What's this? I've won a blogger award? Yay me! {pardon the self-centered congratulations. it is my first 'win', though.} Well, here are the rules :

1. Thank the person who gave this to you. {merci beaucoup, monsieur boudreau freret! i am honored.}

2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.

3. Link to the person who nominated you. {although it is unlikely you haven't read booger's writing; in the off-chance that you've missed out, it is high time to rectify.}

4. Tell up to six outrageous lies about yourself, and at least one outrageous truth - or - switch it around and tell six outrageous truths and one outrageous lie.

5. Nominate seven "Creative Writers" who might have fun coming up with outrageous lies, or who have outrageous truths to share.

6. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate.

7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know you nominated them.


Now for the challenge - see if you can spot the true from the false:

7. I have an extra bone in each foot. My Uncle Rick, a.k.a. "the rich one", is a podiatrist and discovered this whilst I was still fairly young. It wasn't until my later years, when dancing became a passion of mine, that I was informed the placement of these extra bones are precisely where seasoned Ballerinas form calcium deposits in order to hold that en pointe position. Essentially; I was born to be a dancer.

6. My surname is made-up. As in, belongs in the same category as that symbol Prince used to be "called." My paternal great-grandmother got her hands on some book (imagine numerology on cocaine...ok, quit imagining it now. you've had enough.) and decided that our forefathers had no business going by "Allen." "Cleigh" is much, much more ... lucky?

5. I am a descendant of the House of Stewart. (what? you don't know who they are? shame on you!) Some notables from this line: Mary, Queen of Scots, James VI/I, and me.

4. I once fell down a mountain. I was a young one, 15 years of age and on a missions trip in the Badlands of South Dakota (so called for a reason, clearly!). A group of us climbed said mountain; enjoyed the view; realized an approaching thunderstorm was a bit too close for comfort; and then began our descent. My scrawny legs couldn't support the weight of my skull (or something) and about 2/3 of the way down, gravity took over and my speedy clamber turned into a tumble through the air (oo! flying!) followed by a glamorous landing where my chest took the brunt and my dust-filling eyes were greeted by the sight of my own heels as my legs flew over my head and my feet touched the ground. Ouch.

3. I have a twin brother, Jordan. He is more commonly known as Korean, however. Not because of ethnicity. But because of T9 texting. It seems that more people find the need to type the word "korean" than "jordan." (I wonder how Michael Jordan feels about that?) Regardless, this is his new name. He lives in a town called Prairie City. In a small house. Which has obviously been dubbed! The Little House on the Prairie. Although we hated each other off and on growing up, he's now one of my best friends. Even though I call him Korean of the Little House on the Prairie.

2. My mother predicted my career choice before I was able to read. (Writer and illustrator of Children's books.) I was a bibliophile before I was even born. Once I was out in the world and could finally hold the books myself, they were my toy of choice. For hours on end I would tenderly hold a picture book in my hands and just stare at the illustrations. I would create a story for each individual page's artwork; talking for hours, creating a plot. I fought my mum's prediction all through my formative years...and then one day in college...accepted it.

1. My nickname in college was Snow White. (No, NOT because I'm freakishly pale.) We had an over-population of squirrels on-campus. 3 kinds of squirrels, actually: Red Squirrels, Gray Squirrels, and Melanistic Squirrels. Anyway, the squirrels seemed to sense my animal-loving-nature. One of them would come and sit atop my foot, and many of them would stop on the sidewalk and let me pet them. When I transferred to UNI, the name stuck, as the chipmunks abiding there would come sit next to me on the ledge outside my dorm room whenever I took my smoke breaks.

I'll give you lovelies a hint...one lie, six truths. And now to pass the torch...

Keelia Paulsen

Lindsie Blair

Kevin Atteridg

Daniel Hay

Amber GCS

Wendy Sparrow

Kipp Paulsen

cheers!

Unsensical Dreams Make the Most Sense of All

It was a lovely summer day. Not one of those hot, late-summer muggy days. Just warm enough so that the forest was one melting pot of sensory headiness; golden green sunlight filtering through the leaves, a warm breeze that lingered to cuddle me as I progress, fragrant earth and tree bark. Trails wind throughout the woods like a maze, close at some points so that you can high-five your fellow forest-dwellers, distant at others so that their laughter is all you can hear. Purple star shaped flowers blooming; baby's breath in its natural habitat.

Up ahead and to my right the tall trees widen, showing me another path of their own accord. Far along this path I spy lumpy gray lifeforms, laying desolate. I steer my purple bicycle their way. On closer inspection these lumps are sleeping jellyfish/octopi hybrids. Mildly disturbing. But just beyond the clearing continues; just beyond in the clearing is a multitude of white-tail deer! Bucks of all stages, docile does, and frolicking spotted fawns. The misplaced lumps are dismissed as I eagerly but quietly pedal my way amongst the deer.

The deer are most friendly; they patiently approach me, nuzzling and licking my outstretched palm. The fawns even cuddle in to my hugs just like my dog at home. Delighted! To my right is a brick abode; partially built into the ground with outdoor wooden staircases connecting all the levels. A bustle of activity. Hobbits water the multi-colored flowers in the window boxes while peasant folk set out crusty loaves of bread and pitchers of beer on picnic tables for industrial workers. A pleasant hum is created by the living.

Past the hostel I ride my bike, towards a tall, white stucco mansion built where the woods grow thicker. Noise of a different sort is coming from this place. I dismount, take a few steps. Hear a thundering, yet familiar voice from inside: "WHO'S BEEN PETTIN' MY DEER?!"
Uh oh.

I beat a retreat to the brick hostel, winding my way through all the various inhabitants, trying to find a place to hide. In my minds eye I accurately see the mansion-dweller hunting me, shotgun in the air. It's my step-father! I know he is harmless; a little off-his-rocker, certainly, but incapable of hurting anyone, much less me. Yet still I am compelled to flee. I reach the end of the hostel, and dart my eyes around trying to find a good spot to hide. "Stay there!" says a voice; I turn my head to my left to see the source. It's Matt Damon. In fully-armed Bourne mode. "I'll take care of this." He reassures me. "But! My bike! My purple bike!" I yell after him as he lopes past me towards the open ground in front of the brick building. I sit and wait. But not for long.

Yelling draws me into the open. Damon is running towards me, my bicycle hoisted in the air in one hand, his hand gun in the other. Effortlessly he tosses the bike to me, I take it and jump on it in one swift movement. Ray is hot on his heels, shotgun waving in the air. "NO ONE TOUCHES MY DEEERRRRRRRRRR!!" Matt Damon pivots; gun pointed at Ray. "She's your step-daughter Ray! You know that her weakness is cutesy wootsy animals!" Cut to Ray. He's laughing, good-naturedly. "I can't believe you bought this!" He says to Damon as he shoots a stream of water out of the neon-colored super soaker he's suddenly been holding the whole time in place of a shotgun. Enter my mom, dish towel in hand. She flings it over her shoulder, "Son, stop being so serious." (Matt Damon is my brother.) "Emily, go play with your pets." I'm already on my way back to the midst of the deer pack. "Ray, clean up for supper."

End on the busy brick hostel, still full of its incongruous inhabitants, now joined by my still more improbable family. Picnic tables are brought out, bedecked in red checkered cloths and full of heaping bowls of potato salad and cookies. Laughter and birdsong and sunshine.

the journey ends. {scotland archives}

This was the coldest morning yet. Of course we didn't realize this in our castle suite, but once we loaded up the car to get ready to go we knew. Unfortunate, as this was the day we had slated for viewing two castles on the coast. Sea breezes? More like arctic gale winds! The two castles we saw were Dirleton and Tantallon. Dirleton had some intricate gardens, it was very pretty. I'd like to call it charming, but that seems wrong some how. Tantallon was formidable. This bad boy juts out right over the sea. Standing on the top felt like daring death; the winds were so strong it was not hard to imagine being blown off and dashed on the sea-battered rocks below...The worst the wind managed to do was steal the breath from my lungs and knock me around a bit, thankfully. I reckon that castle was a bit more cozy when all the walls were still up.

As we drove back to Edinburgh, warming up in our little rental car, I had an Irn-Bru soda to drink. It's "Scotland's own fizzy drink." Not bad, it kind of grows on you. It's orange, but tastes more like carbonated Hi-C than typical orange pop. We stopped in the town of Haddington for lunch and also to mail some post cards. Thankfully the postal employees were friendly and dealt with our ignorance to their postal system graciously:) As to lunch, I totally was digging the soup du jour with crusty bread combination. It's a restaurant staple, and oh-so-good. We ended up heading over the Firth to stay at a hotel in Dumferline (the peacock town) as most of Edinburgh's were booked for the night. We stayed at another Holiday Inn, situated across the street from an ASDA and a Homebase (think Home Depot) and I had to smile as it reminded me of our own mega-store match-ups back home. For dinner we ate at a Mexican restaurant, just to see their conception of it. It was actually realllllly delicious. I had tequila-shrimp fajitas. Yum. As per usual, we got lost trying to find our way back to the hotel.

* * *

We got on our hotel early today, our final full day in my ancestral land. We stayed at the Quality Inn right by the airport, which was a fantastic choice since we had to be at the airport by 7a.m. the next morning! This accommodation was secured at the Dumferline Holiday Inn before we even checked out. (I love how we get on top of the hotel thing by the last day only.)

We decided to spend the last day in my personal favorite place; the Edinburgh city centre. There was some sort of Easter food fest lining one of the major streets, which was a bit too crowded to explore much. We did get some nice things at the shops of the centre though, including, of course, Starbucks bevvies. We went to Subway for lunch, just to test the UK vs. USA version. USA came out on top. Though UK scored points for almost automatically putting lettuce, tomato, and cucumber on the sandwiches (what all restaurants refer to as "salad" by the way.) That saves time during ordering. We lunched in the Princes Street Gardens, where they were busily preparing for a BIG Easter play, including live animals. We actually overheard a woman asking a man if he'd seen her donkey. Thankfully, I suppose, he had. We went back to our hotel for the rest of the day, where we decided to have "tea time," including shortbread (Scotland's famous for it--and for good reason). We pretty much just chilled in the hotel for the rest of the afternoon and evening, watching TV, reading, taking advantage of free internet. We even ate dinner there (gross).

Afterwards, I went out for a smoke and a tall, skinny guy came out to bum one off of me. He was French. He asked if the hotel sold cigarettes. I said no. (Less than an hour later, Jordan pointed out a cigarette vending machine in the lobby...oops!) Awkward silence ensued...but he broke it nicely by saying thanks before returning to the hotel.The twilight was gorgeous that night; just one streak of light over a hill in the distance...so peaceful. Even with the airport so nearby. That night we watched a presumably popular British show "Ants and Decs Saturday Night Take Away" which is really, really funny. Then Jordan decided we should get some room service dessert. Now, I don't like waffles. I don't know why; I just am not a fan. UNLESS they are the Edinburgh Airport Quality Inn's "warm belgium waffles with vanilla ice cream and maple syrup." WOW...such a warm, cakey, syrupy, carmelized waffle, with a scoop of premium vanilla ice cream...garnished with a small tomato (because of it's gold, papery leaves) and a strawberry (perfect palate cleanser)...Literally delicious beyond any expectations. Yum. After finishing that bad boy, I pretty much passed out into a sugar coma/sleep for the night. Which was good anyway, since I'd have to get up early for the next day's flight.

(and thus ends the re-posting and archiving of my past Scotland excursion. thanks for revisiting with me!)

meandering down memory lane {scotland archives}

It's Thursday by now. All of the historic sites are closed on Thursdays, so we have a "free" day of sorts. We drove down and admired the HolyRood part of town, and then headed up the street, which led us back to the Royal Mile.

Our Starbucks that morning brought us in contact with an American fellow, one of the baristas there. For some reason after finding out we were from Minnesota (Dad lives there) he was surprised we didn't have "Fargo" accents. Which I can do pretty well, which therefore meant I had to do so for him. Apparently it was delightfully funny (dontcha know) to all the 'bucks patrons that morning.

We found a pretty legit kilt shop, although the salesman must've seen my brother coming a "royal" mile away; the kid bought a COMPLETE highland ensemble in our family plaid, which of course is stunning, but a bit costly in my eyes. (Though who am I kidding? If Scots women wore such traditional garb I would've bought every piece and then some!)

Next we went to an art gallery, which was smaller than some that I've been to, but rich in what it contained: including, but not limited to, works by Degas, Monet, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Raphael, Rembrandt...breathtaking!!

We lunched at this joint called The Wee Windaes. Not bad. Since things were mostly closed down, we decided to go to our hotel for the night; we'd booked the room the night before. Tonight's abode? The Hotel Castle Melville. That's right; Castle. It's situated in the country, down a long lane. Surrounded by some open ground, edged by deep woods. Melodious birdsong completes the magic. We got a suite for the night; and truly felt the royal treatment. The door opens and we see a hall, complete with chandelier. The bathroom featured a jacuzzi tub and bidet and also an assortment of herbal soaps and shampoos. Two spacious bedrooms. A giant living/dining area, with a large flat-screen TV. Ah, the good life! Not to mention the amazing views of nature and the large fountain on the back lawn.

We drove into town for dinner, and afterwards decided to step into a store called LiDL, as we'd seen them everywhere. It's just like our ALDI's stores (though they have those, too) except all the packaging is in German. Upon arriving back at our castle, I decided to have a cigarette while the guys went up to the room. There was a wedding party at the hotel, and one of the attendants was out smoking as well; a charming Scotswoman whom I chatted with. She told me all about her niece who is a med student at the University of Edinburgh, I guess her way of relating to me as I said I was a university student. The creepy part was that I had had a dream of the exact same scenario a few weeks before this actually occurred...not the first time I've dreamed realities, but incredibly eery nonetheless. After I affirmed that I loved Scotland, she told me that her favorite vacation had been to Florida, despite an annoying lay-over in Boston. The best part was how she matter-of-factly assumed I had been to both places, though of course I haven't.

The rest of the night was spent reading books, exploring the grounds, and watching Britain's version of Thursday night comedy night TV. Did you know they can drop the F-bomb on the telly? Because they can; and they DO.
(only a few days left to read about...coming soon! meanwhile: a hilariously lame video from the trip.)

in which even i grow weary of seeing .... everywhere. {scotland archives}

Waking up in Edinburgh again...heaven.

Dad and I enjoyed some coffee in the breakfast room at the hotel before Jordan decided to wake up. There was also an English family in the room. One of the little girls actually asked her dad for "beans and toast!" (A common breakfast food there; they REALLY like baked beans apparently. They also sell ready-to-eat, pre-packaged pancakes and waffles right next to their bread.)

After check-out, we all started to walk towards town; our destination: Edinburgh Castle. We hadn't gone far before Jordan realized he'd left his tourist pass in the car, so while he and I went back for it, Dad decided to "stay." Except he wandered off. Yet another significant portion of the day spent lost...oy vey. After grabbing some breakfast at (where else) Starbucks, we apparently decided to take the long way to the castle....(lost again)...

Once we got to the castle, we discovered that it's more "in use" than any of the others. There were a bunch of military offices and whatnot. And countless military type museums. Kinda boring to my tastes. This castle also has a lot of buildings all nestled inside of it's walls, probably because it's the best preserved. Including a building which holds ---the Crown Jewels!!!! Gorgeous. Seriously. Wow. Too bad no photos were allowed...

After leaving the castle (which was quite overrun w/ American tourists. Who do they think they are, anyway?! oh wait...) we went shopping on Princes Street. They have some Scots-only stores, but also Gap, H&M, and McDonalds. We then left Edinburgh again to go to Craigmillar castle...which, after 3 hours of driving around we finally found just before closing-time. It was very pretty; very picturesque! It had gorgeous, twisting trees growing in it's entry-hall, which added a lovely fairy-tale element to it all.

There were also attack pigeons here. We were in a darker part of the castle (no indoor lighting, of course) and I heard a man's yell...it didn't sound like either Jordan or Dad, and as I turned around I saw Jordan leaping backwards away from a dark corner. I honestly thought there was some creeper-man over there yelling at him! Quickly Jordan explained that something had flown violently at his face, and in a barely a second the guilty pigeon came towards my head like a fluttering missile!! It was intense. And hilarious. Other castle patrons were laughing with us even...or was it AT us? :)

After this misadventure, we headed back to Edinburgh for the night. We stayed at the Holiday Inn Express by the sea port. Located across the way a bit was a large building, which turned out to be a mall. It wasn't very busy, but was a noble attempt at recreating the quintessential shopping experience. Of course I bought clothes. But not too much.
We ate at a restaurant in the mall, one of many, and don't let their location fool you; these are high-class joints. Super swank. They had a movie theatre in the mall, too, which we didn't patronize, but did observe that their stunning new releases were "Juno"! And some other movie from months ago! That's a bit sad, actually. Back to the hotel for a night cap. I also must mention that genuine, single-malt Scotch whisky is strong. Sinus-clearing strong. Yet still undeniably superior. Jack Daniels? Never again. (well...not this week anyway.)

in which castles are visited {Scottish archiving continues.}

We made it to Glasgow; a city located on the other side of the country yet only 40 miles away. Sigh.

First impression: "WHAT is that smell?!" Stank. The city seems MUCH more modern, based on a drive-through look-see. It's a bit of a contrast to Edinburgh (the city that clearly has stolen my heart; the very air that one breathes there is just better, fresher; delicious, delightful...I love it). We stopped at a Woolworth's store to use the facilities...Disgusting. Gross. So, we left that part of town. Glasgow is also confusing to navigate. We ended up taking a driving tour of it, and decided that at least for the day we'd escape from it into the country instead. It seems to be a dirty city..."Trainspotting" anyone?

After much driving around (we're talking hours here), we finally found a Travelodge out in the country to stay at. It was next to a Burger King, so we went there for dinner. (Horrible, right?) The portions there are MUCH smaller. Shocking yet not really. Also, the Scottish Brogue is noticeably thicker in the country. Music to mine ears.

The next morning we set off for Sterling to see the sights. The castle is incredible!! Definitely a must-see. It was there that we got tourist passes so we could get into all the historic sights for one flat fee. This castle was truly magnificent. Straight out of a fairy tale. The chapel was truly sacred; clean golden wood, sunlight filtering in through the stained-glass windows. Tapestries hanging. The kitchens were enhanced by life-size figures acting out typical medieval kitchen duties. Actually quite creepy. One inner courtyard used to be the home to a long-ago resident's pet lion. Clothing was on display from ages gone by in another room. Walking the castle walls is a must. The view of the surrounding countryside is breathtaking; little white dots representing flocks of sheep; the Wallace Monument a short distance away. A modern elementary school. Oh, and most importantly, that castle was the favorite of the Stewart dynasty (you know, my blue-blood predecessors).



Next to the castle there was a spooky, OLD cemetery. Graves older than the United States itself, crammed in next to each other, stones almost black, overgrown with moss. Broken down statuary, haunting even in the bright light of midday. Scummy ponds and a partially burnt out cathedral.

We then went to Dunblane to see the cathedral, which is talked up a bit more than it deserves...not to mention the extensive construction going on within the church, but that's pretty common for Scotland it seemed. Necessary to preserve the old buildings and all that. The only lunch place we found that day was McDonald's, but before you judge, let it be known that the UK McD's is far superior to our own. Different menu items even! (Cadbury Egg McFlurry?!) We headed over to a "superstore" so Jordan could score some British TV-on-DVD that isn't available state-side, and I bought a pair of black tights...which requires a confession/explanation...For some reason virtually 2/3 of all Scottish females that I saw on any given day were wearing denim mini-skirts over black tights. Pretty sure the denim mini/black legging trend was done over here, but it was too prevalent and too funny for me not to desire to repeat the trend for the sake of completing my Scottish experience.

After this consumerist break, we headed to Duone Castle, which is the site of the "French Siege" scene near the beginning of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" !!It wasn't that much of a castle, in that most of it has fallen over the years. But that campy movie memorabilia made it totally worthwhile. Of COURSE my brother and I reenacted scenes for a too-good-to-be-passed up photo shoot.

Dollar Glen and Castle Campbell next. This one required a treacherous drive down a very narrow and long road, followed by a definitive trek to reach it. The curator at this place was extremely chatty..it took some mad skills to get away from him and actually view it. The journey was worth it; the views from this place were incredible! It was very ruinous, because the Campbells who owned it had been attacked. Many times. During the UK civil war following the regicide in which Oliver Cromwell took over, the Campbells kept switching their loyalties, and people got pissed. (That history lesson was free you're welcome).

I convinced the fam to head back to Edinburgh for the night, and we drove through Dumfrenlin (totally butchered the spelling). As we passed a parking lot in the middle of town we saw a peacock just strutting along. Photo opp! Then we drove over the Firth of Forth (a big bay-like body of water) and entered my beloved city once again. We got rooms at their Travelodge, which was just down the street from our first night's hotel. My room (thank goodness I had my own) was swank. Gorgeous, giant window with a fantastic view of the city in the distance and a green and blooming little park just below...sigh. We walked into the city centre for dinner that night and ate at this lovely little authentic mom-and-pop Italian place. SO good. Between that and the (indeed superior) Brit chocolate, I pretty much felt like I'd die from sensory overload. Thus ended the third day.

fear and sharing in des moines

Not so very long ago I declared myself a criminal for not sharing my works more often. I've taken steps towards rectification of that valid charge, and I'm glad.

A good friend invited me to join an online journal of sorts, which I did. On my first day as a member of this site I pulled a classic "you are a writer just DO this" move. I sat at my desk, staring at the blank "publish a story" screen. And then I let my fingers do the talking, and typed a story. I didn't edit it. I didn't re-read before posting. I just wrote. It was short, but from the heart. It felt good.

I've also been re-publishing (with a few minor edits) my travelogue from my trip to Scotland on this blog. These posts are dear to me, and I apologize to anyone who finds reminiscences of a 2 year old vacation tedious. You don't have to read them, of course. But for me, it's how I remember that amazing experience. I wrote those posts originally in a beat-up notebook. Sometimes in an airport or on-board a plane. Sometimes in the back of the rental car. Oftentimes in my hotel room before calling it a night. And I'm glad I did that. By reading those posts, imperfect as they may be, I can chuckle at what struck my 22-yr-old self as worth noting, and be reminded of other parts of the trip that I neglected to write down. I am transported back to my favorite city in the world; to my homeland. And as I'm distancing myself from facebook, I think they belong here now.

Skip back a paragraph and remember the website I referred to as having recently joined. I just--mere moments ago--posted the first couple of pages from my biggest work in progress; a child's story, a fairytale. I just emailed my best friend about it:
"i just shared part of the children's story i've been working on off & on for 3 years on fictionaut and now want to throw up."

She kindly replied:
"WHY?!?!?!"

To which I said this, which is basically what I am trying to say in this blog anyway:

"because it's like my secret. it's my work in progress. it's my baby; my masterpiece. not b/c it's going to amount to anything outside of my head and my heart, but b/c it means so much to me.

i wrote the story originally on church bulletins at Sioux City. weeks' worth. i lost those, but the storyline stuck with me.

and then i got the complete set of Hans Christian Andersen's works, and i was so MOVED by the way he wrote, i just knew i had to re-write that story again.

everything about it matters to me. aside from the main characters name, each character has a name that is some form of flora that's meaning fits their character description. i mean, i've got problems with it. the way the story has developed (it's like 20 pages long by now, which isn't THAT long, but stil) doesn't match up w/ the intro. but still. it's my baby...and by sharing it...i am VULNERABLE."

In summary... I'm taking action. I'm facing fears. I'm growing. Cheers!

a day in the life of an edinbugger {from the archives}

Dad woke us up around 8 am, although the seagulls had done a pretty fair job at that already...why do they sound like dying?
We woke up and find that our room's shower was broken. Not good. So, I quickly pull on some jeans, throw a bit of mascara on and head up to breakfast. Continental breakfasts there aren't quite the same as here, but not too different. We sat in an dining room, which was nicer than your average "hotel" in that this establishment had once been a single-family home.
After breakfast, the hoteliers gave us another room to shower in, which I quickly claimed first rights to. I grabbed my stuff and headed down to it, only to find that in order to get the thing turned on I had to press a switch on the wall of the bedroom...{that only took 20 minutes to figure out...oh, European adventures!} Needless to say, we decided one night at the Piries Hotel was enough.
That settled, we set off on foot to explore the city. First stop, of course, being Starbucks (yes, they really are everywhere) to fuel up on coffee sweetened w/ unnatural aspartame--artificial sweeteners are hard to find, and these sensitive teeth of mine can't handle the real stuff. Starbucks became my American Embassy. Anyway, we made our way through the city, and seemingly intuitively wound up at Edinburgh Castle. A castle, situated in the center of your city, atop a high hill. One of the reasons Edinburgh is my favorite city.

We decided not to see the interior of the Castle just yet, and satisfied ourselves with the outer part; great views of the city, tons of monuments, and of course the iconic red phone booths. We stepped down the hill into a kilt manufacturing business, where I got a MacDonald of Clan Ranald tartan scarf (that's the clan my dad's descended from). Beautiful!

By this point it was lunchtime, so we headed across the Royal Mile (street name) to "The Scotch Whisky Experience" --come now, you know this girl would end up there straight away--and went to their Amber Cafe for some food. Once again, the food was phenomenal!! Out of this world. America; take note. Jordan got the haggis (Traditional food of Scotland; wiki definition: There are many recipes, most of which have in common the following ingredients: sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally boiled in the animal's stomach for approximately three hours.) I tried my fair share, and seriously, folks---it's REALLY good. Melt-in-your-mouth, savoury...don't knock it 'till you've tried it!
As we left the establishment, across the street we saw a man in "Braveheart" attire--blue face paint, swords, and all! He was delightfully friendly, posing for photos. Later we discovered he's a an authentic celeb, having done work as Mel Gibson's double, as well as in other films including "Pirates of the Caribbean 2." Nice!
We then walked back towards the hotel through Prince's Street Gardens, which line the main drag below the Castle. It was gorgeous, full of monuments--including Robert Louis Stevenson's grave (he wrote "Robinson Crusoe"), which is encircled by slender white birch trees, and reads "RLS, a man of letters." The park was also filled with hundreds of bright yellow daffodils in full bloom, their papery blossoms contrasting warmly with the bright green grass.

Although the sun had been filtering generously through the clouds overhead, it was cold enough to get the teeth chattering, so we hit up another 'Bucks before piling into our car for the next leg of the journey. Dad got a parking ticket--the first of 3 over the course of our week. Good job. We decided to head to Glasgow next, but Dad declared the need to make a toilet-stop (not called restrooms there. just toilet.) The first place we found is on the western edge of Edinburgh, and was a large store called ASDA, which on closer inspection, is in fact owned by Wal-Mart, and is indeed very similar to it, only nicer and w/ "nappies" instead of "diapers" on the aisle content board.
We wisely decided to stock up on some produce, water, and chocolate before hitting the road. Will British chocolate be superior to American? I've heard tell it is...Meanwhile, we entered into the countryside where the beauty of the landscape could only be hampered by the nausea-inducing driving of my dad. Though everyone drives crazy here. CRAZY. And not just b/c they're on the other side of the road; that I can handle. (Also; Edinburgh bus drivers are homicidal. Just take a journey there and try not to get hit by one; it's not easy.)

--more to come...one must finish what one starts, non?

Beauty Before My Eyes

Leaving another seemingly pointless day at the office. 4:55pm. Winding through the office parking lot; turning right onto SE Convenience Blvd; inevitably pulling up to a red stoplight at the Orlabor intersection.

My windshield is dirty. Speckled with thrown-up slush from the roadways. A general dusty sheen inhibiting my view. My left hand automatically presses in on the turn signal wand, sending a smattering of blue fluid across the windshield. Some stubborn ice is blocking the left-side fluid spout. Press the wand in again to try and do a better job cleaning.

The light is still red.

One streak, directly in my line of sight, is eternally missed by the wiper. As usual, it is the one part of my windshield that is still wet.

One streak that my mind has long-since adjusted to seeing past.
One streak that wouldn’t be ignored this afternoon.

My eyes are focused straight ahead; will the light forever be red?

What’s this?

Before my very eyes, in the very center of the streak, the liquid fluid forms an icy flower. A perfect poinsettia, the size of a quarter.
In less than a breath, from either side of the bloom, shoot out arms of leaves; perfect intertwined feathery vines appear and grow where before was only wiper fluid.

I watch them grow; spellbound. The best CG in a modern movie often tries to capture the wonder of something beautiful being created; coming alive! But here was I witnessing it. Like a rainbow, this organic, frosty artwork spreads across my windshield.
The green arrow appears, I accelerate, but still cannot look beyond the masterpiece in my line of vision.

By the time I reach the next stoplight, the late-afternoon sun briefly illuminates the wondrous creation and then it fades away.

Scotland, Part Deux {from the archives}

First night in Edinburgh....Our hotel is on a street (Coates Garden) of older, bay-windowed buildings, all connected town-house style. (This is pretty much true of all streets of housing in the parts of the nation that I saw.) The houses vary between hotels, flats, and empty buildings. The street is cobble-stone, which adds to the charm of it all. Clearly the building is kind of old, but with modern additions, like the fire-escape right outside the bay window of our room--we're below street level, floor zero. Oh, yes--and the stack of empty kegs adds to the lovely view as well, of course! Once we'd freshened up a bit, we hit the streets in our rental car. It wasn't but a moment before the first sign I'd love Edinburgh arrived: we were on the first street we'd turned off to, waiting in que at the inevitable round-about. The building next to us was a "Youth Hostel." Two guys were dancing about in the window, with more people to be made out behind them. One of the gents waves, so naturally I, being full of holiday spirit, wave back. Next thing I know, both guys are engaged in waving, dancing, basically putting on a show for the city in general and myself in particular. The latter young man decides to drop trou and moon us, showing off a bright green shamrock freshly inked on his exposed arse! ((WHY didn't I snap a picture?!)) As traffic begins to move forward, the entertaining boy-men proceed to mime "call me," placing the international(?) hand-phone to their faces. Full of laughter, I blew them a kiss, which they abundantly returned--mutualizing our window-fling, and off our car went! We drove around the city a bit, Dad getting used to the whole right-side of the car driving in the left lane and myself snapping photos of any and everything around town. A different chap gives me the "naughty, naughty" finger-wave after I snap one of an old clock...?? Finally, we park the car nearer to the city centre to find a place to eat. We settle on "Old Fellows Pub." The food was insanely delicious; super rich smoked salmon on a bed of greens that still tasted refreshingly of earth...mmm:) The atmosphere was quite interesting, as music videos were playing loudly from a few telly screens; mostly American videos circa ten years or more ago...interesting. So many people walked by the window near our table, and as we strolled about the streets a bit after dinner, we met even more faces. There is a variety, but also my first glimpse of what the average Edinburgh citizen looks like. However, at that time of the first night I was so wiped out from travelling across countless time zones that we headed back to the hotel soon, where I promptly fell into a deep sleep...at 7:30 pm...:)

from the archives: my scotland experience

Saturday the 15th was departure day.
The flight didn't leave until 10 pm, however--that is one long day of anticipation. A few hours pre-flight, Dad checked out the prices for leaving a car at the airport's car-park for 8 days; exorbitant! We decided to call a cab.

7 pm; the "taxi" arrives--it's a swanky, black Cadillac with tinted windows...the driver is dressed in a suit...he takes and loads our luggage, opens our doors; now that's luxury. Though the enchantment faded a bit when he began talking nothing but real estate on the drive there...but at least his Eastern European accent was quite musical.:) Starting the trip with such VIP treatment was great, and surely a good omen. Even my realizing, once through airport security, that I had forgotten to pack even one hair-tie couldn't ruin that. ((Thank goodness airports are now mall-riffic, selling any and everything in their stores! Hair crisis averted.))
After feasting on chocolate-flavored skittles (which are atrocious, by the by) and watching the clock tick-tock, came the boarding call. This early-to-bed broad was ready to pass out by that time. I'm sure my near-overdose of Dramamine was also partially to blame...

The flight itself went surprisingly well. As anybody who knows me knows, I was pretty much in a constant state of flight-anxiety in the weeks preceding. I slept for most of it, but woke up and enjoyed some airplane food and the movie "Juno" before landing in Amsterdam. After landing and navigating our way through the massive Schipol Airport, we landed in the lower level near our gate. The security checkpoint was manned by the most bored people I have ever seen. The waiting area (D6L) smelled like piss. Literally. The walls were small-tiled lime green, dingy gray floors, crappy black chairs...but still. It's Europe!! Hooray! My family and I were pretty much the only people in our area, but rushing through the upper level earlier, I could see so many faces, notice so many shoes, hear so many various tongues...
Jordan decided Europe has a lot less attractive people than he had expected. I affirmed that there were many sour-faced expressions, which didn't help the pretty-points, but I had to remind him that we *were* in an airport--not the happiest of places, and certainly not all of a continent's worth of people (attractive or otherwise).

The Second Flight: Amsterdam to Edinburgh.
We were shuttled out to our plane on a bus; quite a drive actually. Two Scotsmen sat to my immediate right (first contact with the destination!) and one of my pessimistic predictions was fulfilled--I was straining to understand their thick brogues probably 2/3rds of the time. Best to accept the fact that one's genetic heritage does not equal the ability to speak (or hear) like a local. *sigh*
We left the shuttle and were on the cold, wet, windy tarmac. We actually climbed stairs directly into the aircraft, salvaging some of the glamor of a European vacation by reminding me of plane-boarding in movies. We then proceeded to taxi along some maze of runways to the one we would actually lift off from. We crossed over a large highway of sorts, and it looked very much like our own (of course?) Then we went over a canal, which was starkly carved out and amazingly straight; as were the trees in their row on either side of it. Finally, take-off! The majority of the passengers clapped their hands once we left the ground; another movie moment for sure. I was quite literally in the clouds then, looking out my window at the wing and the jet-engine and the pure white inside of condensed precipitation.
(Stay tuned for Part 2: Actual Scottish experiences guaranteed!)