glitter makes everything better.

thank you for visiting...

2010-10-19T10:01:00.000-05:00

...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.

2010-07-15T19:44:00.000-05:00

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!

2010-07-06T22:07:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-05T12:19:00.001-05:00

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.

2010-06-18T01:12:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-16T09:54:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-02T16:42:00.001-05:00

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

2010-05-07T13:04:00.001-05:00

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.

2010-05-03T16:02:00.000-05:00

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.

2010-04-27T12:34:00.000-05:00

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

2010-04-06T12:05:00.000-05:00

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.

2010-04-02T21:42:00.000-05:00

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...

2010-03-18T13:10:00.000-05:00

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 !!

2010-03-05T13:27:00.000-06:00

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

2010-02-25T09:09:00.000-06:00

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}

2010-02-23T13:48:00.000-06:00

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}

2010-02-18T13:24:00.000-06:00

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}

2010-02-17T14:26:00.000-06:00

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.}

2010-02-16T11:03:00.000-06:00

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

2010-02-15T12:09:00.001-06:00

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}

2010-02-11T10:52:00.000-06:00

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

2010-02-07T17:15:00.000-06:00

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}

2010-02-05T15:20:00.001-06:00

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

2010-02-04T10:43:00.000-06:00

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!)

criminal

2010-02-03T15:16:00.000-06:00

the frequency of my writing is sporadic at best.
the frequency of my blogging, specifically.

when the muse strikes, i attack whatever available surface is nearest with the handiest writing utensil in sight; a computer and a keyboard, a notebook half-shoved under my bed and a marker, the back of a receipt and a pencil stub from my purse.

but it's time for the criminal confession: usually i keep my musings to myself.

almost daily i write something. sometimes it is a song. sometimes it is a story. sometimes it is more blog-style. but you do not see these. nobody does. criminal.

almost constantly i commit an even greater crime:
i hash the words out in my mind; waxing poetic, logically reasoning, weaving a tale. whatever the flavor of writing, the words flow faster and come together most cohesively cerebrally. and the crime is that i hoard these words in my mind alone, never sharing.

not that i am some reclusive, in-demand author. not that i have dozens of followers eager to read my ramblings.

but as a writer*, not sharing my words is criminal. it's selfish. it's cowardly. i'm going to make an effort to straighten up my act and put myself out there.

*why i consider myself a writer: yes, i am paid to do so. more importantly, though, is that stories come to me. that communicating with words, in prose, poetry, or nonfiction, is my natural state of being. writing = breathing.**

**however, writing does not equal sharing. which is why i am a criminal writer.

you should also know:

2010-01-15T14:06:00.000-06:00

there are several things about me that i CAN handle being made fun of:

my propensity to use. periods. to. make. a. point.

my eclectic taste in music.

my tendency to sing and spastic-ally dance on car rides.

my attempts at foreign accents.

my adoration of my dog.

my fascination with bird decor/artwork.

my ludicrous sense of humour.

my obsession with all things scottish (including myself, at times.)

my expansive knowledge of TV and movies.

and most importantly, i will always welcome fun being poked at my bookworm status.
especially should you ever be lucky enough to glimpse me reading a book aloud, doing all the voices (accents, too), as i pace my basement floor.

you should know:

2010-01-12T15:44:00.000-06:00

there are two things about me i cannot tolerate being belittled:

1. my faith.

2. my body.

you've been warned.

i'm sorry...

2010-01-12T13:33:00.000-06:00

...(to the general readership)...that my most recent posts are all so melancholy. however, brighter, more hilarious moments will come.

...(to someone specific)... that i can't be who you want me to be. that i can't feel what you want me to feel. that you caught me at a moment in life when too much was happening for me to take care. that i'm so hard to hold on to. that every song lyric convicts and confirms my decision. that i couldn't bear to talk to you last night.

it wasn't supposed to happen. i certainly didn't intend for it to. we were both caught by surprise; you with joy, me with anxiety. this was a miscommunication of grand proportions.

how can i explain my interpretation of why we started talking, when you don't even believe in the force that drove it?

how can i express how much it pains me to hurt you without leading you on?

how can i explain that this ...this *need* to share my beliefs is interwoven into the fabric of my being? that no, i can't prove what i believe with the scientific method, but that i don't need to? that people are constantly coming into and going out of my life...and that the common denominator is, 9 times out of 10, God? and that this matters to me. it means something to me. it is the purpose of my life.

i am afraid. i don't want to lose any opportunity. i don't trust myself. i don't know myself. i wish life were easier. i wish this was easier. i'm still learning how to navigate the unknown.

and frankly, i don't trust you. i don't trust that somebody who has rejected LOVE; the source of it, the definition of it, the essential Being of it; can give it. can know it. i don't trust that, and as any girl wants to hear those three words, i am moved by them. yet, i can't believe it. i do feel pained b/c i can't return it. to my regret, it's not even that i don't want to return it; i wish i did. i wish i could just dive in with reckless abandon and feel that. but i physically CAN'T.
maybe i'm being protected. which is a concept you wouldn't accept. maybe i'm incapable. that remains to be seen.

i cannot compromise on this. i'm sorry.

what dreams may come

2010-01-08T08:43:00.000-06:00

The interior of a large structure. Dark and wooden. Like the castle of Rohan. Everywhere, people. Extended family members. Celebrities. Friends from all life stages.

Nana: "Emily! Jordan! Your dad has a present for you!"
Shoving through the throngs, I made my way to a large Christmas tree. Beneath it was a box. In the box was a puppy. A small, merle-colored dachshund pup. Tiny, tiny. Fit in my hands. Yawning, stretching. Adorable. Love.

I wander through the wooden palace some more, the tiny puppy held tenderly but firmly in my arms for the remainder of the dream. The structure now resembles Des Moines' own 7 Flags Event Center; but still all built of deep, dark wood. There *is* an event taking place. I never can determine what it is, however.

I walk to the coat check. The coat check is a shower. I sit in the tub, fully clothed. Apollo Anton Ono and a female are ice skating before me. I pull the shower curtain closed, and peek out occasionally. They laugh at my shyness and ask me to tell them what tricks to skate. I do, but still take refuge behind the curtain. Someone turns the water on. I jump out of the tub, concerned for the little dog's well-being. my hair is dripping wet after half a second of watery contact.

I then notice someone has been sitting in a chair, observing me all the while. He seems upset. I seem to know why, yet want him to say it.
Me: "What's wrong? What is it?"
He merely shakes his head.
Me: "The male attention I receive doesn't mean anything, you know. You don't need to be jealous."
Him: "How can it mean nothing?"

Me: "If they meant it, they'd prove it."

love

2010-01-07T16:15:00.000-06:00

my friends. the sacrifices we make to help one another. the times we have together. the late night shenanigans and the morning after giggles.

my family. the forced close proximity. the 6th sense understanding-bond we've formed. the way we push those buttons, but really only to help one another grow.

my dog. her quirks. her cuddles. her undeserved faithfulness.

my eyes. the way i see the world. the images they capture (that -force- me to take a photo to share with others.) the way they look just like my grandmother's.

my nose. it is my heritage. an ever-present reminder of who i am and where i am from. yet also the bane of my existence.

my body. what it has been through. what it is capable of.

books. cameras. coffee. chewing gum. chocolate. glitter. birds. fanciness. elegance. color. Him.

love.

oh, father time...

2009-10-03T17:44:00.000-05:00

it's been awhile since my last post. hopefully my 3 followers can forgive me ;)

so much has happened since the last post. ie: be prepared for a post of disjointed statements, observations, etc.

i had an epic fight with my best friend. words are not enough, for the words that were said. i must daily remind myself that actions were also taken. behaviors were persistent. i wasn't necessarily in the wrong. yet...it still hurts. up and down, back and forth...will we ever be true friends again? my heart breaks. my eyes instantly moisturize. WHY. sigh.

there were two guys i was interested in. both christians--a dream-come-true? well, perhaps, but not MY dream. within one week, if i recall correctly, i discovered that what had seemed like such obvious flirting was not. that i had misinterpreted, that my friends had misinterpreted, so many signals. that just as i was ready to speak up, i was spoken to. and the words from both men were the same. "i love her." and i, of course, was not the "her" of whom they spoke. is this my role in life? the confidante. the 'elaine' (only i don't even get the benefit of having been considered dateable in the past.) i felt stupid. i felt ashamed. i felt so so many bad things towards myself. inside i was screaming at the world..."i'm tired of this! i'm tired of being the girl on the sidelines; the girl you always pass by! i'm so much more, i can be so much more, all you have to do is say so. that's it. one word, and i will love you wholeheartedly. i have so much to give; so much to offer. you have NO idea how much i have to offer; spiritually, intellectually, emotionally, and physically." i was enraged. i was furious. i was torn up. heartbroken. but i was still there for them. because whatever i'm not, one thing i AM, is a good. friend.

i have a number for a case i opened with the local police department. i have a case registered w/ the organization wired safety. for i had a cyber-stalker. ridiculous in this day and age, no? (sarcasm.) it was disturbing. but i will be okay. i only hope the other victims, of which i definitely know of one; will be as well.

i participated in the local 48 hour film festival. i helped write one film for a team, and helped do everything (acting included) for another. it was so much fun. i saw my face on the big screen, in an actual theater. i am really happy about that. :)

i need a new job. i need more money. but i'm terrified to act. i don't have any sense of direction. or do i? muddled mind. should i go back to school? (grad school). for counseling. hmm.

i miss travelling. i miss being mid-air; flying through the sky, dancing with the clouds and seeing teh world as the forefathers never imagined we could. i miss the anonymity of being a stranger in a strange land. i miss the new discoveries. the food. the faces. the sounds, smells, and sights. i miss the privacy of my own hotel room. i miss the luxury of letting go and seeing what happened. i miss the freedom of the traveller's schedule. i miss everything about travelling. i miss edinburgh. i miss auckland. i miss sterling. i miss wannaka. i miss it all. i miss portland, even. i miss the twin cities, even. i. miss. the world...

i have learned how to do the cha-cha. i have learned how to samba. i love to dance.

i am stronger. yet more vulnerable. but in an okay way, i think...

manic monday

2009-07-27T15:42:00.001-05:00

nobody would begrudge me, that much is clear. then again, is that the only reason one should go? it should never be about what other people are okay with. not about their personal opinion of you. although, if they are people who would be affected by your decision, and you do care about them quite deeply, maybe it should matter. but now that circumstance doesn't matter. because i know now--i KNOW now, they wouldn't begrudge me.

breath.

where would i go?
who would i go with?
why now? how do i know? where do i look? WHAT DO I DO!?!?!?!?!

i need to learn to trust in SO many areas of my life right now...and maybe moving to a new place, all by myself, would help that. or maybe it would hurt it.

i need direction. desperately.

last day in new zealand + my day in L.A.

2009-07-19T12:40:00.000-05:00

The free upgrade to execuitve suites was DIVINE. sleeping in a king-size bed is probably always lovely. but particularly so when it's your last night in a foreign country. the large, glass-doored shower was also quite heavenly, considering the unmissable lack of shower doors/curtains i had been encountering on my vacation. as i finished putting on my make-up, dad came over to my room so we could make plans for the day. we'd already decided to go on a harbor cruise, the issue was which and when. considering the rain, we opted for the harbour-tour instead of one which would require walking about at a destination. given the time, 130pm was our boat.

we breakfasted on some instant oatmeal we had been given as samples a few days earlier then decided to check out, stash our bags, and hit esquire's for internet and coffee. this sufficed to kill time for a while...but not much over an hour. which left us with plenty of time to wander Auckland's streets. which we did. and it was cold. and rainy. and cold. and WINDY. and....cold. i. was. miserable. i almost talked dad out of the cruise (i'd had more than enough of cold water for the day) but helplessly realized there was nothing better to do. (our flight didn't leave until 930p, and we had no hotel to return to.) the cruise was actually nice ((as most things are, if you only let your mind accept it.)) very informative, with warm, indoor seating and a free treat. plus, i love boats. and the choppy bay water made for an exhilirating and bumpy ride!

afterwards while vaguely making our way back to the hotel we discovered a MALL(haha). so, being the good americans that we are, we explored it. we wound up eating sandwiches in the food court (KUDOS to us for avoiding all american chan eateries for the length of our holiday!) then discovered the kiwi wal-mart (the warehouse). then we journeyed back to hobson street to collect our bags and call a taxi to head for the airport.

i was desperate for an earlier flight. heartset on one. the entire concept of our massive flights + layovers had been causing anxiety for days. we get in line to check baggage and we discovered that there WAS an earlier plane to L.A. alas, we weren't able to transfer. i cried a little. i actually cried. it's not that i'm desperately homesick. it was just that once i know something has to be done, i want it done the best way possible...and the quickest way possible. i truly believe God wants me to understand and accept that i don't kinow what's best always. maybe even never. which sucks to admit...but, like the harbour cruise...doesn't actually suck at all. it's okay...i can just rest...and ENJOY life!

timing played a key issue in our L.A. day, too. our flight was late arriving (storms delayed our take-off from auckland and made for a seriously bumpy flight!) but it was okay. time was irrelevant. days were even irrelevant. we got our rental car and headed for the beach. finally got rockstar parking at santa monica beach, and seeing the ocean for the first time is just as cheesily amazing in real life as it is in the movies.

the sand was unbelievably soft beneath my feet!! and cool. it was a BEAUTIFUL day! 70 degrees or so. the sea breeze made all worries over smelling of a plane disappear. the atmosphere was indescribable! the joy of all present, the feeling of sand, water, and air...the three elements were MEANT to be together!

no one ever told me how when you're standing in the ocean, and the tide goes out, even a gentle one, the sand beneath your feet pulls out with it...it's a wondrous sensation.

we cruised around L.A. a bit more after (regretfully) leaving the beach. went to dad's hometown area of whittier. then it was time to return the rental car. we had JUST missed a shuttle and were waiting for the next one, along with a man who had tons of luggage. dad made a fun comment about his amount of luggage as we boareded the soon-arrived shuttle. the guy sat down next to me, and went on to explain how he was returning home to tokyo where his very pregnant wife and his son lived. he is from l.a. originally but now lives there with his wife and kids. it was amazing. i learned sooo much from this man. about his nieces even! he was so hyper, so friendly, so willing to talk!! it was so fun, thoroughly enjoyable conversation. and then after he got off the shuttle, our driver immediately began chatting with us also. about his 4 year old son, who was born with a leaky heart valve. it just brings chills to me even now...how timing can be so coordinated at times. how people just open up to other people for no real reason. how THAT is my way of being Jesus to the world...and that i'm blessed enough to experience those times.

quiet day

2009-07-10T00:51:00.000-05:00

we stayed in the mercure resort last night, in queenstown. place was LOUSY w/ snow bunnies!! all ages and descriptions. we tried hitting up the city centre after dinner at the hotel's restaurant, but there was absolutely no parking anywhere. even the illegal spots were taken! fail.

i had a sleep-in, as they say, this morning. then the dad and i went back into town, hit up the embassy, and did some shopping. we found the last thing on our "have to buy" list, just in time to get to the airport. we got some toasted sandwiches at the airport cafe, ham&cheese for dad, ham & pineapple for me, then settled in with coke zeroes and books to await our boarding time.
remember how i said kiwi airports are very do-it-yourself? further proof--the attendant had us scan our own tickets before hitting the tarmac to board the plane. hilarious.

mahad, the cab driver who took us to the airport from our auckland hotel, was there waiting for us when we de-planed. sweet. he's already agreed to take us back to the airport tomorrow evening when we say farewell to nz for good. convenient! we're staying in the same auckland hotel (auckland city hotel on hobson street, downtown). and baller bonus---free upgrade to execuite suites!! woooooooo!! king size bed, kitchenette, and most importantly, a shower with a door!!

we had 'lupper' at chargrill burgers & kebabs. dad's burger was absolutely HUGE. comically big. he did it justice, though. then more city wandering, b/c it felt like summer after the south island's cold temps.

tomorrow the agenda includes a ferry ride and parnell-district shopping before flying out at 930pm (auckland time).

cheers!

LOTR Day

2009-07-09T04:29:00.000-05:00

reasons why i'm okay w/ my "american accent" : {1} the coffee boy in wanaka this morning. i walk in and we each say "morning." hard to distinguish accent from that. then i order and he asks where i'm from (in an american accent of his own.) we chat. he was cute. it. was. FUN.

{2} our LOTR tour guide, bob (more on all that soon!), and my dad and i were talking about accents. he is from england, but his dad is a glaswegian. i said i didn't like my non-accent accent, and he disagreed. said my accent "is quite melodious, actually, i like the way your sentences go up on the end."

today was the LOTR big guided tour day. i really didn't know what to expect, to be honest. but if you get a chance to see where your favorite movie is shot, you take it. and i was NOT disappointed. so amazing!! i wish you all could experience it!! bob was our tourguide, already alluded to. he's 39, but so young at heart. his FT job is as a computer programmer, but this guy KNOWS lotr. he's hyper, but in a very friendly way. truly enjoyable. he picked dad and i up around 10am. the tour was executed flawlessly. w/in the van was a portable dvd player, w/ a special dvd cued up to the scenes (in order, of course) that we would be seeing the setting of. first stop was arrowtown. we saw some awesome scenes, of course, but also learned about the film's pre-and during-production fake name--"jamboree." apparently andy serkus almost didn't even apply for gollum/smeagol b/c the fake screenplay cover was so lame!! hahaha....

next was a treacherous road trip up to a river-view of where those giant king statues were. also learned a great story about orlando bloom/legolas. he was 17 when filming started. all actors had to sign agreements saying they would not participate in adrenaline sports while filming (nz is rampant w/ opportunities.) well, orlando did them all anyway. so they're filming the actors in the canoes going down the river. this river is fast and dangerous, esp around a bend. so, orlando tempts fate. and the boat goes under. and he plus 2 others almost were goners, but a nearby bungee-bridge's safety boat saved them. word.

we

day 2.2 through 4

2009-07-08T01:15:00.000-05:00

tame night. after getting caught and slaughtered in the rain, lying low sounded heavenly. "martian child" was on skymovies, so we watched that movie in dad's room - me, sitting in a chair practically plastered to the space heater. (good movie, by the way)

for dinner, we strolled down the street to a convenience store/kebab place. kebab joints proliferate Auckland's streets, so we were pretty much obligated to try their take on them. "NZ kebabs" aren't your expected meat & veg on a stick. rather, it's a pita bread/tortilla heated up and spread with hummus, topped with your choice of meat, salad, and your choice of sauce. we both went for chicken w/ bbq. i was NOT disappointed. holy hummus, was that kebab amazing!

tuesday morning. dad and i breakfasted at our hotel's cafe on toasted bagels and coffee. these bagels were more covered in sesame seeds than las vegas is in glitter! but they tasted good. our flight for queenstown didn't leave until 1p, checkout wasnt until 11, and it was 830 by the time we finished eating. time to hit the streets!

First stop was the embassy (starbucks) for coffee. then we wandered down towards the docks. it was a GORGEOUS morning. sun shining brilliantly, fresh sea air, people of all descriptions rushing around. we started walking back towards the city centre when dad spotted a tiny shopping mall. in we went. most of the shops weren't open yet, but a few were. including one whose display windows showed tables filled with sparkling jewelry and sequined handbags...like a moth to a flame, i was drawn in. the sales associate was a lovely woman who'd been living in nz for about a year. she and her husband had migrated from the midlands of the UK,. we had a fantastic chat and found some wonderful items to buy, too. cheers to dad for the shop find!

auckland airport. much more do-it-yourself; tag and check your own luggage. keep your shoes on. no worries about liquids. and friendly staff, thank you God! somehow my cell phone turned on while going through the carry-on x-ray; i was waiting for dad's bags to be cleared and felt a vibration from my Khenri bag..."what's that?" pondered i. and then the sweet melody of birdsong floated up to my ears--also orignating from the khenri bag. "oh cruel conscience! recreating the sound/feel of a text message SO accurately!" i had to pull out my phone, though i was certain it wasn't on or working. but wait!! what's this? the screen of my sad, little rumor was NOT black--no, friends, it was lit-up, and the black words "welcome to new zealand..." on a bubblegum pink background appeared!! MY PHONE HAS A SIM CARD!! my phone is usable overseas!! HERE! my. phone. works in new zealand!!!! i showed my dad this joyous discovery. he was as shocked as i, and almost as delighted (i think.) he had me look at it again, while saying "i bet there are international roaming charges." sure enough, there are...i'd been doing so well w/out my security blanket/cell phone...but i HAD a working phone...wouldn't it be wasteful NOT to use it?? but, maturity set in and i agreed...we will use it only for emergencies. (philo IS spending enough money as it is, thanks, da!!)

the descent into queenstown's airport was unimaginably cool. we came out of the clouds, and the first thing i saw outside of the window was a herd of sheep. YES. we de-planed directly onto the tarmac, where the smell of snow immediately hit my nostrils just as the brisk, cool air hit my skin. the scenery was terrific, however. majestic, even! mountains. the nz mountains:)

we have a rental car for our time on the south island (a glamorous white, 4 door, toyota corolla). we decided to give queenstown a look before heading on to our lodge in wanaka. mostly b/c it was 330pm and we hadn't eaten since 8am. queenstown is definitely a ski-resort-town. absolutely crawling with slope-hitters. like aspen or something. the first eateries we spotted were a mcdonalds and a subway. "screw it, it's food!" we thought. but parking was still to be found. we pulled into a spot, then realized a local food joint was literally steps away from our car. "fergburgers." it was really busy but we chose to wait, and it was well worth it. GINORMOUS gourmet burgers. soooo soo soo good!

off to wanaka....taking a switch back road (where the road doesnt wind around the mountain but rather zig-zags up one side of it). this was a little scary, but survivable, clearly. we drove through snow, but mild. finally arrived in wanaka just after sunset, and found our lodge--home to the famous hobbit room!! not a converted movie set afterall, but part of a 5-star lodge. not half as cool as the movie set. but cool in a different way. in a pampered way. the proprieter, gary, is attentive and meticulous to detail. as well as a fancy chef. we joined him and one other guest, katherine (a kiwi and pro-skier) for wine and apps, then drove around wanaka a bit, returning to find a loaf of 'hobbit bread' with jams and butter waiting....it was ...interesting.

wednesday morning, we were treated to a 3 course breakfast! granola and fruit followed by grilled lembas bread with delectable golden syrup, followed by bacon, sausage, and sauteed mushrooms. FULL.

THEN, we were picked up by wanaka journeys for our jet boat ride!!
our guide is a maori by blood, and his passion for the river and surrounding land was contagious. he is a fantastic story-teller, too--he seamlessly wove geological, historical, mythological, and even LOTR stories together throughout our journey. the water of the river was low, only an inch or so deep at points, which meant one twisty, turny, spinning, AWESOME ride! we even hiked up into the beech forest, land that few people ever explore. it was absolutely a unique and memorable experience... breathtaking. freezing. smell the spawning fish in the shallow waters. see the helicopters dropping skiers off on the mountains looming above. see the mountainsides forming clouds right before your eyes...

Day 1.2 and Day 2.1

2009-07-05T22:00:00.000-05:00

After leaving esquire's coffees last night, dad and i went to the albion pub for a drink and some local color. the latter we didn't get too much of...but 2 highlights that were more than enough. the first was a contraption near the door. it was identical to those bowling aley games; where there is a glass box with a crane-claw inside for you to forever-unsuccessfully attempt to grab and win a stuffed animal. except this game is called "catcha craw" and instead of plush pals, your goal is a LIVE lobster crawling around in about a foot of water. the second bit of fun was a bloke walking in and stopping a few feet away to watch the tv that my dad and i were seated near. dad was drinking his beer, i had my whiskey, and we were half-watching the highlights of various rugby, cricket, and sailing matches. bloke is shifting his feet, smiles at us, asks which team we're for. dad simply said, "it's just highlights," and bloke left. BEST PART: on either side of the crown of his head, two bright red sating ribbons were tied into gorgeous big bows around tufts of his short sandy brown hair. lovely.

we went back to the hotel shortly there-after, kinda pooped after a day which began before 4am (and on an airplane, no less.)

this morning, my dad had arranged to meet with a colleague (a native of auckland) for coffee at 9a.m. however, true to form, they had actually arranged to meet at 8a.m. not a big deal. graeme, the colleague, is a really nice guy. drove a gorgeous (dare i say luxury?) sedan, some aussie model. he's the boss of his hearth n' home branch, so spent the morning showing us around a bit. he dropped us off at the maritime museum, which we decided we might as well tour since we were there. it was kind of funny.

we walked around the harbor area for awhile, then trekked uphill back to our hotel. and then left to go get food. of course. this time we went to a locally-owned version of subway (basically) but it was much better.

later in the afternoon we decided to go shopping. we hit up a nearby shopping district, elliott st, but the stuff was really pricey and really poor quality. no souvenirs for my loved ones from there! pshaw. ha. originally i had wanted to go to the parnell area anyway, so dad says okay let's go. well, we begin to head there, and it begins to downpour. sun-showers have been common, but this one required us stepping into a convenience store and purchasing umbrellas. off we go, on foot....and....sigh. dad gets us lost. so we wander the city, my jeans soaked up to my knees, getting heavier and heavier, my feet slipping like mad in my gorgeous but impractical flip flops...as we walked down possibly the most awful hill known to kiwi-kind, my legs actually shaking from the effort of walking through the rainstorm (wet jeans = the best leg weights ever), we see a gas station. GENIUS. so we go in...and smartly admitted we were lost...and called a cab to take us back to the hotel. for cushy leather seats and only $10 AUD, i think that was the best call of the day. which leads us to late-afternoon, and me once again typing away at esquires coffees...

(sorry for the lack of pretty writing....but my laptop's battery can only handle so much time...)

Day(s?) One

2009-07-05T00:30:00.000-05:00

MSP--gate to flight to LAX. The usual suspects also wait. BUT...there is an over-abundance of tools. these tools captivate me the most. are they extra tooled-out b/c they'll be visiting L.A.? are they perhaps going home to L.A.? better yet...do I look like a she-tool?

on the plane. seats 38b and 38c. 38a is the window seat. i want it. person after person comes down the aisle. "That seat was empty on the online manifest last night," says dad. waiting...waiting...waiting...."ladies and gentlemen, please stow your belongings beneath the seat in front of you in preperation for take-off..." begins the flight attendant. i JUMP to the empty window seat, buckle in. and then tehre comes a last-minute passenger. his seat number? 38A. PISS.

i watch an episode of how i met your mother on the plane. LEGEN......

.......dary.

LAX. beautiful. weather, flowers, palm trees...
apparently they don't drink bottled pop here. water, water, orange juice, and water. i finally find a shop with "flavored" water, so i grab one and head to the register. the woman comes over. she's middle-aged, hispanic, has LONG bleached-orange hair and lots of make-up. she explains every size and price of bottled h2O. (i'm on the phone this whole time..which shame on me, but STILL.) i assure her what i've already chosen is what i want. she swipes my card, returns it. as i sign the reciept, she notices my large, purple, sparkly flower ring. "oh so beautiful!" she exclaims. she then proceeds to take it off of my finger and try it on every single one of her fingers. gushes over and over how beautiful it is. asking where i got it. "expensive?" i told her "from a department store. under $20." and finally, after she ASKED IF SHE COULD KEEP IT, i said "NO," through a teeth-grinding smile and then "i think i got it at dillards. in IOWA. look for it online."

our layover was only a couple of hours long, instead of the 6 we had been prepared for. thankfully. the time went by really quickly, due to a dear old friend keeping me company over the phone. good stuff.

pre-boarding. there's this kid that almost tipped a trash can over on me. it was pretty hilarious. then it turns out he's the 3rd seat mate in our row. nice kid from new jersey, fresh out of college with a meterology degree. first time out of the states, and he's going backpacking for 2 months through NZ w/ a buddy. good luck, jersey boy!:)

the flight from l.a. to auckland was about 12 hours in length. after take-off, i watched "sunshine cleaning" (or is it sunshine cleaners?) with amy adams. fell asleep before the end and didn't wake up until almost 4am auckland time (which meant about 9 hours of sleep--cheers to benadryl!!) watched "17 again," ate some fruit, and then watched an ep of "flight of the choncords" just to get in the zone. we landed at about 6 am local time.

customs line took ages! there was a chinese women's basketball team ahead of us. all of which sported red jump suits and surgical masks. creepy. the customs agent seemed a bit moody, judging from his interaction with the people directly in que in front of us, but was actually really nice. i'm assuming b/c no language barrier was involved...

we got coffee at a stand outside of the airport. the barista was devilishly cute. we ordered americanos, going off of our UK experience. he had no idea what we meant, so i told him. he asked if we were from canada or the states. we were truthful. sigh. haha....then he told us that what we call americanos, they call "long blacks." good to know, as our morning would provide opportunity for drinking plenty more of them...

we took a shuttle to our hotel downtown. the driver should be called "speed racer." yeah. there was a local sitting in front of us; her name shall be "Ms. Pretentious." i wanted to pull her hair.

we arrived at our hotel at about 730 am. our rooms weren't ready-wouldn't be ready until midday, but we were able to stow our luggage. off to explore the city!

the air is so fresh, cool, and clean. good sea air...my favorite! the sky was amazingly blue, with tremendous cumulous cloud structures ever-changing. rainbows abounded. so many forms of trees, and so many still green despite the fact that it's the dead of winter! auckland is a very hilly city, but it felt SO good to stretch my legs after so many hours on the plane. we hit up the american embassy (aka starbucks) almost immediately. more to use their restroom than anything. we trekked and trekked. made our way back to the heart of downtown, near our hotel. also near the sky tower (see facebook photos for more.) we had planned on touring it, it was just now 9 am, and the hot shower i was dreaming of was still hours away. so we went. the inside of the attached building also serves as casino, restaurants, gift shops. after being lost for quite a while, a security guard (hilarious guy) directed dad to the railing and pointed at the GIANT sign towards the basement which is how you get into the tower. almost not embarassing....

the tower itself is gigantic. the elevator is disgustingly fast. but the view was INCREDIBLE. the first step i took onto the glass-portion of the viewing deck resulted in a shriek and me dancing back off of it. terrifying!! we went up to the highest possible level, and the building swayed back and forth around us..."this is a good thing" i kept reminding myself...architectural integrity and all that.....

after this, hunger ensued. we scouted out the "hollywood bakery and cafe." we were just getting ready to cross the road, when a chap comes over and starts talking to us. "don't tell me you guys just woke up!" he says in his feminine way. "oh no, we've been up for days!" i said. ensued a conversation about missing the night life, etc. charming. crossed over finally to the cafe..good food, actually. i had a chicken sandwich on foccaccia. enjoyable. then....sigh...more wandering the city.

finally at noon we could check into the hotel. finally at noon i could shower.
it. was. divine.

took a nap, then headed out again. not too many restaurants downtown, actually. we went into the first open one, asian food. had teriyaki chicken, udon noodles, and green onions in soup form. AMAZING!!!!

and now, here i am in "esquires coffees," typing away....whatever will tomorrow bring?

love and misses to all...

the night before...

2009-07-02T22:48:00.000-05:00

tomorrow, at 2pm central time, i will get inside of my dad's white ford focus hatchback and drive to his friend's house.

at 215pm, we will walk the half-mile to the light rail station.

at 230 or so, we will take said light rail to the MSP international airport.

at 430 pm i will board a jet bound for LAX.

at 1230 am, pacific time, i will board another plane. destination: new zealand.

at that point, time and day will lose all meaning to me. i'm not even going to try to calculate the "back home it's this time" nonsense. i am going to a new country. i am going to live it, and likely love it. i'm going to eat foods at locally owned restaurants. stay in nice hotels. walk the unmatchable landscape. see the ocean. see new faces.

tomorrow, i begin my discovery of new zealand.

an ignorant altercation

2009-06-26T10:30:00.000-05:00

I left for work at my usual time this morning. Meaning I'd be approximately 8 minutes "late" to work. But, since 8 minutes isn't really that different than 12 minutes, and my supply of smokey treats was dwindling, I decided to stop at the QT on 15th and Grand for a couple of packs of marlboro's before hitting the freeway to work.

Boy, am I glad I did.

This QT is always jam-packed on mornings, with people from all walks of life and parts of the world. But, QT employees being efficient, the wait was not long. I was just telling the fresh-faced chap behind the counter what brand of sunshine I desired when into the convenience store walked a 30-something year old man. This african-american man was somewhat short, dressed business casual, plus a baseball cap and sunglasses. Raising his voice to be heard by the cashiers: "Ya'll better call the police, there's about to be an altercation out there. I'm not joking. There's an ignorant woman out there, and I'm going back out to do my part in this altercation, so call the police. I'm serious." The cashiers eyes widened a bit, but he simply said "Okay." and directed anothere cashier to do so. The other patrons either hurried up and stepped outside to watch, or ignored the situation. A few of us exchanged wide-eyed glances and half smiles over this scene.

Outside I went, directly to my vehicle. People were stepping out behind their cars to watch the scene taking place at the Grand Ave exit of QT's lot. Everyone's windows were down despite the warm weather. I thought about ignoring it, but then realized, "this doesn't happen every day," and shut off the radio, rolling my windows down, too.The man who had forewarned the QT employees was standing next to a '90s model blue taurus, along with a taller african-american man. I couldn't hear or see the driver of said car. I can't quote verbatim what was being said, but it was something like this: "You're IGNORANT! You don't know anything. Go ahead! Call your uncles and cousins. Call everyone! We'll take 'em. Ignorant! You're just plain ignorant!" By this point I was actually driving up behind said Taurus. I hadn't a choice if I intended to leave at all, and the driver (whom the defenders had already distinguished as female) seemed determined to drive away. The two gentlemen were walking back towards their vehicle, located at the petrol pump nearest the Taurus as I idled behind it. "We gotta get to work. F her ignorance. Whatever. She probably lives off of lawd knows who, anyway. WE have to go to work," said the two. The woman in front of me was on her cell phone. Suddenly she geared into reverse. Seemingly "ignorant" of the fact that I was behind her. Gentleman 1 addressed me (my windows were still down) "Watch out now, she's IGNORANT and likely to back right into you!" I nodded sort of, reversed my own car enough to allow the accused to back into the QT lot again. I took a look at her; how could I not? She was in her 40s, a round woman sporting a baseball cap, still talking on her phone. Very unassuming looking, actually. I turned my attention back to leaving this lovely lot, when Gentleman spoke to me again. "See! She's ignorant! She called us __insert N word here__!" To which my left hand flew up to cover my mouth which had opened in surprise as I gasped and my eyebrows shot up. "Yeah! Right?" He said in response to my reaction to her tabboo. I eased forward a bit more, hollering "good luck?!" to the parking lot in general I suppose. To my right, coming up Grand Ave was a patrol car. I was torn between staying to witness the scene and actually going to work...I chose work.

Although, thinking back and considering the all-staff meeting which took place first thing...I might as well have stayed and enjoyed this bucolic scene of semi-urban Americana...People are fascinating! I don't think I'll ever choose to live in the suburbs again.

for a change

2009-06-25T13:11:00.000-05:00

yesterday was a glorious day.

i've realized that i must come across as quite melancholy in my blog posts. i suppose it's because the darker moods are harder to deal with and therefore require some written work to handle. for me anyway.

but yesterday--yesterday was fantastic. and i think i should share that.

slept in. but still made it to work on time. that's what we call a bonus.

shot two "The Office" promos in the morning. hilarity ensued. i would love to work on a tv show. either as a writer or photog, or something! not to mention how great the edited promos look...i just LOVE it when something you envision actually comes to fruition...it's a rush!

andrew, nicole, and i then left around noon to go costume shopping for our "The Vampire Diaries" promo. valley junction. the theatrical shop. yes. it was fun, fast, good times. who doesn't love a costume shop? haha...

the rest of the afternoon went swiftly. logs done in good time. fun trying on parts of the vampire costume (like catwoman's mask). then, off at 430 to go to Kids in the Park! (think vacation bible school.)

KITP was great. my group of 1st through 3rd graders? love 'em. we had fun. since the event was outside, we incorporated water into every activity in order to prevent overheating. there's just something so freeing about not caring what you look like. wearing a tshirt and shorts. wearing a goofy straw hat. makeup melting away. water all over. laughing, laughing, and loving every minute. and the best part, of course, is leading the kids. helping them, if only slightly to recognize god's love.

driving home, smelly and sweaty and tired and smiling.

sparrows

2009-06-23T11:04:00.000-05:00

Matthew 10:29-31 (New International Version)
29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. 30 And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 31 So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

I overslept this morning. By almost an hour. I was out the door by 8 a.m. on the dot. (Technically, my workday starts at 8). I wasn't concerned about being late; I live about 12 minutes from my office, and we're often "late."

Yet, when I drive, I tend to get this primal urge to drive faster and slicker than anyone else on the road. I turned my mom's SUV onto 15th street, headed north towards the freeway on-ramp. There are 2 stoplights to contend with in the 4-block stretch before hitting the on-ramp. Betwixt stoplight A and stoplight B, there was a sparrow perched on the road, in my lane. The dapper little fellow in his brown and white feathers was pecking away at some unnameable substance, happily ignorant of the traffic headed his way. We've all been there. Driving and seeing a bird or five scratching for food in the roadway. They seem determined to stay put, only to take wing and sprint out of harm's way at the last moment. We've seen this; we expect them to fly to safety of their own accord. Yet we've also seen the aftermath flattened against the pavement. The aftermath of when an avian beast hasn't been fast enough. This sparrow in my path seemed determined to join the latter group of birds.

But I slowed down. I almost stopped completely. My heart hurt at the very idea of crushing that tiny creature. I irritated the man driving behind me. I saw the look on his face through my rear-view mirror. But I, emily rose, will never intentionally run over something when I know it's within my power to NOT do so. Simultaneously the above quoted verse popped into my mind. Which got me thinking... what if bleeding hearts like myself are obeying an actual wish of God by sparing the sparrows?

I even considered blogging about this might-be-revelation as I sat at the second stoplight. Then dismissed that thought as egomaniacal. (I tend to question whether my thoughts on life are indeed in line with the Divine.) But then a "funny" thing happened. As the light turned green and I crossed Grand Avenue, there was another sparrow, pecking away mid-lane. And this sparrow was as stubborn or naive or blind as the last, for again I was forced to choose between slamming the brakes or running the wee bird over. I slammed the breaks. The driver behind me sped around into the next lane with a look of exasperation. But again, I knew I was acting in character. I do not run over animals. And I have a particular affinity with sparrows, given my tendency to fear. They are symbolic of hope, safety, well-being to me.

So...maybe bleeding hearts like me ARE part of how God spares the sparrows. God made us...He loves us...and he fills us with love to share with others to point them to Him...which is guaranteed joy and completion for any human soul...

just sayin'

2009-06-22T15:03:00.001-05:00

My neighbor kid is a pathological liar.
But in a very entertaining sort of way.

With heat index included, the temperature outside is over 100 degrees.
I will be spending 3 hours in said temperature with small children.
There will be over 100 people at this event.
And there will be ONE port-a-potty.

A co-worker bit my finger about two hours ago.
Another co-worker has pinkeye.

Last night my mom saw a tornado from the "safety" of her vehicle.

I leave for New Zealand in 11 days.

warm, summer rains

2009-06-16T15:44:00.000-05:00

Open the door. Feel the rain splash on the part of your hair...a liquid shiver. step outside. warm, thick air. enveloping. the rain looks deceptively light. sheer streams. but they hit with a welcome force. row of vehicles: the mpu (cw plastered mobile production unit/rv), jared's, mine, andrea's, larry's, reggie's, mikes. row of satellites. rows of trees. rows of tall grasses, growing wild between business park buildings.
smell the ground. smell the dirt as it turns to mud. smell the earthworms as they start their marathon across the parking lot. smell the water in the air as the precipitation continues.
feel the burn of the cigarette hitting your throat. feel the burn of the smoke in your eyes, crowded under your houndstooth umbrella.
feel the water crawling up your trouser legs, too long despite your 4 inch heels.
watch your bangs frizz in the humid air.
dream about 5 o'clock. dream about ditching the umbrella. dream about soaking up the rain as it soaks up your clothes. you'll watch your curls straighten under the weight of the water, only to crawl back into waves after you retreat inside. you'll watch the raindrops turn an inky black as they cling to your made-up eyelashes.
you'll watch people watching you like 'you've been drinking pink champagne.'
you'll smile unceasingly, because warm, summer rains were meant to be danced in.

miscellany

2009-06-15T13:34:00.000-05:00

After a valiant attempt to be superwoman, i have come to realize that i am...well...NOT superwoman.

meaning, i am going to quit my part-time job. i started it (or re-started, as i have worked for this employer in the not-so-distant past) approximately 3 weeks ago. i started it because my full-time job does not pay me enough. i don't mean that in a sense-of-entitlement sort of way. i mean it in a cost-of-living sort of way. my monthly bills (god bless student loans...) dominate my paychecks. my employer literally cannot give raises. my employer literally could be shut down at any given moment to the surprise of literally no one. literally.

i am going to meet with a credit counselor this week. hooray for proactivity!

my best friend is in similar financial straits. lily allen has a song that is quite applicable. except the beaurocrats won't give me a mortgage because of my bad credit...but it's not so funny because i don't have their effing money.

have i mentioned that i despise money?

yet i love stuff. 'tis an uncomfortable quandry.

time to count the blessings. i am surrounded with good people. a number which increases weekly. i have a loving family. i have my passions, which i can indulge in freely. i have freedoms. and i get to go to new zealand in 18 days. THAT, my dearies, is phenomenal.

my wish list may be long...but my have list is long, too.

funny story time.
i am the proud "owner" of an 11 year old nova scotian duck tolling retriever, penny. she is definitively spoiled. she is also definitively precious and sweet and loving and adorable. yesterday she was in the bedroom while the rest of the family was in the living room. I decided the old girl should join the party. as i entered the room, she looked up at me with her gentle eyes. "come on, penny, up we go," i said as i slid my right arm beneath her furry, 35 pound frame.
"YELP!" she exclaimed. of course i was worried. although dogs in general, and my dog in particular, tend to play the 'wounded pet' act when simply bothered, i never can tell. i pulled her up, to see if indeed i had pinched a nerve.
that's when the wrestling match began. "Here's my opportunity to escape!" thought penny. "i can't let you go, my arm is entangled in your front legs!" i said. she thrashed about, a blur of reddish orange fur. i followed suit (although my hair is reddish brown). our heads hit. nails were bared. she had the benefit of the aforementioned fur to protect her skin. i, however, do not. after a blow to the face, to the upper right cheek-near-the-eye region, the clash of the red-heads was ended with me lifting a hand to the afflicted area and her snorting her indignation over the indignity of our little tussle. i took my hand down; no blood. looked in the mirror, definite swollen red mark. i went and grabbed an ice bag from the freezer. then returned to the bedroom to see what madam penny had to say for herself. like a possum playing dead, she flipped from laying on her stomach to her back, legs in the air, throat bared, the proverbial pose of submission. "yeah, you better be sorry!" i said with a bite of bitterness. however, i couldn't resist approaching my dog. cut to 30 seconds later. once again my dog is in my arms. but this time, it's cuddling.
moral of the story? my dog is spoiled. she might injure, but she will always be my baby.

amitié

2009-06-11T16:11:00.000-05:00

how,
why,
&
should
friendships end?

((more later...)

my personal springtime

2009-06-08T16:47:00.000-05:00

Spring is Comforting.
The Gray clouds remain; but the Green grass
is so Vivid that Brightness prevails.
Rain and wind dominate, but the humidity sets in, and
the smell of the Damp earth warms me.
I can FEEL the tulips and daffodills
stirring in the ground,
their bulbs hatching neon green shoots.
I wait and I watch for the trees to bud,
as I listen to Nature's soundtrack of birdsong.
Soon the days will be longer.
Soon those trees that will, will blossom.
Soon the air will be thick with floral fragrance
and the humming bees will appear.
But right now I see charcoal gray clouds
playing hide and seek with
a white-bright Sun.
The ground is Spongy-soft and a Dark, Deep Brown.
The grass is short
and Emerald green-
new and nourished and yet to be bleached.
The trees are yet stark
and the flowers still hiding,
But,
Springtime is here
and it comforts me.

((written on april 4th, 2006... re-posted not because of it's awesomeness...but b/c i love the outside.))

chimera

2009-06-03T08:47:00.000-05:00

I had a dream about you last night.
I was walking down the street. Not just a street. The street that is always in my dreams. It's on the fringe of a downtown somewhere. A hilly town. Brick buildings, old streets, flowers. Wood-trimmed windows painted black, hunter green, navy blue. Chipped gold lettering to display the business' business. Coffee shops, bakeries, vintage clothing, boutiques; hipster spots adorn the streets. Sometimes the shops are all connected through back doorways, yellow hallways, rickety stair cases, tunnels and alleys...but it's dream-land...so that changes. ((I wonder if this town actually exists?))
I was on that street - my street. It was overcast. There were people all around; my street is always busy. Beautiful people. People wearing sweaters and funky hats with long hair and beards...people wearing corduroys and cotton skirts and dancing to the music in their head. The glitterati arethere, too. And older, wiser folk. Small kids. They dance to the street musicians, they laugh, they mingle.
I duck in and out of the shops. I want to see a concert at a coffee bar. But something won't let me stay. I have to get out of there. I walk hastily down the street, out of my colorful neighborhood toward taller gray buildings. The overcast sky is getting darker and darker. But while I'm yet on my street's final corner, I glance across the street.
Across the wide, wide street.
There is the final colorful shop. There are you. Sitting outside. You sit at a black, wrought-iron table. You are holding a large, thin book. Like a sketch book. You've been watching me. I look your way, You cover your face with the book. Familiar disappointment fills me. Familiar pain and confusion. I keep walking. You remain across the street at the table. I look over again. I don't know why. You twist your body away from me, in towards the table. You bend your arm and cover your face.
Why?
Simultaneously the rain starts to patter down and a gentleman approaches you.
The rain forces me to turn around and jog towards the safety of My Street.
The gentleman forces you to walk in the same direction as me.
I enter the coffee bar with the concert that I had previously been in. I come in through the back. You and the man are coming in through the front. He indicates a round, oak table near the front. You sit. He leaves.
I can't take it anymore. I approach you. I sit down, tears have already filled my eyes.
You avoid eye contact. I reach my hand over and lay it on your arm, compelling you to look at me.
I know we had a discussion. I know you said why. But like too many dreams, those details evade me. Or perhaps were skipped over like a scratched DVD. You miss the specifics, but the plot flows on.
Scene change; instant. Dreams will do that. We're in a house. There are a few people who live here. It's a typical 20-something home. Almost-bare walls, mismatched furniture. We're in the basement. We're laughing. We've made peace. An old classmate from UNI walks by the door of the room we are in. He shakes his head, smiles. "Ooooh, you two"... he seems to say.
We're the proverbial happy couple. Minus the relationship. We tickle each other, and tease (which seems far-fetched even to my dreaming conscience.) We walk upstairs hand-in-hand. (Which seems right even now.)
We're in the kitchen, around the island. (This is always where key moments happen in relationship dreams for me.)
We both realize we're behaving as if we were "together." You can't accept that.
You still love her.
Your face loses all animation and color. It lengthens, your eyes lose their sparkle.
My heart weighs too much now, and all fades to black.

navigating office politics

2009-05-28T15:30:00.000-05:00

it's not personal.
NOTHING is confidential.
use discretion; in your speech, actions, and thoughts.
it's not personal.
everything is a learning opportunity.
you are NOT a victim.
mental exhaustion is physically draining.
it's not personal.
you can't control your feelings;
BUT - you can control your actions.
it's not personal.
pick your battles.
you are more than "what you do."
titles mean nothing.
it's not personal.

scotland

2009-05-26T12:16:00.000-05:00

Why do I miss you so much?
Why can’t I get over you?
Every cool breeze reminds me of you…
Fresh, sea air is no cliché.
With you, I felt truly alive.
With you I breathed effortlessly.
With you, I felt protected, embraced.
Everything was exciting. Everything was beautiful..I stepped lighter, ran faster, laughed harder.
I appreciated more. I understood more…because I understood less?
I stood out, I blended in. I learned. I grew. I tried things I’d never thought I’d do.
I found my roots, and felt how that matters.
I saw my face on your walls, and I felt beautiful.

the fire

2009-05-26T12:15:00.000-05:00

“EMILY – PUT PENNY ON HER LEASH. THE NEIGHBOR’S CAMPER EXPLODED AND IT’S ON FIRE.”

My mom yelled the words, but in such a matter-of-fact way, that looking back I’m still not sure how she managed it.
My body went into action before my mind could comprehend the situation. I found myself in my mom’s room, attaching the leash to Penny’s collar without even realizing how the leash found my hands in the first place.

Mom and Ray were moving in a flurry around me. Somehow I gleaned that 911 had been called. The dog and I blindly followed Mom and Ray outdoors. The sky was still dark – it was 5a.m. – but the house to our right was glowing and strangely still. I tried to head straight to the neighbor’s yard, in pursuit of the old folks’, but felt something tug me back. (Penny was being a dog…and urinating. Neither one of us seemed to realize what exactly was going on mere yards away.) I turned back towards the neighbors. Ray was out of sight, Mom was pounding on the neighbors door; “TIM! FIRE!” she let herself in as I rounded the fence and made it into their yard. Ray was silhouetted ahead of me, even with their house. I had been on a path towards him, but stopped abruptly when the fire came into view. “Horror-stricken” is more than a phrase. In an instant, my sleepy head cleared. “The neighbor’s camper exploded and it’s on fire.” Yes…. fire…inferno…hungry, orange flames lashing out at the pre-dawn sky, competing with the surrounding aged trees for height; undulating waves of sparks, moving like a swarm of hornets, sprinkling the neighborhood with threatening chunks of smoldering black plastic ash. Through the maddening sheets of fire, the smoldering structure of the RV could be seen, the cliché helpless victim to the fire. Was anyone inside? (we later learned that a dog had indeed been trapped and lost to the flames.)

My heart has never beaten so fast. My eyes were wide, in spite of the smoke swirling around me. Taking in this view for only a few seconds, I ran back into the house, dragging poor Penny along, to grab my cell phone. “When did you call 911?” I hollered at my mother. “Where are they? WHERE ARE THEY?!” I was panicking. Inside my bedroom once again, I yanked my phone from the charger and punched in the numbers. As I incoherently babbled my reason for calling to the operator, sirens and flashing lights appeared at the far end of Dean Avenue. “They’re here, sorry...” I mumbled and hung up, as I moved towards the neighbor’s front yard once again, this time joining my mom and Ray on the sidewalk as a cop leaped from his squad car and ran towards the house. As fire trucks and more police units arrived, a measure of calm set in, and for the first time the chill of the dawn air struck me. I bent down to pull up my knee-high men’s athletic socks and saw I was wearing my glittery black ballet flats. When did I put those on?

Shivering, I huddled next to my mom, eyes glued to the tragic blaze in front of me. This fire was a monster – like a bogeyman under your bed – and the emergency crew was a balm to my pounding heart, much like your parent entering your bogey-infested room and assuring you it would be okay.
As the fire was hopelessly sprayed with streams of water, the mesmerizing effect of the flames took hold of me. “My camera is right inside, I should be capturing this,” I thought. But deep in my gut, I felt a sickening certainty that death was a part of this scene. I could never exploit that.

The acrid, smoky smell of the camper’s destruction burned in my nostrils. Sprays of cold water were carried from the firemen’s hose and hit my bare legs and face as the fire was slowly tamed. Simultaneously, Mom, Ray, and I turned back toward our own home. We’d all been coughing with increasing violence. Not surprisingly, considering the harsh, black smoke. Back in the now-assured safety of our own house, Mom and Ray went to the window with the best vantage point of the blaze to continue watching. I tread back to my room, noticing it was now almost 6 a.m., and grabbed a pillow and my blanket. Finding Penny curled up on my mom’s bed, I lay down beside her, wrapped my arms around her, and shivered uncontrollably…all the while praying thanksgiving for safety as well as condolence for my neighbors as I strove for a few hours of sleep before the day “began.”

east side memories

2009-05-26T12:14:00.000-05:00

(the following took place on may twelfth two thousand nine)

It was a beautiful spring evening on Des Moines’ East Side. The rain was tumbling down from the humid gray cloud cover, the thunder and trains competing for boom power. I parked my survivor-of-a-Buick in the street and made a mad dash for the house. (Who needs umbrellas when you can sprint in high heels?) Safely inside, changed out of my dampened spring dress, and re-wardrobed in the typical jeans and hooded IOWA sweatshirt, it was clearly time for me to have an after-work cigarette on my covered front porch. As I unsuccessfully tried to juggle said sunshine stick, large study Bible, and wind-lashed onion-skin pages, I heard a car honk. Deciding to finish the 34th chapter of Exodus in the wind-free interior of my home, I closed The Book and looked up to see to the diminutive blue hatchback honking and pulling into the vacant lots across the street.** Packed inside the unlikely off-roader were three young men, clearly of an east siderly upbringing. As they whooped out of the windows, which were half-rolled down, I pitied the birds, chipmunks, and rabbits that flew, scurried, and jumped out of their plundering. I pitied the dandelions and Kentucky blue grass blades even more…defenseless victims to traditional east side shenanigans. Sigh. ‘But wait,’ said Nature, ‘don’t fret your little hippie-heart,’ and, as if on cue, the Blue Hatchback was snared in a bog of deep mud, surreptitiously hidden beneath a large, rain-dimpled puddle of water. The wheels spun uselessly as muddy water flew about, like light from a sparkler on the fourth of ju-ly. Immediately the passenger, whom we’ll call ES1*, leaped out and ran diagonally across the street to his abode…whether for help or to escape we shall never know. I, of course, whipped out my green Rumor and snapped a few pictures, which earned me a sheepish smile and wave from ES2*, the driver. I discarded my cigarette butt into the ashtray and entered the house to finish reading the promised Exodus, chapter the 34th.

Approximately one hour later, according to my nicotine receptors, I was once again on my front porch. Lo and behold, the Blue Hatchback had answered a summons of its own and was back to tearing around in yonder wet plain. As I dismissed the non-mystery of the tool-igans in favor of The Mystery of Edwin Drood, I heard a charming “HEY!” vocally thrown my way. Ah yes, the young men were hearkening to me. I gave a half-hearted wave in their direction, accompanied by my irrepressible Mary-Kate Olsen fake smile. “COME ‘ERE!” bellowed ES2 as he motioned with his arm and hand. “COME ‘ERE!” he repeated as I stared back; unresponsive save for my raised left eyebrow. “Come do this with us!” he further entreated, gesturing to the car. “NO THANKS!” I returned, (politely I do hope.) Subsequent persuasions were hollered my way. “Come on! It’s fun! Come with us! What’s your name? Sheva bocka goo ma lee!” The last sentence being an example of what they presumably did NOT say, but what my mind could comprehend over the traffic, train yards, and suchlike contributors to the East Side soundtrack. My replies ran as thus: “No thank you. No thank you! I don’t want to get muddy.” Which were accompanied by my requisite head-wagging and arm-crossing “no’s.” My reply stayed consistent even after the East Side Romeos deserted their beloved lot to idle that Blue Hatchback at my home’s curb. Needless to say, I did not relent to their entreaties, and they swiftly hot-dogged their way off to other vehicular pursuits. Thus closes today’s East Side Memory.

*East Sider 1, East Sider 2.
** It is not uncommon to see vehicles “off-roading” in said vacant lot. They range in appearance from bicycles to four-wheelers to pick-ups and, of course, to blue hatchbacks.