Florida to Idaho

In which I am a geek...

2011-06-24T21:57:00.000-07:00

I need to geek out about something right now.

This is not normal for me. And if you doubt that, then you clearly need a lesson on the difference between “nerd” and “geek.” I can nerd it up with the best of them, but I lack the technological interest and know-how required to be a geek.

But tonight I discovered a program for my Mac that has me bouncing off the walls screaming, “I LOVE TECHNOLOGY! YEEHAW!” (This is one of the perks of having the basement to myself…)

It all started when I was cleaning my room. I was overwhelmed by how many books I’ve amassed since I came out here to college, and I really just wanted to get them organized. (I have this weird thing where the rest of my room can be a complete and total wreck…but so long as my books are organized, I don't even notice the squalor in which I'm living)

Since I catalogue books at my job fairly frequently, I’ve used a couple library programs, and I know how tedious it can be to type in all the information (especially ISBN numbers…bleh!)…so, I turned to my friend Google and thus I discovered BookHunter.

Basically, it's a library program for people to catalogue books they own and keep track of what they've lent out (and to whom...super handy!). I've used some pretty clunky library programs, so I really appreciate that this one is sleek and shiny (yes, I'm all about the looks...). It's looks a bit like iTunes, and it's really easy to use.

And if that were all, I probably wouldn't have written this blog post. But that's not all. Oh no. Let me tell you about....the scanner.

Let's say you want to add a book. One click, and up pops a "New Book" window. Now, you could spend the next ten minutes of your life finding all the relevant information and typing it in...but who wants to do that? Instead, you can just click this little button that activates a scanner on your webcam. Hold the barcode of your book up to the camera, and voila! It reads the barcode on your book and automatically fills in all the information from Amazon.com. Author, title, illustrator, publisher, ISBN number, cover art…everything you could possibly need to know. BAM. Just like that.

Is that not the niftiest feature ever?!

Words cannot explain how exciting I find this. You should hear my little giggle of triumph with each book I scan into the system. Who cares if I’m twenty…I can still play Library, right?

Ok. Enough blogging. I have books to scan!

P.S. Turns out I have 101 books (not dalmatians) out here in Idaho. Back in Florida, there are three or four huge Tupperware bins in my dad's garage stuffed full of books. I know what I'll be doing as soon as I get home! :)

The Bus Ride

2011-06-22T22:54:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile since I updated, and I have no real excuse. School is out for the summer. I have very little that needs to be done, and lots of time to do it in. This is the exact opposite of my life during the school year. Feast or famine, y’all.

I got home (“home” here defined as Idaho) about a week ago from my first real trip of the summer—a week in Washington and Oregon to visit family. David, Leah, and Seth came out to Seattle to attend David’s brother’s graduation, and I, not being able to resist the fact that three of my favorite people were going to be one state away instead of…well, however many states there are between Idaho and Maryland, just invited myself to come along and join the party. Luckily for me, the Johnsons are a wonderfully gracious bunch, and I had a blast spending the week with them. Best of all, I got to spend my birthday there surrounded by family and friends and peanut-butter pie instead of, say, reading a book alone in the basement. (Although, to be honest, that sounds fun, too…)

I was a bit loopy, however, because I’d stayed up the night before to attend the midnight showing of a certain movie that I was, oh, slightly excited about….and then I came home, packed for a few hours, went to Winco to pick up snacks, sleepily drove for an hour and forty-five minutes (forcing myself to sing at the top of my lungs to whatever song my iPod shuffled too…I had a sore throat by the time I arrived, but at least I was alive!), arrived at my roommate’s house, so she could drop me off at the bus station, and then….well, then…I met my fellow bus passengers.

The scene: I have just arrived at the bus station. I find my gate (is it a gate if it’s not an airport?), scan the available seats, avoid the ones in close proximity to creepy men, and choose one next to a pajama-clad young woman.

“Are you going on the west-bound bus?” she asks.

“Yep!”

“Oh good! Me too! I was so worried that I was in the wrong spot, so I just wanted to make sure. This is my first time riding a bus before, and I have a long trip ahead of me.”

“Oh, yeah? Where are you headed?”

“Vancouver.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, I lived there for about a year with my fiancé, and then I came back to Spokane…but actually, my fiance and I, like, just had a miscarriage, and I was like *@#$ this, I’m tired of all this *$%&, I’m moving back in with you!”

“….oh…I’m sorry…”

“Yeah. But anyway. See this bag here? It’s full of every single, &*$%ing food you could ever imagine, and I got it all with food stamps! You’re welcome to any of it. Hey, do you think we could maybe hang out today? Like, sit together?”

“Oh…well…sure,” I responded weakly.

After enduring a few more profanity-laced tales, I realized I had essentially signed up for eight hours of craziness and desperately tried to backpedal.

“You know,” I said. “I’ve been up all night, and it looks like there aren’t going to be that many people on the bus. We could probably even each get a row to ourselves. That’s probably what I’m going to try to do.”

“Yeah…but then…what if someone else sits next to you?”

“Well…yeah. That could happen.”

My non-committal response did not sway her. From then on, she and I were a “we.” As in, a few minutes later, “Hey, shouldn’t we get in line now?”

The bus wasn’t leaving for a good half-hour, and although a few people were in line, the doors weren’t even open yet. I told her I was going to wait, but that she should feel free to go ahead. She stayed seated beside me. We were a team, after all.

After approximately thirty seconds of waiting, she sprang out of her chair, turned to me, and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I can’t do this anymore. I have to get in line. I’m so sorry.”

And with that, our sitting-together pact was broken. Sometimes fickleness is a beautiful thing.

I boarded the bus and found an empty row, strategically placed my jacket on the other seat, leaned back, and attempted to sleep. It was a good plan. People either assumed I was saving the seat for someone else, or they just didn’t want to wake me up to ask. Yes, I am sneaky and selfish. I’m working on it. But five minutes before our departure, I still had a row all to myself. I was thrilled. Maybe I could catch up on some sleep after all!

And then…they walked in. An elderly couple, shuffling down the aisle, looking for two seats together. They made it to the end of the bus without any luck. “Well,” said the husband. “I don’t think we can sit together.” I was still pretending to be asleep, but I could hear the sadness in his voice.

And I tried to justify it to myself. Oh, I tried. Tara, you were here early enough to get a good seat. You staked your claim, and it’s rightfully yours! You haven’t slept at all…you could actually spread out and get some sleep here! Let someone else give up their row. And hey – it’s your birthday! Let this be a gift to yourself!

But I couldn’t do it. If I were married, I would want to sit next to my husband...and the fact that the couple was elderly just clinched it. I gave up my seat, and with it, my happiness.

Not really. It’s just that I ended up in a broken seat that didn’t recline. It had neither footrest nor armrest, nor was there was no room for my legs because my seatmate and I both had too much luggage. Pajama Lady’s craziness began to look appealing in comparison. I blared gospel music in my ears until I sort of fell asleep. Luckily, the bus stopped thirty minutes later, and I grabbed a seat next to a sweet elderly woman at the front of the bus. Honestly, there must have been twice as much leg room…and the footrest worked! I was just thrilled.

Eventually, the sweet elderly woman got off the bus, and my new seatmate—a woman in her forties—plopped down next to me and asked, “Is this the bus to Seattle? I’m nervous because this is my first bus ride.”

Apparently, I attract people who don’t know what they’re doing. I’d like to think this is because I look so calm and self-assured, but I’m starting to wonder if they’re just looking for someone as clueless as they are. Anyway, this woman and I pretty much left each other alone after that first conversation. The one thing that struck me as odd is that she didn’t bring anything to do while she was on the bus…and if I recall, she was catching a bus in Seattle and would be travelling for another half-day after that. Yet – no book, no magazine, no music. She just had a tiny purse and, presumably, a checked bag. She couldn’t even stare at the window, because my pillow and I were blocking most of the view. She didn’t sleep. She just sat there.

When she wasn’t dancing, that is.

About ten minutes after she sat down, I noticed her bopping up and down in her seat. I started to think perhaps she was hinting that my music was too loud. I turned it down. She kept bopping. I turned it down even more. Nope, still bopping. I turned it off – but even then she continued on her merry ol’ bopping way. I shrugged, turned my music back up, and went back to sleep.

So I guess if you don’t bring anything to do on a bus, you can always dance.

Well – eventually, I arrived, and seeing everyone was totally worth enduring the weirdos on the bus. We had dinner and dessert, and I got to sleep in a bed for the first time in 36 hours. It was wonderful.

More later...

Book Review: A Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp

2011-03-20T16:46:00.000-07:00

I didn't want to like this book.

Is it bad that I'm prejudiced against the books written nowadays by Christian women? No doubt I've been soured by the likes of Captivating. Gag.

I kept hearing glowing reviews of A Thousand Gifts from Christian woman in the blogosphere. People said it was like The Love Dare only with God. Meh. Sounds corny. And goodness gracious, the author writes for the Christian division of Hallmark? That clinched it. I'd give this book a try...but only to make fun of it.

And so I bought it---not an actual copy of the book, mind you---but the Kindle version. And this from the girl who insists that if a book is worth owning, it's worth the space on your bookshelf. But with this silly book? I figured I'd buy the digital copy, read it, mock it, and promptly forget all about it.

Well. A hard copy of her book is currently on my desk, with a bookmark halfway through. Why? Possibly because I read the Kindle version, decided I wanted to actually own the thing, and have now started to read through it a second time so I could underline all my favorite parts.

Possibly.

Ok, so maybe I was wrong about the author. And maybe I did judge the book by its cover--a cutesy photo of two robin's eggs in a nest.

The title comes from a dare her friend gave her: write down 1,000 gifts you're thankful to God for. I expected a list of trite little happinesses. I didn't imagine she'd tackle the problem of evil--that theological quandary that's plagued people throughout centuries--because after all, this was a just another hokey Christian book, right?

But then she opened the book with her earliest childhood memory: the sight of her baby sister crushed by an oncoming truck.

Not exactly Hallmark material, folks.

And against that backdrop, she asks: where is God? Where is grace? How can we give thanks in all things in a world like this one?

Even without her footnotes and quotations, her influences were obvious: Annie Dillard, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Alexander Schmemann. Um, I'm not sure why I put the least-known guy last. Emphasis fail. But I really, really, really liked what I read of Schmemann last year...and he's got an awesome name, so there you go.

Occasionally her writing veers into overly-flowery territory, making her poetic prose sound forced...and boy, did I have to resist the urge to dot her sentences with commas. (Do Canadians have different rules??) But for a first book...well-done.

It's #11 on the New York Times Bestseller List...and I'm excited. I want people to read this book. It's a defense of joy, beauty, and gratitude. It's inspirational, but not in the Thomas Kinkade everything-is-all-light-and-happy sort of way. It's about finding beauty in the shadows, about being grateful for God's story--whatever that entails-- and your part in it. It's about living sacramentally. To be honest, this book sums up most of what I've come to learn in the past few years here at school...just packaged in a different way. Which means it can reach other people...especially those women who like the schmaltzy Christian books. ;)

And just a sample from the first chapter...

From all of our beginnings, we keep reliving the Garden story. Satan, he wanted more. More power, more glory. Ultimately, in his essence, Satan is an ingrate. And he sinks his venom into the heart of Eden. Satan's sin becomes the first sin of all humanity: the sin of ingratitude. Adam and Eve are, simply, painfully, ungrateful for what God gave . . . we look and swell with the ache of a broken, battered planet, what we ascribe as the negligent work of an indifferent Creator (if we even think there is one). Do we ever think of this busted-up place as the result of us ingrates, unsatisfied, we who punctured it all with a bite? The fruit's poison has infected the whole of humanity . . . but from that Garden beginning, God has had a different purpose for us . . . He means to fill us with glory again . . . that's grace. It is one thing to choose to take the grace offered at the cross. But to choose to live as one filling with His grace? . . . Could I live that--the choice to open the hands to freely receive whatever God gives? If I don't, I am still making a choice. The choice not to."

Ok. Spring Break has ended, and I'm officially getting back to work. Enough of this blogging silliness!

Finals Week, Day 1

2011-03-07T19:55:00.000-08:00

Here is today in a nutshell, simply because I need a break from studying.

I woke up.

I ate chocolate cake for breakfast.

I studied Natural History.

I listened to a brilliant thesis defense about women as historical agents.

I studied more Natural History.

I talked about how nervous I was to take my Natural History oral.

I read Psalm 121, because someone heard me freaking out and conveniently had it printed.

I took my Natural History oral.

I did not cry during my Natural History oral.

I cried approximately 5 seconds after leaving my Natural History Oral.

I looked stupid.

I went to the bathroom, looked at the sorry sight of a girl with puffy eyes, no make-up, and seriously poofy hair, and told her to get a grip.

{Don't ask why I was crying. I haven't figured that out yet. I was happy enough with my grade, but I was so nervous going into it, and once I was done--all this pent-up something just came out of my tear ducts.}

I decided to wait in the bathroom until I looked normal.

I realized I didn't have that much time.

I visited the school secretary's desk and raided her candy bowl.

I went home.

I ate chocolate pie.

I watched an episode of The Dick van Dyke Show. "Oh Rob!!!"

I worked on my history timeline.

I went to a study group.

We talked about monks and time and Bede and King Radbod. Okay, I talked about King Radbod. Wikipedia tells me his name is also Redbad, but where's the fun in that?

I ate chocolate pie. Again.

I came home and threatened to put my boarder-brother's name in the church bulletin under the "Expectant Mothers" prayer list.

I decided I like my job too much to risk losing it.

I wrote this blog post.

Next up: history timeline.

Adios.

P.S. Yes, I did have chocolate cake/pie at every single meal. No, I don't regret this.

Stress

2011-01-14T20:33:00.000-08:00

Christmas break was so relaxing. No deadlines, no pressure, no assignments. I needed the break. Oh, how I needed it. I felt like I'd been treading water for four months, with my nose barely staying above the water line the whole time.

And so I spent a month in pure, unadulterated sloth. I got up late, spent the days how I pleased, and went to bed whenever I wanted.

This is all well and good...for a time. But toward the end, I was sort-of-but-not-really looking forward to school. Sort-of because I feel antsy without a schedule and a routine. Not-really because with schedules and routines comes stress. I don't like stress...and yet, I always end up going back to him. (Don't ask me why I always turn life situations into relationship analogies. I think it's like guys and sports.)

{Random story that is slightly-related, but didn't fit anywhere in this post: During my fall break, I started a documentary called “Stress: The Silent Killer.” Yes, I watched a documentary about STRESS during a break week. Or, that is, I tried to watch a documentary about stress during break week. I had to turn it off about 5 minutes into it. It was making me stressed.}

During break, I was reading this book about mothering little ones. (Don’t judge me. I’m just storing up wisdom that I might need later. Besides, I can’t help reading books that are right there in front of me. It’s a compulsion.) Anyway, in one of the chapters, the author mentions how overwhelmed she was in one particular season of her life, and how she realized she needed to ban the word “overwhelmed” from her vocabulary.

Well, "overwhelmed" isn't the trigger word for me. I'm definitely on Team Stressed. It's my go-to word for whenever I feel lazy or grumpy.

So. I've been consciously trying to...not necessarily ban the word...but just be way more aware of using it. I've used it so many times over the past seven-ish years, that it just needs to be retired from my mouth for awhile.

Stress is my excuse to grumble (“Ahh, how am I supposed to get all this reading done? Why did the teacher even assign this book?”), which is ultimately rooted in disbelief. Do I really believe that God ordains my circumstances? Not just in a classroom where we're discussing Calvinism, but in my life? And not just the big events, but the little itty-bitty details, like reading assignments and paper deadlines? Because if I do, then why am I stressed out? Why don't I just do my best, and let Him take care of the outcome? Sure, the circumstances won't always turn out the way I wanted. I might end up with a B instead of an A. Oh, the horror. But a B cheerfully earned is worth more than an A fretfully pursued. Can someone please translate that into Chinese and tattoo it on my face?

So, I’m determined to keep my priorities straight (none of this skipping Bible reading for school reading, no more fudging on keeping the Sabbath), work hard, trust God, and let the crumbs fall where they may. I'm done with giving into the stress, finished with masking a grumbling spirit with a stupid little word.

It's only been Week 1 (admittedly the easiest week of the term), but I've noticed a change in my attitude. Stress has been one of the major motivators in my life. I've always worked better under pressure, under stress. But now - I'm reminding myself that I have a different motivation. I need to be working hard because it's the right thing to do, not because the consequences of not working hard frighten me. I'm supposed to be working heartily as unto the Lord, not as unto stress. And that same Lord was the one who said, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Stress, on the other hand, says things like, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you more to stress about. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am a harsh master and proud, and you will find turmoil for your soul. For my yoke is heavy, and my burden is even heavier."

I think I'm going to go with the Lord on this one.

All these revelations have come to me at an interesting time. You see, this term is going to be by far the most stressful one yet. I nearly doubled the hours at my job, and I’m taking an extra class. Let me remind you that I was stressed with the normal coursework and 3.5 hours of work a week. Without a shift in attitude, this would have been the term that stress would have done me in. Conversations with me would look something like this.

Hey Tara! How are you?

Oh, stressed. You?

Oh, not too bad.

Oh, good for you. You’re not stressed like I am. Must be nice to not be stressed. I wish I weren't stressed.

Um, yeah. Hey, are you coming to the party tonight?

Nope, I’m feeling too stressed.

Oh, but maybe the party would do you good?

Nope. I’d be too stressed. I’d spend the whole time there thinking about how stressed I was, and then I’d get more stressed, and then I'd collapse in the middle of your floor in a giant fit of stress.

Ok. Well…we’ll miss you.

Yeah, well...I’ll probably be too stressed to miss you. But have fun!

You too!

I will. Stress is so much fun, you know. Nothing like a big ol’ glass of stress to wash the schoolbooks down with.

Um...ok. Sure. Bye!

Yeah, I have to leave too. We've been talking too long already...hopefully stress won’t kill me before we meet again!

And then I would lose all my friends, because who wants to be around THAT person?

I feel like I should clarify...I don't believe, not for a minute, that I'm going to frolic through life stress-free for the rest of my days. Even if I were to ban myself from saying the word aloud for the rest of my life, I will still say it in my heart. Just give me a few more weeks...finals week will loom ahead, and stress will wind its snaky fingers 'round.

But I'm more aware of it now. And as every single breaking-addictions group will tell you, admitting you have a problem is the first step.

Also, refusing to be stressed doesn’t mean that I’m not going to be studying and working like crazy. I've been starting my days at 5am, and I'm planning to keep that up as long as possible. I'm going to be skipping out on parties. I'm going to be doing school on the weekends. I'm going to say "no" to some things that I would have otherwise liked to do. Honestly, on the outside, it's not going to look like much has changed. But it has.

2010-12-20T20:04:00.000-08:00

So after a week full of finals (culminating in a 3.5 hr Latin test that sucked out every last bit of brain I possessed) and a 10-11 hour overnight journey across the country, I am finally home.

I'd just like to take this time to thank a few people along the way.

Dear Hispanic, High-School Soccer Player,

I’m sorry for so assertively cutting in front of you as we were all lining up to board. I thought about letting you go ahead of me, but I really wanted to get on the plane first so I could claim a space in the overhead bin. I have a history with overhead bins. I didn’t realize that you were going to be so kind as to offer to help me with my bag before I even attempted it myself. Thanks also for being one of the few guys to sit behind me and not kick my seat or stretch out your legs so far they hit the backs of my ankle.

Dear Older Man who Has a Short Wife,

The fact that you helped me with my suitcase because you would have wanted someone to help your equally short wife made me smile. You must have noticed when High School Hispanic Soccer Player helped with my suitcase, because at the end of the flight you stepped into the aisle (I presumed to get your own stuff) and said "Yours was the purple one, if I recall," and let me off first.

Dear Shaggy Indie Kid with Skinny Jeans,

Thanks for laughing at me when I tried to turn my overhead light on, but realized that I couldn't reach it without unbuckling and standing up. I thought it was pretty funny, too.

Dear Man in the Air Force,

Thanks for accepting the stewardess's offer to move up to first class, so that I could scoot over a seat and not have to sit directly next to Shaggy Indie Kid with Skinny Jeans. No offense, Shaggy Indy kid, but I’m not going to sit next to you for 2+ hours unless I have to.

Dear Honeymooning Couple,

Thanks for taking a red-eye flight, ensuring that the person next to you would most likely be sleeping and thus wouldn’t be subjected to your massively public displays of ardent affection. To the new bride, I’m glad you’re happy, and the ring is pretty. I also feel like you should be told that your new husband looks just like Mr. Incredible from the nose down. Maybe y'all could do a Mr. Incredible/Elastigirl couple's costume for Halloween next year.

Dear Large Awkward-Looking Young Man who Looked an Awful Lot Like the Birkenstock-wearing Weirdo I Once Sat Next to who Kept Dropping Cashews on my Thigh and Trying to Retrieve Them,

Thanks for not eating cashews, dropping them on me, or trying to retrieve them. Thanks also for making small talk with me at the beginning of the flight, but then letting me sleep the rest of the way. Thank you also for apologizing about poking me to wake me up to inform me that I needed to close my tray table. I don't like being poked by strangers, but the fact that the stewardess put you up to it combined with the fact that you apologized makes it okay. Also, good luck with your niece at DisneyWorld. I have a feeling she’s going to be the biggest brat in the happiest place on earth. I base this assumption on the fact that she is currently a brat and the chances of her turning into Shirley Temple by the time we de-plane are very slim.

Dear Kid who Shouted “Mayday, Mayday, We’re Going Down” Everytime We Experienced Turbulence,

You woke me up, but you made me laugh, so it’s all good.

Dear Continential Airlines,

Thanks for the full can of soda…but the cookie? I’ve seen postage stamps bigger than that.

Dear TSA Official,

Thanks for feeling as awkward touching me as I was feeling being touched by you. That must have been your first time. Good job getting all the steps right—and your little speech beforehand was very well memorized. I could tell that your boss was proud of you, even if she did keep reminding you of all the steps. Also, thanks for not finding a bomb in the waistband of my jeans.

Dear Phoenix Airport,

You are stupid. If people are going to have to switch terminals to catch their connections, you should probably look into installing a tram system between the terminals. It really isn’t efficient to have to exit the airport, wait around for a bus, and then go through the whole rigmarole of security AGAIN. On the other hand, thanks for not having a body scanner installer yet. I was really stoked that I only had to have my personal space invaded once that day.

Dear Outgoing Blonde and Friendly Asian Man and Sympathetic Bald Guy,

Thanks for joining in my rant against the Phoenix airport. I hope you all made it to Atlanta.

Dear United Airlines Flight 3766,

Thanks for NOT singing Jingle Bells all together just like the stewardess suggested. 6:30 in the morning is really not the time for such tomfoolery. Especially when it feels like 3:30 in the morning for me.

You may have noticed that most of my thank-yous had to do with bags and overhead bins. There is a reason for this. Typically, the scene goes like this. Tara can barely reach overhead bin. Tara struggles and almost drops bag on nearby sleeping passenger’s head. Tara sets bag down. Tara tries to see if there is already a bag in that overhead bin. Tara can’t see. Tara tries to make her best helpless woman face to see if someone will respond. Tara is left alone, while her helpless woman face fades and is replaced by her angry woman face. Tara asks stewardess to help. Tara is rejected by stewardess for legal reasons. Tara loudly asks the stewardess how in the world Tara is supposed to get her bag up, if she’s too short and nobody will help. The last spark of chivalry in some man’s heart is fanned into flame—or perhaps he’s just afraid Tara will drop the bag on his head—and Tara’s bag finally makes it into aforementioned overhead bin.

That whole scenario actually happened once…I’m pretty sure that that airplane just had really high overhead bins, because I’ve never had that much trouble.

And if you think I'm overreacting, then perhaps you just don't understand that it's harder to do when you're my size. If YOU were 5'2 and weighed...well...if you were me, you'd understand!

The Yums and Yucks

2010-11-25T23:17:00.000-08:00

I was asked to bring dessert for Thanksgiving, so I decided I'd make a couple pumpkin pies. I know, that's totally cliche...but when you think about it, so is turkey. Because I had lots of time, and because I didn't want to venture out into the snowy world to buy a pie crust, I decided to make my own. It was surprisingly easy. Not the healthiest thing in the world (hello, Crisco!), but it's not like pie has ever had a healthy reputation to begin with.

I had a little extra pumpkin filling, so, as you can see, I made a couple mini-pies.

Two little heart-shaped pies. Isn't that romantic? Let's just gloss over the part where I eat both of them myself.

Well, the pie crust recipe made enough for three pies, but I only had enough pumpkin for one. So I sat there, looking at the leftover pie dough, and decided to make chicken pot pie, because that's one of my comfort foods. I just made everything up as I went along, so it wasn't the best ever, but since I was the only one eating it...it was good enough.

Well, I still had more pie dough left over, so I decided to decorate the top of the pie. My sister told me that a few nights ago she decorated her chicken pot pie with some snazzy leaf cookie-cutters, and I was not about to be outdone by her domestic goddessness. So I looked high and low until I found some cookie-cutters of my own.

Unfortunately, all I found were Christmas shapes and....the state of Idaho.

See those lumps at the top? Those are potatoes. I'm so clever, it kills me.

I enjoyed the irony that I was making a pie to celebrate this state I'm living in, while inside I was cursing the first settlers who ever decided that this place was inhabitable in the winter time. It's NOT.

Anyway, I decided to make another dessert, since my plan to bring 2 pumpkin pies fell through. I rummaged around and found a red velvet cake mix.

I don't get red velvet cake.

Like, why is it red? I would understand if it were tomato cake. Or beet cake. Or blood cake (caked blood?). Yeah, I know...that's nasty. But at least we'd all understand why it was red.

What if we made the red velvet cake and just left the red out? I think I'd understand just velvet cake. But since mine was a cake mix, the red was there to stay. Oh well.

But one day, I'm going to make two cakes: one red velvet cake, one not-red, red velvet cake. And then I will gather up some friends, blindfold them, and give them bites of each. And they will all be like, "Oh, Tara! They taste the same! I feel so dumb to think that I was eating superfluous red dye my whole life!" And I'll be like, "Yeah, that was pretty dumb of you." And then they won't be my friends anymore, but that'll be okay, because that means more leftover cake for me.

Anyway.

I saw online that red velvet cakes are often frosted with a butter roux/cooked flour dressing. It sounded weird, but I decided to embrace the weirdness of this whole red velvet cake situation and just make the frosting.

My first attempt resulted in a big glob of paste. How perfect...if I'd been making a paper-mache red velvet cake, that is.

So I tried again and got a fairly decent roux. The problem came when I added the butter and sugar. This picture doesn't do it justice.

It looked like curdled...something. Plus the vanilla gave it a really weird brown color. It tasted fine, but there was no way I was going to frost a cake with that...not even a red velvet cake.

So I turned to my trusty ol' buttercream, and thus my red velvet cake was saved from weird, curdled disgusting frosting.

Oh, I should also add that I burnt a cake in the microwave today. Those 5-minute chocolate cake in a mug thing is not as easy as it looks. I think it did say "Kids, ask your parents for help." Guess that's what I get for not having a grownup nearby.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2010-11-25T20:04:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, two posts in two days. It's purty clear I'm on break and have nothing better to do.

Oh, wait. I do have better things to do. Like taking care of the pile of dishes by the sink. Or cleaning my room. Or starting on school. Psh, whatever.

I just wanted to link to a fantastic Thanksgiving article by the one and only Lisa Anderson.

Thanks for Nothing | Boundless Line

Really good perspective on thankfulness.

And along those lines, I've decided that I'm glad it snowed so much this week, because if I have to learn to drive in snow, the best week to learn is break week. I don't learn well with other people watching me. I'd rather figure it out by myself.

And if your first thought was "Uhhhh, why does she keep talking about snow?"....well, then you just need to get used to it, because snow is taking over my life.

I hope everyone had a fantastic Thanksgiving. To my dear family, I love you all, and I really, really missed you.

Mumble, grumble

2010-11-23T20:12:00.000-08:00

Since I last updated, my dad and I have driven across the country. It was fun. Somewhere between Georgia and Kentucky, we had a conversation about this blog. I have a love/hate relationship with blogs. I don't want to talk too much about school on here, for the sake of other people's privacy. I don't want to talk about work, for the same reasons, as well as the issue of reader interest. ("So today, I stamped five letters and took them down to the post office. And then I e-mailed some people, and I even scanned a few documents!!!!) And since basically all the events in my day are connected with school or work, what else is there to blog about? Only all that stuff that happens between my two ears.

Hence, posting has been scarce.

~~~~~

A few months ago, a friend of mine e-mailed me. She hadn't heard from me, and the best explanation she could think of was that there was a young man in my life. I had to write back and tell her that no, I'm just a lame friend who forgets to respond to e-mails.

But what's funny is that I apparently think I'm in a relationship. A few weeks ago, I was sitting in library, talking to my roommate, and these words came out of my mouth: "You know, if I were single..."

I was about to continue my sentence when my roommate helpfully reminded me that I am, in fact, single.

But I don't feel like I am. Nope. I'm in a deeply committed relationship with School. We're together all the time. To be honest, he's a bit possessive. I feel like I'm always taking care of him, and he never lets me go out and do other stuff. He insists on dates every night except Sunday. I'm constantly trying to make him happy. Sometimes, I just want to dump him. In fact, our relationship has been on the rocks lately, so we're taking a week break. And we are definitely NOT spending Christmas together. I'm going to catch up with an old buddy of mine named Sleep. School gets jealous and tries to keep us apart, but we always find ways to meet secretly. But in spite of his possessiveness, I really do like School. Somehow, we always patch things up. Still, I'm planning to break up with him in about 2.5 years...that is, unless he breaks up with me first.

I'm pretty sure that entire paragraph is proof that I need to get out more.

~~~~~

Sometime this autumn, I decided I wasn’t going to grumble about the upcoming winter. It didn't make sense. Complaining wouldn't change anything, and I might as well get used to winter weather. After all, God brought me to Idaho, and He could very well lead me out of Idaho and into another land equally cold and snowy. No sense in kicking and screaming. And you know, I don't even really want to live in FL for the rest of my life. It would be far more exciting to find a job in some random state (country?) and move there. When opportunity knocks, I don't want to be too fettered by snow-hatred to answer the door.

I do believe "fettered by snow-hatred" is one of the weirdest phrases to pop out of my brain and onto this blog. The more I look at it, the less sense it makes. Anyway.

Say I get married, and my husband take a job in Snowville, Utah. By the way, I don't know anything about that place; I just really (dis)liked the name. I've seen women bitter about their husbands moving them to hot, humid FL (a bitterness which I don't understand), and I really don't want to be like that. And since I have a slight problem with people leaving their spouses for better weather, it looks like the only option is to cheerfully accept one's circumstances.

And it looks like I wouldn't be ready to do that, since I apparently can't even cheerfully accept my circumstances when I'm the one who moved myself out to Idaho in the first place. Clearly, some sanctification is in order.

Grumbling is grumbling. The fact that I'm from FL doesn't make it okay for me to grumble. (It does make it okay for me to utterly fail at driving in the snow.) God created snow, and there's a side of Him that I'm not appreciating when I hate snow. It's closeminded.

And so, with all these thoughts percolating in my head, I was all ready to attack this winter with a perky, Pollyanna smile.

And then….we had our first snow. And the first words out of my mouth when I got up that morning and saw the white world waiting outside my window? Let’s just say they weren’t exactly, “Thank you, Jesus.”

It's not that I utterly despise snow. There are a few things I like about it. It’s fun to play in. It makes nights brighter. It’s pretty. It makes me feel like I’m living in a Hallmark Christmas special.

But I hate driving in it. I don’t enjoy unearthing my car every time I want to go somewhere. I don’t like scraping ice off my windshield. I don’t like slipping and sliding all over the road. I don't like not being able to see, because I feel like I'm driving in a snow globe. I don't like feeling like I could get into an accident at any second.

All of this after one day of driving in it.

But you know, I feel like I've come a long way, since I distinctly remember saying that I'd never be able to drive period. But that's another blog post for another time. I'm sure - with time - I'll figure this whole snow-driving thing out. It's just frustrating. I'm hoping my Florida license plate is functioning like one of those "STUDENT DRIVER" magnets, because I need extra grace from people on the road.

And all you people back home, now that I’ve bared my soul to you …just know that every time you gloat about the 80 degree temperature, you’re causing your weaker sister to stumble. So there.

Loss

2010-07-05T20:31:00.001-07:00

I just found out that Sono Harris died yesterday. I never met her, but I have greatly benefitted from the books her children have written over the past decade. Josh Harris wrote I Kissed Dating Goodbye in the late ‘90’s and twins Alex and Brett Harris wrote Do Hard Things just a few years ago. My heart grieves for their family. Please keep them in your prayers.

When I heard the news, it was hard not to reflect on my own experience of losing my mom. There are just some things I've been thinking about lately...

People far too often treat bereavement like it’s a broken leg. Something fixed by a cast, some physical therapy, and time. They expect you to hobble around for a little while, but soon enough, they expect you to be running and playing just like you used to.

But it’s more like having your leg amputated. Sure, the bloody stump will heal, but it’s not growing back. You will forever be crippled. Your task is now to accommodate your new way of life, with the knowledge that for the rest of this life, you will be without.

Does that seem melodramatic? I don’t think it is, though it took a long time to give myself permission to write those words. I have been feeling like I can’t be truly honest about how traumatic my mom’s death was because I don’t want pity, and I don’t want to underemphasize God’s grace. The horror of losing my mom and the peace that God is in control have figured out a way to coexist in my mind, but I struggle with how to communicate that to others.

I have long since passed the timeslot for socially acceptable grieving. And yet, I ache. In some ways, my grief has even intensified. I started to wonder if I was normal and my intellectual interest in death was born. This school year I checked out armloads of books on bereavement and stayed up late reading and researching. I wrote papers, creative sketches, and poems, scribbling notes in composition books about “secondary grief” and “anniversary reactions.” I became an amateur thanatologist, evidenced by the fact that I even know what the word thanatologist means. I think some people started to worry, but it was something I needed to do.

I learned a lot. Unfortunately, part of what I learned is that a great deal of bereavement “help” is nothing but moronic psycho-babble. But I’ve also seen glimpses of truth. Glimpses of myself.

I have always been wary when labeling myself, because it’s so easy to read yourself into vague descriptions. Try reading a newspaper horoscope; chances are that you can find yourself in a Taurus just as well as in a Gemini. That’s why you need to use caution…nobody wants to be the person who reads a book and suddenly sprouts issues like therapists are going out of style.

But it’s an entirely different thing when you know before you read a book that you have issues, and you’re reading the book for guidance. Just because you recognize yourself in the pages of a book doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve fallen into the trap of obsessive self-labeling.

One of the books I read was called Motherless Daughters. I heard about the book shortly after my mom died, but I put off reading it until just a few months ago. Like I said, I wanted to be cautious. I didn’t want my grieving to be dictated by a book.

Motherless Daughters had a lot of liberalism, strong language, and a heavy dose of humanistic bosh. I’m not rushing around buying copies for people. I only recommend it if the title fits you, and you want some reassurance that you’re normal. And from what I know of my blog readership, I don’t think that’s a huge demographic, so anyway...

But the book helped me gain insight into motherless daughters. I realized anew the importance of mothers, and just how much they shape their daughter's life. The mother-daughter relationship is so special...typically the longest-lasting relationship in a daughter's lifetime. In a way that helped to justify my continued grief. I'm realizing that it's okay to still hurt, and I haven't given myself that permission in a long time.

Please understand. I'm not writing this to get attention or pity. I just feel like I needed to say it, because lately, I've met some new people and in the course of conversation, I've had to tell them about my mom. Some of them have been shocked and said things like, "But you're so happy!" I don't want people to get the wrong idea. Yes, I'm happy. God has blessed me greatly. But no...that doesn't mean that I'm "over it." Not at all. This is going to be lifelong journey, and I think I've come to terms with that.

Seth's Baptism

2010-06-05T19:00:00.001-07:00

Little child, for you Jesus Christ came to this earth, struggled and suffered;

for your sake He crossed Gethsemane and went through the darkness of Calvary;

for your sake He cried: 'It is finished';

for your sake He died and for your sake He overcame death;

indeed for your sake, little child, and you--still--know nothing of it.

And thus the word of the apostle is confirmed: 'We love God, for He loved us first.'

(French Reformed Baptismal Rite)

musings from a nostalgic former mime

2010-05-01T23:09:00.000-07:00

I was a twelve-year old mime. Because when you’re homeschooled and in that horribly awkward, angsty middle-school stage, and you really don’t have tons of friends because (let’s be honest) you’re a bit “unique,” and you’d rather wear long dresses from Jane Austen’s time period than anything that was in style at any point during the last three centuries, clearly the best way to up your coolness points is to join a mime troupe.

So a bunch of homeschoolers got together at a church every Monday morning, and we practiced getting stuck behind invisible walls.

As exciting as that sounds, I would come home from mime practice every week frustrated. People weren’t listening to the teacher. Now, I’m not the firstborn. I’m not really even a strong type-A personality. But whenever the giggly girls in the back were being disruptive, the whole group got reprimanded. Week after week, we got the same lecture, and I was getting sick of it. Whenever I heard the other kids talking, completely ignoring the teacher, I wanted to ask them if they were actually aware of what the word mime meant, apparently operating under the assumption that saying “Shut up!” isn’t nearly as effective as referencing the dictionary.

Looking back, I needed to lighten up. Instead, I wrote the teacher. That’s a whole ‘nother story, but it actually helped the class situation. Unfortunately, the end result was that I wasn’t the most popular kid in the mime troupe. And when you’re the least popular one in a mime troupe, you know it’s bad.

I am so glad I’m not twelve years old anymore. Or a mime.

But I stuck it out until the end of the year, and I distinctly remember our last performance. The whole week had been full of extra rehearsals and practices. We’d performed at a nursing home and a church already. Now, we were the opening act for an award-winning ventriloquist performing at the largest auditorium in our county.

Maybe being a mime wasn’t so bad after all.

Anyway, the excitement and nerves that I shared that one week with my fellow mimes changed something. I was having fun. We were bonding. And at the end of our last performance, as we stood there in our striped shirts and suspenders, washing off our white faces for the last time, we all started feeling nostalgic. Promises of “we’ll all be back together next year” echoed through the room.

And I went home and told my mom that I wanted to do mime again next year. Being the wise person she was, she told me to wait and see how I felt in the fall.

It only took a few weeks to make my decision. Mime? Um, no. Never again.

I don’t know why, but nostalgia hits me at weird times, in weird places, and about weird things that I never really liked in the first place.

So here I am, about to enter into my last week of freshmen classes. And I’m feeling nostalgic. Immediately, I am suspicious. Is this just mime nostalgia all over again? I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the last few weeks. It’s not. It’s nothing like mime. But the school librarians might prefer it if I worked a bit more on my mime-like qualities.

I am nostalgic about freshmen year in a good way. I’m not idealizing it. I don’t want to go back to the beginning of freshman year, or continue in a state of perpetual freshmanliness. (Freshmasculinity?) I want my robe and sophomore title. But freshman year has been awesome, and the end of awesome things is bittersweet.

I've learned that it's possible to read hundreds of pages in a day, and that it's possible to write papers overnight, but not advisable. And flannel and fleece PJ pants will be your best friends in the winter, but no matter how comfy your pajamas are, you shouldn't stay up all night in them writing papers. And you should definitely not do that twice. But on a more serious note...

I really don’t know how to describe it without sounding sappy, but worlds have been opened up to me. Things have clicked. I have a deeper understanding of God now, one that doesn’t rely on understanding alone. I’ve been encouraged, admonished, and loved by students and faculty who genuinely care about me.

Quintilian describes the perfect teacher, saying

Let him adopt a paternal attitude towards his pupils, and regard himself as taking the place of those whose children are entrusted to him. Let him be free of vice himself and intolerant of it in others. Let him be strict but not grim, and friendly but not too relaxed, so as to incur neither hatred nor contempt. He should talk a great deal about what is good and honourable; the more often he has admonished his pupils the more rarely will he need to punish them. He must not be given to anger, but he must not turn a blind eye to things that need correction; he must be straightforward in his teaching, willing to work, persistent but not obsessive. He must answer questions readily, and put questions himself to those who do not ask any. In praising his pupils’ performances he must be neither grudging nor fulsome: the one produces dislike of the work, the other complacency. In correcting faults, he must not be biting and certainly not abusive. Many have been driven away from learning because some teachers rebuke pupils as though they hate them. He should himself deliver at least one speech, preferably several, a day, for his class to take away with them. For even if he provides them with plenty of examples for imitation from their reading, better nourishment comes, as they say, from the “living voice” and especially from a teacher whom, if they are properly taught, the pupils love and respect. It is difficult to overestimate how much readier we are to imitate those whom we like.

Those are my teachers.

And when students have teachers like that, they can't help but

love their teachers as they do their studies, and think of them as the parents not of their bodies but of their minds. This feeling of affection will do much for their studies. They will be ready to listen, have confidence in what is said, and want to be like the teacher; they will go to classes cheerfully and eagerly, they will not be angry when corrected, they will be pleased when they are praised, they will try to earn affection by their application. As the teachers’ business is to teach, so theirs is to make themselves teachable. Neither is sufficient without the other. And just as it takes two parents to produce a human being, and seed is scattered in vain if the ground has not been softened in advance to nurture it, so eloquence cannot develop unless teacher and learner work in harmony together.”

Quintilian and I had a tumultuous relationship, but he was spot on here.

I've been taught to appreciate God’s creation more…though my stubborn Floridian heart still resists the snow. I’ve rediscovered how awesome Latin is. I’ve learned that poetry isn’t stupid, and that there are some things that poetry alone can convey. Not only that, but I can actually write poetry. I used to think my poetry skills were confined to limericks and Dr. Seuss knock-offs. Goofy poetry. Then I wrote a serious poem. A sad poem. And my teacher liked it, and he asked me to read it again at Disputatio, but all that paled in comparison to my father’s response when I e-mailed him my poem. “Favorite poem ever,” he said. And maybe he only said that because I’m his daughter, but I don’t care, because I wrote it for him.

Tomorrow is Sunday. And so starts my last week of classes. Then a week of finals and then . . . home.

The speaker at Convocation told us freshman year would be like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. I didn't make it to Disney before they closed the ride, but if Mr. Toad's Wild Ride was anything like freshman year, I think I would have liked it.

Freshman books...

Wait, where did break go?

2010-03-19T21:22:00.000-07:00

The other night I was making pizza when someone knocked on the door. As Leah went to answer it, I cautioned her to look through the peephole first. After all, we weren't expecting anyone, and who knows...it could be someone scary. She obediently looked through the peephole...and burst out laughing. I came over to see what was so hilarious...and the door opened. The idea that this person could be a crazy ax-murderer hadn't exactly left my mind, so I was really startled by some tall guy just bursting into our house. And then I realized... it was my brother. Yep. On his way back from his Spring Break fun in Florida, he took a detour through Atlanta to see me and Seth. It was a fantastic surprise.

Today we all went to Stone Mountain. Stef got a workout carrying Seth up. I got a workout just carrying myself. Whew. But it was super fun, and a decided improvement over my last trip. I was seven years old, and hiking was not one of my favorite activities. Hellooooo, you can't read and hike at the same time. I also tripped and cut myself pretty badly, and I was scared of heights. Bad memories. But we were so cute!

Since then, Stefan has stopped wearing Puffy Paint shirts, Leah had learned that ladies sit with their ankles crossed, I've learned that hiking isn't the worst thing in the world, and Tomas has learned...hmm, he's so stinkin' cute in this picture that I can't think of anything to make fun of.

It's my last night here in Atlanta. I leave tomorrow bright and early. Except more like dark and early. I've printed off my boarding passes, packed a lunch, and stuffed clothes in my carry-on. I'm going to set a reasonable number of alarms (perhaps seven) to ensure that I will actually wake up...and then I'm going to bed.

Here's hoping for a safe flight that doesn't involve sitting next to creepy and/or obese men.

So, what's new?

2010-03-17T21:35:00.001-07:00

1. I've made it through 3/4 of my Freshman year. Third term was hard for me. It started off really well, but somewhere around...oh, I don't know...9:27AM on February 8th, I suddenly because very homesick. But I wasn't homesick for home. I was homesick for a person. And I'd never even met him. So I plodded away at the books, even though my heart wasn't in it, and hopped a plane as soon as I could to go visit my nefoo. Ahem. Nephew.

2. That nephew is kinda cute, by the way. And by "kinda," I mean that no matter how cute you think your son/grandson/nephew is, Seth is cuter. In fact, he is the cutest kid to ever roam the earth. Although he hasn't really started to roam. He's still working on the whole holding-up-your-own-head concept.

3. However, almost peeing all over your Aunt Tara's face while she's trying to give you a bath = not cute.

4. Jet lag is annoying, particularly when combined with Spring Forward. Speaking of which, why do we did we give such a horrible situation as losing an hour of sleep such a peppy name? Spring Forward. Really? I suggest "Groggily stumble out of bed an extra hour early and make plans later that day to stomp on Ben Franklin's grave for ever coming up with the idea of Daylight Savings Time in the first place." Not quite as catchy, and it doesn't help you remember whether we lose an hour in the Spring or the Fall, but I think it sums up the situation quite nicely. (FYI: "Fall Back" shall be rechristened "Merrily skip out of bed having had an extra hour of sleep and make plans later that day to lay flowers on Ben Franklin's grave").

5. Don't be fooled. I'm living in denial that time zones and Daylight Savings Time exist. Hence my not making an appearance until somewhere around 11:30 each morning.

6. Will I ever be old enough to NOT be freaked out by Twilight Zone episodes? I kept asking Leah to turn the volume down, because it's the creepy music and sudden screams that freak me out. Case in point: I watched Psycho when I was home alone at 11:00PM one night. I just turned the sound down as soon as I saw the shower, and I was fine. Trivia: the blood was chocolate syrup.

7. The Biggest Loser is scary in another way. The biggest thing that show needs to lose is the drama. The emotional scenes are so heavy-handed, (hear the gentle piano music? That means something is going to be touching! Wait for it!) and sometimes the drama is so manufactured that all you can do is roll your eyes, sigh, and wait for it to pass. And then tune in next week for a new episode. Sigh. It's like eating Cheese Puffs. You know it has absolutely no substance and it's bad for you..but you like to secretly indulge anyway.

Warning: over-consumption of actual Cheese Puffs will lead to contestant eligibility on The Biggest Loser.

8. Dad and I came up with a March Madness Bracket tonight. It was strongly suggested (I believe the exact words were "complete this or you will fail") for one of my classes. It was actually really fun, and for the first time in my life, I will probably be checking Sports news. Random sidenote: our bracket is freakishly similar to the President's. At first, I thought that was bizarre, but now I know exactly what happened...

DISCLAIMER: The following story is intended for comical purposes alone and is not meant to imply certain character traits in certain people. Most of the time.

Once, there was a president who couldn't come up with brackets for March Madness. He didn't want to be wrong...after all, he was leading an entire country! If Americans couldn't look to him to predict sports winners, who would they turn to? As you can see...he was very distressed.

Suddnely, a thought occurred to him. "I know just who to ask!" he exclaimed. "Michelle! Get Al on the phone!"

Then Michelle calmly reminded him that she was not his secretary.

Moreover, she explained that in addition to being America's Favorite Trend-Setter, she was also the First Lady and that there are dozens of administrative assistants who could find Al's phone number and that she needed to go coordinate some diversity somewhere.

Luckily, Al was free. He calmly explained the whole situation to the President, using a ballpoint pen to draw visual aids and occasionally to gesture with.

At last, it made sense to the President. He smiled appreciatively at Al.

In fact, he was so excited he called a press conference to announce his bracket, making sure that Al was sitting nearby, just in case. Despite the fear lodged in the pit of his stomach that he would accidentally say "Kansas State" instead of "Kansas," he held his chin high and looked confident.

As cameras flashed and people oohed and aahed, one reporter asked the President if he had received any help in determining this fabulous bracket. Al quickly turned to the President, smiling, anxiously awaiting his moment in the sun. Al was so excited about being recognized for his efforts that he didn't realized he was turning in the wrong direction. Blame it on the excitement.

"No, I basically came up with it all by myself," the president said. The more the president talked, the grimmer the expression on Al's face became.

Finally, Al couldn't hold it back. Al was not happy. You could even say that he was sad.

He'd had enough. He was going back to Florida. Or maybe to Idaho to visit his daughter. The president realized what a treasure was slipping out of his hand. "Please don't go, Al," he pleaded.

And there, on National TV, they shook hands and made up.

And then the President backed away from the microphone and gave Al his change to shine. And shine he did. The President made affirmative grunts throughout his speech, just to prove that he understand what was going on.

And then Al went to Idaho and visited his daughter, just like he planned.

And they all lived happily ever after.

It's been awhile...

2010-02-19T00:09:00.003-08:00

I vowed to never use my blog to complain, so this might be a short post. Haha.

I love school. Really I do. But right now, I don't care about it at all. I don't want to write papers. I don't want to take finals. I just want to go meet my nephew. And hold him. And snuggle. And listen to all those cute little gurgling sounds that newborns make. And then hand him to his mother when he has a messy diaper. Phooey on school--I want to go be an aunt.

Blood is thicker than schoolbooks. What more can I say?

Danger

2010-02-05T23:55:00.000-08:00

My nephew still has not arrived. Come on, little man! We're waiting...

Expecting to hear the news of his birth at any moment, my mind has naturally been focused on little Seth Danger Johnson. The other day, I remembered this quote from one of my favorite books, Notes From the Tilt-a-Whirl by N.D. Wilson, and I realized how applicable this is to the Johnsons right now. (Yes, it's parenting advice, and no, I haven't had kids...but listen to it anyway! Mr. Wilson is a father of five...)

"The world is rated R, and no one is checking IDs. Do not try to make it G by imagining the shadows away. Do not try to hide your children from the world forever, but do not pretend there is no danger. Train them. Give them sharp eyes and bellies full of laughter. Make them dangerous. Make them yeast, and when they've grown, they will pollute the shadows." (pg. 152)

Seth means "appointed one." Danger means...well..."danger." I'll admit it. I used to tease Seth's parents about his middle name. "Here's hoping he won't live up to it," I'd laugh.

Now, that's exactly what I'm praying for.

We need men appointed by God to be dangerous. Dangerous to wickedness. Dangerous to bad theology. Dangerous to the work Satan. Of course, everyone is a threat to something; may Seth be dangerous to the right things. Err, wrong things. You know what I mean.

And though the rest of us might not have the constant reminder of a middle name, we can't forget that we are involved in this spiritual battle, too. I have a little green army man named Jorge on my desk at home. Somehow he never made it out to Idaho. I took Jerry the Giraffe instead. (Note: Jerry the Giraffe has no theological significance as far as I can tell. He's just fun.) Anyway. Every time I looked at Jorge, I was reminded that we're in a battle. Every day, I have a choice to bring glory to God or not. To advance the kingdom or not. Luckily for me, the military strategy is not complicated. Love God, and love what God loves. That sounds too simple. It's not. It sends the enemy running in the other direction.

So, I urge all of you...go out into the world and be danger! And to Seth, I give the opposite command. You're already "Danger," and before you can go out into the world, you first need to come into it.

So, like I said...

We're waiting...

Tidbits.

2010-01-28T19:51:00.000-08:00

I've given up on blogging with anything resembling continuity. Randomness now reigns.

~~~

My grandparents will be happy to know that tonight I took the Jeopardy! quiz. It was great fun, but I totally flunked it. Y'all, the first question was about Dr. Seuss, and I got it wrong. What a cruel and bitter irony. Oh well. I'm more concerned about the fact that I may flunk my five-question quiz on the New Testament tomorrow. I'll take "Epistles" for 200, please....This book was written by Paul...."What is Romans?"..."Oh, no. I'm sorry. We were looking for 1 Corinthians. 1 Corinthians. But you're still in the game. We'll see if you can catch up to the other players right after this..."

~~~

I almost want to watch the Superbowl, just to see Tim Tebow's commercial. Almost.

~~~

Today, I had coffee. I like coffee. But my reactions to caffeine vary, and I never know what I'm going to get. At first, I felt extraordinarily perky and wanted to hand out lemon drops and hugs to everyone I passed in the street. And then an hour later, I felt like I'd been hit by a train. Eight hours later, and I can't get to sleep. How long does it take caffeine to leave your system anyway? From now on, I'm think I'll go with decaf. Unless it's Week 4 and I actually need to stay up all night.

~~~

Actually I shouldn't need caffeine, because I already have a favorite stimulant. My drug of choice? The Latin language. (And my father breathes a sigh of relief...because he'd rather have a nerd for a daughter than a pothead.) Anyway, I think I'm addicted, and it doesn't help that everyone at the school is enabling me.

~~~

This weekend is Prospective Student Weekend at school. I have fond memories of my trip with my dad...having fun together in Moscow, and visiting the Johnsons. I also have not-so-fond memories like realizing that it snows in March (what?!) and having my cell phone ring in the middle of a Lordship recitation. Yeah, way to be a silent observer, Tara.

~~~

The weather was gorgeous and sunny today. I think it was a birthday present from God to my roommate, who is also gorgeous and sunny.

~~~

Why does the word "gorgeous" have the word "gorge" in it? I always imagine someone glutting themselves on pie, but magically becoming beautiful in the process. What a beautiful world that would be.

~~~

People may tease short people, but there are benefits. For example, in a hug sandwich, you are the meat, not the bread. I love hug sandwiches. I also love my brother and my cousin. Miss you two!

Sleeping

2010-01-26T23:23:00.000-08:00

I fail at taking naps. I always sleep too long and end up groggy and grumpy and worse than I started. But by 4:00PM last Sunday, I realized that not taking a nap was not an option. Having Googled the best amount of time to nap, (I told you--I fail at taking naps! I need Google!) I set my alarm to go off at in thirty minutes. Thirty minutes went by. My alarm went off. I was still awake. Bah humbug. I didn't bother to get up and re-set my alarm. An hour and a half later...I was awakened from a deep sleep by my cell phone ringing. It was Stefan. We had the following conversation:

Tara: Hello...?

Stef: Hey, how's it going?

Tara: Whaaaaa...?

Stef: How's it going?

Tara: What are you saying?

Stef: How's it going? It's a contraction of "How is it going?" Are you high, or did you just wake up?

Tara: I just....woke *yawn* up.

The rest of the conversation was along those lines.

Anyway. I think I've been tired because I've been getting up at between 5:45 and 6:30 every morning since I've gotten back to Moscow. Traveling from the Eastern Time Zone is a wonderful thing. Of course, now I get tired around 10:00 every night...but I find that I'm more productive in the wee hours of the morning than I am at night anyway, so I'm trying to keep this up as long as I can. It's nearing midnight right now---the latest I've stayed up this term---but I just finished talking to my roommate, and now I'm all "waked up." Phooey on my extrovertedness. So I decided to write a blog post to bore myself back to sleep. (You're not allowed to use my blog as a cure for insomnia, however. That's just mean. You should drink warm milk instead. It'll gross you out so much that you'll want to lose consciousness for a few hours.)

The other night, I had a dream about having insomnia. That, my friends, is ironic. Buying bleu cheese wrapped in blue wax really isn't ironic, despite what the man at the Food Co-op said.

Speaking of dreaming, babies have taken over my subconscious. Leah in the hospital. Leah having twins. The Octomom painting windows for the house across the street. (What in the world did I eat that night before going to sleep?!) Babies, pregnancy, and labor have figured into all of my dreams for the past month. I keep my cell phone at all times, and every time it rings, I expect it to be Leah saying she's having Seth. I may faint from excitement when the day finally does arrive.

Our Rhetoric teacher and his wife had the class over for dessert tonight...I had a blast talking to their little sons. Little boys are so much fun. Just one more thing that makes me excited for Seth's arrival.

Ok. I'm sleepy now, so instead of telling how amazing Lordship lecture was today, I'm going to go dream about babies, and then get up and face Mozart sonatas and Latin homework. But first things first... *yawn*

Laughing...

2010-01-20T13:02:00.000-08:00

Ahh, it feels good to be back in school. My ennui has vanished.

I intended to read the NT on my flight home, but I forgot that planes make me sleepy. On my first flight, I was zonked out before the flight attendants even came by with the drink cart. I vaguely remember a woman asking loudly if I wanted something to drink, but I ignored her, because I was comfortable (on a plane, people! That's miraculous!) and I didn't want to have to settle in again.

On my second flight, I stayed awake long enough to have a sip of water, and I spent the rest of the flight asleep. With my mouth open. How embarrassing.

On my third flight, I had my mouth open...in a different way. I knew five people on my flight, and I was coincidentally sitting across the aisle from one of them. Next to me were two empty seats. I kept waiting for someone to sit down, but when the flight attendant announced that the cabin doors were closed, I raced up the aisle and grabbed my friend at the front of the plane so we could sit together. I hadn't seen her for a month, and well...there was a lot of talk about. We did a crossword together before the plane had even taken off, and we were the lovely recipients of a death glare from a woman sitting a few rows up from us. I would have understood if she were also doing the crossword and was getting annoyed that she couldn't figure out 62-across before we did...but as far as I could tell, she was just listening to the safety announcements, and it's not as if we were shouting. Is there a new etiquette rule about being mute the entire time you're on a plane?

If so, I broke that rule. Absolutely shattered it. Oops.

About halfway through the 3.5 hour flight, a flight attendant came over to our row, and assumed the "I have a migraine" position. You know? Pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger, with your head in your hands? Blargh, bad description. Anyway. She looked like she was about to faint, so we asked if she was okay. She sighed and said, "The man in front of you has complained that you're being too loud. I don't know what to tell you. I don't think you're being loud, but I'm supposed to come and talk to you."

I felt terrible. I think it was my laughing. My classmate sitting three rows behind me said he could hear me. My classmates sitting 5 rows back couldn't hear me. Phew.

When I came home, my boarder sister came downstairs and said, "I thought I heard Tara's squeaky laugh!"

So, yeah. I guess I need to stop having fun. Taking joy in life is overrated. From now on, I will be stern, severe, deadpan. I will stop poking fun at myself. I will not make jokes. I refuse to notice puns. Palindromes will no longer make me squeal with glee. Your jokes will not amuse me. Life is serious. Bah humbug.

Um, yeah right.

HAHAHAHA doesn't translate well, so just imagine me laughing right now. Cackling. Loudly. You know you love it. Unless you're one of the two grumpy people who were on my flight. In which case, I am truly sorry for ruining your flight. Please accept my apology. (P.S. Lighten up.)

Off Again

2010-01-16T06:46:00.000-08:00

Did break go by quickly or slowly? I'm still trying to figure that one out.

I'm sitting here in the airport, waiting for my Cincinnati flight. After stopping in Minneapolis (still hoping for a glimpse of Mary Richards or Rhoda Morganstern...), I'll end up in Spokane, where my wonderful roommate will pick me up. I should get back into Moscow on Sunday, and school starts on Monday. Bring it on.

I think I'll work on some school while I'm traveling. I need to read the New Testament by...Friday, I think? I'm starting with Matthew in the Orlando airport...let's see how far I can get. I've sped-read lots of books, but never the Bible. This should be interesting.

Thanks to everyone who made my break super-special. Leah and David, staying with you was a great way to kick off Christmas break. Thanks! Stefan, I don't think you even read my blog, so you don't get a shoutout. In your face. Tomas, you better call me tonight. I wish we had more time together...maybe if SOMEONE wasn't doing school all the time. Just kidding. Keep up the hard work. Auntie K, thanks for teaching me how to tat. Maybe you can give me "Aunt" lessons, too...I'm going to need them when Seth comes along. :) Jason, we never said goodbye! What's up with that?! Laura, I wuv oo, and I miss your hugs. Grandma and Grandpa, thanks for letting me stay with you and borrow your car! It was great to see you again! And thanks to all the wonderful friends that spent time with me when I was here! (I can list family names, but I'm not going to try to list friends, because I'm sure I would leave someone out on accident. Haha.)

And Dad, a simple "I love you" looks like lame, but it's true. You're the best. I miss you.

Hodgepodge

2010-01-11T20:01:00.000-08:00

Random thoughts about my break...

I am not a good steward of free time. I need deadlines. Pressure. Stress. Otherwise, I sleep most of the day and spend the rest of it in my pajamas. Being lazy makes me grumpy, and grumpiness doesn't motivate me to work hard at anything, so it's a vicious cycle of sloth and ennui. Sidenote: I only use the word ennui in writing, because half the time, I can't remember how to pronounce it, and the other half of the time when I do remember how to pronounce it, I also remember how incredibly pretentious it sounds, and I have so far never been able to muster up enough snobbishness to declare that I'm filled with "ohn-WEE" when I could just say that I'm plain ol' bored. I content myself with the idea that one day if I'm dining with the Duchess of Fancy French Words, I have at least one word that I can pull out of my back pocket. (Note: if I am dining with such a person, I promise I will not literally be wearing a garment with back pockets. Unless it's a barbeque.)

~~~~

I was able to take two voice lessons over break, which were actually fun. I'm learning to like my voice, instead of viewing it a kid sibling who just tries to embarrass you when your friends are over. My teacher is my grandparents' neighbor, and my lessons were conveniently arranged around dinner time, so I've been able to enjoy some of my grandma's yummy cooking. I'm hoping to go back to the same teacher when I'm home for the summer...the two lessons helped, but I know I still have a loooooong way to go.

Especially when I listen to people like this...

It gives me goosebumps.

~~~

Aunt Karen, Laura, and I watched Funny Girl over break. I loved the singing, Fanny Brice makes me laugh, and as an added bonus, I also learned how to not conduct yourself in marriage. I always loved the Baby Snooks show, but now when I listen to it, I think I'm just going to be thinking about all the marital problems that woman had. The movie took major liberties, but they were liberties that painted a much *better* picture of Brice's life and marriages than what really happened.

~~~

Auntie K also taught me and Laura how to tat, and today I randomly picked up a crochet hook for the first time in about ten years. My grandma reminded me how to do it, and I'm awkwardly and painstakingly working on the single crochet stitch. I feel so incredibly domestic...next I want to make a gelatin salad and ask Ward to go speak to the Beaver.

~~~

I hate the mall on weekends. It was full of goths, creepy old men, and commercialism. Thrift stores, however, rock my world. I now own not one--two!---ugly, burnt orange sweaters.

~~~

I also hate vanity sizing. It's ridiculous to have a size 0. I refuse to comment on the size 00, except for the fact that it shouldn't be in existence.

~~~

I went contra dancing, and at one point, a man grabbed my left hand, and gasped, "No ring? You're not married?!" It was awkward. I hope he didn't think I was Leah, because she is definitely still married, in case anyone was wondering.

~~~

And she's also PREGNANT. I can't wait for Seth to be born. I keep dreaming that Leah's in labor. A few nights ago, I dreamed that she kept giving birth and getting pregnant again in ridiculously short amounts of times. She ended up with three boys in a week, and I liked the third one best, because he was the cutest. Here's hoping I won't be THAT shallow of an aunt...

~~~

Last summer, I volunteered at a baby/maternity resale store connected with the pregnancy center, and since I didn't know that my niecephew was a nephew, I couldn't buy any clothes. Tomorrow, armed with the knowledge that this baby is named Seth, I'm going to go snatch up things with trains, and Pooh Bear, and things that are labeled "MY AWESOME AUNT TARA GAVE THIS TO ME BECAUSE SHE LOVES ME MORE THAN CHOCOLATE AND JEOPARDY COMBINED." Or something like that.

Books I Read in 2009

2010-01-01T22:50:00.000-08:00

This will be long, but incomplete for sure.

Last January, I was starting my last semester of high school. That seems so long ago. I had to dig up my old Literature syllabus to remember what we read.

HIGH SCHOOL BOOKS

The Grand Inquisitor from The Brothers Karamazov, by Dostoevsky.

I want to read the whole book, but I'm still working through Anna Karenina, and I have a policy against reading two Russian novels simultaneously.

The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

This short story was really what made me fall in love with Russian Lit. So simple, so powerful. It's online, so go read it.

Selections from British WWI Poets.

I remember "The Soldier" by Rupert Brooke and "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen, because I wrote an essay contrasting them. I don't know if we read others...

Selected poems by Yeats

I remember "Sailing to Byzantium" and "The Second Coming." I have tucked both of them away in my file of works of Lit to return to with a more mature mind. I know I didn't get them.

The Metamorphosis by Kafka

Crazy. I felt like I was having a nightmare. But I want to read it again someday...

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot

I want to read more Eliot. The line "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" has always stuck with me.

The Guest by Albert Camus

The main thing I remember about this week's assignment was that his name isn't pronounced anything like I thought it was. I also remember the story quite well, but I don't remember the point. Eek. I think senioritis must have sunk in right about then...

Letter from a Birmingham Jail by Martin Luther King, Jr.

Wow. Say what you want about MLK, but boy, he knew how to make sparks fly on a page. Great rhetoric.

Selections by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

I can't remember the titles. Oops.

"Men Have Forgotten" and "A World Split Apart" by Alexander Solzhenitsyn

I remember loving Solzhenitsyn, but I can't remember details.

As you can see, I gave into senioritis toward the end, not spending nearly enough time on those assignments. Otherwise, I could remember a bit more...

I don't think I read ANY pleasure books that semester, so once school ended, I majorly overdosed on books at the library. My friend gave me a notebook to log all the books I've read, and I ended up writing a one word opinion of each book after I read it. That was hard, but good for me. ;) And yes, I read kids' books. Unabashedly.

SUMMER 2009 BOOKS

Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge--schmaltzy

Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank---captivating
A Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeleine L'Engle---clever
The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett---quirky
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe---intriguing
Jacob Have I Loved by Katherine Paterson---depressing
Bread and Roses, Too by Katherine Paterson---cute
The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen---cliche
East by Edith Pattou---enjoyable
Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary--nostalgic
Ramona and Her Mother by Beverly Cleary---classic
Ramona Forever by Beverly Cleary---fun
The Prodigal God by Tim Keller---eyeopening
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams--goofy
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Shaffer and Barrows---charming
Before Green Gables by Budge Wilson---subpar
The Basic Eight by Daniel Handler---depraved
Wit by Margaret Edson---favorite
Adam by Ted Dekker--terrible
My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult---disappointing
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini--compelling

And then, the first half of my freshman year of college, I read these books. I didn't do the one word summary, but I probably should've...

FRESHMAN JERUSALEM/NICEA TERM BOOKS

Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business by Neil Postman
Gorgias by Plato
How to Read a Book by Mortimer Adler
On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civic Discourse by Aristotle
City of God by St. Augustine
Institutes of the Christian Religion by John Calvin (We actually haven't finished the Institutes yet...)
On the Incarnation by St. Athanasius

Confessions by St. Augustine

A Manual for Writers of Research Papers, Theses, and Dissertations, Seventh Edition: Chicago Style for Students and Researches by Kate Turabian. (I couldn't handle the suspense in this one. A real page-turner, it was.)

A Rulebook for Arguments by Anthony Weston

Cicero: Rhetorica ad Herennium

Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesteron
A House for My Name: A Survey of the Old Testament by Peter Leithart
Christ, Baptism and the Lord's Supper: Recovering the Sacraments for Evangelical Worship by Leonard Vander Zee
Luther and Erasmus: Free Will and Salvation
The Christ of the Covenants by O. Palmer Robertson
The Teaching of the Church Regarding Baptism by Karl Barth
Understanding Dispensationalists by Vern Poythress

That's all I can remember...

Jiggity Jig

2009-12-27T18:50:00.000-08:00

I'm home again! It's been great to spend the last few days with family again. I sorely missed our family get-togethers with my grandparents and the McGhans, so I was happy to have a weekend full of family.

I got into town on Christmas Eve. I was looking for some harp music in the dining room when I heard the front door open and a very familiar voice sing out, "TARA!" It was Laura, with Jason tagging along behind. I knew at that point that I was home.

As we pulled into the church parking lot for our Christmas Eve service, I saw my grandparents getting out of their car. I begged my dad to stop the car right there, so I could jump out and give them a huge hug. It's great to be back with them again.

I was given a lovely welcome back from everyone at church. It was wonderful to receive all the hugs--and teasing--that I missed during the school year. A couple people at church have been so kind and sending me little cards and such during the school year. It's been a huge encouragement to me, so I was glad to be able to give those people hugs and thank them in person. :)

Everyone gathered at the McGhans for Christmas Day. I remember when I was little, I thought it was so unfair that we always had Christmas at their house because I didn't like having to pack up my presents to show them. I have since gotten over myself. Also, this year my most interesting present is easily transportable. Stefan gave it to me, telling me that it was something to help me when I'm stressed...

I thought it was a whisk, and was wondering if perhaps Stefan had been researching the benefits of beating eggs to relieve stress. Think of how productive that would be! I'd become the Omelet Queen every finals week. I could bring souffles to my professors!

But it wasn't a whisk. (I'm not going to abandon the egg-beating method! I think I'm on to something...)

It's actually a head massager, and it feels divine. Stefan, I forgive you for breaking our "not exchanging gifts" pact.

It turns out I had a gift for Stefan, too. I had bought my dad "Notes From the Tilt-a-Whirl," which is one of the best books I've read . . . I was going to qualify that with a time period such as "this year" or "lately," but I decided it doesn't need to be qualified. It's one of the best books I've read, period. It turns out that my dad had already bought the book, so I gave it to Stef instead. I gave it to Leah for her birthday in November, so I think my family should have a Tilt-a-Whirl book club. The only one who doesn't own a copy is me. Ironic.

On Boxing Day (that's so much quainter than "the day after Christmas"), we spent some time with our friends from Orlando. We played Balderdash, and somehow nobody was convinced that in Apple Valley, California, it is illegal for ducks to poop on the apples. Hmph.

That night, we had another family get-together at my grandparents' house. My grandma crocheted me a hat for Christmas, and I am almost excited to get back to freezing Moscow just so I can wear it.

(Not really. I love my hat, but I don't miss the cold. It's in the 60's right now...absolutely delightful! I love being able to wear short sleeves, I love that my breath is invisible again, and I love that I can go to the beach later this week!)

Today, we had a baby shower for Leah and Seth at church. The ladies at church did a fantastic job decorating. I'd forgotten how cute baby boy stuff can be! As I sat with my sister, watching her opening gifts and writing down what she'd received, something felt eerily familiar.

And then I remembered. A year and a half ago, I was sitting in the same spot, writing down her wedding gifts. How quickly that time has gone! It's so wonderful to see how God pours out His blessings on us.

I absolutely can't wait for Seth to get here! I talk to him whenever I get the chance, and my hands are well-acquainted with my sister's adorably rounded stomach. I'm sad that I won't be able to see him until Spring Break (about a month after his due date), but I'm grateful that I won't have to wait until summer.

Whew. It's been a busy weekend. It has finally quieted down somewhat, so I made a list of things to accomplish during break. It's 133 words long, and I haven't finished yet. One of the items reads "Get sufficient sleep," but I'm afraid that fulfilling that goal will exclude the possibility of accomplishing the others. Oh well.

Not dead, just resting...

2009-12-22T14:42:00.000-08:00

This blog post is dedicated to my father, who just texted me and told me to update. Hi, Dad. You might be my only reader at this point, but you're worth it.

Since I last updated, I have flown cross-country, spent Thanksgiving in GA, flown back cross-country, finished out my second term of school, and flown cross-country again. I am sick of airline food. Or at least I would be if I got any. Anyway, I'm here in GA with Leah and David right now, but we're driving down to FL tomorrow.

I've had a lot of fun with the Johnsons. One night, we went to a crazy fondue place called Dante's Down the Hatch. I felt like I was eating in the middle of a Disney ride. There was a pirate ship to my left, crocodiles swimming around it, and wax figures of Mark Twain and Einstein leering over my shoulder. Dante himself visited our table and we chatted with him for awhile...he told my sister that he would be happy to deliver her child, and that we could eat free if they named him Dante. Somehow, I think they are turning down the offer.

We also went to Centennial Olympic Park to look at lights and ice-skate, but we decided it wasn't worth it to wait in line for hours to skate on an incredibly tiny, Zamboni-less rink, so we just walked around.

Today, we watched a precious little neighbor boy while his brother was born. David and Leah were great substitute parents, so I know they'll do a great job with Seth. (Because I was really worried before....haha). Speaking of little Seth, I got to feel him hiccough the other day. It was amazing...he's so active. I can't wait until he's born, especially after spending the morning with such a sweet little boy. I want a nephew!

I'm sure there is more I could say, but my brain is a bit foggy right now. I've been sleeping for 11-12 hours a night, which makes me lethargic all day long. I've been blaming it on jet lag, but I'm not sure how much longer that excuse will hold out. I think I just need to stop being lazy and find something to occupy my days while school's out.

Blood

2009-11-05T19:31:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure that I'll ever live down pressuring my cousin to give blood with me at Key West. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and I forced him to come with me--we'd do it together, and wouldn't it be fun? Who cares that we're on vacation in the Keys? Let's go save lives!

Long story short, since I was getting over a cold, they didn't want my blood, so he had to go through it all by himself. I've always felt guilty that he wasn't able to enjoy that day of his vacation, and ever since then, I've been determined to give blood. So yesterday I did.

The bus was parked right outside the school, and I went in around an hour and fifteen minutes before my next class, figuring that would give me enough time.

First, my blood pressure and pulse were too high. Grr. No one would have known I was nervous if that stupid blood pressure machine hadn't tattled on me. Why don't they just call them "lie-detectors"?

So, after being forced to admit that I was in fact a wee bit nervous, I was given a few minutes to calm down. I went to my mental happy place, and passed the test the second time. Yay.

I settled back on the table and started chatting with Jose, the blood-letter-outer. (And that's a technical term...) He asked if I was nervous. I gave up the charade. Yes, Jose. I am nervous. Help me.

He proceeded to tell me that he was actually a homeless man yesterday, and that he had a sign reading, "WILL WORK FOR FOOD," and these people gave him this job...and he'd never done this before, but he watched some training videos, so it would probably be okay.

I felt better. Really. He then began the search for my vein. It was not hard to find. I apparently inherited my mom's veins. Doctors love them. Edward Cullen would, too...but thankfully, he does not exist, the creeper.

The needle went in, and all was well...for about three minutes. But then I started to feel really light-headed. Jose was not impressed. He exclaimed, "Tara, no! You haven't given me even 200 mL of blood. You're not fainting now! Tell me about Florida."

I started talking about beaches, and the dizziness went away. Mind over matter--that's what Jose said.

Unfortunately, the wooziness was a recurring enemy. At one point, I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness. I looked over and saw concern plastered on Jose's face. He ran over and grabbed my hand and yelled, "Doctor, I'm losing her!" He wasn't trying to be funny that time, but even in my woozy state of mind, I found it hilarious. Good grief, Jose! I'm fainting, but I'm pretty sure that I'll wake up again!

I think I was the only calm one. Everyone surrounded me. I was given apple juice and ice packs, and all the while, Jose was coaching me to not succumb to the fainting. He kept murmuring "Stay with me!"

I desperately wanted to just faint. It was so tempting. I begged him to let me just close my eyes, but he forbid it and made me talk to him. Some sweet older lady named Georgia was rubbing my hand.

I looked up at her and said...."So, tell me about yourself."

She looked amused and began to tell me about her grandkids. I don't remember a word she said, but I just wanted someone else to be talking. I was getting stressed out because they kept asking questions that I could not form intelligent answers to. (Things like "What is your hometown famous for?" and "What type of trees do you have in your backyard?" To be honest, I have a hard time answering those questions even now...)

And then, I started to sing the ABC's. I have no idea why, and I'm really embarrassed about it now. What's worse is that I only made it to "G," because I couldn't remember what came next.

It must have helped though, because I somehow came back to life. I was later told that my lips were white and that the color slowly drained back into my face. I would have liked to see that. I imagine that it was like Aslan breathing on the stone animals. ;)

I was forced to cough loudly and deeply so as to get more blood to my brain. Jose told me I sounded like I had hairballs and that I needed coughing lessons. Eventually, I was able to sit up. Georgia gave me a cookie and they finally let me go, but not without escorts to make sure I didn't collapse on the ground.

I was 15 minutes late for class and totally missed a quiz. Oops.

But now I can cross "give blood" off my list of things to do before I die. Now, I just need to go to Africa, get married, and have kids.

Only, I think I'm going to add another thing to my list. "Give blood without looking like a wimp." I'm such a loser.

Break

2009-10-17T22:06:00.000-07:00

Saturdays during break are marvelous. For the first time in a long time, I didn't have to set an alarm, and none of my roommates are here, so without anything to wake me up, my body happily gorged itself on sleep. Yum.

When I finally did get up, I spent most of the afternoon cleaning my room. It's nice to be able to kick off a new term feeling organized, even though that feeling will likely deteriorate by Week 3.

Though my day was surprisingly productive, it made me very thankful that my friend convinced me to come home with her for most of the break. Spending most of the break alone in my basement would have be lonely, and to avoid getting all introspective and gloomy as I'm apt to do when left to my own devices, I would probably have distracted myself with stupid sitcoms all week. Or I would have done school, which could be considered equally as wrong, because breaks are for relaxing.

So, instead, I went to Washington where I met M's family. They have fourteen kids, so it was a lot of fun. One night, we were watching TV, and three children climbed into my lap. One eventually toddled off because the other two kept elbowing her, and one of the others fell asleep in my arms. It was good for my soul, which has been child-starved for the past nine weeks. I miss the church kiddos back home...

When we weren't hanging out with her family, M and I went shopping, watched a hockey game, went sight-seeing around Seattle, and visited this adorable little Bavarian town on our way home, where we both indulged our German sides with sauerkraut-laden bratwurst slathered in horseradish and brown-ale mustard with salt and vinegar chips on the side.

In other news, my sinuses are all cleared out . . .

I feel like our Seattle trip deserves a post all of it's own, but I need to get up early tomorrow, so that will have to wait for another time. Probably tomorrow.

I miss and love you all...and today, I especially miss my harp and the tabebuia tree in our yard. Don't ask me why I miss those two things specifically. All I know is that I would be thrilled if someone sent me a care package containing either (or both) of those items. I would also be really impressed, and I would probably feel guilty about the shipping costs.

Shopping

2009-10-12T22:06:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my dad the other day, and he said that he was looking at my pictures on Facebook, and he noticed that I wasn't wearing as many clothes as the other girls. At first, I thought this was a fatherly exhortation on modesty, and I was very confused. Then I realized that he was just telling me that I have stretched my native Floridian wardrobe long enough, and I needed to go shopping for things like coats and sweaters. Duly noted, Dad.

I've been trying to shop as much as I can during break. Right now I'm in Seattle (a friend from school invited me to her place), but before I left home (a word which here means "the place I live in Idaho"), my roommates and I exhausted Moscow's shopping possibilities.

And now, a bunch of stories about me shopping, because that is basically the only thing I've done all weekend.

~~~~

I went to Wal*Mart looking for a pair of black tights. Last time I wore my current pair, I felt my toes poking through them and decided that they were on their last leg. (Oh c'mon, that's clever...) The only tights Wal*Mart carried in my size were turquoise, tie-dyed, and sparkly. Um, no. I decided to mosey over to the girls' section, and I found the biggest size they make for girls. They were a dollar cheaper, too. When I tried them on at home, however, they were a bit too short. I was about to feel sad, but then a smile crept over my face because this is the first time I can ever remember being too tall for something to fit. I should shop in the kids' section more often. I think my self-esteem would improve.

~~~~

I was trying on shoes at Ross when I heard someone call their mom to come over and look at something. The woman replied, "Well, I'm trying to get over there, but Tara's blocking the whole aisle!" I looked at her stupidly, trying to figure out how she knew my name. I was getting ready to apologize profusely (this lady did not sound happy), when I realized that this woman's daughter was also named Tara, and she was blocking the aisle more than I was. Ha.

~~~~

I found fleece pants at Old Navy (which incidentally was the worst purchase ever, because I want to live in them, and part of me dies every time I have to take them off and put on real clothes). Anyway, my roommate and I were waiting in line for a dressing room. We waited, and waited, and waited. All seven dressing rooms full. The dressing room attendant, whom I will call "Nick," just because I don't want to type out "dressing room attendant" all the time, tried to join our conversation about how frustrating shopping for pants is. I told him that since he was a guy, he had no right to complain about pants shopping, because all he had to do was find his waist size and his inseam. He then told me that his problem was finding jeans that were loose enough to fit his thighs, because "people in Idaho think that everyone has chicken legs!" As fascinating as the conversation was becoming, I was happy when a little girl sauntered out of the dressing room. At last! But no. She was sharing the room with her mother, who was still trying on clothes. Seconds later, a woman walked out of a different room and shut the door behind her. Nick walked over and knocked to make sure it was vacant. A man responded that he was almost through. (??)

At least three or four more people wandered out of various rooms in the next few minutes. But all of the rooms were still occupied. It was ridiculous. Nick was as bewildered as we were. I was convinced that there were secret passages ways in all the rooms that people were wandering in and out of.

I got so bored just waiting, so I handed my clothes to my roommate and drew with chalk on the floor. I drew one flower, and ta-da, a room was open. Life lesson: always try to have fun while you're waiting, because the second you start to enjoy yourself, it'll be your turn. I abandoned my chalk art, and took my clothes from my roommate so that she could scamper into the room before anyone butted in line.

Nick offered to hold my clothes while I continued drawing with chalk, but I think I was scaring away the children who were legitimately enjoying the chalk corner, so I declined. Nick then remarked that "my friend" had run into the room so fast that he hadn't even gotten her name. Suspicious that he just wanted to get to know my gorgeous roommate, I asked if he always asked for people's names. He said, "Yeah, we're supposed to ask, and then write it on this white board, so that we can be like, 'Stacey, how's it going in there?' or 'Joe, we have the next size up!'" Then he snickered. "Or, 'Mary Lou!' Haha! I actually had someone named Mary Lou come in today. I was like...wow. Okaaaay."

I snickered along with him, but my snicker was a devious one. Later, when a dressing room was finally freed up for me, he turned to me and asked what my name was.

I told him it was Mary Lou.

My blog is being stupid...

2009-10-12T17:03:00.000-07:00

...otherwise I would post.

More later, when I have patience to actually figure out why the formatting is going bonkers.

Flight Announcements

2009-10-09T13:30:00.000-07:00

My roommates showed me this skit the other day, and it cracked me up. Aunt Karen and Laura, I thought of you...I miss my Southern accent buddies!

Finals

2009-10-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

I have my first oral exam tomorrow (Tuesday).

I've been skimming over all my notes and things I starred/underlined. Side-note: writing in books is no longer a cardinal sin in my eyes, but I still can't bring myself to highlight books. Study notes, yes. Books, no. Seeing beautiful words covered in neon ink makes me want to cry.

Not really.

Ok, really. But I hate admitting that, because it makes me sound like a snob.

Highlighters of the world, I don't look down on you for your decision to color every page of every book you're ever read with garish shades of ink. Just don't do it to my books (or anything you've borrowed from the library...), and we'll get along just fine.

Anyway . . . . I was going to tell you about finals. But now it's time for me to go to bed, because falling asleep during my oral final at 9am tomorrow morning is probably one of the worst things that could happen.

Actually, I can think of a lot worse things. Like failing. Or realizing I'd forgotten to wear pants that day. Or saying something totally heretical and accidentally attributing it to Calvin. Things like that.

Boy, I feel great now. I'm not worried about a thing. Ha.

Back to studying. I always forget what a genius Augustine was until I read what he wrote. Then it makes me want to crawl under a rock and never write or speak again because I will never be as awesome as him.

Finals

2009-10-01T17:42:00.001-07:00

We have one final tomorrow, and then a bunch more next week. Eek.

I just want to pass, and I don't want to cry during any of oral exams. Given the comments I've heard from teachers and my history of being less than stoic under pressure, this may be a problem . . . and unfortunately, once my lower lip starts quivering, there's no going back.

I laugh whenever I remember how we gathered around my sister minutes before her wedding to pray for her. I got as far as, "Dear God, thank you for Leah..." and then I choked. I tried to compose myself, but it just wasn't happening. I didn't want to risk ruining my makeup five minutes before ceremony, so I just ended my very profound prayer there. At that point, Leah was probably wondering why she was letting me speak at the reception!

Anyway. I'm going to get back to studying. Tomorrow is going to be a rough day, but hey...I get to wear jeans and a sweatshirt to school for once. And behold, there was much rejoicing in Tara's closet. You have no idea how stoked I am that I don't have to hurt my brain tomorrow trying to come up with a warm outfit that doesn't break the dress code. Ahh, must go shopping for cold-weather dress clothes!

2009-09-27T08:19:00.000-07:00

I got an e-mail informing me that this was the weekend at Kennedy Space Center where all the Floridians get in free if they bring a food item for the food drive. The normal rates for KSC are ridiculous, but definitely worth a can of corn. ;)

The last two years, I've tagged along with David and Leah, because they're just nice like that, and I have to admit that instead of writing Rhetoric and Lordship papers this weekend, I would have much preferred to be walking around sunny FL with them eating Dippin' Dots and watching 3-D movies about space. I miss you, Johnsons! :)

But I actually ended up having a fascinating discussion about space and eternity with one of my roomies yesterday as we munched on fries from Jack-in-the-Box (creepiest fast food mascot ever), so I celebrated space weekend in my own special way. ;)

Speaking of fast food, I've heard rumors that Chick-Fil-A is opening up in Boise. That's about six hours away from me, but hey--it's a start. I think they should get rid of the disturbing Jack-in-the-Box here in town and stick in a place with non-creepy mascots...like cows who wear signboards. Nobody's scared of them--they can't even spell!

Puer est!

2009-09-26T00:27:00.001-07:00

Aunt Tara. Yeah, I like the sound of that. I can’t wait to hear my little nephew squeal it whenever I visit him . . . as long as he’s squealing out of excitement, not terror.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. The poor kid's still unnamed and unborn. I'll let him delay learning my name until he's ex utero, but once the doctor slaps his little rear, I expect him to start working on the T sound. I've heard that's a hard one for kids.

Oh, funny story....I was chatting with Uncle Tomas on Facebook this afternoon. At one point, he wrote, "Yeah, I can’t wait to hold my little niece in my arms.”

Wait, what?

I’m not going to lie. I actually entertained the notion that David and Leah had told everyone that it was a girl except me, since I was predicting that it was a girl all along. (NOTE: Predicting a girl is not the same thing as exclusively desiring a girl. Mmkay? Mmkay.)

Around the time that I realized that Leah would never do such a cruel thing, Tomas helpfully typed “JK” into the chatbox. Phew. I wasn’t misinformed.

I'm thinking that maybe ignorance was bliss, however. Now I'm plagued with the desire to rush out and buy every bit of baby boy paraphernalia in this solar system. I think I need to go visit my personal banker Rachel. Maybe she can give me some helpful little financial pamphlet written for aunts who want to blow their life savings on onesies embroidered with bugs and firetrucks.

Don't let me down, Rachel.

The cost of higher education...

2009-09-21T19:09:00.000-07:00

Last week at declamation, we all read another section of our papers. In my narratio, I referenced a 19th-century idea concerning higher education for women. Basically, this Harvard medical professor came up with the theory that women couldn't handle the rigors of a liberal arts education. Their brains would become overstressed which would harm their ovaries, and they'd be barren for life.

And no, I couldn't read that without laughing.

The assignment for this week's declamation is nice and simple. We have to give a book or movie review. I looked back over my reading log to see what I'd read this summer and was reminded of my newest favorite play: W;t (also published under Wit, but the semi-colon is a major part of the story, so I think it should be kept in). This assignment isn't due for a few days, but I needed a break from reading, so I sat down to write. First, I tried to summarize the play. A pedantic woman spends her entire life in the academic world and discovers at the age of 50 that she has cancer. Ovarian cancer.

Then it hit me. I can't review this play at declamations. No way. After last week's declamation, I can just imagine everyone sitting there thinking, "Why is that one short girl in our class always talking about educated women and their ovaries?"

So, yeah. I nixed that idea.

Sometime I'll post a review of W;t on here...but right now, I need to come up with another book or movie to review. I thought about Captivating, but I've already technically written a review of it on Facebook, and I also don't want to always be harping on views of women in Christian circles, no matter how wrong they are.

Maybe I can review Amelia Bedelia. Or Ramona Quimby, Age Eight. I don't think ovaries play a big part in either of those books.

And that is the final time that I'll write the word "ovaries" on this blog. Promise.

Because I'm sure you all care about my hair...

2009-09-20T12:03:00.000-07:00

I was reading Proverbs 16:31 a few nights ago . . . "Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life."

Yesterday, while brushing my hair, I discovered that I have moved two more strands in the direction of a righteous life.

Yeah, I'm trying to ignore the possibility that I just got really rotten hair genes from my parents. These aren't the first gray hairs I've found. I used to just yank them out, but I've stopped that. I'd rather end up like my mom (gray at 30) than my dad (bald at 30).

Uh-oh. That reminds me of something else I read in the Bible...the story about the two she-bears gobbling up forty-two kids because they called Elijah "bald head."

That story totally freaked me out as a kid, because I once told my father than his hair didn't fall OUT, it fell IN and clogged his brain. (Do you remember that, Dad?)

I didn't understand. Everyone laughed when Buddy said it to the bald guy on The Dick van Dyke Show! Life Lesson #780: don't repeat everything you hear on TV.

Also, stay away from she-bears.

Wow.

2009-09-18T17:54:00.006-07:00

I just realized that my blog is still set to FL time. Aha, so that's why I've been reprimanded for staying up too late! No worries, Grandma and Aunt Suzanne; I don't make a habit of going to bed at 2:30AM. I learned Week 3 that it's just not worth it. I'd rather get up early than stay up late. At this point, my dad is saying, "Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?" No worries, Father. One look at my room right now, and you'd know it's me.

So yeah, you can pray for my roommate. . .

Haha, no. I promise it's not as bad as it was at home . . . but that's probably just because I have less stuff out here. ;)

Anyway. Moving on. I love Fridays. Thursday nights are usually filled with frantic studying and minor freak-outs in preparation for Friday, but Fridays themselves are fantastic. Latin recitations are hilarious, Lordship recitations are amazing, declamations are usually interesting, and Disputatio is just fun.

Actually, Disputatio was jaw-droppingly amazing today. If I didn't believe in the sovereignty of God, I would have to conclude that the speakers had somehow managed to peek into the deep, dark recesses of my soul and had specifically constructed a talk designed to target everything I've struggled with in the past five weeks.

That's not the first time something like that has happened out here, but it was definitely the most obvious. All I had to do was make eye contact with my roommate across the room. No words were necessary. She understood everything I was communicating. (It roughly translates to, "Oh my goodness, can you believe this is happening? How did they know? Were they hiding behind a bush when we had that conversation? Isn't God amazing?")

Yes, my eyes are talkative.

For those burning with curiosity, the lecture was on pride, humility, and comparing yourself to others. I'm guilty. Oh. So. Guilty.

So yes. I have been convicted by so much in the past few weeks, and that makes me happy.

You know what also makes me happy? Sleep.

Why do I end every blog post talking about sleep? Methinks I need to come up with more creative ways to signal the end of my post. I know!

The End.

Salmo 150

2009-09-14T12:20:00.000-07:00

Harvest Ball

2009-09-12T23:20:00.003-07:00

I think the feeling a girl gets after a night of dancing should be encapsulated and sold as happy pills.

I have been really stressed out this weekend. I probably should be right now, but I'm not. I'm still on my dancing high. That dancing probably worked off a few dozen freeze pops, too. Not that I eat a lot of freeze pops or anything. Cough.

Church is tomorrow, which means I have to wake up in time to go. Heh, I should get to bed.

For Dad...

2009-09-12T12:37:00.005-07:00

Propositio

The idea that Christian daughters may not attend college is a misapplication of Biblical headship.

Confirmatio

Headship is defined as “authority” or “leadership,” and the Bible is quite clear that a father is the head of his daughter. However, in some Christian circles, the definition of Biblical headship has been wrongly narrowed to mean that a daughter can only be under her father’s authority if she lives in his house. Though some daughters may desire to formally continue their education outside their home, this narrow view of headship forces them to squelch those desires and label them as feministic and rebellious. However, the authority structure does not crumble the moment a young daughter steps outside her father’s house. A daughter can still recognize her father as her authority, even if thousands of miles separate them. This is because submission is primarily a matter of attitude, not location.

Part of a father’s responsibility as the head of a household is to ensure that his children grow into responsible, godly adults. If a daughter’s God-given talents would be best developed outside the home, a father should give his blessing to her pursuits, trusting that she is the kind of daughter who would not abuse her liberty.

9/11

2009-09-11T23:11:00.003-07:00

A couple of my friends and I had the "Where were you on 9/11?" conversation today. Do you suppose people in the 1870's talked about where they were when they found out President Lincoln had been assassinated? It just seems like every generation has that one tragic moment that unites them all.

Like my sister, I was also doing my Saxon math lesson. I remember my mom getting a phone call from one of her friends. My mom turned on the TV, so I knew it must be important. Then she started crying, and I knew it was really a big deal.

Strangely enough, those were the two things that initially helped me grasp the seriousness of everything. I had heard about terrorist attacks in the news before, and I didn't understand why this one was such a big deal. I'd never been to NY or seen the World Trade Center, so it didn't feel like they were attacking home. I was ten years old, and probably still thought that FL was the entire United States. It wasn't until later that I realized the gravity of the attack.

The next night, we had Kids' Night at our church, and I remember one girl insisting that the tourists had attacked.

Oh, the blissful ignorance of youth...sometimes I wish I could go back to the days when I had to have evil explained to me.

Keep all the families who've lost loved ones in your prayers. Anniversaries are hard.

Rhetoric...

2009-09-10T20:13:00.006-07:00

I have written two pages of text for a 250-word assignment, and I'm still not sure what I'm saying. It's like having a closet full of clothes and NOTHING to wear. Which, come to mention it, is another problem I have...

Anyway. I have to finish this portion of my paper by tomorrow (and read it to everyone...), so I should go organize my thoughts. My dad has been a tremendous help making sure that I don't say anything heretical or mean-spirited, so thanks goes to him for letting me talk through everything with him last Sunday afternoon.

And also thanks to him for understanding that Biblical headship and a daughter living 2924.6 miles away from home are not always mutually exclusive. I don't have to live in his physical presence to be part of his household...and I am attempting to prove that in my paper. Hopefully, it works...

Oink.

2009-09-07T20:12:00.004-07:00

I feel fine now; I just sound like an old man when I laugh. Yeah, I know--I must be back to normal then, right?

However, it seems like everyone else is sick, sick, sick. The freshmen ended up getting Labor Day off, since we only have one class that day, and our teacher was sick. Multiple students are sick at our school, and the university right across the state line has 2000 students with swine flu symptoms. Not good.

So...you prayed me back to health; you can do the same for the whole city. Thanks. ;)

Cough, cough...

2009-09-04T16:37:00.005-07:00

I was hoping I could magically bypass all sicknesses for the next four academic years. That didn't work out so well.

Something seems to be going around. I have a sore throat and possibly a very low fever. Maybe this is just my body revolting against me for not getting enough sleep last night. Thursday nights are always really stressful, so I need to plan better in the future. Going to bed at 2am and still having to wake up at 7am to finish your reading is not a good idea, especially when you have to take school pictures the next day. Here's hoping they crop me out...

I came home from pictures and just crashed. That's right people; I actually took a nap. I got up, ate dinner, and now I'm planning to go back to bed. Unfortunately, there's a party I'd really like to go to tonight, but I think I just need to rest tonight...

Well, I thought it was funny...

2009-08-30T17:26:00.004-07:00

There is nothing more awkward than laughing really loudly at something the pastor said in his sermon...and then realizing that no one else found it funny.

I did that three times today.

Week Two

2009-08-26T23:26:00.002-07:00

I feel like I've been here forever. Am I really just on Week Two?

Tomorrow is a relatively not-busy day. Goals: Get up. Read City of God. Finish Confessions. Sing in English. Sing in Latin. Speak in Latin. Speak in English. Remember to wash clothes before I run out of...never mind. Think about stuff. Study. Eat three meals. Call my favorite sister. Bond with roommates. Clean room. Swing dance?

The question mark will remain a question mark until I see how much of the preceding items I accomplish.

Yawn. Bedtime.

So.

2009-08-23T20:18:00.002-07:00

My dad told me, "I haven't seen a blog post from you in awhile...but no pressure."

Haha, thanks for the gentle reminder, Dad. :)

Sundays are the best days to blog, because they are the only days I don't actually feel guilty for doing something besides school. ;) The reading assignments out here are very...large. I am tempted to complain, but I've learned that a lot of complaining is actually boasting in disguise. "Oh my goodness, I have to read all this stuff. Look at me, being so smart and studious..."

If I had a magical sin-zapper that I could use on myself, I think I would zap away pride. Could someone invent that, please? It would make sanctification so much easier.

(And sadly, I'm oftentimes not being smart or studious. Sure, I'm reading...but am I comprehending? Therein lies the rub.)

I need to get up early to finish some reading tomorrow, so I'd best go to bed. Just wanted to let you know that I'm alive. :)

I hate thinking of titles.

2009-08-19T17:22:00.004-07:00

Classes have started. I feel overwhelmed, but in a good way. I'm not panicking yet. For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. :)

I think as this academic term goes on, the quality of writing on my blog will deteriorate. It already has, I'm sure. I don't even proof-read this thing. ;) I need to conserve my mental energy for that which really matters...and this blog is not one of those things. ;)

The school work here is tough. It's incredibly difficult, but so rewarding. And I actually care about my assignments for once, so that makes it easier to have a good attitude.

I have had to read faster than I ever have before. The teachers give us massive reading assignments, and expect them completed next class period. I spend a lot of time on my bed in the basement with my pink fuzzy blanket wrapped around me. My basic day is to get up sometime between 6:00 and 7:00. Study. Dress. Breakfast. Study. Class. Lunch. Study. Maybe more classes. Study. Bed at 11:00.

With lots of random roommate conversation in between to keep us all sane.

So yes, a lot of studying. But don't feel sorry for me. I love it. :)

Picking up where I left off...

2009-08-17T16:37:00.003-07:00

Church on Sunday was great. My boarder family sits in the second row, so I felt right at home. (I'm like a little kid--if I sit in the back, I spend the whole sermon looking at people.) The sermon was on Romans 8, which is one of my favorite Bible passages. It was a really encouraging message.

We had a psalm sing that night in a local park. There was a great turnout, and it was a lot of fun, even though my voice needs major work. Our music professor led the psalm sing. He is very passionate about music. It's almost intimidating. He said that if you're the type to cry during a hard final, you will cry in his final. I guess I'll pack the Kleenex when the time comes!

Immediately after that, we had a freshman/sophomore party called Freshmeet. Or FreshMeat, depending on the person you asked. Haha. We played "I Have Never" and I met a TON of people. Occasionally, I met them twice, because I'd forgotten that I met them the first time. So embarrassing, but everyone understood. The guys played this ridiculous game called Buck Buck. It's a bizarre combination of leap frog and dogpile...I was very glad that I was exempt from participation. ;) At the end, all the sophomores gave us advice and a bunch of the guys prayed over us. The advice I took to heart the most was "Call home often!" which I know I will forget to do. It's hard enough to find time to talk during the day, but then there's a three hour time difference to deal with. The other advice that was the most important was to not neglect your quiet time. We got that speech from both faculty and students. Definitely good advice, because when you're in an environment where you're studying your Bible all the time academically with your professors and classmates, it can be so tempting to just skip having personal devotions.

Today, we had orientation all day long. All-freshman orientation, freshmen women orientation, and all-student orientation. I feel pretty oriented! ;) Mrs. Wilson's talk to the freshmen women was the best. She is so gracious in her speech...you feel loved, even though you're being rebuked and convicted by her words of wisdom. We got a bunch of great advice from the school faculty members, too. I think a lot of people have preconceived notions about the school, so it might come as a surprise to you that very little of the advice had to do with academics. Sure, we were told to stay on top of our school assignments and to attend class, but we were told over and over that being an academic nerd isn't the point. Man's chief end is not to be a geek. We are called to live as mature Christians and to be involved in other people's lives--not to stay holed up in a room reading and studying so that we can get the best grades. The president himself told us that he'd rather us get low grades because we were involved in our community or helping others than for us to get good grades by being an unsociable nerd. All my life, I've tended toward the unsociable nerd side...school came first, always. But I'm learning that academics is not the end all and be all. Funny that I had to go to school to learn that, isn't it? ;) As the school president said, we are called to hide God's word in our hearts, not just our heads.

In short, I love it here. Yes, I miss a lot of people in FL...and in GA...but I have never once regretted coming here. I feel so at home at this school. It's not perfect, and I'm not trying to idealize it. And yes, I'm probably still high on excitement and anticipation. But I just got our first week's homework assignments, and I still love the school! So there. ;)

Tomorrow is the first day of classes. I can't wait!

I'll try to post pictures later...

Catching up...

2009-08-15T20:22:00.003-07:00

I'm trying to get caught up on this blog, because I know that when school starts, I will have WAY less time.

I started moving into my new home on Thursday, but tonight will be the first time I actually spend the night here. God has been so good to me--I LOVE my housing situation. The family I'm with is too amazing for words. I feel so at home here--it's just spectacularly wonderful. I've had so much fun unpacking my stuff and rearranging my room. I actually have more bathroom space here than I did at home! :)

I've spent most of my time running errands (yay Wal*Mart!). I also had to set up a bank account, and learn how to do grown-up things like deposit checks. ;) It's rather embarrassing, but every time I say the name of my bank, I feel the urge to break out into song just like in a certain musical. Coolness points if you know which one. ;)

I picked up my books from the school the other day. I'll take a picture of them later. I also had to sing for the music teacher. Choir is required, but you still have to "try out." It was painful. I'm glad it was private. "Joy to the World" has never had such a rough start...

I had lunch a few days ago with two sophomores and one freshman. They were super sweet, and the sophomores gave us some great tips and encouragement. The people at this school are so friendly. I love it.

We had a freshman BBQ today at our Rhetoric teacher's house. I enjoyed meeting the other freshman girls, but I didn't meet any of the freshman guys. We just naturally segregated ourselves, and no one was brave enough to cross the gender line. I really wanted to shake things up and go introduce myself, but I conformed. Shame on me! Next time, I will be brave.

Tomorrow is church! :)

The Trip...

2009-08-14T15:31:00.000-07:00

All summer, I have been telling Tomas that we'd go to a local coffee shop once before I left, so we went 10 minutes before closing time the night before I left. Nothing like cutting it close. Jason and Laura came with us, so we enjoyed some final cousin time in the parking lot...

My grandparents called one last time to say "goodbye" to me...I miss you, Grandma and Grandpa! You watch Jeopardy! for me while I'm gone, ok?

We decided to go to the best grocery store in the world (bye Publix...shopping has been a pleasure!) because I had forgotten two of the most important travel needs: gum and lemon drops.

Am I the only one who thinks this gum looks like men's deodorant? Ew.

After that, I went home and packed some more. I was definitely in freak-out mode, trying to fit everything inside of my luggage. I must have weighed and measured my luggage dozens of times. I was so worried that I'd go over the weight limit.

Around midnight, Tomas and I headed back to Jason and Laura's to watch the meteor shower. My heart was already beating fast because I was stressed...and the latte at the coffeeshop didn't help. Then, as I was walking up to their door, Jason and Laura leaped out from behind their car and screamed "BOO!" as I was walking up to their door. I'm so glad my heart held up. ;)

So, yes. I was definitely on edge. I kept asking myself, "Tara, why are you going to watch shooting stars when there are a bazillion things you could be doing at home?"

And then, I lay on the ground.

Wow. I need to watch stars more often. It was so peaceful. I can't even describe what I felt. After hours of fretting and stressing out, I felt calm and reassured. You know how you're supposed to think of a quiet place to help yourself calm down? That is my new quiet place.

I was the last one to see a shooting star. It was rather funny...you get all settled out there, and when you don't see a star right away, you begin to get impatient and say things like...

"Alright, God. This was supposed to start at midnight. Let's get this show on the road..."

But it's not like that. You have to wait and be patient. You have to be still. I missed a ton of stars because I took my eyes off the sky. There are a lot of life lessons in stargazing. I highly recommend it. ;)

When I finally did see a shooting star, I got SO excited. It made my whole night. We saw about a dozen in the two hours we were out. All of my wishes had to do with packing and getting through security at the airport. :)

Ok, funny story. It had been awhile since we saw a shooting star when, suddenly, I saw a beam of light shooting exactly parallel to the ground. I sat up and shrieked, "WOW, LOOK AT THAT ONE!"

It was the lights of a car reflecting off the telephone wires. FAIL.

Around 2AM, Tomas and I drove home. By the time I finished packing, it was suddenly time to get ready. I changed clothes, and tried to get it into my head that just because I hadn't slept didn't mean that a day hadn't passed. Boy, does skipping sleep mess with your mind.

We made it to the airport on time. My poor dad was still very sick. One of the worst parts was getting our bags to the check-in counter. Imagine a man with the flu and a petite girl with no muscles trying to lug seven pieces of heavy luggage around. (And you better believe I got my money's worth--I went right up to the weight limit, but not an ounce over!) My back ached after just a few steps.

My dad had gone ahead at one point, and I was struggling juggling my backpack and suitcases. Some man appeared out of nowhere and helped my hoist my backpack up. Let me describe him. He looked a bit like this guy, and he was wearing sunglasses (indoors), a ski cap, a graphic zip-up hoody, and the craziest pair of patchwork corduroy pants you can imagine. Oh, and he had sparkly pink fingernails. It was surreal, people. I'm still not sure that he wasn't a hallucination from lack of sleep. My dad wasn't there to see him, and the next time I saw Mr. Sparkly Nails, my dad was in the bathroom. My dad came out, Mr. Nails disappeared. Spoooky.

We boarded our plane on time. Is it just me, or do those seats get smaller and closer together every time? I was in a middle seat. I hate middle seats. I couldn't lean on my dad, and though the lady to the other side of me looked super cuddly, I didn't know her, and personal boundaries exist even on planes. So after staying awake for twenty-four hours, I was stuck in an upright position for another four. Good times.

I was tired, so I didn't talk to the lady next to me, even though she gave me plenty of openings. I could tell she was watching me laugh and cry my way through my aunt's letter. (I love it when people give me stuff to read en route. It makes me happy. Thanks again, Auntie K.) It was abnormal for me not to talk to the lady...I always feel like a flight is not a flight unless you're BFFs with the person you were sitting next to by the time you arrive. I was just too tired to care at this point. I'm sure I made a terrible impression, slumped in my seat and actually doing the whole, "Are we there yet?" routine with my dad. I figured I'd never see her again...

Pictures from the air...

I love the pretty colors!

If I didn't know that this was an aerial view of Utah, I'd be convinced that my camera somehow took a close-up picture of Mr. Sparkly Nail's corduroy pants.

Back to the flight. Finally, the movie started. I had looked it up online beforehand: Star Trek. I was so confused when they started The Soloist, but I got all excited, because I wanted to see that one more anyway. About five minutes into the movie, they turned it off and started Star Trek. Whatever.

I actually liked Star Trek. It was fun. But can I just say that having the end narration say, "To boldly go where no one has gone before" just ruined it all for me? People should just put on their big kid underwear and deal with the fact that famous quotes are famous quotes, and they should not be tampered with just to make them gender-neutral. What's next: "One small step for a man; one giant leap for humankind?" Or are we even allowed to use "man" to refer to Neil Armstrong nowadays?

But getting back to the actual movie...it was funny, because we always seemed to go through rough air at the most intense parts of the movie. I had to keep reminding myself that I was flying on Delta, not The Enterprise.

The movie kept being interrupted by announcements from the pilot. At one point, he said, "Has anyone lost a dog? There is a small dog roaming around the cabin that looks a little bit like Toto." I'm just hoping the owner didn't let it out for a potty break...

As our plane landed, I found out that the lady I'd been ignoring for the past four hours was heading on the same connecting flight I was. She lives about 40 minutes from the college. What are the odds? After that, I wished I'd talked to her! She gave me her card anyway and told me to call her if I needed anything. She tells Tupperware, so I know who to call if I need kitchen containers.

We arrived in Lewiston...the best airport in the whole world. It has two gates, one baggage claim area, and a snack bar. The end. Finding my luggage was a piece of cake.

I had been without sleep for 31 hours. This is what I looked like:

Scary stuff.

Here are some pictures of the ride from the airport...

We ate at Applebee's, and then drove to our hotel. I was exhausted. Our room wasn't ready, so we parked in front of the hotel and slept. I fell asleep in ten minutes or so. I woke up when my dad told me our room was ready. I don't know why, but I started insisting that I shouldn't go to sleep. My dad thought I was serious, and started telling me that I needed to sleep. I have no idea what I was saying. I was half-asleep.

We crashed. It was 2:30PM. We didn't wake up until 7:00AM the next morning.

We ran errands the next day, making the obligatory Wal*Mart run. After that, we went to Staples and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Can I just say that I LOVE Bed, Bath, and Beyond's Pack 'n Go program? A few days before I left home, Laura and I went to the local Bed, Bath, and Beyond and scanned a bunch of stuff.

I felt like I was getting married, registering for stuff like that. :)

"Oh, it's a magnifying mirror? I thought it was a relief map of the moon! These things should be sold with a pre-printed suicide note!" ~Rhoda Morganstern.

Yesterday, I went to the Bed, Bath, and Beyond here in Idaho. I told them my name and all the stuff I scanned in FL was brought up to the front counter. I paid for it, and they helped me out to my car. I am now in love with their store. Everyone, go shop there.

After that, we went to my new home! More on that later... :)

I'm here!

2009-08-14T14:24:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this from my iPod Touch using the free version of some blogging app. Because it is the free version, I can't upload pictures, which is a shame because I have some to post. I'll have to wait until I get back to my laptop. Oh. Come to think of it, that's where all the pictures are in the first place, so the fact that this app won't let me upload them is a moot point. Duh, Tara.

I'm at my new home right now. I just finished unpacking a few suitcases and making my bed. It still hasn't hit me that I am LIVING here for the next nine months.

My dad is still very sick, so he is back at the hotel. I'll have to give a proper update once I get back there and can type on my laptop instead of this virtual keypad. I have a lot of stories about our trip out here. What a trip! Love you all...

Eek.

2009-08-10T19:26:00.006-07:00

What is wrong with me?! I was just spreading mayonnaise on two pieces of bread for a sandwich, and I actually considered going heavy on the mayo and just calling it a day. A mayonnaise sandwich. Happy Tara would think that's vile. Stressed Tara wants five of them, cut on the diagonal please.

Apparently, I crave high-fat foods when I'm stressed. Yesterday, I was filled with the insane urge to squirt the rest of the Reddi-Whip into my mouth. I tried, got it all over my face, and was reprimanded harshly by my little brother for being gross. Um, yeah. When your little brother tells you that you're the gross one, you should probably stop.

If I don't calm down, I won't fit into any of the clothes I packed.

I always freak out right before I go on a trip. The night before I went on my first mission trip, I was literally curled up in a ball sobbing. My coping skills gave gotten a bit better, but I am still incredibly pathetic the night before I go somewhere. I'll probably be fine on the plane. It's just the getting there.

Oh, wow. Praise the Lord. In the middle of writing this post, "Aunt" Cheryl stopped by and brought me my favorite sort of present--the kind you can eat! And guess what?

It's high in fat. YAY! I love you, Aunt Cheryl!! :)

Chocolate-covered potato chips help. A lot.

But my dad still has the flu, and my room is still messy, my bags are bursting at the seams, and there is still a drawer I haven't even looked at. Oh, and library books. Phooey, the library has already closed. I think I had fines there, too. And I was supposed to tell my librarian BFFs goodbye. Bother.

I think I'm going to go stuff my face with more chocolate-covered potato chips.

Pray for my dad, please. This illness must have hit him all of the sudden, because just last night we were joking around and having fun. I was trying to convince him that I absolutely positively NEEDED to pack my pair of two-toned green and brown 4-inch heels, and the argument "But they're sooooo cute!" wasn't working. I even made my lower lip quiver. That bought me my red patent leather flats, but the green shoes are going to just hang out in my closet for a few months. ;) (My dad also tried to test my theory that leaving some things behind was more painful than having my toenails pulled out by a pair of rusty pliers. My quick reflexes saved my big toe.)

Anyway. I just found out about the meteor shower tonight, and with the prime time being between midnight and 4AM, I'm seriously considering not going to bed tonight. I can sleep on the plane, right? :)

Swagbucks...

2009-08-08T18:42:00.007-07:00

Alright, class. Today we are going to talk about search engines. Raise your hand if you use Google. Ok, ok, that's most of you. You in the back, wake up!

How many of you would be willing to switch search engines if it meant you got rewards in return? Most of you?

How many of you think I should stop pretending to be a teacher and just get on with the blog post? All of you? Well, ok . . . enough with the classroom thing, then.

Seriously, people. If you haven't heard of Swagbucks, prepare to be excited. Here's how it works.

You search for things on the internet, and in return you get free stuff. The end.

Okay, if you're like me...you're probably about to rush off and Google this thing and make sure it's not a scam. Go ahead and do that.

You back already? Can't find anything about it being a scam? That's because it's not.

Oh, and one more thing. That Google search you just did? If you had searched with Swagbucks, you could have earned something for that. Oh well. ;)

Swagbucks NEVER asks you for your credit card information or anything like that. The only information you have to give them is your e-mail address and a mailing address so that they can ship all your prizes to you.

I know, I know--it can't be that simple, right? Wrong.

I just redeemed a $5 Amazon e-gift card that I earned sitting on my rear doing my normal internet-searching activities. I spent it all on music:

"Laughing With" by Regina Spektor (iTunes price: $1.29)

"Eet" by Regina Spektor (iTunes price: $1.29)

"Folding Chair" by Regina Spektor (iTunes price: $1.29)

"Going to the Ceili" by Celtic Woman (iTunes price: $1.29)

"Our House" by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young (iTunes price: $1.29)

Yes, I am on a Regina Spektor kick. Anyway.

How much would all of that have cost me on iTunes?

$6.45.

How much did it cost me using the Amazon gift card I earned for free using the Swagbucks search engine?

Nothing.

I'm really making two points with this example. First, use Swagbucks. That's the most important thing. Secondly, try buying your music from Amazon instead of iTunes. All those $1.29 songs on iTunes were only $0.99 on Amazon, which is why I was able to get all five of them with a $5 gift card. But if you feel loyal to iTunes, just use your Swagbucks to "buy" an iTunes gift card. Amazon gift cards are FAR from the only prize you can get in the Swag Store. They have all sorts of prizes, but the gift cards are my favorite.

It's impossible to give you the exchange rate of dollars to Swagbucks. It varies from prize to prize. The $5 Amazon e-gift card was 45 SB. A $10 Barnes and Noble gift card is 125 SB. A $15 iTunes gift card is 185 SB.

And how do you GET these Swagbucks again? Like I said, by doing something that you probably already do EVERY day: searching the internet. All you have to do is search with Swagbucks' search engine. You will earn the bucks at random, so don't get disappointed when they don't pop up every time. I tell you--it will make it THAT much more special when you see a gleaming image of a Swagbuck shimmering at the top of your search results. I generally jump up, squeal and clap like a little kid. Yay for cheap thrills! :)

There are other ways to earn Swagbucks. You should explore the Swagbucks website. You can follow them on Twitter and find special "Swagcodes" which automatically give you more Swagbucks.

I don't really get into the Swagcodes, so I earn my Swagbucks at a slower rate than hard-core Swaggers. I still try to get a few each day, though.

Swagbuck's results come from Google and Ask.com, so it's not too shabby of a search engine. I'll be honest though. I still find myself coming back to Google. I'm not trying to convince you that Swagbucks is better than Google. It's not, as far as searching goes. But Google doesn't give me free things, so... :)

Go sign up at Swagbucks! You have nothing to lose . . . except awesome prizes. ;)

Oh, one more thing...

Another way you can earn Swagbucks is by referring others. If you click that box on the right side of the screen that says Swagbucks, it will take you to my referral page. If you sign up through that page and start to use Swagbucks.com yourself, I earn extra Swagbucks.

If you're anything like me, you might be thinking, "So, THAT'S why she's been raving about this thing--because she GETS something out of it. I bet Swagbucks isn't really all that great."

This isn't like one of those awkward Tupperware parties where you feel obligated to buy burpy kitchen containers just because the host is your best friend's cousin's hairdresser. Sign up through my referral link or not...I don't care. Just sign up.

Oh, and you won't have to convince others to join either. This blog post is my only attempt at referring others. Prior to this, I have earned my bucks totally on my own. I promised myself that I wouldn't try to convince anyone of the magic of Swagbucks until I actually had received a prize...and thanks to Swagbucks, my iPod just got five songs fuller.

Let me know if you have any questions. :)

Yes, another post about decluttering...

2009-08-03T10:13:00.007-07:00

Part of the pre-packing process included getting my "Special Box" down from the attic. Each of my siblings has one. Leah went through hers when she got married, but it has been years since I opened mine.

It was a hilarious experience. On the very bottom was a book I wrote for my brother when I was in first grade called "Tara's Book of Buttons and of Belly Buttons." Now there's a catchy title! I kept that, of course, but I chucked--among other things--all the silly VBS crafts that were falling apart and a few pillows I sewed as a kid.

Most of the items were clothes. I kept all the ones that my mom had kept for me--her trench coat from the '70's...the homemade stuff my grandma made. I loved wearing those outfits as a kid, and it'll make a nice addition to my future daughters' dress-up box if nothing else.

But then there were the things like...

These shorts.

They are just a pair of cotton shorts, and an ugly pair at that. But--for some reason--I wanted to keep them. When I took them out the other day, I stretched the waist and heard the sound of crumbling. Elastic is not forever. Bye-bye, ugly cotton shorts.

I at least understood why this outfit was in there. It was my absolute favorite when I was around the age of six--I wore it all the time.

Sadly, however--I was a messy eater, and the proof is all over the shirt.

This outfit came with a red belt.

A belt, I might add, which still fits. ;) Haha.

How can you resist that flower buckle? ;) Yep, I kept the belt, but threw the outfit into the Goodwill pile.

Alright, people. Are you ready for this next picture? I just want to warn you. What you are about to see may disturb you. One of my first sewing projects...

That's an angel. A really creepy angel. I'm pretty sure that it used to have hair, but I probably pulled it off during a sermon one Sunday. (Yes, I actually took this thing to church. It held my Bible and pens, and I was so proud of the fact that I made it.) I bet everyone else was jealous of my alien bag. I mean angel bag. Yeah, that's what I meant.

I'm not going to lie. I couldn't give this away. It makes me laugh, and for that reason alone, it's sticking around.

I'm half-tempted to start carrying it again. ;)

In which I have too much stuff...

2009-07-31T19:11:00.006-07:00

I've only been on this planet for eighteen years, one month, and twenty-one days. How have I amassed so much stuff?

It seems like every few hours, I lug a full garbage bag into the garage to either give away or throw away.

I have mixed feelings about the whole process. It's incredibly cathartic to purge, to simplify, to get back to the basics, but every so often...just as my hand is hovering over the garbage bag, the giant nostalgic monster attacks. It's not pretty.

Example:

Me: This doll is gross. Look at her dress; it's all stained.

Giant Nostalgia Monster: But...but...that was your favorite doll! When you first got her, you were the same size! How could you give away such an important member of your doll family?

Me: Doll family? What in the world? Seriously, did you just come up with that to make me feel guilty?

GNM: Yes. I know how to manipulative you perfectly.

Me: I hate you.

In the end, I won. Bye-bye, dolly!

I'm off to go through more stuff. This cleaning mood I'm in will not last long, so I'd better milk it for all it's worth right now!

Um, what?

2009-07-30T09:52:00.006-07:00

Reality TV is my guilty pleasure, so I was enjoying America's Got Talent, up until Episode 12.

Ok, watch this girl.

Now watch this one.

Guess which one made it to the semi-finals?

You'd think it would be the harpist. You know, the one with actual talent. The one who is a motivational speaker and therefore already has stage experience. The one who is twenty-nine years old, and therefore, has a better understanding of what hard work is all about. You'd think that, wouldn't you?

But nope, it was bye-bye to Rashida, while Eleisha gets to stick around for a few more weeks at most. (Honestly, how long can they keep her? She has NO talent.)

I get it--she's cute, she'll boost ratings. Whatever. Just wait ten years...when she's a high school senior, and she still has that diva attitude, tell me it's cute. I dare you.

Best wishes, Rashida. You're too talented for America, apparently.

In honor of cousins... :)

2009-07-25T20:12:00.012-07:00

July 25th was Cousin's Day--a very momentous holiday in my family. It's almost as important to us as "Sneak a Zucchini on Your Neighbor's Porch Day" (August 8th--get ready!).

It all started last year. Laura and I found out that it was Cousin's Day, so we used it as an excuse to get together. She came to pick me up...and she was wearing plaid shorts. Coincidentally, I was wearing plaid shoes and a plaid headband, and when Tomas came out of his room to say "hi," it was discovered that he was wearing plaid shorts as well.

We declared plaid the official garb for Cousin's Day. We made sure Jason wore it, too. Leah was on her honeymoon, so we decided she was exempt from participating. Stefan didn't really play along, but we forced him to drape a plaid scarf around his head...

This year, Jason's graduation party fell on Cousin's Day. I told everyone to wear plaid...and even though they complained, everyone did . . . except ONE person. That would be me. Heh. Oops.

Pictures from last year...

I truly believe that you do not know me unless you have seen me with Laura. We speak a different language when we are together. Or at least a different dialect. Our relationship...well, it's sooo spiritual--it's like we're joined at the soul. The soul!!! (Those who haven't seen Tim Hawkin's piece on "Young Love" need to go Google it!) Laura always makes me feel better when I have to do something I don't want to do...and she is the best person to tell my embarrassing moments to, because she understands how painful certain things are and doesn't say things like, "No one will ever remember." (I think that's a lie, but maybe that's because I always remember everyone else's embarrassing moments. I met a priest over two years ago at a rehearsal. His zipper was down the entire time he was on stage, and no one told him. I was hoping his wife would. I certainly wasn't!) Anyway. Back to Laura. She's amazing. :)

Then there's her older brother. Jason is...Jason. If you know him, you understand. If you don't know him, you haven't yet begun to live. He is unlike anyone you will ever meet. Totally insane, but in a good way. Laura, Jason, Tomas, and I make up the Awesome Foursome--also known as "The Only Cousins in Town Who Aren't Married."

Here are some pictures from my scrapbook. Sorry for the bad quality. I didn't feel like scanning them.

This one pretty much defines our early relationship. I was such an attention hog. Laura has forgiven me for being so bratty.

Remember those headbands, Laura?

One of our many sleepovers. One time, I had a play date over at her house. We planned that I would secretly pack like I was going to a sleepover...and when my mom came to pick me up, we BEGGED our moms to let me stay the night. They sighed and said, "But Tara doesn't have her stuff..." I triumphantly pulled my backpack out, and said, "Ha! Yes, I do!" I slept over. :)

Our other tactic was to write our moms a note that generally read:

Dearest Mothers,

Mayest we havest a sleepover? We love each other so much...almost as much as we love you. Won't you please letest us sleepoverest? Your Loving Daughters, Laura and Tara"

We thought added "-est" to the end made things magically more polite.

We got our ears pierced together. Who let me out of the house with that bow? My sense of style has changed slightly since I was ten...

More recently...

Cousin's Day THIS year. We went water-skiing...

The beach at our hotel in Key Largo.

We drove two hours to eat breakfast at this restaurant on the beach. It was so worth it.

Fourth of July!

The night David proposed to Leah. If you think I look frightening in that picture, it's because I was insanely giddy. We were drinking sparkling grape juice, but from the way I was acting, you'd have thought it was straight vodka. I was kinda happy about the whole thing. ;)

The Awesome Foursome in the Southernmost part of the U.S.

If (or more likely "when") I get homesick in Idaho, it'll be these people I think of...

LOVE YOU GUYS! :)

The Gadsden Purchase

2009-07-25T18:19:00.002-07:00

Late Night TV isn't always the best entertainment, but this cracked me up...

Free Books...

2009-07-20T13:58:00.016-07:00

Any takers? All are paperbacks unless otherwise noted. The red ones have already been snagged.

Caddie Woodlawn

The cover is bent, and I pencilled my name in it...but it's definitely readable. Trivia: Carol Ryrie Brink was from Moscow, ID. :)

The Witch of Blackbird Pond

Old and yellowed, but not falling apart yet...

Sense and Sensibility

Hardback, but without the paper cover that goes on the outside of hardback books. (What is that thing called?) It is readable, but the bottom half of the book got dunked in a tub of soapy warm water. Yeah, I don't read in the bathtub anymore. Come to think of it, I also don't take baths anymore...

A Wrinkle in Time

One of my absolute favorites. We owned a copy when I was little. I read it, hated it, and gave it away. A few years passed, and I decided to check it out at the library and give it another try. This time, I loved it so much that I went out and bought myself a copy. It's the first book I remember buying. I bought another copy at Goodwill a few years ago just because it was cheap, so it's up for grabs. It's in great condition for a paperback...

Many Waters

This is a book in the same series as A Wrinkle in Time. The first time I read it, I didn't like it. I thought there might be some magical wait-a-year-and-try-again formula with this one too, but I've read it multiple times, and I still don't like it. Someone take it, please...

Braids and Bows

Didn't every girl in the '90's have this book? I'm not sure that anyone will want it, seeing as it's quite easy to learn hairstyles online now. The cover is falling off, but the inside is fine.

It doesn't come with the bow-making supplies though--this is just the book.

Madeline's Rescue

I'm giving this away because I got a collector's set of Madeline books for Christmas one year. I was fourteen. Haha.

And these are the books I just couldn't part with...

A quick Google Images search for "dream library" produced this...

I think the drool ruined my keyboard. I would replace the busy floral sofas with simple brown leather ones and add a few rolling library ladders...and then, it would be just about perfect.

Sigh. I'm off to write the tenth commandment one hundred times...

Edit to add: I also have exactly 34 issues of Family Fun. They are from the late 90's and early 2000's, but they could be useful if you need to do a collage...or perhaps write a ransom note.

So, which do you think is more ridiculous: the fact that I've been hoarding these magazines for more than a decade, or the fact that I subscribed to a magazine that was written for fun moms when I was still in my awkward preteen stage? Demographics, schmenographics...

Bookstore Conversations

2009-07-11T19:15:00.004-07:00

I had the sweetest older man help me out at the bookstore today...but I had a hard time not laughing as we talked.

Me: Could you help me find a book?

Employee: Sure!

Me: It's called Alas, Babylon, and it's by Pat Frank.

Employee: At Last, I Belong?

Me: No, Alas Babylon...

Employee: Alas, I Belong?

Me: Alas. Babylon. BABYLON.

Employee: I don't know if we have it...

Thankfully, they did. It was in the Science Fiction section. Isn't that supposed to be reserved for books about aliens and spaceships?

Last year on this day...

2009-07-10T21:41:00.011-07:00

Two of my favorite people got married...

I think I was as excited as they were. ;) I felt like I was going to explode from sheer joy.

The first few tries of this picture were unfortunately focused in on "But fornication and all uncleanness or covetousness, let it not even be named among you, as is fitting for saints." While certainly good advice, I think skipping down a few lines was a good idea. :)

The veil did it. At first, she wasn't planning on having one, but she tried one on in the bridal store at one of her fittings, and I about fell out of my chair when I saw her. She suddenly wasn't just my sister in a fancy dress...she was a bride. Yeah, Tara...you don't miss much, do you? Moral of the story: though the practical might say "Why would I want a piece of tulle hanging in front of my face for half the ceremony?", listen to the people who say, "It can't hurt to try on one..."

Putting on boutonnieres. Spelling "boutounnieres." I stink at both.

I've always wanted to be a witness on someone's marriage license. I don't think this had any legal importance, since I was only seventeen at the time, but they let me sign it anyway, and yes, it was the highlight of the day for me. Seeing Leah and David being united in holy matrimony before God was a close second.

The only speech that I have actually enjoyed giving. :) It's so easy to say nice things about those two.

I'm not sure why, but I find wooden fences so romantic.

Can you say "Broadway musical?" Haha, being in this wedding party was so much fun. :)

David and Leah, congratulations on winning the prestigious "Tara's Favorite Couple of the Year" award. Continue being awesome, and you might be repeat champions. Thank you also for getting married on 7/11, because it means that every year on your anniversary, I can celebrate by getting a free slurpee.

I am no fun when it comes to fireworks...

2009-07-10T13:35:00.007-07:00

If I had a penny for every time I said "Run!" that night...

Guys can be so stupid. ;)

The ending pretty much sums up how I feel about amateur firework setter-offers.

And does my voice really sound like that?

Leaving...

2009-07-06T20:58:00.016-07:00

My sister and I have always been close to each other. (Although for the first decade of our lives together, the word "close" only be used truthfully in a geographical context--it wasn't until a few years ago that the emotional closeness really kicked in. )We lived in the same house until she got married, and even after she moved out, she was just a few minutes away. I always had an apartment key and lots of pitiful excuses as to why I needed to drop by.

It's sad to think that my sister and I will have a long-distance relationship from now until...a very long time, if not forever. A few weeks before I leave for Idaho, she and her husband are off to Atlanta. (I knew I should have applied to Agnes Scott!) At least we have modern technology. She can post pictures of her food on her blog for me to drool over. Her electronic superhero of a husband can control my computer through the internet and fix all my problems. We can chat with webcams, and I know it'll be fun to swap stories about the new places and new faces we meet.

Oh great. Now I have this stuck in my head.

Old school Disney movies aside, the word "flitterin'" describes my life perfectly these days. I've realized that my time here before I leave is quickly running out. I leave August 12th, and I doubt I'll be coming back to FL until December. I've been cramming my schedule full of the things that I want to do before I go, but I have realized that even if I were to go without sleep until I leave, I wouldn't be able to do it all. How do you check things like "Spend time with friends" off your list? Can you ever spend enough time with friends? I guess that depends on the friend... ;)

At the same time, I want to enjoy my last few weeks without running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I need to schedule in time to just do nothing but savour this time here. I want to have a root beer float at that random ice cream stand I pass all the time but never stop at. I want to go visit the friends I have in my neighborhood, whom I never see despite the fact that only a few blocks separate our houses. I want to give all the elderly and sick people I know enormous hugs, just in case some of them aren't here when I get back. (My enormous hugs are not solely reserved for the sick and elderly, so if I give you one, don't automatically assume that I'm calling you old and infirm, ok?)

I know, I know. It's not like I'm leaving forever...but still, I won't be involved in people's lives here as much as I'd like. It's killing me that there will be babies born at my church, and I won't get to see them until Christmastime!

Anyway. Even though this blog entry apparently just got attacked by the Giant Nostalgia Monster, I have to say that I'm super excited about college. Yes, I will miss my hometown, but I'm looking forward to broadening my horizons. I can't wait to see what life as a college student is like. Around this time every summer, I begin to yearn for a scheduled life again. I am a horrible steward of my free time...I need a routine to feel productive!

In which I blog...

2009-07-06T09:41:00.004-07:00

So here I am, blogging again. Yes, I've done this before. I started my first blog shortly after I turned thirteen. I'm not sure why. Maybe to tell the world about the time I accidentally-on-purpose put sweetened condensed milk in my hair? To make sure everyone knew how annoyed I was when my video tape of Random Harvest cut off right before I could find out if Greer Garson's amnesiac husband recognizes her or not? (SPOILER ALERT: He does. Roll credits.) I guess I started a blog because everyone else was doing it, and I knew it wasn't as dangerous as jumping off a bridge.

After about a year of writing such profound posts as those, it dawned on me that my blog was pointless and fairly self-absorbed, so I quit. But even if I hadn't stopped then, I know now I wouldn't have continued blogging much longer. A few months after I shut my blog down, my mom had her first seizure in years, and we found out that the lesion on her brain had grown. I was fourteen years old, in that terribly awkward stage between child and adult, but my mom's cancer pushed me headlong into the adult world. That blog I had started? It was bubblegum pink and dripped with smilies and exclamation points. I could barely look at it without gagging, much less post anything.

The next blog I started was dark brown and the subject matter was death. Juxtaposition, much? A few days after my mom's funeral, I was sitting by a playground on the beach, ranting to my sister about all the insensitive comments I'd received. It was the most cathartic experience I've ever had. I wanted to be angry. Anger was familiar; grief was not. I needed to feel something besides the numbness. My sister suggested that I channel my crazy emotions into writing about funeral etiquette. Let's just say that after swapping horror stories, we both agreed there was a need for education in that area. I had been to over fifteen funerals before I turned fifteen, so I was no stranger to death, but I gained such a different perspective on things when it was my family getting all the casseroles and flowers. That blog never really got off the ground though. Death is not easy to write about, to say the least. I didn't want to claim that my own experiences were the norm, because I had ample proof even within my own family that people deal with grief in different ways. I also didn't want my friends to be paranoid about having offended me, when in fact, there were so many dear people who surrounded me with the love of Christ and helped me more than they'll ever know. So once again, my blog fizzled out.

Third time's a charm, yes? Hopefully, this will be a middle ground between my last two attempts at bloggery. I started this mainly for my Florida friends who might want to know what I'm up to way out there in Idaho. I am going to miss so many of you. It will be hard to leave my church, where people have known me since I was stealing cardboard bricks from other kids in the nursery (and I don't mean that time last week...). I think all the women in my church should get giant Titus 2 plaques for investing so much time in my life. No one can replace a mother, but they did a great job of filling in the gaps.

I'm not sure if I'll have the time and inclination to blog a lot while I'm in school, but I will try my best. Watch and laugh as I learn about this magical phenomenon...what do they call it again? Snow? Yes, I think that's it...

And for all the people who ask me why in the world I'm going to Idaho...

In the immortal words of Rhoda Morganstern, "...because it's cold there, and I figured I'd keep better."