August 31, 2004
Olafsdatter
One morning, I woke up and layed in bed leisurely (alright, lazily) and wondered what it would be like if I woke up somewhere else, as someone else. It inspired a story that's surprised me, being the only love story I've ever written. (It didn't start out that way.) This one, well, it's just fun. I like Anna and Oleifr, and this story is easy to write, so I write it when I take a break from everything else. This part is somewhere around chapter 3, but I think you can catch enough to know what's happened thus far.
He opened the door, and Bera entered the room with a cheerful smile. Are these people forever smiling? It's barely even sunrise! Anna thought to herself. But despite her attempt at irritation, she couldn't help but be pleased to see Bera. At least the woman wasn't threatening to throttle her, unlike her present company. Vile brews she could deal with. Idiotic men were something else entirely.
"I don't suppose you've got any coffee in that bag of yours, do you?" Bera's blank stare was answer enough. "Oh well, wishful thinking, I guess. Coffee would be heavenly right now." Better than that disgusting concoction you gave me yesterday. What was in that thing? She shuddered involuntarily. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Bera, but the drink you made didn't do a bit of good." Anna turned slightly green remembering the fuzzy things floating in the cup of "tea" she had been forced to drink in an effort to "cure" her. Please let that bag be empty this time, she prayed to herself.
Bera merely smiled, and settled into the seat across from Anna. "I am not surprised, truth be told." She reached into the satchel, and Anna gulped loudly. "I have cast the lots, and they tell me this sickness is beyond the power of simple herbs and roots." Anna let out an audible sigh at that. "Instead, I have carved this amulet with healing runes for you to wear near your heart, but please don't mention it to Father Phineus. His lectures seem to be getting longer and longer these days." She gave an exasperated sigh at the mention of the clergyman, and handed the necklace to the other woman.
Anna warily took the piece of jewelry from Bera's outstretched hand and studied the carving on the flat pale disc. "Is this bone?" she asked.
Bera nodded and pointed to the symbols that had been etched into the white surface. "See, here is the rune, ansuz, this means divine breath, to show you the order of your life. And there, that is kenaz, for clarity and understanding. This is perdhro, the most powerful rune for you, for memory and problem solving."
Well, I could use all the help I can get in that area, thought Anna. She let Bera tie the leather thong around her neck and she tucked it into the collar of her gown. Maybe it will do something for this headache, too. The throbbing pain had plagued Anna since the beginning of this whole mess, and it was getting worse. She rubbed her temples absently. Bera noticed, and announced, "Up. Out of this bed. A clear mind begins with a clean body. You need a bath." She wrinkled her nose. "Or perhaps that is you, Oleifr." Anna snorted back a laugh, and Oleifr glared menacingly at the healer. Undaunted, Bera shoved him towards the door with orders to retrieve water. He looked grumpily at the two women, opened his mouth to say something, then thought the better of it. He stomped across the cabin, grabbed a warm cloak and leather boots and left muttering something about stubborn wenches, or was that witches?
Smiling to herself, Bera removed a large basin from it's peg on the wall and placed it before the fire. Oleifr returned shortly with a huge wooden barrel of water, lifting it with an ease that surprised Anna. Without a word, he left, and Bera filled the iron cauldron and placed it back on the hearth to warm, humming merrily to herself. She added rosehips to the water and soon the room was filled with the inviting scent. As Bera worked, Anna took the opportunity to explore her surroundings. It was cozy, which puzzled her. It didn't seem to match the man, who was decidedly uncozy. Each item in the room was practical and useful, yet beautifully carved and created. Functional pieces were also artistic, and the craftmanship of these simple things rivaled art she'd seen in galleries. Tapestries hung on the walls, eloborate and colorful, and she wondered where they came from, and who made them, and mostly, who hung them. A woman? She dismissed her curiosity on the matter. It certainly made no difference to her.
Her fingers traced the elegant carving on a wooden trunk, following the interlocking patterns with awe. I bet he made this. She stumbled in surprise at the thought. No, not that oaf, she told herself. He couldn't make a... a... pancake! She laughed. I never was very good at analogies.
Bera summoned her to the bronze tub, and slipped out of the room quietly, much to Anna's relief. In the short twenty-four hours she had been here, she'd been poked and prodded and generally ogled by enough strangers. She was in no mood for an audience now. Anna eagerly sank into the steaming water, and submerged herself up to her ears. Her thoughts soon turned to her bizarre beginning in this strange place. As she soaked, she examined and discarded a million different theories about her appearance yesterday morning in what could only be described as a Viking village.
The only logical conclusion was that she had gone absolutely, certifiably, nuts. I'm probably wandering through the neighborhood in my nightgown right this very moment. She looked down. At least, I hope I'm in my nightgown.
She sighed. Either way, I think I'm in trouble.
August 30, 2004
I'm Not Eating THAT
Even if it is chocolate. This beauty has been filed under "Things That Make Shannon Cringe".
The fact that it was a smashing success at my parent's house during Christmas of 2000 - well, that is dually filed under "Proof that I May Be Adopted" and "Things That Must Never Be Admitted in Public".
Those files are getting a little out of hand, folks. Scary.
You Will Obey Me
My body is in full rebellion at the thought of the word "gym" today. It just refuses to budge.
UP you willful thing, we had a deal! You knew yesterday when you had that second helping of banana pudding that this day would come. Now come on!
August 26, 2004
Talky Talky
I wanted to let Mike know over at A Jeep in Summer that his comments were acting screwy, and since he had his AIM on his blog, I instant messaged him. Neat! That's the first time I've ever chatted (albeit very briefly) with a fellow blogger. It put a whole new level to blogging, and Mike became more "real" to me. So "real" that he didn't even have time to talk, the chump. (Mike, I'm kidding.)
Anyway, all that to say, I'm putting my chat info in the sidebar under Side Notes. If you see me on, feel free to say hello!
I'll try not to blow you off... unlike some people.
Things I am Really, Really Bad At:
1.) Remembering, describing, or visualizing the make and model of cars. Incurable disability, I think I inherited from my mother. I can, however, recognize my own car, and Patricks. Flashcards, baby. They make all the difference.
2.) Drawing. Oh sweet mercy, I am bad at it. Here's an example of what was supposed to be a princess, but I wasn't paying attention and instead drew something that traumatized my child forever. I think I saw this same woman on an episode of Cops. You can imagine what her crime was. (notice the prince screaming in horror behind her.)
3.) Timing the toaster. I burned three, THREE bagels the other morning. The fourth one was barely edible, and only then because of a ridiculous amount of cream cheese. I cry over this.
4.) Keeping up with earrings. The thing is, it's never my fault. I mean, I left them right there. Honestly. Just one second ago! Side note: I know you love me, but please don't buy me diamonds. Trust me. Ask my parents.
5.) Judging distance. This is highly debilitating. 5 feet? 20 feet? 50 yards? It's all the same to me. I'm sorry. I try to be smart, but this is the moment you're going to see my eyes glaze over.
6.) Closely related to number 5, estimating the time it takes to get somewhere. I'm just shooting in the dark, don't ever believe me when I tell you I think it only takes an hour to get somewhere. I'm lying. I have no clue. I'm still going to try to help you out, cause that's the kind of person I am. Helpful, huh?
7.) Spotting whatever it is that you're pointing at. Sadly, I've missed all kinds of cool things because I have this handicap. Don't get mad at me- I really wanna see that escaped kangeroo at the edge of the woods but I CAN'T SEE IT! WHERE??? Oh, too late. Crap.
8.) Knowing a good price for ground beef. This one is a mystery to me. After buying and cooking it for at least eight years, you'd think I would have come up with a good, average price to look for. But no. It just won't stick in my head.
9.) Remembering to remind people of things they've asked me to. Please don't depend on me for that. I have excellent intentions of reminding you of whatever it was, if I could only remember what that was.
10.) Coming up with the very last item for a list. I suck at that.
August 25, 2004
Accidental Tourism
Don't you just looooove it when you unknowingly flash about thirty people at one time?
Mor.ti.fi.cation.
Fun With the Webcam
Sometimes it's good to be stupid.
Then it's good to laugh at yourself.
Then it's good to try and look normal again to recover some dignity.
The Cool Preschooler
Wrenn, who will be four in a month, started school last week. I was probably more excited than she was about it, and I was dying for the details when I picked her up the first day. Unfortunately, information was not forthcoming. Instead, this is what I get.
Me: How was school sweetie?
Wrenn: *blink blink*
Me: What did you do?
Wrenn: um...nothing.
Me: Really? The whole time? You didn't do one single thing?
Wrenn: I didn't.
Me (trying another tactic): What was your favorite part?
Wrenn: poopy.
Me: Poopy? Poopy was your favorite part?
Wrenn: yes ma'am. (hysterical giggle)
Me: I'll never know what you do in school, will I?
Wrenn: poopy.
Ah, the joys of being (nearly) four, when "poopy" is the wittiest response to any question you don't feel like answering.
I talked to some of the other mothers, trying to find out what their kids learned, but they all just rolled their eyes and said, "All I could find out was poopy."
Yay. I can see that tuition money at work already.
*I will be posting pictures soon.
August 24, 2004
A Very Merry Unbirthday
You're Alice.
Which Alice in Wonderland Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I much prefer this Alice (click the link below) from the American-Mcgee game. She's scary. Don't click it if you're a big baby who doesn't like scary stuff.
Hey, wait, didn't I just get fussed at about role playing games and being a nerd and all? Jerks. Off with their heads. And I do not have emotional problems.
Yeah, that's blood on her skirt, by the way. You know that stuff stains, right? She so doesn't care.
August 23, 2004
Chilly Willy They Ain't
He was such a mean drunk.
Beloved Bloglist
And now, for the next installment of Why You're On My Bloglist.
Bob immedietely caught my attention by... well, being A Girl Named Bob. The fact that she's a great writer and a hilarious blogger is just dandy, too. She is a regular read for me. Her Fly post earned her a permanent place at APOG, and I present it to you here in it's entirety. Now shoo.
The Petulant Pest
These days, I usually like to eat bananas for breakfast. They're yummy and filling, and all that potassium and magnesium helps my insomnia a bit. But apparently fruit flies like bananas a lot too. If I don't take out the trash right away, they start taking over my kitchen. That's what happened this week. I guess I wasn't fast enough, and even though I took out the trash last night, there were still quite a few of them hanging around today.
This evening when I got home from work, I noticed that one of them was just chilling on the outside of my door near the peep hole. It was like he got locked out and was waiting all day for me to come home and let him in. Before I put my key up to the lock, I shooed him away. But then as I opened the door and stepped in, I saw him fly past me.
"You don't live here!" I yelled, as he soared above my reach.
Fruit flies may not have middle fingers, but they can still behave in a insolent manner.
She serves up funny on a daily basis. Go read.
August 21, 2004
It Made Me Laugh
"Everytime a child says, 'I don't believe in fairies', there's a little fairy somewhere that falls down dead." JM Barrie.
Pie in the Sky
I was out running errands the other day and noticed a sign for a subdivision that intrigued me. The Seven Pies. I thought, oh how cool! To live at 312 Seven Pies- that's awesome! I wondered how in the world they came up with that- was it an old legend of the area that a woman bakes a pie for each day of the week? Was it a fable about seven pies on a window sill? Was it good luck? I thought about it the whole time I was out, trying out different sentences and scenarios in my head with the words, "The Seven Pies". (Hey, what else should I do in line at the post office?) Then driving home, I passed it again.
I looked a little closer, and to my disappointment, I saw that it was The Seven Pines not Pies. How utterly dull. It was such a letdown! Here I thought, somebody has really broken out of the box and given us something with no explanation, and no apology. Ballsy! I was bummed when I realized it was just another generic, run-of-the-mill, blah blah blah.
However, it did go in my journal, and one day, maybe one of my characters will live in a quirky neighborhood called The Seven Pies, and nobody will know why it has that name, but they love it anyway.
So there you have it. Birth of an idea. Maybe a dumb one, but hey, at least the wheels are working, right?
Oh do shut up, Joey. ;)
(PS: I don't normally do "the wink", but I made an exception today. Sue me.)
August 20, 2004
The Wooden Cube
*This is a true story, though the name has been changed in respect for my friend's privacy.
Ariel painted a solid wooden cube for me for my eleventh birthday. Each side portrayed some aspect of me in her eyes. A big yellow “S” on one side, a cross on another, a goofy face with glasses, a bright sunshine, and some other things that escape me at the moment. She was artistic and creative, and terribly complicated, even at that young age. I knew she had a sadness about her, but I didn’t know why. It was beyond my perceptions at that age to know that she was being sexually abused by a family member. I thought… she’s just sad. So I’ll make her happy. We made the woods our playground, swinging from vines, catching tadpoles in milkjugs, and hiding from the neighborhood boys in massive ferns. If we weren’t outdoors, we settled ourselves someplace quiet with sketch pads and drew women in wild and fanciful dresses, or detailed layouts for underground bomb-shelters. We talked about God, and the boys at our school, and what we wanted to be when we grew up. She ate chili with my family on Christmas day; she hunted Easter eggs at my cousin’s house. My grandmother was “Nanny” to her. Ariel was my sister, in all the ways that counted.
So the day she missed school, I immediately knocked on her door when I got off the bus. Her stepsister answered the door. “Go away.” she growled at me. I was used to her animosity. I didn’t understand it, but I shook it off like I always did. I wasn’t here for her. I was here for Ariel.
“Where’s Ariel? Is she sick?”
“Ariel doesn’t want to see you anymore,” she said viciously.
“What-“ I sputtered, “What’s wrong?”
“She tried to kill herself. Because of you!” Her words were shards of glass in my heart, cutting with a fury. I was mute before her anger, shocked and scared.
”Why?” I managed a horrified whisper.
“Because you keep trying to make her go to church and she doesn’t want to go anymore.”
I turned and fled home, escaping into my room before I crumpled to the floor. My heart broke in a way I’d never known. I did indeed ask Ariel to come to church with me every Sunday, and she came a lot. I desperately tried to remember if I’d pressured her in any way. I was sure I hadn’t, but what else was I to believe? I knew it didn’t seem right, that Ariel would feel that way, but the weight of the possibility was too great. I was bowed under with the guilt that I might have caused my friend, whom I loved like a sister, to want to end her life. It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense.
We were eleven. How was this possible? How could I possibly undo whatever it was I had done?
My mom heard me, and opened the door, mistaking my sobs for laughter and she asked cheerfully, “What’s so funny in here?” I remember how absurd that sounded to me, how relieved I was to hear my mother’s voice.
In my mind, the gap between that instant and the next time I saw Ariel is nonexistent. But, I know that it was at least a week before I was able to see her. The bandages on her wrists were frightening and too adult for my childish mind. My gaze slipped away from them, to the pale glow of her skin, the hollowness of her eyes. I was grieved by the misery that radiated from her. The sadness I had known was there all along, had taken root, had claimed Ariel. But all I could think when I saw her was that we would fix it, we would wipe out that pain and she could be happy again because she was alive. My young heart had never known such despair and such relief mingled together.
Ariel never told me why she did it. I know it wasn’t because of me, for she grasped my hands in her weakened grip that day and assured me that all was well with us. As I got older, I had suspicions about the reason, but she could never fully voice it to me. I didn’t press her, because in my heart, I knew why she’d done it. I wish I had known then though, because I would have helped her, I would have done something.
Her stepsister, in her own pain and confusion and God knows what else, had wanted to hurt the one thing that was good in Ariel’s life. I dare not judge her for that bitter moment, because I imagine her circumstances weren’t much better than Ariel’s. I forgave her for it, the same way you forgive an animal for lashing out at you when it’s in pain. Suffering will make you do things you’d never do otherwise. I understood that, even then.
Besides, her attempt failed. Ariel remained a dear friend of mine for many years after that. She never lost the haunted look in her eye, never fully returned from that complicated and distant place. But, she also never lost her artistic and soulful way of living. She walked in dark places, but she painted the light into her life. Her art has depths to it that astound me, just like her spirit does.
I still have the cube she painted for me so long ago. I pull it out every now and then, surprised by its weight after all these years. I look at myself through her eyes, what she saw in me, how she defined me, what our friendship meant to her. And I am grateful all anew. Ariel may have been the one who needed an escape, who needed a friend. What she doesn’t know though, is that in the process, she taught me how to be a friend. I wouldn’t be who I am without her, without that cube. Without that day.
That’s a gift I’ll never forget.
August 19, 2004
Homeless Chickens Welcome
I enjoy the fact that people don't know what APOG really means, because truth be told, I'm a little hard-pressed to define it myself. Throw a few chicken references in there and you get some fairly amusing looks (not to mention how it affects the search results).
This picture still cracks me up, even though it's a year old. It makes sense, I think, on some level. Nah, I take that back. It's absurd.
I do feel a little sorry for him, though. He looks pretty despondant. Cheer up, chicken. I'm sure things will turn around for you.
Anyway... I digress. For you artsy-fartsy types, this is your mission, should you choose to accept it. Take the picture and put your own caption on it. (this is why we love photoshop, for these very practical applications)
Amuse me. (Chicken: She's not kidding around here folks, better do what she says.)
Shoot me an email with the result! shannontrisler at hotmail dot com.
Pen Poised
Ahhhhh....
That's the sound of me relaxing. Which is what I'm doing about my writing. I've realized something in the last few weeks. I need to write less, and listen and watch more. Fully aware of how cliché this sounds, (and saying it anyway!), there are stories all around me, waiting to be written. But, I can't do that if I'm not looking for them. Writing is not just about putting a pen to paper and stringing together some nice sounding words. (That’s the heart of my epiphany, folks!!) Being a writer is a way of life, a state of mind. Though you may not have a pen in hand, you never cease to be a writer, because you never stop observing life. It's not just something I do; it's what I am. That's so hard to say, because you worry that people will think you're pretentious or have delusions of grandeur if you say "I'm a writer". But it's not about that. It's not me being any of those things. It's just me being me. God put this love of writing in me for a reason. To record, to capture, to save. Duh, huh? I guess I should have known that, but I didn't. Now I see that I have the chance to preserve the world around me, to voice the intricacies of life and the people living it. Wow. How cool is that?
I've bought a rather lovely, brown leather journal to carry around with me, just like I'd imagine The Greats to have used. I'm inspired just looking at the thing! When thoughts pop in my head, I'll jot them down. When I see that cowboy in his beat-up car waiting at the stoplight, I'll write about him. When I see the lady beside me at the gym trying to hide the fact that she's crying, well I'll write about her, too. It's not for anything in particular; there are no limitations or expectations for this journal. Its only function is to help me learn to SEE better. I know this will, in turn, help me to WRITE better, but you know what, I don't even care about that right now. What comes will come, and that is sufficient for me. Right now, I only want to do the thing I feel called to do, and that is enough.
The rest will take care of itself.
Tarantino To-Do List
1. See Kill Bill.
2. See Kill Bill Two.
3. Overcome fear of blood spraying from severed limbs.
4. Decide if Uma Thurman is wildly beautiful or mostly weird-looking.
5. Rent some old Kung-Fu Theatre.
6. High-five Q.T. next time I see him.
August 17, 2004
But I Don't Want One!
That orange creeps me out, and I feel like the Sequoia Citrus Association is trying to brainwash me. Get out of my head, you fiends!
August 16, 2004
How To Make A Baby Mad?
Give them a truly moronic name.
I am continually amazed at the names (and the spellings) that I come across at work. I mean, you just can't DO that! It's crazy! But, apparently, there are no rules when it comes to names. You can make them up, disregard all natural phonetics, and have as much fun with them as you want.
I like the cheerful ones. Like Sparkle. Or Peaceful. And Lucky. Rainbow is a classic. Or you could save yourself some time and go ahead and name your baby Hippie. Or Tree-Hugger. Either one will work.
And spelling? Pshaw! Do what you want! Kurismah, excellent alternative to Charisma. And Tiphuknee is so much lovelier than Tiffany. Twyalite is nice for Twilight, plus you get bonus points for the hippie factor. Kennedy, nice presidential ring to it, but far too bland. Name them Kinnadeigh. Shake it up a little.
Also, do away with vowels whenever possible. That's fun. Conklqulio. Wish I had more exmpls, bt is hrdr thn it lks.
Product endorsement? Go for it. Puma. Espn (pronounced Espin). Finesse? Why not? Loreal? Perfect. Velveeta is a little out there, but so be it. Camry? Sweet.
Let's have some fun with these kids, by george.
But, all joking aside, please tell me that Dopplar Radar is just an urban legend. I simply cannot believe there's some poor kid out there with that name.
If there is, then Dopplar, I'm really sorry. You have my permission to legally change your name and kick your parents in the shins.
Ooh the Pain
Ow. Ow. Ow. Crick in the neck. It's evil, and I'm feeling quite sorry for myself.
I need some TLC.
My Plans Have Come To Fruition
Guess what came in the mail for me this week? A check. For $500. From no other than... Mr. Bill Gates of Microsoft!!
I knew forwarding that stupid email would pay off!
Hoorah!! I'm rich! Mwahahahaha (evil laugh).
August 15, 2004
A Conversation I Just Remembered
I had a friend in highschool who got into a car wreck once. He was hurt, but not in the hospital. I went to see him, and I asked him what he was thinking at the moment he got into the accident.
He said, "You know, I had a headache all day. But the second I hit the windshield, I had this sickening relief from it. The pressure just knocked it right out of my skull. I remember thinking, at least that's going away." He laughed.
I thought for a moment, and said, "But now there's glass embedded in your head."
"Yeah, well, there is that," he admitted.
"And you're actually missing some hair above your forehead." I added.
"Oh, you noticed that."
"And you've got a really bad black eye," I remarked.
"Yeah, I know."
"Not to mention your car. It's totaled, right?"
"Shannon?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not helping."
"Oh, right. Sorry 'bout that."
Don't know why I just thought about that. It amuses me though.
What Disturbs You?
I tend to get introspective, and occasionally blue, on Sundays, and I am not surprised that this post reflects that. Forgive a little self evaluation, if you will.
[writing exercise]
Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about.
When all the external things in my life are taken away, when I am bare of the titles and roles I fill, I begin to cast my eyes this way and that, looking for any distraction. A good mother? I am. A good wife? I think so. A good sister, daughter, aunt? Yes. I believe that could be said of me.
But take those things away, and leave me standing alone in a room, hands idle and no task to prove my worthiness- Well, that disturbs me. There is some place inside me that is fully my own, and I fear that what lies there is not acceptable and not deserving because it is not good. Oh, it's well hidden. And if I bring it to light, people who love me are quick to say, oh, no, you're being hard on yourself! You're worthy of love, of respect, of the blessings you've received-- don't think so poorly of yourself. God loves you, so you must love yourself!
But, I. I am the one who knows. Even if I confide some of it to you, it's the gentler version, so as not to shock you, to shatter your illusion of me, because there is, after all, my pride to think of.
I'm the good girl. Just ask anybody. Even the rebellious moments of youth, were not, in fact, so bad. But it's hard to carry that righteous neon sign all the time. Sometimes, I want to come clean and say, you know what? I'm not good! I'm prideful! And selfish! And care too much what the world thinks of me! You don't really know me, because I don't really know me because I'm too afraid. Afraid of what is really there when all the trappings of life are gone, when I have no excuses to look away from the person I really am.
But, when I am writing, I am brave. Those internal struggles find their way into my words, and they are exorcised, they are weakened. I am alone with the pen, alone with my soul, and that's getting easier.
My one hope, my one grace, is that I am disturbed. I am not content with the state, with the inside and outside unmatched. I am driven to find the balance, and as long as I am searching for it, I know it can be found.
Not looking for argument here, okay? Don't post that you think I'm a wonderful person-- or you miss the point entirely. Give me some credit for knowing myself. Instead, go to your blog (or even here in my comments), and write about what disturbs you.
It's really quite liberating. [/writing exercise]
August 13, 2004
She Was A Funny Gal
Julia Childs passed away today (although I'm not the first to report it!). My favorite memory of her happened on the Oprah show, back before O achieved goddess status and I refused to watch anymore. Anyway, Oprah was surprising famous chefs in their homes to see what was in their refridgerators.
Julia was nonplussed, and opened her huge, beautiful fridge with an innocent smile. No gourmet food there, no sirree. It was full of cokes, leftover chinese food, pudding cups, and beer.
I laughed my heiny off.
Self-Feeding is Over-Rated Anyway
I put a spoon in Eli's hand this morning and said, "Go to it, boy!". And as true Southerners, we naturally had grits for breakfast.
I seriously don't know if he'll ever be clean again.
Spiderman's Day Job
The most irritating dance in the world? That would be the cha-cha. [And yet] I cannot resist a mental Friday Cha-cha line today. Come on, ya'll! Friday, Friday, Fri-Day! Okay. Enough of that silliness. Everybody get back in your seats. (Hey, you too, Wil Wheaton. No lollygagging.)
Spiderman comes up alot at APOG. And no, I don't know why, let's not go there, okay? Well, here he is again, and this time he made me laugh so hard, milk came out my nose. Which is weird, considering I don't even drink the stuff. Anyway, this comes from the Presurfer, who never ceases to amaze me with his finds. He's the King of the Internet, and I am a loyal subject.
So, without further ado, I present you with Spiderman Reviews Crayons. Go ahead, tell me how much you love me for this one. (Oh yeah, a little language to watch out for in case you're at work)
Wow. That's a freaking big picture of Spiderman.
August 12, 2004
Writing Exercise
Today's assignment: write for ten solid minutes. Start with one sentence. Then write the next. And the next. Don't think ahead about the direction, the story, the plot, just write one sentence at a time and keep your fingers moving.
There was a gap in the wall, and the edge of the paper was sticking out. I stuck my finger into the dark space and wiggled it around, trying to dislodge it. I finally managed to get enough out to pinch between my fingers, and I pulled. It was yellowed, but surprisingly intact. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I think part of me hoped that it would have disintegrated, dissolved into nothing, just like my heart had when I’d shoved the paper into this crack so long ago. I swallowed hard, and gently opened up the letter. My hands were shaking slightly, as I read the words I had carried in my heart for too long.
“Jessie,
There is no easy way to tell you that I have to leave. I wish I was man enough to face you, but we both know that’s not the case. Maybe, one day, I will be. Please forgive me, although I know I don’t deserve it. I will pray for you every single day. Peter”
I didn’t blame him now, looking back on it. But at the time, it was all I could do to keep breathing, keep existing. The anger I’d felt when I discovered his letter was almost as deep and raging as the anger that consumed me when I learned I had cancer. A broken heart and a broken body, I couldn't decide which was worse. It was not a time I care to recall with great detail. But, time healed my body. And, to some lesser extent, it healed my heart.
So, why come back? Why revisit a moment of such utter and complete despair? This piece of paper has been lodged into this wall, and into my heart, for too long. It is time for hidden hurts to be exposed, faced in the light of the day. What good is a healthy body if you have a heart that has forgotten how to love?
I folded the letter again, and placed it in my pocket. I looked back at the hole in the wall that had hidden my pain for so long. “Thanks,” I say. "I can take it from here."
Classic
Why is it so funny to drive the car ahead a foot or so when someone is trying to get in the passenger's side? Joey did that to me last weekend, and I'm still laughing about it.
Jerk.
August 11, 2004
Maaa
Why? Why the compulsion to take quizzes about what kind of anime hero, atari game, country, flavor, machinery, and even goat I am? It's sick, isn't it?
You are the independent thinker goat. You stand on
your stump at the ice cream farm and won't get
down for anyone or anything...except for the
unguarded ice cream cones of the unaware.
What kind of goat are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(pirated from Matt)
August 10, 2004
Grammar Hates Me
I could seriously kick myself when I type "your" when I mean "you're". I know the difference, really, and I still do it. Grr.
Why Are You On My Blogroll? Part 2
I really need to think of a better, shorter title for this segment. Too much typing. Shannon don't likey. (If you'd like to contribute to APOG, this could be your chance-- think up something clever for me, won't ya?)
Anyway. Why, you may ask, is Christin on my blogroll? Well, she is my sister-in-law's husband's sister, which makes us.. um.. not related at all. So it's not a family obligation. The truth of the matter is, she is funny and witty and has a heightened sense of sarcasm. She once told me, "Think pink. But dress black." I loved that, and I think it sums her up quite well. The cool picture of her in the sidebar, her crush on Shepherd Smith, her admittedly dangerous obessesion with grammar, and her fear of things that go bump in the night - these things keep me coming back for more. Here's a little taste of Verbing Nouns for your sampling. Enjoy.
I've Said it Before and I'll Say it Again
"If I had to name a super-power that I already have, I would say it's either my super-human capacity for wearing more than 20 pairs of shoes in one week or my abnormal ability to win paper/rock/scissors two out of three times, but if I could choose any super-power that I wanted, I might consider "Teleportation," but in the end, I'd have to go with "Super Bendy Thumbs", 'cause, man: think of the possibilities."
Funny stuff.
The Woman Who Left
You are only an ancient family name to me, removed by over a century from my own life. Yet, without you, I would not be here, and I owe you--- something. Yet, this surprises you, I’m sure. You would not feel you are owed anything. After all, you abandoned your children. Abandoned. Your. Children. You severed your life from the family tree, as if you didn’t even exist. You left them in the care of their father, and you never looked back. Not once. Two children, of your own body, carried around the pain of that betrayal their entire lives. It is the only legacy that we have of you, the only fact handed down to the generations that followed. I know you only as the Woman Who Left. I am saddened for you because of this. Because no matter why you made the choices you did, this harsh memorial is no fate a woman would seek. No fate a mother would seek.
I feel some kinship with you, though. I can't say I understand why you did what you did, and you'll find no approval with me. But, there are moments in my own life when I crave solitude, and relief from my responsibilities. Did you face those thoughts? Did you lose yourself the way I have sometimes, the way all women do? I wonder about you. I wonder how different I am from you. Would you look at me and see some glimmer of yourself? Are my weaknesses familiar to you?
I know I could never kiss my babies goodbye, and walk away from them forever. I knew that the moment I held their little forms in my arms, stroking the sweet, soft skin of their cheeks, smelling the intoxicating scent of newness. How then, did you? What drove you so far from that maternal nature? Did you hold your own sons to your breast, and vow to love, protect them, swear you’d never forsake them? Tell me, warn me, show me the folly of your ways. I would guard myself against the weaknesses you fell prey to, if you will name them.
I would not. I will never. Did you say those things, as I do?
The things that make us different, are they greater than the things that make us the same? I pray that is so. Your story is gone, the reasons, the excuses, all faded into oblivion. We will never hear them, never understand. All that remains of you is that single act, unexplained, and condemning.
The children you left grew into men. They were strong and brave, and loved kin and country. I don't know if you knew that. I hope you did. But they missed you. They suffered. The wouldn't speak of you, not ever. The pain of your abandonment was an inheritance that is still remembered today. But, there are those of us who've gleaned a lesson from your legacy, and that is why I write this. It is what I owe you. I have been touched by the tragedy you wrought, and it strengthens my resolve. It shaped the woman I became.
You were The Woman Who Left, and because of that... I will be The Woman Who Stayed.
August 09, 2004
I-Lika Ikea
My sweet Ikea, you rock. You totally rule. You’re so cheap and big, and I mean that in the most awesome way possible. I love that you like kids, that you even made them a huge supervised playground. You’re such a good cook- I liked your meatballs and your lasagna. You even tried to entertain me, and although I don’t like Arnold from Nickelodeon, I appreciate the gesture. The steel drum bands were neat, though. I love your retro furnishings and clever storage and edgy lighting. I don’t know how you do it, Ikea, but you are the bomb. I wish I could date you, but you’re a building and I’m married, so that’s that. I think we’d have cute kids though. They’d be trendy and imaginative and wouldn’t eat much and maybe they’d have shag rugs like yours.
Anyway, I will come see you again, I promise. And next time, I’ll bring more of you home with me.
I’ll never forget your big blue walls.
Love,
Shannon
Whistle While You Work
Dusting out my blog a little, and updating ye olde bloglist. If something disappears/reappears, don't be surprised, don't freak out, don't panic, don't cry.
And no hard feelings, but if you aren't writing, I ain't linking. Hey, I didn't make the rules. Blame uh... well... Amos, I guess. He started it.
August 06, 2004
Blaise Blaise
A clean house makes a happy Shannon. It’s strange, as much as I procrastinate when it comes to housework, I actually do enjoy the process and the outcome. Vivaldi and Beethoven provide the soundtrack, as I wage war, armed with cleaners and gloves and merciless brutality. Dust bunnies flee before me, trembling in my wake. Wood shelves take hit after hit of Old English, until they relinquish their dull ways. Bathrooms cower before my scrubbing brush and foaming bubbles. I bravely tame the wild beast that is my home, until finally, in a crescendo of classical music and toxic chemical fumes, the deed is done. My home sparkles into submission, and I nod in satisfaction at the work I have wrought this day.
Oh alright. Maybe I got a little carried away with that one. It was fun, though.
What also makes Shannon happy, you ask? The weather. It was overcast today, protecting us from the sun’s evil and hateful late summer rays. (I actually feel bad for being mean to the sun, I really do like the sun normally. But lately, it’s been in a MOOD! Sheesh!) I’ve had to drive the Dreaded Car to work a few times this week (that would be the one with no AC and the innumerable squeaks). I will remind you that I live in South Louisiana. It’s August. I go to work at 2 in the afternoon. I would laugh, but that might cause dehydration. So, a break from the heat was ohmygoshsowonderful.
Fortunately, (thankyouthankyouthankyou), the Dreaded Car will soon be put to pasture, as the transmission is nearly finished in our Other Car, complete with AC. You can’t see it, but there are actually tears of joy streaming down my face right now. (or that could be sweat, it’s hard to tell.)
And the final ingredient in my happiness today is the excursion to Houston with my cousin tomorrow. I feel like my days off are spent catching up with all the little things I need to do, but this is a trip just for pure fun. Yeehaw! (as they say in Texas). I’ve been there a few times, I’ve gotta lot of love for those cowboys and cowgirls. Texan wit- it cracks me up. Like this one- “You’re all hat and no cattle.” Funny. I keep waiting for an opportunity to say that to someone, but so far, no luck.
Anyway, ‘nuff of my rambling. Have a good weekend, everybody! Behave, you.
Shannon Gets A Little Riled
[begin rant]
An Open Letter to Doctors Who Shall Remain Nameless:
If you have administrative personnel that you deal with on a day to day basis, such as when you call and schedule inductions or c-sections, I would like to remind you of a few things.
1. I type fast, it's actually a job requirement. But, I am not a Guinness World Record holder. Be reasonable. Sighing loudly will not speed up the process.
2. If you call on a cell-phone and your connection is breaking up, and you have to repeat yourself, that is not my fault. I'm the one on the landline here. Again, the sighing is counterproductive.
3. If the hours you want are not available, you should have called earlier to assure you got the slots you like. I am sympathetic, but you know our system. Getting snippy with me won't change that.
4. When the process is completed, and I read back the information to you to verify it's correct, it would be nice to let me finish my sentence before you hang up on me. This is not an automated service, there is an actual person that is speaking, and being rudely hung-up on isn't any more fun for me than it is for you.
5. Even secretaries appreciate the words "thank you". It only takes half a second of your precious time to utter those words. I'm not even asking for "good-bye", see how undemanding I am?
Now, I would like to say, to the rest of the doctors out there who wouldn't dream of treating people this way, thank you. You are a pleasure to work for, and I am always glad when you call, or stop by my desk. Knowing that you could act like some of your poorer behaving peers, but you choose not to, well, that makes you much more deserving of respect in my book.
99% of the time, I let this all roll off of me. It doesn't affect the quality of work I do, I always do my best, and I think I'm pretty good at it. I don't want extra recognition for doing what I'm being paid to do, but come on, doc, just be a little nicer to the girl on the phone. She's there to help you, and she's got feelings, too. You kinda hurt them tonight.
[end rant]
August 05, 2004
Thursday Confessions
a.) I want a t-shirt that says "Bad Seed" but I'm afraid everyone would know it was false advertisement.
b.) I want the new Ashley Simpson CD for my birthday. And um-- I'm not turning 12. (this one really hurts to admit.)
c.) I cheat at crossword puzzles. (Oh the shame.)
d.) I am incapable of predicting the fast lane for traffic. I mean it. I'm really, really bad at it. I absolutely cannot trust my judgement on the issue, even when I try to trick myself and move into the lane I think I shouldn't choose.
e.) I have to think of how to spell "tomorrow" everytime I write it. (even just now)
f.) I cannot tell a bawdy joke to save my life. Even after practising in a mirror.
Your turn!! Come on, take some of the heat off of me, please! Everybody is staring at me.
Why Are You On My Blogroll?
This is a new installment at APOG. I'm going to share the "hook" that caused me to add someone to my blog list. Why? Well, you ask too many questions first of all, and secondly, I thought it would be fun. So there.
I may post their original entry in it's entirety or just a little snippet of why I couldn't resist linking to them. I'll start with Matt. Some people have a knack for hitting my funny bone just right. I don't know Matt well, only been reading his blog for a few weeks now, but I enjoy his sense of humor. His post entitled "How Do It Know?" is a great example. This really, really cracked me up.
"Dear Microwave,
How did you get so smart? I'm not just talking about spinning a carousel, I'm talking about asking me how many pieces of pizza I'm reheating. It's things like this that make me appreciate you. Thanks again,
Matt
PS. You are hot."
How could I not put him on my blogroll?
August 04, 2004
Go Away, Beavers!
Wrenn has had a "beaver" all day today. (That's a fever.) If she wasn't feeling so bad, it would be funny to see her earnest little face turned up to you telling you that "it's okay, mommie, my beaver is going away!". Unfortunately, it's not funny and it went away just briefly, and came back with a vengeance. Now she's throwing up, too. Anybody deal with a 3 year vomiting? It ain't pretty. Props to Patrick for handling that one. (You rock, honey.) But, of course it won't end there, as Eli was beginning to feel warm as well right before bedtime.
So, we're tightening the sails, tying ourselves to the masts, and preparing for the storm.
Help.
Take Me To The Movies
pleazzzze?
I'll supply my own goobers.
I'll be real quiet.
I won't get up to go to the bathroom.
I won't yawn and put my arm around you.
I won't even slurp on my straw if that bothers you.
.
.
.
.
.
(come on... how can you resist the puppy-dog eyes?)
August 03, 2004
The Cosmic Why
Big questions tonight.
I believe God is all-knowing. Why, then, did He do... well, everything? Why create an angel that He knew would fall? Why allow the birth of sin and evil? If God knew what Lucifer would do, and it is in His ability to control life (in that He could simply will for Lucifer to cease existing), why not do it? Obviously, God is all-powerful and He can do whatever He wants- He is not bound or limited by anything but His own divine will. Is His will being done when He is passive, i.e. letting Lucifer live? When He doesn't heal someone? When He allows evil to be done? Does God do things, by not doing them?
Even the idea of free will does not cover this question. Free will is something that God gave to us because that was HIS will. We wouldn't have it if God didn't want us to. So... knowing that our choices will be sinful, knowing that Lucifer would choose to become Satan- why even give us the choice?
It's obviously not wrong of God to do anything. What He says is right, because He is God. I am not questioning the morality of His judgements and decisions. God does not sin, He is not the author of evil. Everything He does, no matter our human interpretation of it, is good. But, I have the curiosity of mortal man, the confusion of a simpler intellect, and to be honest, the limitations and leanings of a sinful heart. I know God is just and He is right, because of who He is. So how can we understand God? We cannot, in many ways. As smart as we may be, we still don't have the mind to comprehend Something so great. At some point, we must admit that our understanding can go no farther, that our minds have stretched into the incomprehensible as far as humanly possible.
I'm not saying we shouldn't strive to know and understand God. Of course we should. I guess what I'm saying is that when it doesn't make sense to us, when the answers to those cosmic questions seem distant or vague, what are we left to do?
Enter faith. Such a small word, so easy to overlook... But it's the cornerstone of the Christian life. Take that away, and the rest just crumbles. Because if we're looking for all the answers to justify our faith, well, that's not faith. We won't find all the answers in this earthly world.
Paul says, "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."
Answers await us, and that is the comfort faith gives us. I don't know right now why God does or doesn't do certain things... but I do know that He loves me, and works all things for good.
Big questions seem like they should have really big answers. And some do. But others, they are just five letter words.
Faith.
August 02, 2004
Knowing Smiles
[motivational rambling]
As a teenager, I did not have many friends in their 20's. They were at college, getting married, becoming certified, grade-a grownups. I watched from afar, and dreamt of the day I turned 21, and became a card carrying member of the group. So, when that day finally came, I naturally assumed that I was done "maturing". I was, after all, no longer a child. It wasn't arrogance really, it was just an assumption based on, well, everything that society tells us. No one told me differently, so I was quite sure of myself. I look back now, and laugh goodnaturedly at those thoughts. As I traversed the 20's, I was shocked that I didn't have everything about life figured out- that I knew far less than I had imagined. It was not necessarily an easy lesson. But now, as I get closer to starting the very last year of my 20's, I am glad that I'm not done maturing. I understand now, that you're never really done. The 30's will be a reflection of that maturing process, just like the 40's and 50's and on and on until my days are spent. There is always more to learn, more to change, more to grow. I am grateful for that! Life would be so boring otherwise!
It's funny though. While I smile knowingly at those 20somethings, enjoying their youthful confidence and exuberance, there is a 30 or 40 year old smiling knowingly at me too, thinking the same thing, or something. I know this because I catch them with that glint in their eye, before they turn away to keep the unwritten secret, the same way I do. It's reassuring in a strange way.
So, for you teenagers, this is a friendly heads-up. And for those of you in the midst of those turbulant early 20's, I write as well. I know this time is built up like the pinnacle of adulthood, but my-oh-my, that's a misconception. It's just the beginning! Adulthood is not the reward at the end of adolescence (though you've certainly earned one by surviving it). Instead, it's a whole new challenge. You're standing before the dawn of a new day. Don't expect to have all the answers. Don't think the rest of us "grown-ups" expect you to have them. We're here, cheering you on. We remember, with vivid clarity, how hard it can be in the first leg of the race. It's an unfamiliar road. But the good news is, once you get that second wind, when your stride is long and confident, you'll come around a new bend, and another, and another.
The scenery is ever-changing, just like you will be, and life stretches out sweet and promising. It's even better than you imagined.
[/motivational rambling]
August 01, 2004
The Shannon Report
And now, the news.
I had a brutal tension headache Friday. It began shortly after I got to work, and escalated rapidly into a teeth grinding, light hating, naseau-fest. I whimpered enough that my boss finally said, "Go home, you big baby!" So I limped home, took a lovely pill, crawled into bed, and made like Sleeping Beauty. I felt better the next day, thank goodness!
I'm all a-twitter about this upcoming weekend. I am Houston-bound with my cousin Joey, to that promised land: the Ikea store. He needs to completely furnish his new house, and I'm tagging along for moral support and my keen sense of style. Oh alright, I'm going for the meatballs, too. You know it's going to be good shopping when there's a resturaunt in the store.
The kids will roll in Sunday night, after a week of vacationing. I've missed them! The sad thing is though, they'll be facing Trisler Bootcamp when they get back. I've noticed some behavior issues with both of them the last few weeks, and Patrick and I decided we need to address it before school starts. It's nothing too bad, and it's normal stuff for their age, but it needs to be corrected. Wrenn has been willfully disobedient a few times, -- I know, GASP! It's shocking! She's always been happy to be obedient, but she's acted sulky and stubborn lately. So, hopefully with some extra attention to training, they'll both come through it okay. I really do feel a little sorry for them, though. It's going to be a rather rude awakening for the Short Ones, who've been living the good life. They probably won't like the buzz cuts either. (Hey, this IS bootcamp- I wasn't messing around)
And lastly, I would like to say, what the heck happened to July? I've never seen a month go by so fast! Did it have a party to go to or something? Are we too lame for it to stick around the normal amount of time? Sheesh! Some months, they think they're sooo much better than the rest of us.