This year has the potential to be the best Christmas yet.
I won't be in Illinois for Dec. 25th. Neither will my sister and her boyfriend. Turns out my brother and his wife won't be either, actually.
I think this is great, for multiple reasons:
We have decided to have Christmas sometime in October..... no joke. I think maybe the 19th?
Actually, we decided to have Christmas, thanksgiving, and Halloween all on the same day. (or at least that is the rumor/plan) I am delighted.
I don't even have to be the target of all the horrible commercialism, turns out..... (at least not 90% of it) because I'm having Christmas before Halloween! Ha! take that advertisement, consumer driven-America!
Maybe I can have some peace without all the clutter. maybe I will be able to have a good day with a little food and people.
And maybe it will be a day well spent, about what it's about. About what everyday should be about..... maybe that's what'll happen.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Thursday, October 08, 2009
I don't know that I'd suggest riding on a bike through the cold wind and the rain in a poncho. It feels like you have a parachute attached to your back. So if you like riding your bike in the cold, windy, wet, with a parachute attached to your back....then, yeah, it's loads of fun. Maybe I should look into getting a rain jacket...you know, those things you wear that are semi-water-proof. Or I could just keep wearing the poncho and telling you the same story. over and over again.
Either way, I actually had a good time riding (parachute on my back and all) and stopped to take some photos, so enjoy:
Saturday, September 19, 2009
pumpkin puke
So, I’m sitting in my room, yawning from the sleepiness creeping nearer. It’s getting later, and getting nearer the time where technically I’m a year older, even though technically I’m only a day older….how exactly does that work again?
Well, I sat around for about an hour realizing that I am moving in a few days…or leaving at least. Hmm…
Somehow I end up on the phone with my brother/former bartender/great person to ask about how much alcohol certain drinks contain, and my suspicions are confirmed. …..and then the conversation trails off into the realm of our annual (3rd , as of this yr.) pajama eggnog run. At which point I remind him that we have to get some of the ‘pumpkin milk’ as well as the eggnog. (if you haven’t tried it, you should, especially if you are a pumpkin addict like myself)
And then he tells me that he read on a blog once about someone having one of those milk-chugging (til you puke) contests, except with eggnog….. Which we both thought was hilarious and seriously disgusting. And then we decide someone should try that with pumpkin milk….and that is even more disgusting and deadly, because, as it turns out, eggnog is really bad for you and contains about 250 or 350 calories per tiny serving, but pumpkin milk, oh pumpkin milk. It has put eggnog to shame. If I remember right it has a whopping 450 calories per serving…… so basically, a meal in a glass. Minus any good/essential nutrients for you of course. Can’t have those things helping out your immune system, folks. We also decided that my brother would probably miraculously not puke after such an escapade, but instead would be sick for about 4 days. My opinion was that he’d be hospitalized, and everyone would be baffled as to the cause of his illness.
Anyway, sometime around the mention of pumpkin puke, eggnog guzzling, and hysterical hypothesis of what would happen if we did that, and of course the sheer disgustingness of consuming so many calories in one go (you do the math, at least half a gallon worth of servings of that stuff) I lost it, or we both did, and we just kept laughing, I was laughing in between sentences, tears streaming from my eyes.
Someday maybe I will attempt it. But I really hate puking. And it would have to be a group event, you know, community and all that.
But who knows, pumpkin puke? Eh…..
Well, I sat around for about an hour realizing that I am moving in a few days…or leaving at least. Hmm…
Somehow I end up on the phone with my brother/former bartender/great person to ask about how much alcohol certain drinks contain, and my suspicions are confirmed. …..and then the conversation trails off into the realm of our annual (3rd , as of this yr.) pajama eggnog run. At which point I remind him that we have to get some of the ‘pumpkin milk’ as well as the eggnog. (if you haven’t tried it, you should, especially if you are a pumpkin addict like myself)
And then he tells me that he read on a blog once about someone having one of those milk-chugging (til you puke) contests, except with eggnog….. Which we both thought was hilarious and seriously disgusting. And then we decide someone should try that with pumpkin milk….and that is even more disgusting and deadly, because, as it turns out, eggnog is really bad for you and contains about 250 or 350 calories per tiny serving, but pumpkin milk, oh pumpkin milk. It has put eggnog to shame. If I remember right it has a whopping 450 calories per serving…… so basically, a meal in a glass. Minus any good/essential nutrients for you of course. Can’t have those things helping out your immune system, folks. We also decided that my brother would probably miraculously not puke after such an escapade, but instead would be sick for about 4 days. My opinion was that he’d be hospitalized, and everyone would be baffled as to the cause of his illness.
Anyway, sometime around the mention of pumpkin puke, eggnog guzzling, and hysterical hypothesis of what would happen if we did that, and of course the sheer disgustingness of consuming so many calories in one go (you do the math, at least half a gallon worth of servings of that stuff) I lost it, or we both did, and we just kept laughing, I was laughing in between sentences, tears streaming from my eyes.
Someday maybe I will attempt it. But I really hate puking. And it would have to be a group event, you know, community and all that.
But who knows, pumpkin puke? Eh…..
Monday, September 14, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
painted leaves
I can hear the bells ringing.
They sing to me while I am still buried beneath the warmth, eyes shut up, my dreams still in halos around my head. The air coming in at my window breathes like Autumn.
I can feel old footsteps weaving around me, I walk down old paths covered in dust trying to catch a glimpse of a former life, but now it evades me.
And I wonder about it all. I lie there taking in my first aware breaths, breathing in deeply, sighing, what does it mean? Before the rest of the world awakes, what does it mean? In the quiet early morning air that grabs my heart, what does it mean?
I have this peace without explanation, pictures of places, blurred faces of people I know-more than know- people who have become a part of me….a piece of them has made me who I am.
And I walk down this road with a certain sort of solemn air, the dust clinging to my feet, the leaves doing whirlwind dances, the crisp wind waking me and making melodies around me.
I find it odd that the one time of the year that entirely enraptures me is the one where everything is dying. (And I am not alone in that sentiment) And in it’s dying it isn’t frightful, nor does it strive to avoid some mysterious thing that it cannot.
Instead there is a calm.
Instead there is the quiet music.
Instead there are the last remnants of life, bursting brightly into brilliance, mysteries held tightly, the world goes forth into it’s unknown slumber. It remembers something we have forgotten. It remembers and is at peace:
Everything must die to become alive.
Ironically, dying contains the beauty of life and speaks more about it than sometimes the living can. It strips us of something we have tried to hold in closed hands for ourselves. It is the dying that reflects the change in our eyes……
It is the dying that paints where value really dwells.
It is the dying that rips our many misconceptions.
It is the dying that makes us face another who is much more than ourselves.
The very thing so many of us flee from, turn down all paths to avoid, is maybe the one thing that makes this whole living business clear.
Maybe death isn’t really death anymore.
Maybe it’s the beginning of the story. Perhaps all we are living in right now is the great prelude to the real music. A distant echo of sorts.
And I breathe in the Autumns wisps of air. I wait for the painted leaves. I wait for the death that cries out something more than life.
And the mystery of the beauty that reflects in something dying.
They sing to me while I am still buried beneath the warmth, eyes shut up, my dreams still in halos around my head. The air coming in at my window breathes like Autumn.
I can feel old footsteps weaving around me, I walk down old paths covered in dust trying to catch a glimpse of a former life, but now it evades me.
And I wonder about it all. I lie there taking in my first aware breaths, breathing in deeply, sighing, what does it mean? Before the rest of the world awakes, what does it mean? In the quiet early morning air that grabs my heart, what does it mean?
I have this peace without explanation, pictures of places, blurred faces of people I know-more than know- people who have become a part of me….a piece of them has made me who I am.
And I walk down this road with a certain sort of solemn air, the dust clinging to my feet, the leaves doing whirlwind dances, the crisp wind waking me and making melodies around me.
I find it odd that the one time of the year that entirely enraptures me is the one where everything is dying. (And I am not alone in that sentiment) And in it’s dying it isn’t frightful, nor does it strive to avoid some mysterious thing that it cannot.
Instead there is a calm.
Instead there is the quiet music.
Instead there are the last remnants of life, bursting brightly into brilliance, mysteries held tightly, the world goes forth into it’s unknown slumber. It remembers something we have forgotten. It remembers and is at peace:
Everything must die to become alive.
Ironically, dying contains the beauty of life and speaks more about it than sometimes the living can. It strips us of something we have tried to hold in closed hands for ourselves. It is the dying that reflects the change in our eyes……
It is the dying that paints where value really dwells.
It is the dying that rips our many misconceptions.
It is the dying that makes us face another who is much more than ourselves.
The very thing so many of us flee from, turn down all paths to avoid, is maybe the one thing that makes this whole living business clear.
Maybe death isn’t really death anymore.
Maybe it’s the beginning of the story. Perhaps all we are living in right now is the great prelude to the real music. A distant echo of sorts.
And I breathe in the Autumns wisps of air. I wait for the painted leaves. I wait for the death that cries out something more than life.
And the mystery of the beauty that reflects in something dying.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Whoever is wise, let him attend to these things; let them consider the steadfast love of the Lord .
(just in case anyone forgot what 'steadfast' means.....)
1 a : firmly fixed in place : immovable b : not subject to change
2 : firm in belief, determination, or adherence
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