Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.

That phrase hit me last night, just before I drifted off to sleep. 

The Father of Lights.

I can only sit back and think of all the wonderful lights I have known.  The light of the sun and stars, the soft light of the forest, the brilliant light glinting off the Atlantic Ocean, the heavy, sweet light of dusk, the flickering lights on the Christmas tree, the light of a candle, the light in someone's smile...in their eyes...

And yet...all these lights have a Father.  His beauty far exceeds that of anything which has been created.  All the light and glory which we have only glimpsed on this mortal soil is bound up and brought to completion in Him.  Such beauty is incomprehensible, unfathomable.

To see the Father of Lights.

My head can't contain the glory of the thought.

I Am Not A Tourist: Nellie's Blog

Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing,
Stealing our senses all away?
Never the like did come a blowing
Shepherds flowry fields in May.
Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing,
Stealing our senses all away.

What is that light so brilliant, breaking
Here in night across our eyes?
Never so bright the day-star waking
Started to climb the morning skies!
What is that light so brilliant, breaking
Here in the night across our eyes.

Bethlehem! there in manger lying
Find your Redeemer, haste away!
Run ye with eager footsteps hieing!
Worship the Saviour born today!
Bethlehem! there in manger lying
Find your Redeemer, haste away!

The words are poignant enough. You should hear them with a good arrangement of the music.

After seeing Narnia on Saturday, Claire and I went to search for a suitable Christmas tree. Neither of us had ever done this before, had no idea what the going rate was, and were, for all intents and purposes, clueless. We spent some time walking around, giggling, and ringing each other with Christmas wreaths before we got to the cut-tree section. The young man came out, rubbing his hands together in the cold, and asked us what we were looking for.

"Well," I said, grinning, "We're looking for something green that's shaped like this." I held my arms up in a pyramid shape.

Five seconds of silence. Then we all burst out laughing.

"Oh," he said, "We can handle that."

Twenty minutes later, Claire and I emerged with a tree that was indeed green, shaped like a pyramid, and had nice, soft needles that wouldn't poke our tender arms. Then we stopped at the diner and ordered hamburgers and fries, which we ate while looking out the window at the truck bed. We didn't want anyone to steal our fine tree.

So now it's up, looking very cheery indeed, all decked out in gold tinsel and our rather eclectic assortment of family ornaments. All the books from my childhood Christmases are set out, and there is a Santa figurine on the piano. I noticed today while I was playing a Patrick Doyle piece that Santa has his arms out in front of him, rather like the zombies in the cult classic Night of the Living Dead. I can't help but like the fellow the better for it -- it's truly hard to be a zombie in a living world.

But, att eight years old, I would not notice the uncanny resemblance to elusive movie ghosts and would enjoy Santa merely for his Santa-ness. I would stare out the window for hours and look at the Christmas lights twinkling in the depths of the horizon. I would wonder at the mysterious appearance of the Christmas tree, and I would believe--against all physical evidence--that an angel had decked it out in the middle of the night for the pleasure of my wide-eyed awe in the morning.

Now I buy the tree, get up at 3 AM to decorate it, and blog about it the Monday after. Growing up isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.

James 1:2-3

Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed.

1 Peter 4:12-13

And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

Romans 5:2a-5

Counting it all as joy: the antidote to sickness, stress, exhaustion, emotional trauma, irritation, lack of time, lack of energy, humiliation, grief and apathy...anything that living on planet Earth can throw at me.

To participate in the sufferings of Christ? What an honor.

I am blessed. :)

I Am Not A Tourist: Nellie's Blog

I shouldn't talk to people now. I'm sick, stressed out, and I've gotten 10 hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. When I'm sick, I'm either dull-witted and slow, scathingly sarcastic, or ornery as anything. This most recent flu has pushed me irrevocably to the ornery side, where I've been making friends and enemies for the past 24 hours.

Some solid food would probably do me some good. And perhaps a muzzle.

I Am Not A Tourist: Nellie's Blog

Finals week. Lovely.

Even lovelier with the flu.

To do:
1. Study Geography terms--look up locations.
2. Write two essays for take home exam.
3. Read final chapter of history book.
4. Go over notes for exam period.
5. Prepare two essay outlines for final exam.
6. Figure out what in the world needs to be done to my paper. Do it.

Then I'll be done. But it seems like a long way away.

Despite sickness, I've been downright ornery today. You won't get me, fever! I'm still incorrigible! Never let it be said that Nellie can't find something to be glad about!

I'll see you all when I surface on the other side.

It's funny how a few new facts can spin a situation into a whole new light.

I had to laugh at myself today. I mean, reality smarts some, but I also have to admire the resourcefulness of my imagination. I know that sounds bitter, but I'm not. I'm just...laughing.

And once again, I'm going back to that song I sang to myself all the way home from Europe. Jill Paquette wrote it, but I could have written it just as easily. Sometimes yes, sometimes no...

It seems that I'm still in the no season. But I'm waiting fervently for my yes.

Easy isn't what I'd call this, who knows what easy means
The more I try to make this happen the less it's clear to me
The hope that keeps me moving is in Your promises to me
And right now that's enough, it's gonna have to be

Sometimes yes, sometimes no, sometimes that's the way it goes
You're not giving any secrets away
Who's to know, who's to say, sometimes it's hard to live this way
Holding on, letting go
When it's sometimes yes and sometimes no

I wanna know just what it looks like, what the answer's gonna be
I wanna grab a hold of something to give me some security
And know it's You I'm hearing gently helping me to see
When everything I've prayed for is not Your will for me

And it's not poetic justice that has me waiting all this while
It's the way a loving father deals with his child
So this is how I'm learning holding on and letting go
Sometimes yes and sometimes no
It's sometimes yes, sometimes no

I Am Not A Tourist: Nellie's Blog

NBC's annual showing of It's A Wonderful Life has been replaced by a televised beagle show.

No seriously. Judges walk out under a spotlight, examine the teeth of a beagle with a very unfortunate name, while two announcers give the play by play in a tone of breathless anticipation--almost as if someone actually gives a brass nickel if the beagle can chew his puppy chow or not.

This is usually where I insert a scathingly sarcastic comment. Somehow, though, I don't feel it's needed here. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

1 generous helping of turkey
1 glass of blueberry wine
+1 knock-down-drag-out game of Sorry with the brothers/father
---------------------------------------------------------------
=3 hours of unavoidable slumber while the rest of the kiddos bemoan the delaying of the Pumpkin Pie

I love Thanksgiving. God is so good to us.

Ah-HAH!

I'm going to blog now.

But only for a few minutes, because I'm really supposed to writing a paper on Africa's Green Revolution. The cloudy part is that I have absolutely no motivation to write it right now. The silver lining (which, as you know, comes standard with every cloud) is that this is my seventh out of eight papers due for this class--almost done, I am.

Actually, this blog post represents a minor defeat in Nellie's full-on assault on the big, bad Procrastination Monster. And I've been doing so well recently. I made a list of things I had to do this weekend, and I've pretty much been sticking to it, with the major exception of not even starting the book on which I have a test on Wednesday. Ah well, getting books done is not normally my problem; if I'm up all night on Tuesday...eh...that's the way it goes, I guess.

To balance out the minor defeat, I had a minor victory this morning--I actually made my bed. Right after I got up. Go Nell!

You may think that is pathetic, but trust me...it's even worse than that. See, I cleaned my room and washed all my sheets two days ago, but I "didn't have time" to make the bed then, so I just threw everything on the bed and went to get some schoolwork done. I was going to do it that night, but by the time I got back to my room after playing a late gig at the YMCA I was far too tired to do anything. So I just put the pillowcase on the pillow, and slept on the mattress pad with the quilt mounded over me.

You'd think after such a traumatic, ridiculously unnecessary sleeping arrangement, I would have made the bed upon arising the next day. You'd be wrong. I studied history until 1:30 last night, and so was again too tired and slept under the pile of sheets. Well, this morning, the realization of how pathetic the situation was finally smacked me upside the head and so I made the thing up. I put some freesia and lavendar oil in the diffuser, as well.

So now I have a clean room, a clean floor, and made bed. And it all smells nice.

Now if I can just get my fingers to type....this...paper...

I'll get back to you later. (And to those of you to whom I owe emails, I will be writing those in a few days after my exams are done. And they'll be very cheerful emails, too...I'd be looking forward to them, if I were you... ;) )

Subject: I'm moving to Hawaii!!!

Body: When Jesus was on the cross, you were on his mind.
Forward this with the title "i'm moving to (a state)" or you're denying him

For some reason, I don't think Jesus Christ had blatant trickery in mind when he said "Go ye therefore...". And although the sins recounted to me on Judgement Day may be many, I doubt that refusing to inflict such an idiotic message on other victims will be one of them.

I don't know who starts these things, but I'd love the chance to toilet-paper their house.

Overheard two hours ago:

Mom: "Okay, I'm going to turn the dishwasher on now...no one flush the toilet!"

I'm beginning to suspect our recent plumbing problems may be more serious than I'd imagined.

coenaesthesis!

I'm not procrastinating right now in the least. As in, at all. It's horrible...I don't know what to do with myself. Don't I have some project I'm putting off? Somewhere? C'mon now!

In the absence of schoolwork, my brain wanders to other things I wish it wouldn't. I'm far too easily distracted.

I think I'm the only person who would take the SAT after being enrolled in college. Does this sound insane to anyone? Well, it sounded insane to me at 6:48 Saturday morning, believe me. Still, it was rather amusing to sit in a room with a bunch of freaked out Juniors who had it in their heads that their whole future rested upon the next essay, or multiple choice question.

I loved doing the English part. It's like playtime for me to find all those pesky little verb tenses in the wrong place. ("...hah! There you are, you little booger! Thought you were going to fool me, didn't you?") The reading section had a passage from a book I've read and liked, so after I was done answering the questions, I re read it for fun, with a chuckle at the brilliance of the phrasing. I'm a geek, sure.

Math? Heh. I can do the basic, important stuff, but formulas (sadly) completely escape me. It's pretty incredible how much of a dunce I am at these things. In a test situation I basically play the percentages. (See! Now that's math I understand.)

Overall though, I expect a good score, which I will never show anyone. I'm weird that way.

Right now, I'm procrastinating something horrible. Paper to write for tomorrow, that's not even started. Bad me.

I've just discovered a hole in my sock. Huh.

I'm done.

One of the joys of attending a liberal, public college is disagreeing with almost everything that is said.

Case in point: Geography class. Population control. Apparently, I'm only allowed to have two children, because the US is overpopulated. I'm showing my insensitivity to the plight of orphans in Africa if I have more. I told him I planned on having significantly more kids than he recommends and he responded that I was skeptical because I hadn't gotten in the workforce yet. He said that children were trouble, and too expensive to indulge in nowadays; he hadn't had any himself...couldn't be bothered. It was irresponsible of people to have more than two.

Can I take your alotted two, Dr. A? You obviously don't have any use for them. I'll change their diapers, wipe up their spit, clean up their messes and spank them when necessary. I'll show them how to read and write, play baseball, and speak Ubbi Dubbi. I'll tell them goofy stories, fold paper airplanes for them, teach them how to play piano and wink at them when they knock their glass of water on the floor. I'll teach them to love God, to seek beauty, to stand up for the defenseless, and to never back down from the truth. By the grace of our Creator, they'll be worth the miniscule percentage of the earth's resources it will take to sustain them.

School started again. On Wednesday.

The first few days have been an absolute blur, for reasons I'm sure all my university-attending friends can relate to. Figuring out last minute adds and drops, book purchases, bad profs, good profs, figuring out which classes will require the most work, which classes are easier than anything, which people are the absolute freaks, and which are relatively sane has been kind of an interesting process.

Geography is going to be the most labor intensive, but I think once I get into the roll of studying and time-management, I should be okay. The professor is great (even if he is a srong proponent of evolutionary theory), and it's actually kind of interesting to see how continents and regions are laid out, keeping human culture in mind. I'm not looking forward to exams and papers (one due every week!), but considering my past academic record, I should be able to pull through okay. I think I can pull off an A.

History is by far the largest class, but the prof is fun enough to make up for it. There are no papers, only exams, which is a huge gift considering all the other writing I will be doing this quarter. There are some interesting books included, and we're studying mainly the Civil War, with which I've always been fascinated. I don't forsee this being a terribly difficult course.

English has been an adventure so far. I changed classes at the last minute because I realized that putting off English 110 for another quarter will not make it go away. Shucks. So the first class I tried was, shall we say, horrific? I didn't know anyone could be that bad of a lecturer. I can't even explain how bad it was. (Prof: "Ok, so people, it's not I SEEN, it's I SAW. We're going to be working on that this quarter." Nellie: "Tell me this isn't happening.") I decided halfway through the class that I would die if I had to sit through one more period of that highly evolved version of Chinese water torture. Then, I thought I might take an honors course, but when I met the professor, he reminded me of a shorter, more-educated version of a...certain radically left-minded, liberal-thinking relative. And the course was focusing on torture throughout history. How cheerful. (Nellie: "Have they considered the practice of making every bloody student in the Uni sit through English 110?") So, I ended up with what I consider to be the best possible alternative under the circumstances: a decent (albeit easy) 110 course taught by a professor I've had before and liked.

Oh, I joined Chorus! Yay! I didn't realize when I signed up for it that you had to audition, so I spent a very stressful 24 hours singing "Silent Night" non-stop. Fun. But my bellowings evidently didn't scare the director off, because he didn't kick me out. I'm so happy I get to do something music related that I can look forward to while I'm sitting through lectures and exams. Look for further postings about chorus, because it looks like it could shape up to be quite amusing.

[ insert brilliant closing paragraph here - I have history to read ]

N	New
E	Entertaining
L	Little
L	Legendary
I	Insane
E	Earthy

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

I present proof that artificial intelligence is far from intelligent: none of these things apply to me.

New: What is that supposed to mean? As in, to planet earth? Granted, I'm not a senior citizen, but I've been around for nineteen years.

Entertaining: Um. Well. Ok, this can apply, but not when I mean it to, i.e. watching me try to play certain sports.

Little: I really should be savoring this moment, since the last time I was called little was when I was...well...little. I'm 5-10ish now. Maybe compared to Lisa Leslie.

Legendary: Ehhhhno.

Insane: My grip on sanity, though tentative, remains, thank you very much.

Earthy: Other than the classical sense, I don't understand what this means practically. At all. Therefore, I can only say I'm not it.

'I am caught by the morning and I am a ghost!'

I spent last night and most of this morning freaking out over The Great Divorce. I shouldn't read Lewis; it's really becoming unhealthy. Everything he writes is so darn brilliant, and I always end up hyperventilating and shivering whenever I come across one of those trademark one-liners that brings everything he has said so far into a glorious perspective. Great Divorce is full of them. It's too much for me to handle. Man! Leave me alone, you genius authors!

Excuse me; I'm going to go breathe into a paper bag now until I calm down.

I got my guitar back. There was great rejoicing in the house, or, rather, my room. I sat down, relearned a few chords I'd forgotten, wrote about two songs, and promptly fried my fingers. A year of being a piano geek will do that to you. I'm really reconnecting now with my inner folk songstress, complete with button down shirts, sandals and unhindered hair. It feels great.

In other news, Switchfoot just released their new CD and it sounds awesome. I haven't gotten it yet because I'm a poor student (now bearing a guitar) and I've got some pretty hefty bills coming in from the upcoming school year, but when I have some spare change, that CD will BELONG TO ME.

It strikes me that this entry sounds vaguely like a vintage WFW post. I wonder how I managed it.

Untitled Document

I'm feeling in love right now. Not because I am, but only because I'm sitting here listening to some very angsty music from 'Cold Mountain' and feeling melancholy and emotional.

Ok. Now I'm going back to what I was originally trying to do, that is, write my stupid book.

You all know I'm on LJ, right? Well I did a game there yesterday where you look up your name here, and post the meaning on your LJ. I looked up Nellie.

Nellie
Light: French

Versatile, intelligent and artistically talented. You love to enjoy yourself and tend to experience a happy domestic life and material success. You have a methodical and thorough mind and are able to organise large projects easily. Charming and likeable and with more than your share of sex appeal you tend to find yourself in the spotlight and much admired by others. Life is more fun with you around.

Reading this, I go on a high. I'm charming! Likeable! Admired! And sexy! (Take that, Angelina Jolie.)

Then, on a whim, I look up another name.

Hitler

You are responsible, determined and tenacious with sound judgement and the ability to inspire others making you ideal for positions of leadership. Having broad vision you are happy to accept the challenge of handling large projects which others may find too demanding. With your keen intuition and inventive mind you are always seeking answers. Fair and just you have a warm and compassionate nature which attracts many friends.

Right. So much for 'sexy'.

mnelliestpauls,
originally uploaded by nellieness.

I know some of you have already seen the beta-version of my London pictures. But, I just uploaded a ton more, and spent an hour and a half labeling them with all kinds of sarcastic, quaint, funny and ridiculous explanations. I even put some new explanations on some older photos. All for your viewing enjoyment. Just click on the "England" set, when you get to my Flickr account.

My email is driving me nuts. Not knowing whether people are going to get what I send them has some definite inherent problems. I never know if I should send emails again or what, and of course if the intended receivers never got them, they can't let me know. So, I'm forced to either spam people with multiple copies of the same email, or leave people hanging who expect emails and don't know that I'm doing my best to contact them.

And I feel horrible for even thinking about this, with so much pain and devastation in the South. I've been listening to the radio, and all the reports of looting and gunfights among the looters. God help us all. I can understand taking food as a measure of survival, but televisions? Diamonds? Lingerie? This is the scum of humanity. I remember reading "Lord of the Flies" and being struck deeply at how fast we can morph into animals. It's so sad to watch this play out, not being able to do much of anything about it.

I wish I could go and help.

Wanna hear what I sound like at two in the morning? (small mp3 file)

I just could not sleep last night, so I made a phone post to LiveJournal, out of desperation. I laughed when I listened to it this morning, with morning ears and morning optimism, and I thought I'd share it with all my favorite lurkers.

*laughs* What a sleepy kid.

IMGP1706

IMGP1706,
originally uploaded by aldarie.

Some of you have indicated a need for proof that I can handle anything remotely athletic. I present proof. Take that, minions!

We celebrated my sister's birthday today; she's seventeen. Since it is indeed a day of family celebration, I followed my normal tradition of hagging out and not showering, so everyone can 'ooooh!' and 'ahhhhh!' in twenty years at the family photos, and how bad Aunt Nelle did look at nineteen. Lovely.

Everyone's kind of goofy today because we all have "fair hangovers", which has led to some interesting discussion among the assemblage as to which I'll get first, a boyfriend or a car. (You know, I never would have thought I'd be happy to see the weekend go....but this one...)

------------------
Sister:...Well, which do you want, Nellie?

Nell: *smirk* A car.

Sister: Really.

Nell: My dear sister, would I lie to you?

Brother #1: I think you should get a husband that plays pro-ball so he can play toss with me.

Nell: *snorts* What an unselfish request. I'll send word round to the minor leagues to forward me the names and numbers of any up and coming stars.

B#2: Nellie already haaaaas a boyfriend.

Nell: *ignores pipsqueak*

Sister: She does...?

Nell: She doesn't.

B#2: Yes, she doeeeesss.

B#1: *vulture howl of glee*

Nell: *sarcastically* I'm getting deja-vu from second grade here people.

B#2: It's Maourice Clinett Van Osbourine the Third!!! (Names changed to avoid traumatizing the innocent.)

Assemblage: Ohhhh-hoooh! She's blushinggggg!!!! And fidgeting!

Nell: Funny. I seem to be sitting here with my normal faculties present and accounted for.

Assemblage: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nell: Not true. But there's nothing I can say that would pacify you hyenas, is there?
--------------------------------

I'm waiting for the little rascals to reach marrying age so I can exact revenge.

a bunch of random thoughts; I'm alonnnnne in the house

I just went out to see if I could find Mars; it's at its closest proximity to earth for about 1000 years right now, and it's supposed to be highly visible: a great, glowing, orange disc in the southern sky. I couldn't find it. There was too much ambient light from the city nearby.

I hate that.

I've really come to the understanding this summer that I'm more of a loner at heart than I ever suspected. I just don't feel the need to be around people all of the time. It's not because I don't function well with people: that's not it at all. It's just that being with people drains me, and being by myself, writing, reading, playing an instrument, praying, playing with the kids, is strengthening. I'm so much happier, in the long run, when I can stay at home and do my own thing, rather than go out with a large group.

On the other hand, I dearly love a face-to-face talk with an intimate friend, especially when we can talk about God, literature, movies, music and life. I say face-to-face, because the internet has been a poor substitute for real human interaction. Those emoticons can't capture the way a friend scrunches up his nose when he smiles, or the dimples in a ten-year old's grin. All the digital gadgets can't recreate the beauty of seeing a bit of a person's soul in his or her eyes when they look into yours. The digital world was supposed to be a facilitator, but instead it has become for many a facade.

I keep wanting to blog, but there are so many things to blog about that things are getting ridiculous. Yesterday, I was going to blog about hair, and the day before that, about relationships. But I got into this debate on a message board about emotionalism and Christianity and I've officially talked myself out. No profundity today, sorry.

Instead, I'm blogging about chocolate milk. And walking on catwalks 30 feet in the air. And getting stuck in the crane truck because of failed electronics. And the sheer idiocy of American teenage culture at large. And eggrolls. And staying up until two AM getting a ridiculous email situation straightened out. And plastic, inflatable baseball bats.

I'm really, really glad that the fair ends tonight. This is a hallelujah moment, folks.

I would very much like to know how an online quiz can tell you if you're a good kisser. I mean, what are they...never mind.

I would also like very much to know why I'm even pondering this.

I'm sitting here listening to Broken Yoke's newest CD (I'm seriously addicted to "Ends With You"), and I thought why not blog? Well, why not?

Related to the previous post, I got up too early on Sunday morning (!!!) and, yes, got talked into a game of catch, played on the driveway. In our Sunday best.

My youngest brother (7) is so funny. Everything is always someone's fault. Sometimes I have to send him away because he gets so frustrated when he can't catch and/or gets hit by the ball. For instance, once in a while he doesn't get his glove up in time and gets nicked by the ball, which I admit isn't a particularly pleasant experience. But when it happens to him, he always gets mad and paranoid that we've all got it in for him (he'll never make it as a pitcher). Once when it happened he tore off his glove, threw it into the nearest tree, and yelled, "YOU THREW IT AT ME ON PURPOSE!"

Um. Yeah. That's kind of the point of playing catch, kid.

My eyes hurt from spending too much time online doing research. I'm thinking about using BUNAC and working in Britain or Ireland one of the next couple of summers. I have a feeling after a year or so in college I'm going to be ready to blow off some steam in a foreign climate, and I've always wanted to explore that area more. I'm torn as to which country. I really loved England. I love the countryside, the lilt of the accents, the literary legacy that pervades, the bustle of London, and the echoes of shared history. But, I've never seen Ireland, and I've always wanted to go. I've always empathized with the Irish and Scottish people and their unsuccessful bids for liberty from Britain. The more I look at world history, the more I realize that conflicts between countries are rarely as clear-cut morally as they're sometimes portrayed.

However, I'm going to end that tangent before I start it. It's one of those rabbit-trails that could end up winding around and around and around until it suffocates me.

Anyhow, BUNAC basically helps college students that want to work abroad during the summer (or longer) by cutting through all the red tape and getting them work visas. It's not a babysitting service, though; you are basically on your own once you get in the country. You get a job, you make friends, you handle your money. It's all you and God, which, once I get over the shock, I tend to love.

You know, I could so see myself getting a wee flat in Dublin and practicing my Irish. Or going to Galway and learning to play Irish fiddle and speak Gaelic in my spare time. Perhaps I'll dye my hair red? Overkill?

really long entry about...of all things...baseball

There are so many things that have come out in me since I came back from Europe that I never knew were there. For example, I've learned over the summer that I love baseball. I love it.

Now, you didn't know this, did you? Neither did I, until now, which is funny...it's definitely in the family. All of the men played, but my grandfather was a definite stand-out, according to the great-uncles and aunts of my family. Anything you threw at him, he could hit/bunt/catch, no matter how fast or how sneaky you were. My dad--who himself was a great player and played all the way through college at Ohio State--was telling me the other day how playing with Grandpa discouraged him, and probably stopped him from pursuing the sport further. He told me that he would come home from college in the summer and throw his best college-level pitches at his Dad, who would consistently knock them to kingdom come. Grandpa would misjudge a few here and there, but not many. The worst, my dad said, was that he was so relaxed about it. He didn't even look like he was trying.

Grandpa never made it into the pros; in fact, I don't think he ever tried. I don't know the reasons why, but I suspect the war had something to do with it. Baseball was probably a frivolity thrown away in the shadow of a more pressing mission. He did pass along the love of baseball to his son, my dad, who is still crazy about it after all these years, even though he hasn't played seriously since college. My dad knows more about baseball than anyone else I've met. The game of baseball, that is, not just statistics and batting averages of famous players. He also has more plain common sense when it comes to how best to actually play the game and handle players, and I can't help but think that in a fair world he would probably be coaching somewhere. He'd be brilliantly successful at it.

For all of that, I've never had much use for baseball until I got back from Europe, starved for American things, and the boys had...well...grown-up. The oldest of the two, Peter, joined a team for the first time at the beginning of the summer. It wasn't my thing, but he's my brother and we stick together, so I went to the games. They were fun, if only to watch the little kids run around in utter confusion whenever anything happened to move the ball. Then, as the summer really got underway, the local summer collegiate team started playing at a nearby field, and--bada-bing!--just like that I found out I was a baseball fan! I...the bookworm, artist, musician, dreamer who'd never had time for such a thing before...I was suddenly a baseball fanatic. If there was a game on a night I was available, I went if at all possible. And if no one else except brothers would go (and neighbourhood kids, on occasion), well...I went anyway. I picked out a favorite player to watch (he, suspiciously, reminds me of my dad...long and lanky, with a mean swing!) and a least-favorite umpire to yell at. I knew the best hitters on our team, and the most threatening pitchers on the other teams. I knew which players could switch hit, which couldn't hit a change-up to save their lives, and which could be counted on in a crisis.

Then one day, my brothers threw an old, ugly glove at me and told me to field. I'd never been much of a ball-playing girl, and in recent years I've not had much time for playing outside, but for some reason, I consented. The baseballs flew, despite the look on my face that can probably be best described as bewildered. They went to my left and my right, bounced under my legs, whipped over my head...but rarely landed in my glove. However, I'm not my mother's daughter for nothing. So I vowed that I would learn to wield that piece of cowhide if it cost my life and/or sanity. For a week, I played almost every day, and despite aching hands and shoulders--Peter can throw hard!--I hung in there. Along the way, I learned to play a pretty decent game of catch. The aches began to subside, and I began to become pretty consistent, and we continued to play. I was even looking forward to that knock on my bedroom door, so I could thrust aside the books and go hang out with the boys. It became a priority, and Nellie became a baseball chick.

I think this transformation probably alarmed my parents at first, or at least alerted them to the fact that the girl who left for Europe almost a year ago is not the same girl who came back. That girl was always looking ahead to the future, bright-eyed at the hope of bigger things to come, and always looking for paradise. This girl is different. She still has occasional bouts with wanderlust, but she has also learned first-hand that the world has lied...paradise is not necessarily found in big dreams, exciting places and great quests, much touted though they are. More often, it's found in the quiet, simmering heat of an August day, the sweat of honest work, the love of a family, and the peace that comes with living in God's will. It comes in the loving, and the sighing, and the laughing, and the yearning.

And curiously enough, I found it in the thwack of a ball in an old leather glove.

Captain! Prosy update, dead ahead!

Well, it's official. I went and signed up for the classes I want--or am being coerced to take by the anti-christ that is the university general education system. C'mon, who really needs "Societal Interactions" to succeed in culture? Just don't tick people off, I'd guess, is the gist of that winner of a course.

I'm not actually taking that course. I wheedled my way out of that one. What I am taking is English Comp (don't get me started on that), American History, and Geography. Genius that I am, I'm skipping science and higher math for the time being, being hopeful that I can yet figure out a way to sweet-talk the Dean of Liberal Arts out of requiring things that I will probably never use.

That failing, I think I'll take Plant Biology as opposed to regular Intro to Biology. That sounds more...plantish. And fun. And I'm currently studying for the math placement exam, so I can boot that required math course out the door. We'll see how everything goes. An LJ friend of mine had great success testing out of courses, so I'd like to get the chance to talk to him and see how he studied. The idea of cutting out a year of requirements for the cost of the testing is very appealing, since I don't much like school anyhow.

Correction, I don't like sitting.

I'm actually rather excited to go to school again. I bought a nifty new backpack already, and it will be fun to go pick out fresh, book-smelling supplies to fill it. When I was a homeschool kid, my mom would always take us to the local education store, and we could pick out a special pencil for the year out of their extensive collection. There were shiny ones, weird shaped ones, and ones with little dinosaurs running all over them. It was always so hard to decide, and so much fun to take care of, and sharpen my pencil.

So, I'm hoping to recreate that experience, at least in part, for my new school year. I'm going to buy bright notebooks, clean smelling erasers, shiny new binders....and yes, I'm going to go buy a special pencil.

It's going to be a good year...I can feel it in my bones.

Untitled

There's a certain freedom in keeping up a blog which you've neglected to tell most people even exists.

I know you occasionally find delight in expressing opinions which are not your own.

For anyone who may yet be out in cyberland, scratching their heads at my creation of yet another blog, I say:

I am a lone reed.

Wait! Give me a few days and I'll come up with something better!

Actually, I haven't had a real blog in a long time. I've kept up my LiveJournal for a while, just as an outlet whenever the general craziness of life gets too much for me to handle and I simply must tell someone. To me, though, a blog is something different, and I've recently realized that I've greatly missed having one. I don't enjoy writing prosaically about everyday life, frankly, and that seems to be what is required of me in the LJ community. Instead, I take great delight in being so cryptic even I can't understand myself. And that's where blogs--real blogs--shine.

No one expects me to be grounded in reality if I'm just a faceless cyber-entity. No one will hold me responsible for any opinions I may hold, because no one will care. I need not even tell the truth.

I don't even have to verify that what I have said is my real opinion, do I?

So here I am again, BlogWorld. Do what you will with me.

11:54, and sleep refuses to come

Late at night, I like to listen to the sounds that creep in through the cracks in the windows and walls. We tend to think we're insulated and safe, so secure from our neighbour and the outside things that slither and gallop, but on evenings like this...when the breeze slides around the house and the crickets sing, I know we're not. The slightest shift of material matter will send our walls crumbling down; if we are one thing, we are fragile.

I sent a deliciously girly email to a friend today, reverting to a shallowness I had not thought possible only yesterday, when I was self-righteous with study and deep journaling. Pen and paper, I used yesterday, because the keys did not fall under my fingers like they normally do, and my own frustration with myself pounded inside my head like the waves of a flood. So I wrote my story out, letting it drip from my fingers in clumsy word and thought, until I was spent and, in a way, euphoric.

The light flared, then faded.

And so today, reconciled to being human, my fingers fell on the keys and produced many emotions with almost as many smiles attached. One day of genius is--it must be--enough to survive the trek through the desert, living on oxygen and typing mediocrity.

waiting for the answer

Ever wonder if there's anyone out there listening?