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?