Randomness of the day:

Never wear a suede skirt on a windy day.  It tends to act as a -- how shall we call it? -- a sail. Silver lining: it doesn't flip.

Now that both my parents are gone, I'm feeling the steady approach of the refrigerator's critical mass point as I never did when Mom was around to do the shopping.  It still looks deliciously full -- mostly with tall, glass jars of noodle soup and pudding, as well as cooked chicken packed tightly into tupperware -- but there is still a week yet to go, and I have little faith in my own ability to carry on past the moment in which I eat the last remaining morsel that looks halfway appealing.

I have a feeling there are some brussel sprouts lurking back there.   Not to mention the kombucha mushrooms and beet kvass.

You laugh as one who does not know the truth of which I speak.

I am going to Scotland.

Because of that, I may revive this public blog.

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I'm going to write a blog post tomorrow. I think.

nelliegirl's Xanga Site

The proberbial bug has bit. I'm back to writing. And I'm doing it on Linux minus my internet connection so I don't get distracted. I'm passionate about the story, but a good email has a very bad effect on my work ethic.

This story is so unlike anything I've ever done before that I'm not sure what to make of it. I'm a little scared of it. But Madeleine L'Engle's words keep coming back to me...be a servant of the work. A servant...a servant...a servant...that means fighting fear, defeating resistance and writing what is meant to be written, even when all I want to do is go do something mundane and meaningless.

In other news, today was officially day one of spring break. In seven days, I go back again.

I comfort myself with the vague notion that there is only one more quarter left in the school year and after that...summer stretches out before me in all its vastness and glory.

Heh. Getting overdramatic, aren't we? Told you I had the bug.

By the way, Madeleine L'Engle's book 'Walking on Water' is one of the best I have ever read. It's...beyond amazing. Read it. Especially if you're an artist, a writer, a lover of beauty.

I Am Not A Tourist: Nellie's Blog

A boy I know from school shot and killed his girlfriend on Sunday. The flags were at half-mast, and there were grief counselors here at the school all day. It was on the front page of the paper.

I couldn't concentrate in Communications class. I kept staring at his empty seat.



It's been a strange Valentine's Day.

I Am Not A Tourist: Nellie's Blog

My kingdom for an Episcopal/Anglican church in the near vicinity that hasn't been closed due to a lack of membership. And one with a decent organ player. St. Paul's Cathedral, transported to my home turf, would be lovely. But one can't have everything.

I'm listening to a movement from a Bach cantata right now. It's sending chills down my spine. I haven't able to stomach any CCM recently, and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever reacquire my taste for it. God is so huge, and so much of the music being put out today...is so pale and colorless. It's on such a human level -- it's understandable. When I listen to it, I can fathom it. It is joyous, but not majestic. It is glorifying, but not glorious.

On the other hand, listening to a choral setting by Palestrina, a Bach mass, or Mozart's Requiem gives one a sense of the unfathomable. There is a mystery and beauty in the tiered chords, musical forms, and the sonority of the human voice. Something about these pieces is beyond my understanding.

And for me, it's the hint of the unknowable that makes the known life worth bearing.

Ugh.

Well, I guess I get to blow the dust off of this blog right now and say that I have absolutely nothing to say.

Actually, I have a lot, but little of it is worth saying.

I'm actually supposed to be writing a five to ten minute single-actress play that I must rehearse and be ready to perform for the class on Monday. Other things I could be doing include preparing the Offertory for Sunday, finishing up Math homework, or reading three back-chapters of my Communications text.

But I'm not doing any of that -- I'm writing in my blog. Funny how that works.

How are y'all doing?

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.