So, as has already been plentifully established, I am not a Brave Sort of Person.
When I was little and there was a spider, I'd call my bravest of the brave Daddy to come kill it for me. Even if it was just a little bitty spider. Because spiders are freaky and terrifying.
After I reached a certain age, Daddy suggested I might begin to kill my own spiders. I looked at him with shock and horror, and he quickly took back his suggestion. But, Daddy wasn't always at home, and Mama really wasn't any better than I about eight legged creepies.
Guess where spiders favorite place upstairs is? My bathtub. They love it. Why? I have absolutely no idea. Maybe because it's so slipperyslidey, and they secretly like to play slip 'n' slide when nobody is watching.
Anyway, that's where they like to hang out, and after a while, I got a system down pat. I'd carefully check the shower, (this includes shaking the shower curtain and peering behind the shampoo bottles,) before I stepped in. (This cautious approach was firmly imprinted in my brain after the day a large spider suddenly appeared by my toes during the shower. He died very shortly afterwards, cause of death being scalding water and drowning mingled with ear splitting shrieks. I thought about hanging his body up with a sign, like in Pirates of the Caribbean, saying "be warned all ye spiders who enter here." But I decided that was just gross.)
Back to my system. If there was a spider, I'd drown him with hot water and then carefully use about a half roll of toilet paper to gingerly pick him up by one leg and deposit him into the dark recesses of the toilet.
So, I got pretty comfortable with handling spiders in the tub. But in the last two years, brown recluses and gigantic wolf spiders have begun using our house as an apartment complex. And they sign really long leases with somebody. The brown recluses don't really bother me, except when they crawl across my pillow, (yep, it's happened,) but the wolf spiders get to me. Literally.
If you want a good idea of these aptly named monsters, just check 'em out on Wikipedia. They are defined as "robust and agile" and believe me, I can testify of their robustity and agility. (Yes, robustity is a word. I just made it up, so there.)
They like to just appear out of thin air, unexpected and uninvited, and sit and watch you out of their beady little eyes until you catch sight and scream bloody murder. At which they chuckle darkly and hurry away. Sometimes you catch up with them and WHAM!! no more spider! Sometimes they get away. I choose not to think of those times; they give me nightmares.
Usually whether they get killed or not is a direct result of how close Mama or Trey or someone else is, because I mount a chair and stay there until the execution and clean-up are complete. I don't kill them. It's disgusting and scary to get as close as you have to to accomplish the work, and you know that at any moment they could decide to scurry towards you at roughly the speed of light.
But the other night, (this is where this post has been going all along; sorry for the really, really long introduction,) I was in my room, calmly lying on my bed, reading, when something large and brown by my bookcase caught the corner of my eye.
"Whoa, is that a mouse?" I thought, turning to look.
No. It was a spider.
I had only seen one spider that big in our house before, on the wall above my bed, and I had, shall we say, not handled it well. Mama was away from home all night, and I was staying alone. Needless to say, I set off a spider bomb thingy in the bedroom and slept on the couch.
But here it was, in my room, and I knew I wouldn't be able to rest in peace if I let it slink away. I went and hollered for mama, but she wasn't home. I panicked a little. Then I decided to call Trey, but the creature started moving along the baseboard, and I was afraid he was going to slip in a crack and be gone. Gone, but still very much there, if you know what I mean. I flew downstairs and got the flyswatter, (becuase I didn't want to hit it with one of my books and then have to clean the... ahem, guts... off, and when you smush them with a shoe, you hear the crunching sound waaaay too clearly,) then flew back up the stairs and prepared for the slaughter. It was hiding behind my chair, but I moved the chair just a bit and out he popped. I screeched and hopped back three feet.
Then he started a mad dash for the corner, and I quickly edged closer and closer, stretched out my arm as far as it would go, (keeping distance, of course,) and SWAT!! as hard as I could.
The dratted thing wasn't dead. Or even visibly damaged. He just paused a moment, as if stunned, then started scurrying towards me. I screamed again and hit him, over and over, as hard as I could, until he crumpled and gave up the ghost.
Then, flushed with triumph, I called Amelie to tell her of my brave feat, discarded the remains, and did a little happy dance. Then I got on the loudspeaker and told all the spiders lurking in the shadows that Katie had come into her own, so prepare to die. They didn't believe me.
But they will soon. Oh, yes. They will soon.
p.s. My clock thingamajig is messed up, so the times that show up on here aren't correct. Just thought I'd let y'all know that valuable piece of information.
p.p.s. I didn't exaggerate this story. Really. I wish I had, because I don't like the fact that such things happen. But they do. It's very unfortunate.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
I Have Too Much Imagination
Tonight, I made rather a fool of myself.
After mama went to bed, I stayed up and read Agatha Christie and ate boiled eggs and corn on the cob and squares of dark chocolate and drank lemonade. (The last part wasn't the foolish part; I just thought that particular food combination was interesting and I wanted to share it with you.) No, the foolish part was reading Agatha Christie when I was the only one awake in the house at night. In the dark. When you can't really see what's outside, but you feel as though people are peering in on you.
Agatha Christie doesn't bother me in the daytime, or at night when I'm not the only conscious person in the house. But give me a silent house and a chilling story about old ladies who sinisterly disappear after talking about people being stashed away in chimneys, and I come a little undone.
Common sense just doesn't kick in at ten thirty on a dark night when you're sitting upstairs in the bathroom, reading, and you hear footsteps downstairs. Yes, that's right. Footsteps. Footsteps that walk around and around, (obviously looking for you,) and sound all squishysqueaky, as if the Footstepper is wearing squishysqueaky shoes.
"And it can't be mama," thought I, "because I would have heard the bed creak and grumble when she got up." Her bedroom door is right at the foot of the stairs, and I was right at the top of the stairs, and her door was open. I would have heard her. So, I got up, tiptoed to the first stair, and listened. Nothing. Of course, the Footstepper would have heard me coming and stopped. Probably the Footstepper is just waiting for me to convince myself that I was imagining and start downstairs, and then... fill in the blank.
I thought about howling for mama, but since she takes her hearing aids out at night and is pretty much of no use in the hearing department when she's asleep, I didn't figure it would do much good. Or, (and I wasn't too far gone to aknowledge this as being the more likely possibility,) I was imagining the footsteps, and then I would feel really bad for waking her up. Not to mention cowardly and totally unlike a Mature, Sensible, Senior in high school should be.
I listened some more. There seemed to be another sound coming ever so faintly ever so often... sort of a popping, thumping noise. "Get a grip, Katie," I told myself. "You're just being paranoid and silly. Just turn on the light and walk confidently down those stairs and run hop into bed and cover your head with the blanket." (Because blankets are such good protection against Footsteppers.) I took a big bite of the forgotten chocolate square in my hand, and that gave me a great boost of courage and brilliance. "What do you have a taser for, if not something like this?" I asked myself.
So, I crept into my bedroom and fished around in my purse. Then I emptied it out on the floor because I have so much stuff in there finding anything is pretty much hopeless. Especially since my taser/flashlight container feels like a lipstick tube.
Then, taser firmly in hand, I began the descent downstairs. Halfway down, I realized I didn't remember which button controls the taser and which button controls the flashlight. Not good. I didn't want to experiment, since the zzzzzzzzztttttttt might alert my Footstepper that I was stealing downstairs. Nor did I want to stick it in his ribs and push what I fondly believed to be the taser button, only to discover it was the flashlight button.
At any rate, I decided it was the top button that triggered the taser, and I leaped around the corner of the stairs to....
Nothing.
Of course. Just when I was totally psyched for anything.
But don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining. I warily chuckled at myself.
All the same, when I go around turning out the lights, I'm holding on to my taser. You just never know about Footsteppers.
Oh, and I'm not reading Agatha Christie at night, alone, again. Ever. Promise.
After mama went to bed, I stayed up and read Agatha Christie and ate boiled eggs and corn on the cob and squares of dark chocolate and drank lemonade. (The last part wasn't the foolish part; I just thought that particular food combination was interesting and I wanted to share it with you.) No, the foolish part was reading Agatha Christie when I was the only one awake in the house at night. In the dark. When you can't really see what's outside, but you feel as though people are peering in on you.
Agatha Christie doesn't bother me in the daytime, or at night when I'm not the only conscious person in the house. But give me a silent house and a chilling story about old ladies who sinisterly disappear after talking about people being stashed away in chimneys, and I come a little undone.
Common sense just doesn't kick in at ten thirty on a dark night when you're sitting upstairs in the bathroom, reading, and you hear footsteps downstairs. Yes, that's right. Footsteps. Footsteps that walk around and around, (obviously looking for you,) and sound all squishysqueaky, as if the Footstepper is wearing squishysqueaky shoes.
"And it can't be mama," thought I, "because I would have heard the bed creak and grumble when she got up." Her bedroom door is right at the foot of the stairs, and I was right at the top of the stairs, and her door was open. I would have heard her. So, I got up, tiptoed to the first stair, and listened. Nothing. Of course, the Footstepper would have heard me coming and stopped. Probably the Footstepper is just waiting for me to convince myself that I was imagining and start downstairs, and then... fill in the blank.
I thought about howling for mama, but since she takes her hearing aids out at night and is pretty much of no use in the hearing department when she's asleep, I didn't figure it would do much good. Or, (and I wasn't too far gone to aknowledge this as being the more likely possibility,) I was imagining the footsteps, and then I would feel really bad for waking her up. Not to mention cowardly and totally unlike a Mature, Sensible, Senior in high school should be.
I listened some more. There seemed to be another sound coming ever so faintly ever so often... sort of a popping, thumping noise. "Get a grip, Katie," I told myself. "You're just being paranoid and silly. Just turn on the light and walk confidently down those stairs and run hop into bed and cover your head with the blanket." (Because blankets are such good protection against Footsteppers.) I took a big bite of the forgotten chocolate square in my hand, and that gave me a great boost of courage and brilliance. "What do you have a taser for, if not something like this?" I asked myself.
So, I crept into my bedroom and fished around in my purse. Then I emptied it out on the floor because I have so much stuff in there finding anything is pretty much hopeless. Especially since my taser/flashlight container feels like a lipstick tube.
Then, taser firmly in hand, I began the descent downstairs. Halfway down, I realized I didn't remember which button controls the taser and which button controls the flashlight. Not good. I didn't want to experiment, since the zzzzzzzzztttttttt might alert my Footstepper that I was stealing downstairs. Nor did I want to stick it in his ribs and push what I fondly believed to be the taser button, only to discover it was the flashlight button.
At any rate, I decided it was the top button that triggered the taser, and I leaped around the corner of the stairs to....
Nothing.
Of course. Just when I was totally psyched for anything.
But don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining. I warily chuckled at myself.
All the same, when I go around turning out the lights, I'm holding on to my taser. You just never know about Footsteppers.
Oh, and I'm not reading Agatha Christie at night, alone, again. Ever. Promise.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
...and Raking Leaves, and Brewing Cider, and Picking Pumpkins...
Though not acknowledged by any official calender, today was the First Day of Autumn. Oh, I'm not saying that autumn is here for good and summer weather is all over, but today marked the Beginning of the End of the hot, humid, lemonade-sipping days and the start of the chilly, pumpkinish, Decidedly Fall days.
And, oh boy, am I glad.
Autumn is wonderful, because you can walk outside without saying to yourself, "Am I or am I not a loaf of bread in the oven?" It's wonderful because of the monumental First Pot of Hot Tea on the first frosty morning, (and keep in mind that frosty to a Strevel woman is about 55 degrees and anything below that is very frosty.) Oh, and the trip to the pumpkin patch with all the children, when you get to wade through grass up to your thigh and carefully select the perfect pumpkin. Such fun! And, of course, autumn wouldn't be autumn, (and what a shame that would be!) without the scent from bluegrey, delightfully smoky leaf fires greeting you as you drive down the road and make you want to go apple picking or jump in a crinkly pile of leaves and get bruised knees.
And the trees sound different in the Autumn. Don't laugh - they do! The rustle of their leaves is somehow more pronounced, less like whispering and more like real rustling. If you don't know what I mean, I am sorry for you. You're missing out of one of the greatest joys of autumn. If you do know what I mean, well, then you know. It's rather hard to describe.
Today, it stayed coolish all day long - even at high noon, and the nicest autumnal breeze has been swaying the trees, (and yes, making them to rustle in the Way Particular to Fall,) and is gently lifting my bangs as I sit here with all the doors and windows open. I am so intoxicated by the sudden shift in the atmosphere that I almost ran out and bought some of those awful, sparkly, huge pumpkin earrings that old ladies fancy. But thankfully my common sense wasn't so drunk from the cool breeze and the crisp smell of Fall in the air that it couldn't assure me that those earrings are and always will be very tacky. Besides, I want my sisters to speak to me in public.
I have to run now. I'm off to dance with the oak and elm fairies and make crowns of sumac leaves for my hair.
And, oh boy, am I glad.
Autumn is wonderful, because you can walk outside without saying to yourself, "Am I or am I not a loaf of bread in the oven?" It's wonderful because of the monumental First Pot of Hot Tea on the first frosty morning, (and keep in mind that frosty to a Strevel woman is about 55 degrees and anything below that is very frosty.) Oh, and the trip to the pumpkin patch with all the children, when you get to wade through grass up to your thigh and carefully select the perfect pumpkin. Such fun! And, of course, autumn wouldn't be autumn, (and what a shame that would be!) without the scent from bluegrey, delightfully smoky leaf fires greeting you as you drive down the road and make you want to go apple picking or jump in a crinkly pile of leaves and get bruised knees.
And the trees sound different in the Autumn. Don't laugh - they do! The rustle of their leaves is somehow more pronounced, less like whispering and more like real rustling. If you don't know what I mean, I am sorry for you. You're missing out of one of the greatest joys of autumn. If you do know what I mean, well, then you know. It's rather hard to describe.
Today, it stayed coolish all day long - even at high noon, and the nicest autumnal breeze has been swaying the trees, (and yes, making them to rustle in the Way Particular to Fall,) and is gently lifting my bangs as I sit here with all the doors and windows open. I am so intoxicated by the sudden shift in the atmosphere that I almost ran out and bought some of those awful, sparkly, huge pumpkin earrings that old ladies fancy. But thankfully my common sense wasn't so drunk from the cool breeze and the crisp smell of Fall in the air that it couldn't assure me that those earrings are and always will be very tacky. Besides, I want my sisters to speak to me in public.
I have to run now. I'm off to dance with the oak and elm fairies and make crowns of sumac leaves for my hair.
Yummy, Yummy
I made brownies today, and since Lee and Ben were here, I let them lick the bowl... outside. So, I didn't watch them.
Just now, I walked past Ben and noticed a dark brown goo all in his hair. I leaned closer and felt of the dark brown goo, thinking it surely wasn't brownie mix. It wasn't just in his bangs, it was all the way back to the middle of his head. How could brownie mix get up there?
Little did I know.
Me: "Ben, what's this in your hair?"
Ben: "Chocolate, I guess."
Me: "How on earth did you get chocolate in your hair?"
Lee: "Oh, he stuck his whole head in the bowl to lick it with his tongue. He wouldn't use his finger like I did."
Just now, I walked past Ben and noticed a dark brown goo all in his hair. I leaned closer and felt of the dark brown goo, thinking it surely wasn't brownie mix. It wasn't just in his bangs, it was all the way back to the middle of his head. How could brownie mix get up there?
Little did I know.
Me: "Ben, what's this in your hair?"
Ben: "Chocolate, I guess."
Me: "How on earth did you get chocolate in your hair?"
Lee: "Oh, he stuck his whole head in the bowl to lick it with his tongue. He wouldn't use his finger like I did."
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Bigger They are, the Harder They Fall.
I love mowing over anthills. It's so much fun to feel the slight bump as the mower inhales the grimy mounds and then watch the dirt spewing out of the mower's jaws. If you look carefully, you can even see the tiny demons themselves go hurdling into the wild blue yonder, separated by many ant miles from their former dwelling. Excuse me, abolished former dwelling.
Does that sound harsh and cruel and unfeeling? If so, you've obviously never had ants swarm your ankles whenever you come near their abode.
Hellooo, ants, I was totally here first! I've lived right here since I was two, so y'all can just take your little booties off my property, or be content with me passing within a two inch radius of your nasty mound if I want to. Hear?
But you know what? They aren't content with that. The man-flesh loving demons want to feel your tender skin between their teeth, (or whatever it is they bite with, maybe they sting; I don't know,) and then they want to curl up and die right there on your wound. Talk about instant gratification! You'd think that by now they would've received the memo informing them that immediate death is the result of chowing down on innocent victims.
Nope.
And until they do receive that memo, I'm going to take lots of satisfaction in crushing them and their houses with the lawn mower.
Does that sound harsh and cruel and unfeeling? If so, you've obviously never had ants swarm your ankles whenever you come near their abode.
Hellooo, ants, I was totally here first! I've lived right here since I was two, so y'all can just take your little booties off my property, or be content with me passing within a two inch radius of your nasty mound if I want to. Hear?
But you know what? They aren't content with that. The man-flesh loving demons want to feel your tender skin between their teeth, (or whatever it is they bite with, maybe they sting; I don't know,) and then they want to curl up and die right there on your wound. Talk about instant gratification! You'd think that by now they would've received the memo informing them that immediate death is the result of chowing down on innocent victims.
Nope.
And until they do receive that memo, I'm going to take lots of satisfaction in crushing them and their houses with the lawn mower.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The End of an Era.
Today, we got a new-to-us van. And yes, it's worlds snazzier than our old van.
But it just ain't got what our old van had.
It's called Character.
Our old van? It had lots of Character.
Lots and lots.
Like the perfectly round singed spot in the passenger seat from when I set a smoking skillet down on my way to Mamaw's for supper. Or the Dr. Pepper stains on the ceiling in the back seat. I really have no idea how Dr. Pepper got there. I probably don't want to know. And the eyeliner stripes above the backseat window. I do know how those got there, but I'm not telling. Amelie doesn't know either. Reallytruly. Then there's the claw hole in the leather of the passenger door from when my awesome cat Boots accidentally got shut up in the van all night. I guess the claw hole was from her desperate attempt at freedom. Poor thing, the window was right there, taunting her. The outside world - so close, yet so far. She still hasn't recovered emotionally. Just kidding.
Anyways, the bottom line is, I'm going to miss our van. Even though the doors didn't unlock properly, (which was pretty doggone inconvenient sometimes,) I loved it. Daddy picked it out, which makes it extra special, and I clearly remember the day he drove it home. Mama was terribly relieved he had bought a van and not a car, and she loves white vans. So we were all happy that day.
We went on lots of roadtrips in it. Good roadtrips. Like our trip to Louisville for my thirteenth birthday with three of my best friends. We had a blast in the van, and probably all the candy that fell down the seats is still there in glorious stickiness. And then there's the many trips to Atlanta in the van to visit my big bro.
Our van is a part of all those memories.
Old Faithful, I guess you could call her. (Or him. I don't really know the van's gender. For posterity's sake, we'll say it's a she.) And, okay, truthfully, she wasn't all that faithful. The mechanic was starting to be her favorite place to visit. On the other hand, Mama and I weren't too keen on the mechanic's shop, so we and she clashed a little over that small thing.
My greatest comfort is that even though our new van has a long way to come in the way of Character, since seven grandchildren and AnnMarie and Queen of Clumsy - that's me - will often ride in it, I'm guessing it'll amass Character very soon.
Very, very soon.
Like, within the week.
But it just ain't got what our old van had.
It's called Character.
Our old van? It had lots of Character.
Lots and lots.
Like the perfectly round singed spot in the passenger seat from when I set a smoking skillet down on my way to Mamaw's for supper. Or the Dr. Pepper stains on the ceiling in the back seat. I really have no idea how Dr. Pepper got there. I probably don't want to know. And the eyeliner stripes above the backseat window. I do know how those got there, but I'm not telling. Amelie doesn't know either. Reallytruly. Then there's the claw hole in the leather of the passenger door from when my awesome cat Boots accidentally got shut up in the van all night. I guess the claw hole was from her desperate attempt at freedom. Poor thing, the window was right there, taunting her. The outside world - so close, yet so far. She still hasn't recovered emotionally. Just kidding.
Anyways, the bottom line is, I'm going to miss our van. Even though the doors didn't unlock properly, (which was pretty doggone inconvenient sometimes,) I loved it. Daddy picked it out, which makes it extra special, and I clearly remember the day he drove it home. Mama was terribly relieved he had bought a van and not a car, and she loves white vans. So we were all happy that day.
We went on lots of roadtrips in it. Good roadtrips. Like our trip to Louisville for my thirteenth birthday with three of my best friends. We had a blast in the van, and probably all the candy that fell down the seats is still there in glorious stickiness. And then there's the many trips to Atlanta in the van to visit my big bro.
Our van is a part of all those memories.
Old Faithful, I guess you could call her. (Or him. I don't really know the van's gender. For posterity's sake, we'll say it's a she.) And, okay, truthfully, she wasn't all that faithful. The mechanic was starting to be her favorite place to visit. On the other hand, Mama and I weren't too keen on the mechanic's shop, so we and she clashed a little over that small thing.
My greatest comfort is that even though our new van has a long way to come in the way of Character, since seven grandchildren and AnnMarie and Queen of Clumsy - that's me - will often ride in it, I'm guessing it'll amass Character very soon.
Very, very soon.
Like, within the week.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
"There is no frigate like a book to take us lands away." - Emily Dickinson
And usually I will know from the very first sentence, or at least the first paragraph, whether or not this book is a kindred spirit. Now, yes, there are exceptions to this rule; quite a few exceptions, to be truthful. But there is nothing better than reading the beginning lines of a book and knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that here is a book with which to connect, benefit from, grow by, and thoroughly enjoy.
Here are some of my favorite opening lines:
"In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the earth." -Genesis
That right there is the foundation of everything we believe. In one sentence. How awesome is that?
----------------------------------
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife." -Pride and Prejudice
It's just so chock full of wit and reality and romance, and it sets the stage for Pride and Prejudice so perfectly.
----------------------------------
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole and that means comfort." -The Hobbit
I can't explain why, but when I read this paragraph for the very first time, I felt a Tingling at the tips of my fingertips, and I knew I was going to like The Hobbit. Tolkien's writing style, of which I am very fond, shows itself in those two sentences, and the concise portrayal of this hobbit-creature, (you can certainly understand him immediately if you are the Right Sort of Person,) simply by describing his dwelling in a few short words delighted me. Besides, this hobbit was obviously neat, and being a slightly ocd person myself, I have a great bond with those who care about the appearances of their kitchens after breakfast and sweep their doorsteps with regularity.
---------------------------------
"Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn't." -Winnie-the-Pooh
To me, this speaks of childhood and playtime and stuffed animals and the funny, crazy thoughts which unexplainably inhabit our wee heads When We Are Very Young.
--------------------------------
"It was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon." -Rilla of Ingleside
I have known many such days; only I have not had the talent to wrap them up into a beautiful little word package as did Lucy Maud Montgomery.
---------------------------------
"In the early evening, when the hills in the distance showed faint and blue, in a patch of rough ground called Field of the Darling-Pool, a little girl stood alone. She was barely ten, but for what seemed to her a long time she had been asking questions which no one could answer, not even her wise old father to whom she shyly brought them. -Ploughed Under
Thus begins the story about a little lover of the greatest Lover the world has ever known. And this little lover's story is much like mine and so many others who seek and seek for answers to life's troubling questions: 'How shall we live?' 'When shall we die?' 'What comes after death?' 'Who is in control?' 'Who is this God of Whom I have heard?' -and who find the ultimate answer to be Christ Jesus.
------------------------------
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." -The Gospel of John
This sentence, like the first sentence of Genesis, is the foundation of what we believe. Christ is our foundation... He was the beginning, He is the present, and He will be the end.
-----------------------------
Yes, these books are very, very different, but as Lyman Abbott - whoever that is! - said, "A broad interest in books usually means a broad interest in life."
I sure hope so.
Here are some of my favorite opening lines:
"In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the earth." -Genesis
That right there is the foundation of everything we believe. In one sentence. How awesome is that?
----------------------------------
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife." -Pride and Prejudice
It's just so chock full of wit and reality and romance, and it sets the stage for Pride and Prejudice so perfectly.
----------------------------------
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole and that means comfort." -The Hobbit
I can't explain why, but when I read this paragraph for the very first time, I felt a Tingling at the tips of my fingertips, and I knew I was going to like The Hobbit. Tolkien's writing style, of which I am very fond, shows itself in those two sentences, and the concise portrayal of this hobbit-creature, (you can certainly understand him immediately if you are the Right Sort of Person,) simply by describing his dwelling in a few short words delighted me. Besides, this hobbit was obviously neat, and being a slightly ocd person myself, I have a great bond with those who care about the appearances of their kitchens after breakfast and sweep their doorsteps with regularity.
---------------------------------
"Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn't." -Winnie-the-Pooh
To me, this speaks of childhood and playtime and stuffed animals and the funny, crazy thoughts which unexplainably inhabit our wee heads When We Are Very Young.
--------------------------------
"It was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon." -Rilla of Ingleside
I have known many such days; only I have not had the talent to wrap them up into a beautiful little word package as did Lucy Maud Montgomery.
---------------------------------
"In the early evening, when the hills in the distance showed faint and blue, in a patch of rough ground called Field of the Darling-Pool, a little girl stood alone. She was barely ten, but for what seemed to her a long time she had been asking questions which no one could answer, not even her wise old father to whom she shyly brought them. -Ploughed Under
Thus begins the story about a little lover of the greatest Lover the world has ever known. And this little lover's story is much like mine and so many others who seek and seek for answers to life's troubling questions: 'How shall we live?' 'When shall we die?' 'What comes after death?' 'Who is in control?' 'Who is this God of Whom I have heard?' -and who find the ultimate answer to be Christ Jesus.
------------------------------
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." -The Gospel of John
This sentence, like the first sentence of Genesis, is the foundation of what we believe. Christ is our foundation... He was the beginning, He is the present, and He will be the end.
-----------------------------
Yes, these books are very, very different, but as Lyman Abbott - whoever that is! - said, "A broad interest in books usually means a broad interest in life."
I sure hope so.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
It's a Child's Life We're Talking About Here!
Last night, Laura, Lee, Ben and I went to help the Rileys petition at a festival in Pontotoc. (And let me assure you, Ben and Lee petitioned too. They went with Jake and Trey and both got several signatures on their own clip-boards.)
I still have a headache from the ridiculously loud music and the sorry Elvis impersonator, my feet ached something awful the whole way home, and I'm pretty sure my stomach hasn't recovered from the greasy, greasy, jumbo corndog I devoured at nine o'clock. In fact, it's still very angry at me.
But it was a great night, actually. I have no problem going up and making a nuisance of myself to perfect strangers, (it's a Strevel thing,) so I thought it was fun. And knowing that the things we did last night are steps towards outlawing abortion in Mississippi is wonderful. The responses I got were usually positive, although some were disheartening. Here's a sampling of some of the funniest:
Me to Older Man: "Would you be interested in signing this pro-life petition? It..."
Older Man: (interupting my pitch) "Sure."
Me: "Oh, okay." I really liked the ones who reached for the petition as soon as I said the words pro-life. It saved a lot of breath.
Older Man: "So, are you married?"
Me: "Ummm... nosir. "
Older Man: "Are you too young?"
Me: "Yessir."
Older Man: "Where do you go to school?"
Me: "I homeschool."
Older Man: "Where are you going to graduate from?"
Me: "My home. I homeschool."
Older Man: "But where are you going to graduate from?"
Me: (trying to take the petition and edge away) "You can graduate from home. It's legal."
Older Man: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Ummm... yessir. I'm positive. Thank you for signing!"
Me to Very Greasy Biker-looking Dude with loooong gray hair: "Would you be interested in signing this pro-life petition to amend the Mississippi constitution and define a baby as a person from the moment of fertilization?"
V.G.B-l.D.: "Now, what's this fer agin?"
I explained carefully again, using smaller words this time. Apparently they weren't small enough.
V.G.B-l.D: Blank look. "What does fertilization mean?"
Me: "The beginning of the baby. Basically, this amendment would make abortion illegal."
V.G.B-l.D: "Oh, sure, I'll sign that."
Me: "Great."
And my very favorite of the whole night... not funny, but encouraging.
Me to gentleman and wife: "Would y'all be interested in signing this pro-life petition to amend the Mississippi constitution and define a baby as a person from the moment of fertilization?"
Gentleman: "It is a person from the moment of fertilization."
Me: "Yessir, I know that, but hopefully this will make the rest of the state know it, too."
He and his wife both signed, and a little later, when I came across him again, he took a church packet and made his two friends sign too.
Basically, I love petitioning, even if I sounded like a broken record and was sweating like no man's business, since I had two cotton t shirts and a cami on. Don't even ask why.
I'm definitely doing it again.
p.s. If you live in Mississippi and want to get involved, you certainly may. Let me amend that - you certainly should. If you want to buy a t shirt, follow the link at the beginning of the post.
I still have a headache from the ridiculously loud music and the sorry Elvis impersonator, my feet ached something awful the whole way home, and I'm pretty sure my stomach hasn't recovered from the greasy, greasy, jumbo corndog I devoured at nine o'clock. In fact, it's still very angry at me.
But it was a great night, actually. I have no problem going up and making a nuisance of myself to perfect strangers, (it's a Strevel thing,) so I thought it was fun. And knowing that the things we did last night are steps towards outlawing abortion in Mississippi is wonderful. The responses I got were usually positive, although some were disheartening. Here's a sampling of some of the funniest:
Me to Older Man: "Would you be interested in signing this pro-life petition? It..."
Older Man: (interupting my pitch) "Sure."
Me: "Oh, okay." I really liked the ones who reached for the petition as soon as I said the words pro-life. It saved a lot of breath.
Older Man: "So, are you married?"
Me: "Ummm... nosir. "
Older Man: "Are you too young?"
Me: "Yessir."
Older Man: "Where do you go to school?"
Me: "I homeschool."
Older Man: "Where are you going to graduate from?"
Me: "My home. I homeschool."
Older Man: "But where are you going to graduate from?"
Me: (trying to take the petition and edge away) "You can graduate from home. It's legal."
Older Man: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Ummm... yessir. I'm positive. Thank you for signing!"
Me to Very Greasy Biker-looking Dude with loooong gray hair: "Would you be interested in signing this pro-life petition to amend the Mississippi constitution and define a baby as a person from the moment of fertilization?"
V.G.B-l.D.: "Now, what's this fer agin?"
I explained carefully again, using smaller words this time. Apparently they weren't small enough.
V.G.B-l.D: Blank look. "What does fertilization mean?"
Me: "The beginning of the baby. Basically, this amendment would make abortion illegal."
V.G.B-l.D: "Oh, sure, I'll sign that."
Me: "Great."
And my very favorite of the whole night... not funny, but encouraging.
Me to gentleman and wife: "Would y'all be interested in signing this pro-life petition to amend the Mississippi constitution and define a baby as a person from the moment of fertilization?"
Gentleman: "It is a person from the moment of fertilization."
Me: "Yessir, I know that, but hopefully this will make the rest of the state know it, too."
He and his wife both signed, and a little later, when I came across him again, he took a church packet and made his two friends sign too.
Basically, I love petitioning, even if I sounded like a broken record and was sweating like no man's business, since I had two cotton t shirts and a cami on. Don't even ask why.
I'm definitely doing it again.
p.s. If you live in Mississippi and want to get involved, you certainly may. Let me amend that - you certainly should. If you want to buy a t shirt, follow the link at the beginning of the post.
Friday, August 14, 2009
"Excuse me, could you hold that star a minute, please?"
About a week ago, I heard about the meteor shower - shooting stars...come on, how much more wonderful could it be? - supposed to take place Tuesday night, and being the romantic, wish-loving person I am, I really wanted to see it, even if it meant tumbling out of my cozy bed at one in the morning.
Turns out, I didn't go to bed before one, so about one thirty I wrapped up in a shawl and stationed myself outside on our driveway, head twisted upwards at an angle worthy of an owl. (Did you know they can turn their heads backwards? They can.)
To pass the time, (because the stars weren't swooshing and sparkling like good stars should,) I tried to identify the planets and constellations. This shouldn't be too difficult for me since I took a whole two semesters of astronomy last year. But I was pretty much a failure at locating any, so I amused myself by conversing with my awesome cat, Boots. That turned out to be pretty much one-sided, since she really only wanted to go to sleep on my stomach. Traitor.
Just as I was sure my neck was going to be permanently frozen in the upwards position, right there before my eyes streaked a silver, sparkling star. It was truly beautiful, but I was caught off guard and had no wish ready. "All right, it got past me this time, but I'll be ready for the next one."
A few more minutes passed. Boots purred from her perch on my tummy. (By this time I was stretched out on the pavement and just telling myself that massive spiders and beetles were not creeping stealthily up on me.)
Then, whoosh, another streak of silver! I got "I wish" out and it was gone. As in, done. As in, no more trace of yon swooshing star. I wondered to myself if maybe it still counted if you said what you wished right after the shooting star. Couldn't be that important to wish on the shooting star, could it?
The next one, I was ready. I didn't bother with "I wish" - just got right to the heart of the matter and laid my wish right out there on the table. (or the star, if you prefer.) I hope shooting stars have good hearing, becauseIsaiditreallyreallyfast. Like that. And, yes, the star had quit shooting by the time I spit out the last syllable. But that's okay, because if you're crazy enough to believe in wishing upon stars, you can definitely bend the rules a little. It's like an unspoken law in magical happenings.
P.S. What did i wish for? Silly, wishes don't come true if you tell them to somebody, and there has to be a special punishment reserved for those who blatantly shout their wishes on the internet. Like, the opposite of what you wish comes true. And I wouldn't want that to happen, because I really want to live in a chocolate house with raspberry windows and cherry doors.
Oooops.
I'm sorry, wish giving star! Can I please have one more chance? Please?
Turns out, I didn't go to bed before one, so about one thirty I wrapped up in a shawl and stationed myself outside on our driveway, head twisted upwards at an angle worthy of an owl. (Did you know they can turn their heads backwards? They can.)
To pass the time, (because the stars weren't swooshing and sparkling like good stars should,) I tried to identify the planets and constellations. This shouldn't be too difficult for me since I took a whole two semesters of astronomy last year. But I was pretty much a failure at locating any, so I amused myself by conversing with my awesome cat, Boots. That turned out to be pretty much one-sided, since she really only wanted to go to sleep on my stomach. Traitor.
Just as I was sure my neck was going to be permanently frozen in the upwards position, right there before my eyes streaked a silver, sparkling star. It was truly beautiful, but I was caught off guard and had no wish ready. "All right, it got past me this time, but I'll be ready for the next one."
A few more minutes passed. Boots purred from her perch on my tummy. (By this time I was stretched out on the pavement and just telling myself that massive spiders and beetles were not creeping stealthily up on me.)
Then, whoosh, another streak of silver! I got "I wish" out and it was gone. As in, done. As in, no more trace of yon swooshing star. I wondered to myself if maybe it still counted if you said what you wished right after the shooting star. Couldn't be that important to wish on the shooting star, could it?
The next one, I was ready. I didn't bother with "I wish" - just got right to the heart of the matter and laid my wish right out there on the table. (or the star, if you prefer.) I hope shooting stars have good hearing, becauseIsaiditreallyreallyfast. Like that. And, yes, the star had quit shooting by the time I spit out the last syllable. But that's okay, because if you're crazy enough to believe in wishing upon stars, you can definitely bend the rules a little. It's like an unspoken law in magical happenings.
P.S. What did i wish for? Silly, wishes don't come true if you tell them to somebody, and there has to be a special punishment reserved for those who blatantly shout their wishes on the internet. Like, the opposite of what you wish comes true. And I wouldn't want that to happen, because I really want to live in a chocolate house with raspberry windows and cherry doors.
Oooops.
I'm sorry, wish giving star! Can I please have one more chance? Please?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Random Musing. (Really, really random musing.)
You know what job I would really, really hate?
Testing the brightness of vehicle lights.
"No, that's not quite bright enough. Just a little mo... arghhh!!" ::few seconds later:: "Ummm.... I can't see anymore, is that a problem? Hello? Anybody there? What? Yeah, I'd say you need to dim those. Uhhh... I still can't see. Excuse me, what kind of insurance program do you provide? Does it include guide dogs?"
Think about it, people. Somebody has to do that, right? Else how would the auto makers know what degree of light is enough?
Do they use a machine? An experimental rat? Death row inmates? Or just some ordinary Joe lookin' to earn an honest dollar who gets blindsided? (Pun fully intended; I am my father's daughter.)
I'm leaning towards the rat option. Maybe they could teach him hand signals or something so that he could let 'em know when it was waaaay too bright. Or maybe he could squeak. You know, really high squeak for "ohmywordicannotseeanymore" or a low, deep squeak for "you need to pump it up a little."
Do rats have low, deep squeaks?
What was my post about?
Oh, yeah.
The job I wouldn't ever want.
Now you know.
Testing the brightness of vehicle lights.
"No, that's not quite bright enough. Just a little mo... arghhh!!" ::few seconds later:: "Ummm.... I can't see anymore, is that a problem? Hello? Anybody there? What? Yeah, I'd say you need to dim those. Uhhh... I still can't see. Excuse me, what kind of insurance program do you provide? Does it include guide dogs?"
Think about it, people. Somebody has to do that, right? Else how would the auto makers know what degree of light is enough?
Do they use a machine? An experimental rat? Death row inmates? Or just some ordinary Joe lookin' to earn an honest dollar who gets blindsided? (Pun fully intended; I am my father's daughter.)
I'm leaning towards the rat option. Maybe they could teach him hand signals or something so that he could let 'em know when it was waaaay too bright. Or maybe he could squeak. You know, really high squeak for "ohmywordicannotseeanymore" or a low, deep squeak for "you need to pump it up a little."
Do rats have low, deep squeaks?
What was my post about?
Oh, yeah.
The job I wouldn't ever want.
Now you know.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
A Helpful Prayer
Lord Jesus make Thyself to me
A living, bright Reality;
More present to faith's vision keen
Than any outward object seen;
More dear, more intimately nigh
Than e'en the sweetest earthly tie.
~Hudson Taylor
A living, bright Reality;
More present to faith's vision keen
Than any outward object seen;
More dear, more intimately nigh
Than e'en the sweetest earthly tie.
~Hudson Taylor
Saturday, August 8, 2009
All that is needed for a majority is God and one man.
Today, an older pastor spoke to the young people at my church. He has been a faithful follower of Christ for many, many years, and somehow everything he says seems to carry extra weight; perhaps because he truly lives what he preaches.
He talked to us about the potential that one single roomful of young Christians had... the wonderful things we could accomplish by the grace of Christ. I don't pretend to limit this to one roomful. How much better it would be if the fire of revival spread amongst all the young people of America! And that started me thinking.
What would it be like if just a handful of teenagers and early twenties purposed that their whole lives would be lived under the banner of Christ and in the constant awareness of the lost souls around us? Would we live differently if we viewed every person, from the man beside us in the doctor's waiting room, to the lady with her kids at the park, as needy souls? I think we would.
Now, I don't mean by this that we walk up to every person we pass on the street and hand them a gospel tract, or go door to door every minute of every day. Those things have a place, I believe, but there's more to witnessing than just giving out information.
True witnessing, as I see it, is dying to self in such a way that everyone around cannot help but notice, "Hey, there's something different about so-and-so. They don't live selfishly, or meanly, or ungraciously. They have something more than I." And in this way, opportunities will arise to impart the eternal life-giving gospel, because people will want what we have. We won't be able to do this, live in this way I have described, perfectly. Probably we won't do it even close to perfectly, but God will honor a whole-hearted desire to glorify Him by giving us victory over even ourselves.
It's very easy to sit here at the computer and tap these words out on the key board. It requires nothing of me except a few minutes and some coherent thoughts. But will I live on them this week? Today, when my will is crossed? Tomorrow, when I am overlooked in something I feel I should be acknowledged? I'll tell you what: I can make really good resolutions and think good things and bolster myself up to the task of living righteously, but all those things are absolutely nil without the strength of Christ working for me and the grace of Christ working in me. And how do I obtain that? Jesus has promised grace sufficient, and if we cry out to Him for this with true sincerity, He will hear our prayers.
So, if we say we want to live in a way that honors Christ and draws others to Him, He has given us a beautiful means of doing this - Christ Himself.
I encourage you to lay self in the dust and, through Christ, live in a way that will cause the earth to shake, just as it did in the time of the Great Awakenings in America and Britain. It is possible, because God can and often will use the most unlikely, the most ungifted boy or girl, man or woman to accomplish great and wonderful things for His glory.
All that is needed for a majority is God and one man.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Swish, Swoosh.
I love sweeping.
I know that sounds strange and twisted, but I really do.
There's just this undefinable satisfaction that comes from the coarse sound of the broom hairs swooshing over the floor and watching the growing trail of dirt and dust and crumbs come together in a nice, compact pile to be scooped into the dustpan. You know the floor is getting cleaner by the second, and that all those dust bunnies and nasty flecks of dirt are going to be shoved into the dark oblivion of the trash can, never to cling to the bottom of bare feet again. And that is a happy thought.
I'm really quite grateful to the ancient woman who first tied a bunch of straw together to sweep out the floor of her cave or tent. Can you just imagine her delight at seeing all the dirt be banished at once, instead of... well, I don't know, one piece at a time? I'll bet her kids were happy too. "Yes! No more scraping up crumbs with our hands!"
And then I can just see her rushing around to all her neighbors and proudly displaying her new toy. And those women all rushing out to the fields for straw or reeds or whatever it was they made brooms out of back then. Boy, that must have been a wonderful day.
Doesn't it make you thankful for brooms? Thankful that we can just go to Wal*Mart and pick out whichever broom we like the best instead of slaving over weaving hay together? It does me.
Yay for brooms and clean floors!
I know that sounds strange and twisted, but I really do.
There's just this undefinable satisfaction that comes from the coarse sound of the broom hairs swooshing over the floor and watching the growing trail of dirt and dust and crumbs come together in a nice, compact pile to be scooped into the dustpan. You know the floor is getting cleaner by the second, and that all those dust bunnies and nasty flecks of dirt are going to be shoved into the dark oblivion of the trash can, never to cling to the bottom of bare feet again. And that is a happy thought.
I'm really quite grateful to the ancient woman who first tied a bunch of straw together to sweep out the floor of her cave or tent. Can you just imagine her delight at seeing all the dirt be banished at once, instead of... well, I don't know, one piece at a time? I'll bet her kids were happy too. "Yes! No more scraping up crumbs with our hands!"
And then I can just see her rushing around to all her neighbors and proudly displaying her new toy. And those women all rushing out to the fields for straw or reeds or whatever it was they made brooms out of back then. Boy, that must have been a wonderful day.
Doesn't it make you thankful for brooms? Thankful that we can just go to Wal*Mart and pick out whichever broom we like the best instead of slaving over weaving hay together? It does me.
Yay for brooms and clean floors!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
There is Nothing to Fear but Fear itself - and Mosquitoes.
"Hmmm... what's that great big black blob on my leg?" I wondered. A splash of black paint? Ink? A squash bug?
As I bent down to take a closer look, a buzzing sound filled my ears, getting louder the closer I leaned, until it sounded about like I would imagine a helicopter landing in the yard to sound like. And then I realized the truth.
It was the top-dog, granddaddy's granddaddy of mosquitoes on my leg. I kid you not, this creature was massive. And he had obviously been feasting on someone else, because it wasn't just black I saw. It was red. Red, as in blood red. (Mama, you probably should stop reading now. Actually, you probably should have stopped reading two sentences ago.)
He was swollen up to about three times as big as a normal mosquito, and he was attached to me. Me. My leg.
Now, here's where I was brave. As in really, really brave. Because I could have just jumped up screaming and run for the house, leaving the villain alive. But Phoebe and Isaiah were with me, and I knew that if I lost this chance to kill, the monster would just wait around for the next innocent victim to step foot outside, or worse, would follow us in and eat us alive. Because he could have eaten us alive. At one bite. All of us. Seriously.
So, I took steady aim, and .... SLAP!
And that was the bloody end of Mr. Monstrously Huge Evil Mosquito. Let me tell you right now, when I say bloody end, I mean bloody end.
I dashed for the hose and sprayed my hands and leg until they closely resembled prunes. Then I dashed for the house and used enough soap to clog a drain pipe. I scrubbed pretty hard, too. My hands haven't forgiven me yet, nor has my leg. If a bruise pops up in the next few hours, I won't have to wonder where I got it. 'Cause I did not mean to miss, and when I slap, I slap hard.
If I lack bravery in the snake department, I totally make up for it in mosquito annihilation.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
He's Got My Genes
Jackson (6) to Ethan (11)
J: "Were there, like, airplanes around when you were born?"
E: "Uh, yeah, Jackson."
Me: !!!!!!!!!
J: "Were there, like, airplanes around when you were born?"
E: "Uh, yeah, Jackson."
Me: !!!!!!!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)