There's a major gas leak in Falkner.

We have no heat. We have no stove. We won't have heat for the rest of the night.

It's cold outside.

Very, very cold outside.

This is the opposite of good.



But then, you know what? We could live in Mexico, where it's oh-so-cold right now, and there's myriads of poor, poor people who have nothing, or in another cold third world country where people have no heat or good food or even enough blankets. We have so much, even when we have less than usual. And I can only say, "thank you, God," and gratefully add another blanket to our soft bed.

soaring to new lows...

A few minutes ago, I went to the Post Office exactly the way I scrambled out of bed this morning. Pajamas, unwashed face, greasy bangs, the works. Well, I did put polka dotted rubber boots and a jacket on, but my flannel, snowflake pajamas were clearly showcased in all their glory.

And you know what? I could care less. I wasn't embarrassed. Mama said, "just don't go in if there's a car in the parking lot." But there wasn't. So I clunked in and did my little transaction, then clunked out. I even waved to somebody in the next parking lot.

The way I see it, half of Tippah County has been to Wal-Mart or the grocery store or something along those lines in their pajamas, so I'm just getting in touch with my small town roots.

Don't ask me what I mean by that last statement; I couldn't really give you an answer. It just sounded relevant.



While we're more or less talking about post offices, this is a short story of Eudora Welty's called "Why I Live at the P.O." - and it's quite amusing. I read it, laugh, then thank God my family isn't like that.

So it begins...

The Annual Detox-Your-System-of-Christmas-Carols, of course.

Now, "Frosty the Snowman" is no longer an acceptable shower song.

Lee and Ben singing "Jingle Bells" isn't cute anymore. It's annoying, because Christmas is OVER.

No more "ring, ting, tingling too - come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you." Or however it goes. I'm beginning to forget, because I've been detoxing myself since yesterday evening.

AnnMarie? It's time to stop collaring everyone and forcing them to sing "Jingle Bell Rock" for you. But don't lose heart, next Christmas will be here before you know it.

The people who have been playing Christmas carols since before Thanksgiving, (don't get me started on that,) must quit. Now.

I have to sorrowfully shelve "Little St. Nick" by the Beach Boys. (Confession time: I like the Beach Boy's music. Still speaking to me?)



Moving on.

Want to hear a funny Christmas tale? About a fruit basket?

Good, 'cause I'm going to tell it whether you want to or not.

It's the practice of nice churches here in the South to bring fruit baskets to the poor and needy and the old around Christmas time. Lovely practice. Sometimes. I like seeing the baskets piled high on my Mamaw's table, some tastefully arranged, some crammed into a paper sack. It means she's loved and known by many churches.

BUT.

This year, there was a knock on our door. I went, and there stood a very old man with a very full paper sack. Ummmm... hi. "Here's a fruit sack from our church. Merry Christmas. Is your grandmother at home?"

Okay. Mamaw probably told them we like fruit. It's not because they consider us poor and needy, or old. Right? (Mama was a little offended, because she feels they were classifying her as old. It's alright, mama, they're just too old and blind to see how young you are.)

There were some uneatable, dry oranges, some apples, some tootsie rolls, (yes!!!) and a few bananas in the sack. And...

You're not going to believe this.

There was also a stick of deodorant.



Deodorant.

In a fruit basket.

Go figure.

And while you're figuring, start singing Valentine ditties, or Fourth of July songs, or anything but Christmas carols. Because the detoxing has begun.

unto us...

"Hark, yonder! What means the firing of the Tower guns? Why all this ringing of bells in the church steeples, as if all London were mad with joy? There is a prince born; therefore there is this salute, and therefore are the bells ringing.
Ah, Christians, ring the bells of your hearts, tire the salute of your most joyous songs, 'For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given.' Dance, oh my heart, and ring out peals of gladness! Ye drops of blood within my veins dance every one of you! Oh! all my nerves become harp strings, and let gratitude touch you with angelic fingers! And thou, my tongue, shout - shout to His praise who hath said unto thee - 'Unto thee a child is born, unto thee a Son is given.' Wipe that tear away! Come, stop that sighing! Hush your murmuring. What matters your poverty? 'Unto you a child is born.' What matters your sickness? 'Unto you a Son is given.' What matters your sin? For this child shall take the sin away, and this Son shall wash and make you fit for heaven. I say, if it be so, 'Lift up the heart, lift up the voice, Rejoice aloud! ye saints rejoice.'"


-taken from an 1859 Christmas sermon by Charles Spurgeon


Merry Christmas! I pray we all find real reason to rejoice and sing for joy today and this year.

I come by it honestly.

Mama, taking down the dead twinkle lights on our flower drying rack: high pitched shriek

Me: "Mama??? Are you okay?"

Mama: "I cut the twinkle light wire in two, but I guess I forgot to unplug it first."

Too Small a Thing.

If I was the kind of person who ran out and got a tattoo every time something really grabbed my attention in a good way, I would have this verse tattooed somewhere.

Indeed He says,
"It is too small a thing that You should be
My Servant
To raise up the tribes of Jacob,
And to restore the preserved ones of
Israel.
I will also give You as a light to the
Gentiles,
That You should be My salvation to the
Ends of the earth."

-Isaiah 49:6


I was reading Isaiah 49 this morning, and I couldn't read past that verse. The absolute wonder of it filled my soul, and I found tears spilling over as I thought of the sacrifice of our Saviour, made not just for the Jews, the special nation, but for the Gentile dogs. Us. We're the dogs. I'm not a Jew. I'm not from the people that God chose before the foundations of the earth to be His own nation... not because they were the best, or the biggest, but because He loved them. The Gentiles were outside those beautiful promises God made to Israel in the Old Testament.

But.

(Sometimes, that's my very favorite word.)

But, God in His amazing mercy, gave Jesus Christ to be a Light for me, for His chosen ones among the Gentiles, as well. God's Salvation to the ends of the earth.

Think about that. We were outside of God's promises to Israel. We were the pagan Gentiles who didn't know the one true God. But then, the sacrifice was given for us, even we who are called according to His purpose, and we are called the sons of God. We are now His people, the sheep of His pasture. Christ is our Elder Brother, and He now stands before the Father, making intercession for me. For us. For the Gentiles. Wow. It's unbelievable. And oh, so wonderful.

If this doesn't make your heart sing for joy, I don't know that anything could.

And the party came in.

To my dear family,

Wow. I love y'all so much. I'm glad we have family Christmases that would scare the socks off most people, but for us makes fantastic memories for the rest of the year. (Incidentally, how on earth did four of my siblings get married? We're tons of fun, but we can be super intimidating to prospective spouses, I would imagine.)

I love that we can't get five words out without someone else interrupting because theycantellitwaybetter. Actually, I don't love it. But it makes us unique, I suppose. And we are working on it. Promise. I love that we can trash a house quicker than any other family, (check out the picture if you don't believe me,) and then clean it up twice as fast, thanks to Karen and Mama. Karen, you get a special shout out. We owe so much neatness and order and clean dishes to you. And I love that we can at least shake the roof with our conversations and laughter. Maybe not raise it, but definitely shake it. I love that mama can totally beat me with her stilt walking skills. As in, I'm really, really bad at it, and she can do a little dance, while singing, on them. Yeah.

I thank God for all of you, individually, and as a large, talkative, loving, teasing group. Our Heavenly Father has been so good to each of us, to give us His Son as our surety and hope when everything else, even family, isn't enough. He always is enough - and He has blessed us beyond measure.























p.s. I know that some of you don't know my oldest brother, Jacob. Well, that's him in all his handsomeness in the first picture. He looks a lot like Daddy.

This Post is Lovingly Dedicated to Dr. Grant and his Fabulous Mid-terms

It's over.

I'm alive. And as sane as I've ever been.

Which isn't saying much, I grant you.

(Okay, don't take that picture as an indication of my sanity. I just thought the toothbrush holder was so dadgum ugly. And I was dressed like that on purpose, as you'll discover if you keep reading.)



After it was over, in heady celebration, Julia, Ellie and I dressed crazily and went to Wal-Mart and ran around taking silly pictures... actually, I was getting stocking stuffers, too, so we weren't there without a purpose. Right.

We had lots of fun, (Ellie and I did a little skit for Julia - you'll see us on Broadway any day now,) and we ate lots of food, and mostly we rejoiced that we would never, ever, ever have to take another Gileskirk mid-term or final. If we can keep an A average, because we're seniors. Not taking the final is a BIG motivation for keeping grades up, let me tell you. I'll let you know how that goes. Maybe.

Anyhow, it's over. For good. Hopefully. I'm grateful for the ability to learn, and I'm grateful for a mama who cares enough about the right things to remind me that what I put down on a paper test isn't the most important thing in the world.


Sword fighting in Wal-Mart is awesome. Julia really got into it, as you can tell.




P.S. I don't know why i look so... red in that first picture. I wasn't madly embarrassed or anything, so apparently the lighting in Wal-Mart isn't conducive to photo shoots. For good reason, I suppose. Else everyone in the whole wide world would want to have their family portraits, senior sessions, engagement shoots, etc. in Wal-Mart. 'Cause the decor is so great.

p.p.s. Ellie and I now know how to spell "rhythm"very confidently. We had one of those blank moments when we couldn't for the life of us remember how to spell it. It is a kinda tricky spelling, but it can't confuse us anymore! Ho, no. We are the rhythm spelling queens.

I should sue.

Did you know that according to NASA, the biggest meteor shower of 2009 is tonight? I had forgotten all about it until about fifteen minutes ago, and since I was up anyway, and prime viewing is around midnight, and since I'm a shooting star junkie, I bundled up in a big robe and warm socks, pulled pallet stuff out, slipped crocs on, shoved a bottle of water in my pocket, grabbed one of the kittens to keep vigil with me, and gaily marched out of the carport into... rain.

Yep.

It was nicely drizzling and totally overcast.

Electricity is pretty great.

Trey started putting a new light in my bathroom today. But the wiring was somehow off, and he had to leave for Texas, so he went ahead and left before he finished, leaving wires hanging out and the breaker off, because we didn't really want to be blown to bits by the naked wires. (As much fun as that would be.) Problem is, the breaker, (or whatever it's called - electrician I'm certainly not -) which connects to the bathroom light also connects to my bedroom light. As in, there's no electricity in my bedroom either.

I have forgotten and flipped that stupid, lifeless light switch thirty times today, expecting a burst of light and getting... nothing. Blank. Continued darkness.

Which is really inconvenient when you're trying to get ready. It wouldn't be a big deal if there was another place I could easily go and get ready. But we're re-painting and re-flooring rooms upstairs and down, and the rooms which aren't taken apart for re-doing are holding the contents of those rooms. It's a madhouse.

So, tonight, I go into my room and think, "Well, I can certainly blow my hair dry in the dark."

::click my hairdryer::

::nothing::

Oh, right, the electricity being out means the plug-ins don't work either. I knew that. Totally.

Into the guest bathroom I go, carrying my hairdryer and ignoring the half-put down floor and all the dust. Wait, I forgot my round brush. Back to my bedroom. Stub my toe on the pile of books in front of my dresser from Mama's bedroom, which I can't see because the room is blackness. Back to the bathroom. Ooops, forgot my diffuser. (If you're a guy, you're totally not getting this. You should probably stop reading.) Back to my bedroom. Hey, it's dark in here! I can't find my diffuser. I'll just turn the light on and...

Nothing.

The Spider Annhilation Chronicles

There was a spider in my shower this morning.

He's very, very dead now.

it's a gileskirk thing. you wouldn't understand. and believe me, you don't want to.

George Washington was most certainly not the first president of the United States.
Peyton Randolph was. News flash? Yeah, well, get with the game.

Did you know that Arx Axiom means fortress of first principles? And that culture can be defined as religion externalized? (Please, don't ask me what that means; Dr. Grant hasn't explained it since my freshman year and I would give a sketchy answer.) Also, the first twenty one colonies to become states were... what? You're not interested? Oh. Sorry. Well, did you know that without Patrick Henry and Samuel Adams joining forces and shaking things up here in America, we probably would have lost the war? They were pretty awesome.

Someone said the word "star" last night, and I immediately began an essay in my head on the secret star chamber of Charles I. It was a personal court where he had "treasonous" men sentenced without fair trial. The scoundrel. Off with his head!

In my dreams last night, Dr. Grant came and stood over me dressed in a 17th century garment, (one with those uncomfortable neck ruffs,) and shook a sealed scroll over my head, calling my name in a loud and terrible voice. I had to list the five causes of collapse of the old world order, or I would fail the whole semester, and for the life of me I could only think of four. It was an awful dream. Or, it would've been if it had really happened. But it's definitely a plausible possibility. (The dream, that is, not the blank out, 'cause I can list the five causes backwards, forwards, and sideways. Ha, Dr. Grant!)

My brain is slowly shriveling to the size of a peanut made out of grey ash, and I'm not even through filling out the study guide for the twenty page Gileskirk mid-term. So, why am I writing this instead of doing that? Application of Gileskirk, of course. And because I just lost my pencil for the hundredth time while sitting in the same place, surrounded by the same things. Yeah. It's a talent.

Bye now. I'll see you after the Dreaded, Despised, and Dratted Mid-term is over. IF I come out alive. And sane.

p.s. I think I have a crush on Bonnie Prince Charlie.

She Walks in Beauty. (sometimes, Byron had it right.)

Well. There are times when words run short even for me. Yeah, I know. It's hard to believe about a Strevel woman. But this is one of those times.

Tomorrow is Mama's birthday. And I would like to go on and on about her - about how much I love her, about how precious our relationship is, how wonderful an example she is to me every single day, how she makes this house a real home, how she has a tremendous store of love and patience for her children. I know she wouldn't really like that, though, and frankly, when you feel oh-so-much for someone, it's difficult to say it as well as you'd like. I don't know why. But there it is.

Mama, you are really, really wonderful. And much more wonderful than you is Christ in you, and I am daily thankful that God has, in His infinite wisdom and kindness, allowed us to grow together in Him.

I love you.

Happy birthday.

we're so rich. thank you, God.

It's freezing outside, but there's a bubbling pot of asparagus soup, (with bacon and onions - mmmm...) on the stove, the fireplace is doing its awesome thing, lamps are creating warm pools of light all over the house. And Christmas is right around the corner.

Yeah, I love music. It's pretty much the bomb.

I have been furiously knitting these past few days to get a scarf done for someone as an early Christmas present. To beguile the time as I knit, I've been listening to a lot of my classical cds, and have realized again just how amazing music is.

Here are some of my old favorites. Some of them are pretty long, but listen to them as you're cooking, reading, doing housework, schoolwork, whatever. It's worth it.

Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture- music doesn't get anymore thrilling, beautiful, and heartbreaking than this. Listen to all three parts.

Paganini's Caprice No. 24 - pieces like this, performed like players like this, are the reason I play the violin. 3:13 is the best part, so be sure to listen all the way through if you start it.

The Girl with the Flaxen Hair, by Claude Debussy -I played this two recitals ago, but it didn't sound quite like this, I'm afraid.

Eine kleine Nachtmusik, (Allegro,) by Mozart - one of the first orchestral pieces I remember hearing as a little girl, and it still makes me tingle from head to toe.

Each of the Four Seasons by Vivaldi are wonderful, but I've been listening to Winter for obvious reasons. And I love the gradual crescendo throughout the entire piece.

Finally, (because I have to stop somewhere, not because I'm running out of suggestions,) if I had to pick a piece as my favorite from now til death do us part, I would probably pick Humoresque, by Dvorak.

Oh, the memories Humoresque brings back. Ellie and I played this together at recitals about half a dozen times or more, (meaning that we practiced it several hundred times, give or take a few. I'm not exaggerating much,) and somehow I never grew tired of it. I think she did, but to be perfectly fair, her part wasn't as enjoyable as mine, seeing as how she played the accompaniment. (Played it really, really well, by the way.) We had lots of fun at those recitals. Sometimes we played without a tremor or even one sharp or flat note, and sometimes we had to actually stop in the middle and go back a little ways 'cause we messed up so badly. Our nerves were our best friends at these events. Speaking of which, y'all wanna see some pictures of us way back when? You do?

Owww!! Ellie, stop pinching me. I can show 'em if I want to. Sorry 'bout that. Okay, here goes.

Notice, please, that in the last one, we were wearing matching, red, sparkly, shirts. Oh, you already noticed that? Just making sure. Somehow, at this recital, Eleanor's black shoes were left at home, so she played in her stocking feet. Good times, good times. Is that why she looks like she sucked a barrel of lemons right before the picture? And I look kinda drugged. But we thoroughly enjoyed it all. Except for the nerves part. Which was a pretty big part of it.

Eleanor? I love you. You're a fantastic accompanist.




p.s. I really like this song. Thanks, Katie C. for introducing me to it. Songs about brown eyed girls are the best.