Confession

I have a new addiction to add to my list! (I accumulate these addictions semi-regularly. I am currently addicted to reading blogs and trimming split ends. I have in the past been addicted to Scrabble, minesweeper, and nyet.) This new and exciting addiction is to sudoku. No, it's not anime or anything of the sort. It's a crossword puzzle of sorts, only with numbers, very easy to learn, and very hard to get away from...Try it, one puzzle only takes ten minutes or so...

*Angry Eyes*

@#$%^&*()_2345^&*(

Mr. Johny Damon signs with the New York for $52 million? I guess everyone has his price.

He wasn't so hot anyway.

Why would we want him?

sour grapes.

the children's teeth are set on edge.

Professor Bhaer vs. Laurie

(Before I officially begin this post, let me see that it is good to be home, surprise, surprise...)

Louisa May Alcott's book Little Women has popped up in my reading and viewing pretty much ever since I can remember. GranBeth confiscated a copy of it once while she was babysitting me, because she said it was "too old for me." (I was four and had pulled it out from its position of propping up one corner of Cara's playpen. Of course I couldn't read the whole thing, but I could pick out words and such.) To my relief, Mum restored the book to me, and I read at least a portion of it every year for years afterwards, actually only reading straight through it when I was twelve or so. I remember watching the old movie once, and the new one several times when it came out....

Anyway, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy made deep impressions on me. The male characters, however, never interested me much. Laurie was all right when he was little, dumb when he was older. Prof. Bhaer was way too old for me to consider him a person much.

Then last week at Fairwood, Shannon and I pulled out the library's copy to read aloud. (We'd just finished Oedipus Rex and were in sore need of something warm and cheery.) Shannon said something about liking the ending, and I promptly agreed with her. Prof. Bhaer was right for Jo. He was older, yes, but he was a good kind gruff scholarly sort, and not too old to be romantic by any means. How could anyone think differently? How could anyone not love that chapter, "Under the Umbrella"? To our surprise, Nate H., who was passing through at the moment, thought quite differently. He thought that their marriage was a terrible ending, that Jo threw herself away on an old geezer. (!)

The discussion then turned to Laurie. I hold him in a sort of friendly contempt. He was a good kid, but basically wasted a whole lot of his life being stupid. Shannon liked him, "He's just like all boys"....hmm. Nate fortunately was right on this one and said to look for better things than poor Laurie!

Today, Cara brought up the subject. She asserts that Jo was ridiculous to not marry "Teddy," and that the only reason he turned bad was that Jo rejected him. Mum also had way more sympathy for him than I. (We had a veritable fight at the dinner table over this.) I maintain that Jo was too good for him and never even loved him in the first place, and that even if she had, they would not have been a very happy couple. Laurie didn't mature as fast as she did, or he stopped, or something. The Bhaer was a man, someone she could look up to (yes, dangling prep.). Plus, Christian Bale plays Laurie, and who would want to marry him?

What say you? I don't believe it had ever occurred to me that anyone would actually see the story any other way, so I'm interested to hear what others think. (And I'm honored if you actually read my blog after all this time!)

A Vacation Post

This evening Aaron took me to the NH Philharmonic's Christmas concert at the Palace Theater in Manchester as a birthday present. 'Twas great fun to sing with some good old fashioned carols, watch Gov. Lynch conduct (His conducting was comparable to his governing, but more amusing to watch.), and catch up with my old violin teacher and friends from orchestra. (It took my teacher a minute to recognize me with my glasses on. he gave me a few blank looks before it connected, to my vast amusement.)

Aaron and I were in the very tiered seats in the balcony, the ones with very little leg room, even for me. During the intermission, while the man sitting in front of me was gone, I got up and moved around before sitting down again, somehow managing to drape a whole bunch of my full skirt over his seat. I didn't notice this until it was too late. The man returned and promptly sat on my wayward clothing.

The problem of how to extricate my skirt kept Aaron and me amused for some time. We decided that I could a)yank it out really fast and just sort of look off in a different direction in case our neighbor turned around to see what I was doing, b)pull it out inch by inch and hope he wouldn't feel it, c)"accidentally" throw my program on the floor in front of him and hope he'd be kind enough to bend over and pick it up for me, leaving my skirt unoccupied, or d) just tap him on the shoulder and explain the whole thing.

I opted for b. Once the music started I started pulling. Inch by inch it slid out. The poor man twitched once or twice and shifted position, causing me worry that he would turn around causing some awkwardness, but he never did, and eventually I retrieved my hem and enjoyed the rest of the concert.

Boy, the whole thing made me miss my violin lessons so bad. Did you know that violin playing builds the triceps? I played for an hour and a half in the cold earlier today (another story for another day) and got so sore, almost as sore as I was when i started playing. Guess that means some poor room at Fairwood will soon be subjected to the scritchings of my practice.

Hallelujah! God is good.

Surprise

Well....

I'm currently sitting in Diane's apartment, trying to get used to the idea of blogging again. I definitely broke the addiction in the last couple of months, but I've no doubt it could easily get its hooks into me, so I've got to be careful.

Bible School is Good. God is meeting me in new ways, and I'm glad I'm here. The class is coming together nicely, the girls have bonded pretty well, so life is good.

Wow...it's been a long time since I last heard the soundtrack of Man from Snowy River...Diane, Katie, and some of the girls are currently watching it. Brings back memories.

A few things I've learned here:

~Most recently, it's not a good plan to push over dead birch trees in the dark. Amy and I did the other night, and we learned the meaning of "widowmaker." After she came to and I realized that she wasn't dead, we had a good laugh, but I still think I won't be doing that again. Shannon and I went back a day or so later to find the tree and found a twenty foot piece, a ten foot piece, a fifteen foot piece, and several five foot pieces of that "little" dead tree. Made me awfully glad that God looks out for us dumb teenagers.

~Small snakes can be hid in many different places.

~I can't spit worth beans. (I learned this while trying to moisten the soles of my shoes while playing volleyball.)

~Swimming in Dublin Lake in November is fun.

~It's a good idea to check mysterious socks on one's floor for dead mice if you have friends whose initials are BFJ.

~When sparring with said BFJ it's a good idea to keep one's hands up, or she will whack one's head good and hard.

~On a more serious note, it's amazing what God will do when you decide to believe Him.

~I'm out of practice for blogging, but it's good to get my feet wet again. Hooray for all you faithful bloggers.

Well, folks....

It's been real, as they say. Tomorrow I'm off to Bible School. (at Fairwood Bible Institute for those of you who don't know.) In case you haven't noticed, I've been gently weaning you all off your addiction to my blog by not posting. I hope you appreciate my great efforts. :-) I am not yet sure what will happen to my blog. I may email posts to it, and I have it set so that comments will be emailed to me, so I may keep it up. On the other hand, it may go the way of all the earth...we'll see. I'm definitely not planning on spending much time on it.

Anyway, tomorrow after church I'll be off. I've been somewhat anxious at times about transitions and such, but right now I'm feeling really good about it. I know I'm ready to be off to new and different things, that God wants me to be there, and that the teaching I will get there will be incomparable. My closest friends are going, I'll be in a place I love, and I have my own little room to retreat to when necessary. The year is going to be good.

The funny thing is that at the back of my mind I have this funny little feeling that I won't get there; I've been talking about being in Bible School for so long it has almost turned into an abstract concept! However, several trips over to move boxes and boxes of stuff in and a pile of stuff still to go have convinced me that I really am going.

(oh, and just to stem the tide of questions that I sometimes get, I am not training to be a pastor or a nun. Yes, I have been asked if I was going to be a nun. I'm going to learn more about God and to focus time on letting my relationship with Him grow before the rest of life comes along.)

Before I leave you now, I must formally announce that I have driven in Boston. Not through Boston on 93. By Faneuil Hall and off through Somerville. By myself. Am I grown up or what. In case you can't tell, I'm feeling very proud. (I drove my dad's car back home for him while he sailed his boat to Porstmouth. Originally the plan was for me to hop right back on the highway, which wasn't too far from where I dropped him off, although far enough to be an adventure considering all the construction and one way streets. However, the on ramp was out of order or something so I followed a long detour. 'Twas great fun if rather stressful.) Just had to let you all know how amazing I am!

Oh, and feel free to pray for me and the year. It never hurts.

Cowboy Pie

I made a "mystery pie" the other day. Only it wasn't a mystery because members of my family kept walking by and asking what on earth I was making. I tried to avoid detailed answers, but replying, "Oh, a pie. Just some sort of pie," to their queries didn't cut it.

As they each scanned my recipe I was delighted with different reactions.

"Don't you dare make that!" was the reaction of one brother. I think he felt I was wasting a chance to make a perfectly good dessert.

"hmmmm," accompanied by raised eyebrows was a common response.

I also heard some incredulous laughter.

Buoyed up by this encouragement I pureed the pinto beans I had been soaking, mixed them with sugar, nutmeg, milk, and egg yolks, and poured them into a pie crust. Once the pie had set (it took about twice as long as it should have for some reason and made me very nervous it wouldn't work at all!) I topped it with a meringue and served it for dessert.

Much to my own surprise, I must admit, it was quite delicious! Tasted something like pumpkin pie, a little like mincemeat, and a little like custard. It definitely didn't taste like beans. My brothers even ate it!

*Feels proud of herself and oh, so courageous and oh, so economical. After all, gas has topped three bucks here, and one must do something to conserve. What's cheaper than beans?*

The Life of the Flesh

Well, at long last I've made it to a blood drive!!!!....some of you may know that I have had an almost morbid fascination with giving blood for the last year plus. Now, after a saga of waiting to turn seventeen and to get a good opportunity, the time had arrived.

On Monday I learned via the internet that SNHU was hosting an all day blood drive the following day. Since I was going to be in that neck of the woods anyway, I gleefully made plans to go and convinced Mum to come too.

All Tuesday I pumped iron (ate green leafy vegetables, chicken giblets, and fortified LIfe cereal) and drank gallons of water. After all this waiting, I wasnt about to be turned back for some stupid reason like dehydration.

Anyway, around 5:30 Mum and I made it into the Penmen's gym. It was mobbed! I guess the hurricane really made people aware of the Red Cross or something. Nervously eyeing the long lines we asked the sign up lady how long it would take. She told us to expect to be there for at least an hour and a half. sigh. We decided to stay anyway, lured on by the free monarchs tickets, t shirts, and Red Sox raffle tickets. (and I thought it was illegal to pay for organ and blood donations!!)

After signing in we were shuffled along to the next station where we received numbers (49 and 50) and several sheets of info to read. As we read and waited for our numbers to be called, sinister things began to happen.

"I don't think I can, do this, Bria." Mum became nauseous and saw white flashes, etc. as she read the pamphlet. Eventually, at my urging, she decided to leave, let me give blood by myself, and send Aaron to pick me up. She's had multiple terrible hospital experiences and hadn't eaten much that day, so it seemed best that way.

Once on my own, I sat and waited for numbers to slowly advance. (they were at seventeen or so when we got there, and moved verrrrry slowwly.)

At long last, my number was called, and I got a donation form. I was told to go sit with another group and wait for my number to be called again. If I got through that hurdle I would go sit in another group and wait some more.

On my way to the chairs, I spotted a familiar green and gold shirt with Hebrew writing. Hooray for the IDF! I almost congratulated the wearer on his choice of apparell but chickened out at the last minute. He was kinda scary looking.

Anyway, I sat down next to number forty-eight and tried to read the lips of the tiny old lady who called out numbers. After minimal strain, I caught a weak "six!". argh. I settled down to people watch. Twas interesting.

Had time to imagine all sorts of reasons to say no to the question, "was I feeling healthy and well?". Maybe I was tired...maybe I was achy...maybe I was coming down with something. Ah, the power of suggestion.

The girl next to me told me exciting stories of needles the size of juicebox straws and blood clots and stuff. She was quite nice. (really, she was, despite her scary tales.)

After an age, I was called up. I sat in a little booth and let a nurse prick my finger to test my blood. Boy am I glad I don't have diabetes or whatever it is that requires pricking your fingers every day. Mine's still sore, for some reason, and violin would be tricky.

The dreaded iron test as first.

I failed it.

After two hours of waiting, I was informed that I needed to have a minimum of 36% red blood cells, and I was at 34%. (Iron is used for making red blood cells, I think.) I was told to eat lots of meat and stuff and come back in a few weeks.

I was actually relieved, because at that point I was feeling pretty drained without losing an extra pint!

Daddy was waiting for me and took me home.

Next time, I think I will make an appointment at the blood center.

(oh, and they let both Mum and me keep our Monarchs tickets!)

I Guess Pooh Bear Wasn't Vegan

While at the checkout line today at the A Market (the local health food store) I suddenly realized I was very hungry. I guess the owners of A Market had anticipated this hunger in their customers, for they had placed a rack of cookies conveniently next to the counter. I succumbed to my impulse buying and snatched one up. To my initial horror, I discovered that it was a vegan cookie and did not contain lots of ingredients that I've come to expect in my cookies. It did have wheat in it, so I bought it, deciding i could tolerate the nondairy bit. Oh, and it did have sugar, too.

Anyway, I noticed that the wrapper proudly stated that it contained no honey. This struck me as odd. A shred of knowledge from my beekeeping days asserted itself in my brain. I remembered reading that vegans disapproved of beekeeping because the bees were "in captivity." ARgh. I expressed to Aaron my annoyance with vegans not eating honey and wondered out loud why they wouldn't, seeing the premise I had heard was ridiculous.

"It's because it's an animal product," came a voice from behind me. The speaker was a blonde Californiaish (not a compliment)fellow who works at A Market. he went on to explain to me a bunch of stuff that I already knew, like the fact that vegans won't wear wool. I opened my mouth to explain to him that honey isn't a product from the bee's body like wool, and that bees can no longer live in the wild because of parasites that have developed over the years. But before I could explain that he had walked off leaving me seething at his rather arrogant tone. sigh. I'll just have to tell him next time...

I can understand, no, not understand, respect people's decisions to be vegan for ethical decisions, but until I either feel that adopting a vegan diet will improve my health or that animals have more rights than people, I will continue to put honey on my pancakes, drink milk, wear sweaters, and eat hamburgers!

Saturated or Unsaturated?

I have a simple way to guage the temperature in my attic room. My thermometer is a little jar of coconut oil. This oil is solid at room temperature and is very similar to the natural oils that the scalp produces. Because I have long hair the ends of my hair don't get any oil, so sometimes I massage a bit into them.

Anyway, my room temperature has kept my coconut oil in it's liquid state for much of the summer.

Today, it was fully solid!!!! This, along with a certain smell in the air, indicates to me that the heat of summer will soon be gone and the cool of fall will be here. Rejoice all you who live in attics!

(S--I am not griping about my room. I love it, despite the heat, and sometimes I even have AC, which takes care of that problem.)

A Case of Mistaken Identity

While swinging on the porch swing yesterday afternoon, I animatedly told Aaron a story of some sort. I forget now if it was some trivial anecdote or a fragment of a dream or what. Suffice it to say that I talked a good piece. :-)

Suddenly, an interruption floated around the corner of the house.

"What are you reading?" Cara called from the pool.

"Nothing," I replied. We all laughed.

Then I thought for awhile. Is it a compliment to have someone mistake my talking for reading? Do I talk in a dull monotone, or do I put my words together so well that it sounds like I'm reading them? Or is my reading voice stumbling and scattered, sounding like I am groping for words as I talk? Or maybe I was just going on and on and on........

Yet another topic for me to ponder.

Stylin'

"Culottes are Cool"?

Why Hath the Common Opinion Afforded Women Soules?

Today I passed a used bookstore while doing an errand. I struggled with myself for some time, but the memory of Craig's tribute to the smell of old books won me over. I'm glad I did..I left quite happy with seven books and a not yet empty purse.

One of my finds was The Complete Poetry and Selected Prose of John Donne. (btw, not all of his poetry is so great.) For those of you who don't know, John Donne coined the phrases "No man is an island," "for whom the bell tolls," and "catch a falling star." He wrote some sonnets I admire (Katie admires some, too!) along with some excellent meditations and sermons.

Some of his works that I was not familiar with are his "Paradoxes and Problemes." These are essays on different topics, many of which made me laugh. Among the more amusing titles are the following:

"A Defence of Womens Inconstancy"
"That Women Ought to Paint"
"That A Wise Man Is Known by Much Laughing"
"Why Puritans Make Long Sermons?"
"Why Hath the Common Opinion Afforded Women Soules?"
"Why Doth the Poxe soe much Affect to Undermine the Nose?"
"Why are Courtiers Sooner Atheists than Men of Other Conditions?"

Good old John was definitely a thinking man.

Grateful

Thank God I'm not grown up yet.

'Raveling the Knitted Sleeve of Care

Earlier this summer I bought a gigantic XL J. Crew wool sweater for three bucks at Salvation Army. Today I began the process of unraveling it.

Wool is wicked expensive these days, so when this spring I read about recycling old sweaters I got pretty excited. (I'm figuring there is at least fifty bucks worth of yarn in this particular sweater.)

I wasn't sure how to go about the task until Liane told me there was a website with directions. Last night I found it, and this morning, scissors in hand, I began the process.

Unfortunately for me, the sweater is made of big squares crocheted together, so I can't just rip the whole thing out. However, the yarn is big and bulky, so I can see what I'm doing and build up a big pile of unravelledness.

Anyway, I spent several hours mindlessly pulling, snipping, and untangling yarn and enjoyed it immensely. (All that time and I only finished one sleeve! It is a very big sweater.) It was just the sort of Sabbath pastime I needed.

Now all I have to do is decide what to make with my wealth of wool...

(Oh, and if you caught my inverted Shakespeare illusion maybe I'll make something for you!! Or maybe that's more of a deterrent?)

Musings

It's been awhile...

~New York was good. Spent the time playing hide'n'seek in cornfields, tubing down rivers, watching fireworks, milking goats, and fellowshipping with most excellent friends.

~Cherry chocolate chip ice cream isn't nearly as bad as I had remembered. I learned this because my family ate up all the Fudge Tracks ice cream for Sabbath treat when I wasn't looking. To get my ice cream fix I was forced to try the nauseatingly pink maraschino stuff and found that the chocolate chips actually made it palatable. Live and learn.

~Speaking of learning, I've learned that it doesn't pay to look to closely at voice teachers while they demonstrate tongue stretches. It is difficult to keep from laughing hysterically and swallowing one's tongue that is stretching uvula-ward.

~I hate painting closets, especially when the color of the paint does not meet expectations (and in fact is bright red) and when one runs out of paint halfway through the job.

~I have a loverly cousin, who shall remain nameless, save that his middle name is William, who bought me a cd out of the blue, making my day.

I'm rather tired and am at the point of blogging merely for the sake of having a post, so I will be off.

A Sentimental Post, not to be quoted at me at a later time

I like Aaron. (I like all my siblings, but for certain reasons I'm focusing on him today.) He's a little hard to like when he quotes proverbs about the contentious woman at me and when he won't stop singing Gilbert and Sullivan, but generally he's a pretty nice guy, as the following anecdote illustrates.

After dinner he and I went out to the basketball hoop to play a game of Pig. It went quite quickly although I was hobbling everywhere because the gravel hurt my bare feet. As we walked back to the house I threw the ball to Aaron, but because of my poor aim it hit an obstacle and ricocheted off, ending up rather far down the driveway. I sort of hoped Aaron would get it for me, but he didn't offer, so I tiptoed after it, grumpily complaining all the way. As I retrieved the ball a shoe suddenly hit the ground next to me and was followed quickly by its twin. Did he want me to carry them for him?! I looked up irritably.

"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!"

"So you won't hurt your feet."

oh.

"Thanks!"

I slipped my feet into the shoes, which by the way were miles too big and hot and sweaty to boot (Aaron jokingly offered me his socks, too, but I figured I was better off without them.) and painlessly tromped across all the nasty gravel to the house.

A little thing you say? Yes, but it represents a willingness Aaron has to do things for others that really blesses me.

Hooray for brothers.

(Aaron, now that I've been so nice to you, how about giving me a couple extra quarters of an hour next time its your turn for the pc? )

THE Beetle

The bug is about one inch long.

Night of Horror (or Blood-sucking Beetles Blunderingly Burrow into Bria's Brain)

I suppose that I should keep standard protocol and warn Claire to beware if the title hasn't already warned her off.

Now to begin the tale:

On Sunday evening Elizabeth, Katherine, and I went for a dip in our pool. We swam awhile and had great fun. So far so good.

Around nine thirty I decided it was time to rinse off in the pool shower. I happily began to wash my hair in the warm water. Suddenly, I noticed A Strange Feeling in my ear. It felt as if there were a lot of water clogging my ear. Not liking this feeling, I shook my head on one side and gingerly poked my finger in. It met something hard and crunchy with legs. The crunchy thing Wiggled and Disappeared into my Ear.

Naturally I did not take this turn of events calmly. I frantically shook my head and banged my ear, but to no avail. At this point I knew that it was time to scream.
And laugh. The whole situation seemed so ludicrous.

So screaming and laughing in a frantic way I raced out onto the pool deck, leaving the shower running. I could feel the Thing working it's way up my ear canal. My ear felt tight and hurt a little and there were odd scratchy noises. I started to panic a little. Actually a lot. What if it never came out? It seemed like such a stupid thing, to let a bug crawl up your ear. How grotesque!

Elizabeth and Katherine weren't sure of what to do, so while they deliberated I did a strange running dance up to the house. I would run a few steps and then dance on one foot, shaking my head on my side, boxing my ear. It occurred to me that maybe the bug, or whatever it was, was trying to crawl up, so I tried tipping my head the other way, but that was scary.

I could see Daddy through the kitchen window, so I frantically banged on the window and clearly signalled that there was a giant bug (or something) in my ear. He didn't seem to understand, so I raced around to the door. By this time I was crying in a strange sort of way. My ear was hurting, and I was really starting to panic. Every time I would calm down I would visualize a bug tunneling in my ear and would go off into hysterics again.

Once I was inside the family gathered around to assist. The Thing was not in sight, as every member of the fam pointed out after peering down my ear canal. Through my uncontrolled shrieks and and all the uproar I had created I dimly heard suggestions. Aaron helpfully pointed out that the Bug couldn't go past my ear drum. Daddy suggested getting a q-tip and honey to stick in my ear to get it out. I reasonably suggested calling 911 and wondered how on earth they would get a bug out and how on earth I was going to make it through my ordeal. Mama stood still and prayed out loud and subsequently had a brilliant idea.

"Light!" She said. I wondered if this was part of her prayer, but it wasn't. Get me a lamp, she said, and got one herself. She tipped the lamp standing by the doorway and held it to my ear and commanded someone to get a flashlight. Daddy obliged with an absolutely gargantuan one. Once this was held to my ear the wiggling and pain increased, but it was moving out.

Daddy and Aaron gasped. My whole family was peering into my ear. I was grossed out myself and couldn't stand still, so Mama held me and made me. I tried not to look at the horrified faces around me. "It's coming...coming...ewwww....almost there...hang on....disgusting..."

And then it was out. Aaron ran for his camera and documented the size of the lovely little, or not so little beetle. He hopes to publish a picture of it shortly.

Well, that's enough for now. I'm startig to feel sick thinking about it again. It seemed like a good story, but now that I'm rehashing it...The moral of the story is that mothers are great and that prayer works and the strength of the human spirit will prevail. (just kidding about the last one)

Fair Warning

Since my last post I have done the following:

(ahem)

~graduated from highschool
~gone to my last Girls' Week
~riden a dirt bike for the first time
~been to the Family Convention
~taken my first real voice lesson
~laughed a lot
~cried a lot

and....

~HAD THE MOST DISGUSTING EVENT OF MY LIFE HAPPEN!!!!!! I will share the details at some future time when I'm less tired.