I am working hard to make up for an inevitable gap in my assignments, pumping out prose about elliptical trainers and protein powder. At the same time I am running an 8-hour long documentary about the planets, called "The Planets." I am checking the news online very frequently (Alan has a classmate who's been lost in Glacier National Park for 3 weeks and we are very worried about his fate). And I'm filled with caffeine from Dr. Pepper and chocolate ice cream.
I think I've uncovered the location of a dimension hidden behind the fabric of space and time.
Needless to say, last night I dreamed of flying to Neptune, unaided by anything but my own willpower, guided with directions I found when typing into Google "directions from Wilmore, KY to Neptune." I think my brain is still there.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Just One of Those Weeks
Its just been one of those weeks. Lucy has been clingy and cranky, Alan and I have been arguing about everything, friends of ours received some not-so-good news after a long wait, and the school year is at hand. Right now the sky is rumbling, ready to usher in one last summer storm.
I know things always get better, every cloud has a silver lining and so forth, I just prefer the times when life is rolling smoothly.
I know things always get better, every cloud has a silver lining and so forth, I just prefer the times when life is rolling smoothly.
I`ve been waiting to awaken from these dreams-Jackson Brown
People go just where they will
I never noticed them until
I got this feeling
That it`s later than it seems
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
"I'm not an angry girl..."
This is the kind of year I've been having. It is amazing that even after bringing a new life into the world, bringing home the bacon, rediscovering the Church, and learning so many things about the stars and philosophy I can still let people around me make me feel like I'm a raving lunatic who should be concerning herself with other things.
Since I don't know what to say anymore, in defense of myself or what is dear to me, I'll let Ani DeFranco take it from here.
"Not A Pretty Girl"
I am not a pretty girl
that is not what I do
I ain't no damsel in distess
and I don't need to be rescued
so put me down punk
maybe you'd prefer a maiden fair
isn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere
I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I've got everyone fooled
every time I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
and imagine you're a girl
just trying to finally come clean
knowing full well they'd prefer you
were dirty and smiling
Since I don't know what to say anymore, in defense of myself or what is dear to me, I'll let Ani DeFranco take it from here.
"Not A Pretty Girl"
I am not a pretty girl
that is not what I do
I ain't no damsel in distess
and I don't need to be rescued
so put me down punk
maybe you'd prefer a maiden fair
isn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere
I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I've got everyone fooled
every time I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
and imagine you're a girl
just trying to finally come clean
knowing full well they'd prefer you
were dirty and smiling
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Bonnie and Clyde
I suppose I can blog about this now. When Alan and Lucy and I came back from Washington in June, we only had a few hours peace when a knock came at the door. Alan answered it while I changed out of my PJs. It was the cops, and they looked none too happy.
Now I have no respect for cops. Aside from my mother's brother-- who has too much of a brain to have been really cut out for it-- all the police I've encountered are generally small-minded and quite dense. So to see one standing in my living room, trying to intimidate us with his flab and jowls, put my blood pressure through the roof almost immediately.
To make matters worse, he starts asking questions about our whereabouts on such and such a date at whatever time. It happened to be the morning we drove to the airport, when we'd filled up on gas at a station where the alarm was buzzing. We thought we weren't allowed to pump gas at that time of the morning but I suppose the store was being robbed at that very moment.
So the big ugly cop tells me they have a picture of Alan walking into the store (which he didn't do) and wanted us to show him where we might be hiding the cartons of stolen cigarettes (which we obviously didn't have). Alan showed the guy around. He asked if we smoked, we said no. He asked why we had matches in our bathroom then. Alan answered to burn up the poop smell. The ugly cop said he didn't follow what Alan was saying. We tried to explain it again-- speaking very slowly and using small words-- but he just proceeded to talk about how if Alan had a confession he should give it to him sooner than later.
He actually told Alan "The deals get worse from here on out." Someone watches too much Law and Order!
He and the not-so-bad cop from our town finally left. And that was the last we heard of it. I can't imagine they ever had anyone on tape that looked like Alan-- people here ask all the time "What is he?" as if they've never seen a mixed race person before. When they venture a guess they sometimes ask if he's Russian or Middle Eastern-- no one in these parts looks like my husband.
We were rattled at first as this area has one of the highest rates of wrongful accusations in the country. But I suppose it has all blown over now and they caught the little punk who really did it.
Hopefully that was our first and last brush with the law.
Now I have no respect for cops. Aside from my mother's brother-- who has too much of a brain to have been really cut out for it-- all the police I've encountered are generally small-minded and quite dense. So to see one standing in my living room, trying to intimidate us with his flab and jowls, put my blood pressure through the roof almost immediately.
To make matters worse, he starts asking questions about our whereabouts on such and such a date at whatever time. It happened to be the morning we drove to the airport, when we'd filled up on gas at a station where the alarm was buzzing. We thought we weren't allowed to pump gas at that time of the morning but I suppose the store was being robbed at that very moment.
So the big ugly cop tells me they have a picture of Alan walking into the store (which he didn't do) and wanted us to show him where we might be hiding the cartons of stolen cigarettes (which we obviously didn't have). Alan showed the guy around. He asked if we smoked, we said no. He asked why we had matches in our bathroom then. Alan answered to burn up the poop smell. The ugly cop said he didn't follow what Alan was saying. We tried to explain it again-- speaking very slowly and using small words-- but he just proceeded to talk about how if Alan had a confession he should give it to him sooner than later.
He actually told Alan "The deals get worse from here on out." Someone watches too much Law and Order!
He and the not-so-bad cop from our town finally left. And that was the last we heard of it. I can't imagine they ever had anyone on tape that looked like Alan-- people here ask all the time "What is he?" as if they've never seen a mixed race person before. When they venture a guess they sometimes ask if he's Russian or Middle Eastern-- no one in these parts looks like my husband.
We were rattled at first as this area has one of the highest rates of wrongful accusations in the country. But I suppose it has all blown over now and they caught the little punk who really did it.
Hopefully that was our first and last brush with the law.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Success
I watched a spot on "Sunday Morning" about Stephenie Meyer, the author of "Twilight" and the subsequent books in the series. I wasn't familiar with these books-- they are about a teenage girl and a teenage vampire who fall in love and have to constantly dodge his blood lusting.
Anyway, it wasn't the books that struck me, nor the hordes of screaming teens who show up at Meyer's book signings, but rather her story. She grew up in a Mormon home and, like many good Mormon women do, married and started having kids. She wrote the first book in her series after having a dream about the main characters. Meyer pounded out the story in a summer in between her duties as a mom and housekeeper. She'd never written before, nor did she have any aspiration to become a writer.
When asked by the "Sunday Morning" reporter if she was afraid her fame would disappear as quickly as it came, Stephenie Meyer said no. It isn't that she doubted her success could go away overnight, its that her life was very happy before-- going back to the status quo didn't frighten her because the life she had with her family and old job were good.
This is a sweet kind of success. Our culture is rather fond of the passionate, all or nothing stories. But the goal of each person, whether success reaches your doorstep or forever eludes you, should be to strive for a good life.
Anyway, it wasn't the books that struck me, nor the hordes of screaming teens who show up at Meyer's book signings, but rather her story. She grew up in a Mormon home and, like many good Mormon women do, married and started having kids. She wrote the first book in her series after having a dream about the main characters. Meyer pounded out the story in a summer in between her duties as a mom and housekeeper. She'd never written before, nor did she have any aspiration to become a writer.
When asked by the "Sunday Morning" reporter if she was afraid her fame would disappear as quickly as it came, Stephenie Meyer said no. It isn't that she doubted her success could go away overnight, its that her life was very happy before-- going back to the status quo didn't frighten her because the life she had with her family and old job were good.
This is a sweet kind of success. Our culture is rather fond of the passionate, all or nothing stories. But the goal of each person, whether success reaches your doorstep or forever eludes you, should be to strive for a good life.
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