Sunday, August 30, 2009


Well, I have exactly a week before I leave for the Domincian Republic. How can I describe how I feel right now? I feel as if I have left reality and am living in an alternate dimension from all the rest of the world. My stomach is filled with fear half the time when I consider that I'm about to go to a place that I have never before been. Excitement races through my veins at the thought of finally traveling on my own (well, with the group). Anxiety is my constant companion as my dwells on all the "what if" factors. Finally, I whisper to myself through all of these thoughts..."trust, trust, trust. trust in God."
As you can tell, I'm a bit distracted but hopefully posts will again be longer in the weeks to come. I doubt that I will find time to post everyday, though. Until next time, happy reading.

Friday, August 28, 2009

And Those Who Live

It is my strong belief that people have forgotten how to truly live. The humdrum of life consumes each and every one of us. We have lost the ability to be inspired by our surroundings. Our familiarity with life causes us to become unseeing of the joys and excitement of life. No matter how often we shrug off the monotony of life it always finds a way to re-ensnare us. Yet, there are stages in life that people seem to know how to truly live.

In the entire world, you will not find any other age group that is so enjoyed as those people who are between the ages of infant to five years old. To them, the world is new. Everything is awe-inspiring. After all, these are the children that have the eyes of adults following every movement or sneeze. Children live simply. They desire to be loved and to be fed. While adults have become callused to the beauty of rain, children are filled with wonder at how water comes from the sky. Children’s eyes sparkle with the question of ‘why’ and the desire to learn about the world around them. Adults, on the other hand, have possibly been through years of schooling and although found education pragmatic do not enjoy it with the childish excitement that characterizes a child’s view of the world.

Time is something that can be used against all of the human population. To a child, an hour is an infinite amount of time. Meanwhile, to an adult, an hour is simply the blink of an eye. Even though, these two age groups live in parallel realms, their relation to time is vastly different. This time difference can be blamed on the concept of responsibility. The child has no responsibility. Yet, the adult forgets to enjoy time. An adult is forever focused on the most efficient way to accomplish the current and next task. Of course, the child does not always enjoy how time drags. I, myself, have an acute memory as a little girl standing outside of my house bored to aggravation. I stood on the curb of my street and lifted my voice to the skies. My shout echoed throughout the street, “SomeBODY, COME play with ME!!!!!” I must have been an awful annoyance to my neighbors.

On the opposite side of the human population, there exists another age group that has through much trial and error learned to live. These are the humans that are often labeled decrepit by their sons and daughters. These old men and women have watched as their active friends and families have succumbed to death. Although a good many of the younger generation believe that this older generation is useless, the young generation could not be more wrong. For with age comes experience. To a certain extent, each must learn through his own trial and error. Yet, the young generation can save themselves much heartache if they untangle themselves from the constant rush of life to sit at the knee of someone that society has long forgotten. After all, the elderly have learned through experience how to truly live. Although they might have lost some of the awestruck wonder of a child through the drudge of life, these old men and women have learned what is most important in life.

Of the entire world, only the very young and very old know how to truly live life. They possess the ability to see life in a unique way. Children are adored and old people are forgotten. This should not be the case in our society. Instead, old people should be respected and cared for even as the children continue to be adored and cared for throughout their lives. We as a society and a people have so much to learn from those who have experienced life before us. Granted, the elderly cannot fully understand the changing times. Yet, the truths they know will be valid for all of eternity. Therefore, live life with the awe of a child and the wisdom of the old.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Restless as the Wind, Routine as the Ocean

A year ago, I sat in this very same spot. A year ago, my room was in this same state of chaos. A year ago, my belly was filled with a nervous fear of beginning my first year of college. This year, I have new fears. This year, the confusion of clothing and necessities are trying to compact themselves into one large suitcase. Yes, it does seem strange that I would be trying to fit all of my clothing for three months in one suitcase. You see, instead of returning to a regular first semester of a sophomore student at Bethel College, I am packing my bags and heading to the Republicana Domincana. I am doing a semester abroad.

First of all, let’s go in depth to my fears. Last year, I was experiencing the normal anxieties of a first year college student. This year, I am experiencing the same stresses that first time travelers experience. Of course, this is not my first time to travel out of the country. This is, in fact, my sixth time to travel out of the country. Yet, it is the first time that I go as an adult. It is the first time that I live in this other country for more than two weeks. It is the first time that I will have to depend on my ability to communicate in another language. Are you seeing reasons for possible fears? Good, I am.

The summer has flown by in a whirring of insect wings and the hum of air conditioners. Throughout the summer, I have done the normal things of seeing friends, working a job, and taking a summer course at the community college. It has been a restful time. I would describe this time at home as a summer nap where the sunshine warms your skin but does not fry it.

Although the surface of summer has been calm, I have had a time of learning currents underneath that ocean calm. Steadily, God has drawn me closer to himself using many different circumstances in my life. There were times this summer where I bemoaned the fact that I had been caught in the monotony of life and the stagnancy of staying still. This was never the case. The spiritual growth that occurred throughout the summer has been like the growth of a flower. Gradual. It has been so gradual that a person might see the growth right before them but not really see it at all until the rose blooms.

In two days, I leave for Bethel College. I will be there for about a week. Then soon after in September, I and my team will be boarding an airplane that will eventually carry us to the Island of the Dominican Republic. I am not sure how often I will send my chronicles out nor am I certain on how much internet connection I will have. Yet, I do know that I will desperately need your prayer. I also know that I will try to send out a chronicle once a month at least.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The Mermaids Singing

The Mermaids Singing by Lisa Carey is a book that I would not suggest. As the title implies, the book is much like the ocean that storms and then calms. When my sister asked what it was about, I said,
“Oh, it’s not that good. I wouldn’t suggest it to anyone.”
In which case, my sister wondered why I was still reading the book. In that moment, I could not answer. Yet, I pondered this question deeply because no matter how many times I set the book down I was drawn back to its pages.

The story that Carey writes in this book is not a new one. She focuses on the coming of age story of a young teenage Irish girl. It’s a tale of heartache and loss. Intermixed throughout the story is how sexual relations outside of marriage positively and negatively influenced three different generations of Irish women. In no way did Carey sugar coat any of her story. The characters’ losses are brutal and searing.

Truly, I cannot place my finger upon one reason that made me lift this book every hour. I tend to enjoy books that have a happily ever ending with a climax that is not too heart wrenching. The Mermaids Singing is filled with real pain and confusion. It is not a happy read, but Carey’s book is like human life. She shows the monotonous pace of the human life with the confusion of emotion so like the ocean with the continual tides and sudden bursts of storm. The entire tale runs together with one purpose to show how each character has grown and matured throughout the hardships and struggles thrown at them. Ultimately, the story focuses on the granddaughter and how her grandmother’s and mother’s decisions influenced her life.

I cannot suggest this book as an easy or simple read. Be prepared for something that is beautifully real. Carey has a unique way of tying the story together. The book is written from four different points of view. Surprisingly, confusion does not occur for the reader. The Mermaids Singing is almost like a mystery with so many loose ends needing to be caught. By the end of the book, none hang loose. With The Mermaids Singing, Lisa Carey wrote a powerful book that portrays the struggles of the past, present, and future.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Fruit Salad

I fancy myself a connoisseur of fruit. It is not only that I love to snack on fruit all throughout the day it is also the fact that I can slice or dice the fruit in a manner of seconds. There is probably not a fruit that you can find that I do not like. Well, unless you happen to stick your thumb into a pie and pull out a plum or a cherry or a grapefruit. Admittedly, not all fruit is to my liking but that does not change the reality that I am a connoisseur of fruit.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. People have been testing the validity of this statement for years. Is it true? I claimed to be a fruit connoisseur not a scientist. Yet, I do know that apples are a delectable delicacy. Of course, I think that Americans sometimes forget how wonderful apples are just because ‘they are as American as apple pie.’ Apples have become too familiar. That’s exactly why we must encourage children to create fun snacks out of apples. For example, apples make great lady bugs. Just use some toothpicks to attach raisins onto their red skin. My most recent favorite way to munch on this scrump-diddle-y-umptious treat is to dribble honey across the creamy white of the apple. There are so many ways to incorporate this sweet crunch into one’s day. I say,
“An apple a day keeps the summer munchies away!”

One fruit that I adore and have dubbed its flavor to be ‘what the sun would taste like if it had a flavor’ is pineapple. Only a couple of summers ago, I could not enjoy this strangely textured and acidy sweet fruit. I even had traveled to Panama and had foregone eating this mouth watering goodness. I was happily content to watch my friends greedily gobble the pineapple down. Only days after returning, I attended a baby shower. The only thing there that I would even consider eating was pineapple. After painfully swallowing the last bite of this horrid fruit, I thought my misery was over. It figures that somehow over that hour my tongue decided to acquire a liking towards pineapple. Now, pineapple and I are good friends. We are such good friends that while in college I got sent a pineapple in the mail. It was definitely a unique gift to give to a fruit-deprived college student. Unfortunately, all I had to cut the pineapple with was a knife blade that was about as long as my pinky. It took some time, but I finally got my little bit of sunshine and shared it with all the girls because nothing was getting between me and eating that pineapple.

As to the fruit that I am not especially fond of, I should probably explain to the best of my ability. First of all, I really cannot explain my dislike of plums because I have not quite figured it out myself. Perhaps it is the texture or maybe it is the flavor. You never know I might surprise myself and suddenly acquire a liking of the plum and then I will be begging that you pull a plum out with your thumb. Cherries on the other hand are a fruit that I have had a deep seated loathing for since I was a child. Blame it on the cherry flavored medicine. Yes, I know. Everyone cries,
“Fresh cherries are nothing like the medicine.”
Prove it. No, I will not try a tasting test. Ask my father about my abhorrence of cherry medication. When I was a baby, he had to give me medicine while screening his body with a shower curtain because I would show my dislike of the medicine by throwing it back up. Cherries and I are not friends. Grapefruit is something all together different. Oranges I like. Grapefruit are just much to tart for me and I know sugar will sweeten them up. Yet, I believe in enjoying the true flavor of a fruit. I thought it would be in my best interest to explain my odd aversion to these considered delectable fruits by some.

Fruit is the candy of the natural world. I can think of nothing as divine as sitting in a forest glade with strawberry juice dripping down one’s chin while bugs hum by on their little business missions. Not only does the fruit flavor categorize as the candy of the world but it also can claim to be the natural gems of the world. I have never seen anything so pretty as the deep ruby red of a cherry (I may dislike cherries but their color is fantastic) or the dark violet blue of a blueberry. No food group in the world shares the rainbow of colors as fruit do. Fruit should be admired for more than just its taste but also for its color. Therefore, I claim the title fruit connoisseur.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Summer Leisure

Perale placed her book down with a sigh and she leapt to her feet. Her bare feet lightly touched the porch as she hopped over her father’s feet. A moment ago, they had been sharing a companionable silence as they had both been immersed in separate books. Perale had just finished her book and it had left a delighted feeling within her stomach. As she bounced off of the porch, the grass welcomed her feet. Perale lifted her arms to the brilliant blue sky and spun in circles.

Perale breathed deeply as she felt her hair swirl in a circle behind her. The yard sloped and abruptly Perale realized that she was losing her footing. Yet, she continued to spin with a carelessness that she had not felt for a long time. Abruptly, Perale found herself falling backwards. There was nothing she could to do to stop this inevitable motion. Instead of fighting the fall, she happily gave into gravity. The grass welcomed Perale merrily as it had welcomed her feet a moment ago. As her back came into contact with the lush greenness, Perale’s legs flew up in the air. For a moment she felt as though she walked on the sky. Then her legs rocked back to the ground. Yet, Perale’s mind remained in the sky.

Her thoughts hovered there for long moments while her eyes roved around the world around her. Perale could not help but wonder why she had not lounged in the grass sooner. The moist sweet scent of the grass stimulated her thoughts. Perale combed her fingers through the grass reveling in how her fingers brushed through it. From the ground, Perale was aware suddenly of the vastness of the sky. Her thoughts returned to the blue that encircled the world and her.

As her thoughts hung in the sky, Perale’s heart had a strong longing. Of course, she knew it stemmed from reading a romance. To her, romances were like candy or junk food. She loved it, but sometimes it just was not healthy. After finishing a romance, she was always filled with this longing. With every beat of her heart, Perale could hear her heart repeating, “Oh, Lord. When? When?” She grinned to herself as she grasped a handful of grass in a fist. Perale adored romances, but she would not be caught dead with such a book in her possession.

Perale was abruptly pulled out of her musings when she heard the porch door slam. Her head came up as she twisted around to catch the figure on the porch.
“What are you doing, Perale?” Perale’s mother asked. When Perale merely smiled, Perale’s mother just continued, “Well, dinner is ready.” As Perale’s father unfolded himself from the chair, Perale slowly rolled into a standing position. She was not quite ready to leave her thoughts or the lush green grass. Yet, it was dinner time.

(picture is the compliments of folkin'around on flickr)

Sunday, August 23, 2009

The peeves of the pet

Blogs suggest honesty. They also encourage that one tells all. I have decided that in honor of all those who puke their feeling on relationships and other unnecessary things I shall delve into some of my pet peeves. Of course, I have a feeling that half of these will not interest you half as much as the gossipy dating circle. Therefore, I will spill my guts like many people ought not to do.

1. I abhor when a person quickly drinks everything within their glass. Simply because they miss the nuances of the drink itself regardless of whether it is water or wine. Small sips are ideal. Therefore, one has a full appreciation of the liquid within one’s glass.
2. Etiquette has seemingly disappeared from our society. Some strongly believe that chivalry is dead. On some points, I agree. Yet, I think we need to write a modern day etiquette book. Within this much needed book, the authors would strongly encourage every person alike to keep their texting to a minimum. For example, it is rude to text during meals at home or elsewhere, during movies/shows, and while carrying a conversation with someone else. Obviously the times are changing, but we must change with the times and create new ways to respect people.
3. One thing that I adore to do (yes, this does eventually come to my pet peeve) is to take walks and just enjoy the air, sky, trees, and the beauty around me. I could spend hours simply gazing at the sky. Yet, I find not many people even think to raise their heads to the sky. Actually, I have observed how many people watch their feet as they walk. I think this is a very sad existence indeed because it is true that one will not trip but it is also true that there is not very much beautiful or amazing about one’s own feet. I think people should lift their heads to the skies once in a while in appreciation of the clouds that float there.
4. Something that mildly infuriates me is the ease with which men audition and get accepted into dance, theater, and singing programs. Those are the days where I desperately wish that I had been born male. Of course, that is not the case so I am left wishing for a small part in any play.
5. I have found within my brief existence in the world that radio stations have a way of playing the exact same music as often as they can within a twenty four hour period. The reason I listen to the radio is to have the opportunity to listen to a variety of different quality music. Obviously, radio stations do not realize this fact.
6. Another thing that I have taken note of as I have strolled through many a mall is the two headed monsters with four legs. Have you seen them? I’m sure that you have. I think they are generally referred to as a couple. They are so “in” to each other that a fellow pedestrian has trouble telling where one ends and the other begins. They might as well become connected to the hip since they are attached everywhere else.
7. People who think that they are God’s gift to the world. I do not need to say anything more.
8. Girls have a way of conversing about boys like they are an object. The girls will gush and whisper and giggle over his abs or his eyes. Yet, they seem to forget the fact that he is a person with thoughts and a personality of his own. This is loathsome behavior to me because whether or not girls find a guy attractive they should not treat him if he were only a body and vice versa.
9. The art of reading is dying out. Thankfully, I adore reading. Yet, it seems that non-readers scorn those who adore reading a book or four. I think this is very sad indeed.
10. Society annoys me. It depends largely on all the norms and looks very badly on those who deviate from those norms. Yet, the confusion of society is very hard to decipher and make any sense of whatsoever.

There it is. The rainbow of my gut smeared across an internet page. I have honestly tried my best not to bore any of those people who happened to read this blog and yet have determined to be as frank as possible with my dislikes. Pet peeves are a thing that everyone has and I would sure like to hear more. (hint: leave a comment of your own pet peeve)

Saturday, August 22, 2009

The Appearance of Things

I have been working at the pastry shop for the summer. Almost every day, I pull on my skinny khakis and my green polo. Once at work, I tie on my apron and a little pastry shop hat. I enjoy the flow of customers and the displays of sweets. Throughout the summer, there have been some very odd customers. One day, a lady came in covered in tattoos and piercings seemingly from head to toe. Her entire body was a flamboyant piece of artwork. I had a hard time finding her face in all of the distraction. Yet, her sweet personality shone through and in the back of my mind I wondered what had inspired such a display on her own skin.

Then, there is the older man who comes in with his grown daughter to get his fresh cut apple pie with splenda. Every time, he enters he seems to make a beeline for me since I listen politely and take interest in what he says. He rants over the obesity rate in the United States and grumbles about the possible shortage of sugar in the world. This old gentleman amuses me to no end even as his daughter apologizes for his blunt frankness.

Of course, there is a man who comes in who shyly asks for different goodies from the breakfast case. He’s short with shy eyes that seem to shift back and forth. As he approaches the case, he almost appears to be apologetic for even considering buying pastries from us. After I bag or box up his goodies, I ring him up. Strangely, this man always seems to take every chance to absently brush hands with the girl he is getting helped by. Most customers seem to shy away from having direct physical contact with the shop girls but he seems to seek this possible touch of the hands.

Around lunch time, the pastry shop is frequented by a large amount of business people. One man came in quite dapper and excited. When I asked how his day was going, he literally sang the day praises. His world seemed to be full of sunshine. Then, his friend told him that we did not have cannoli. His aura of excitement faded a bit with this information and I could not help but coyly ask, “Is you day still ‘wonderful and fantastic’?” Immediately, he brightened, “Of course, it is. After all, I’m looking at you.” His answer greatly surprised me and if I hadn’t been at work, I would have raised my eyebrows. As it was, I was at work.

Then, there is the gangster man. He must make money illegally. There is such an air of mystery around him that there can be nothing but some dark secret that he is hiding. Every couple of months, this slight man will appear. His skin is that of a permanent tan and he has black hair. In every interaction at the bakery, he comes clad in a signature pair of tinted sunglasses. He has two sons and a beautiful wife. They expect the best and will have nothing less. He demands cakes of grandeur and whimsy. For one of his son’s birthdays, he demanded a “Nemo” cake. Unfortunately, my boss does not have the right to make that type of cake. He promptly offered her $500 flat and under the table for her to create such a cake. My boss refused. Eventually, they did come to a sort of compromise.

Once there was a woman of African descent who came to the pastry shop, she desired to have a coconut cake. After much hassle, we finally found a cake that my boss put coconut on for the customer. This woman with long stringy blonde hair who reeked of some unknown and awkward smell promptly ordered another cake to pick up the following day. She handed me her credit card and I swiped it. Suddenly, the machine stopped and flashed a message across the screen. I could barely believe my eyes and being a newbie had no idea what to do. The message was simply: CARD STOLEN. Calmly, I told the woman this disturbing news. Her eyes widened and she took the card back and paid with cash. Of course, when I told my co-workers this strange occurrence, there was a huge uproar about all the “should have’s” I should have done. The deed was done. My boss called the police but they could do nothing. The lady picked up
her ordered cake and nothing happened out of the ordinary except for her rank odor.

Occasionally, a man that no shop girl can forget comes into the pastry shop. He is a very tall man, but that is not the reason why he sticks indelibly in our minds. Perhaps, it is the lipstick that is smeared lopsidedly across his mouth or the blue eye shadow staining his eyelids. Or maybe it has something to do with his five o’clock shadow poking out through his foundation. No, I think what truly makes this specific customer unforgettable is the fact that he is seemingly still going through adolescence since he speaks in a high squeaky voice sometimes and then relaxes into a lower more masculine voice when he forgets himself. I’d like to ask him where he finds his shoes and how he finds shoes that big. This customer has a specific liking to a cookie referred to as the Florentine which is a caramel cookie only made in the winter. Although very sweet with a kind disposition, he is the oddest customer that I have ever come in contact.

We also have quite a few regulars. One of my favorite is a jeweler from next door. He comes in almost every day. Donald loves to have our cherry turnovers. He loves them best when they are almost burnt. The best thing about Donald is that his patience and calm seem to be as endless as the sky. He is an imposing man but appears to ooze kindness putting one right at ease with him. The regular customers are always a joy to see because you can trust them to have an even temperament and not have any hidden surprises of bursts of anger or resentment towards a poor shop girl.

Working as a shop girl has been great experience. A girl gets the opportunity to deal with all kinds of people. I try to patiently help crabby old women and to not gawk too much at a woman who has breast implants so large that it seems like she could tip over. A shop girl learns how to help an indecisive customer become decisive. Not only do we help hard of hearing customers, but we also get to cheerfully chat with those customers who have had a splendid day. We see customers so rushed that they seem rude. There are old men who come in and are shameless flirts. These particular old flirts always amuse me greatly because usually they are happily married. At the pastry shop, one can never know what type of people one will come in contact with for the day.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Subtle Lessons

This morning, my family and I went to a nursing home to participate in a service that is catered to the residents. As it is, the pianist had forgotten to come. My sister found herself stationed at the piano with a hymnbook in hand abruptly. Thankfully, her skills are far better than mine so the accompaniment was not bad at all.

The residents sat in a line of straight back chairs. Their wizened face peered out at us from their decrepit bodies. The majority of the congregation was women. If you happen to ever wander in a graveyard, you will notice that the almost all of the gravestones meant for couples already have one occupant usually being the male. Generally, this saddens my heart. Today, I saw them. These women who are waiting to die.

At first, I only looked at them how people generally judge books by the cover. I strained to see deeper and I began to wonder about who loves them. I wondered about the wild and crazy things that they had done in their youth. Lastly, I wondered if they still saw themselves as young deep in the recesses of their tired minds. As I stared at them longer, I began to see myself and my friends in their places in a couple of decades. Strangely, I was not afraid or disgusted. It's the pattern of life.

For the "special music," my sister and I sang "Come Save" by Sarah Reeves. While I did not know if they understood or could even hear the words I was singing, I knew that the music touched their hearts. Throughout the hour that we were there, we sang many a familiar hymn such as "Amazing Grace," "In the Garden," and "Blessed Assurance."

Yet, the thing I found most beautiful was after the service was considered over. My sister began to play an arrangement of Amazing Grace on the piano. I wandered about politely chatting with the residents. I tried conversing with one group of women. It was impossible because they had been swept away by the music. One kindly woman with darker hair was warbling along faintly to Amazing Grace.

This woman's fragile voice stirred something deep within me. Perhaps it was how the music cried for her to join in with the words or maybe it was how quietly yet surely she sang along. Even after she stopped abruptly and bashfully exclaimed that she didn't know the words, I still was filled with wonder. A moment ago, I had taken pride in my own young strong sweet voice. Now, those feeling were stripped away and I was left feeling embarrassed for those prideful thoughts. Her song must have been sweeter to God's ear than mine could ever have been because of my heart.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

July 22 2009
Dear friend,

I found a book called The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. In a way, it was suggested to me by a friend without the friend even realizing it. I don’t think I would normally read this type of book because it’s just not my type. I have to admit that it caught my attention, though.

Incidentally, I got the book from the library. I started it yesterday and finished it today. It was a journey. I felt as though I truly became the character and experienced everything he went through. The story was not quite sad, but very thoughtful. I always knew that I was a wallflower. After reading this, I know it to be true. Yet, at points during the book, I desperately wanted to stop reading. A lot of books sugar coat things. This one doesn’t. It faces the world head on. Actually, I entertained the thought of returning this book to the library more than once. I’d set it down with that intention and go do homework or watch TV with my siblings. Then, I would get bored and glue myself to facebook for a bit. I’d try to read the book again. Then, I would go watch TV and then go on facebook. Finally, I just read the book until I finished it. I don’t have a teacher like Bill to write an essay for about the perks of being a wallflower.

I listened to this one song called “Asleep” by the Smiths. I liked it a lot. It’s important that you listen to this song, too. The boy, Charlie, in The Perks of Being a Wallflower loved this song very much. It makes sense that he would. When I read about the song, I wanted to listen to it. I am listening to it now through the speakers on my computer as it plays from youtube. I think this is Charlie’s theme song. It sounds like him.

When I go places like the mall and have to wait around for my mother or somebody to finish their shopping, I like to watch people. I wonder what they are buying and whom they are thinking. Once I saw a mother and her teenage children at the bookstore, they were talking with their hands. The mom was deaf. I wondered how the kids felt about having a deaf parent. The boy goofed around in a very sly way. The older sister was very pretty and down to business. I wondered if the mother was born that way or if she had some accident when she was little. It’s interesting to see what types of people read different types of books. Most times, people fit their stereotype. Sometimes though, a normal looking girl will read a book about drainpipes. Why would she read something like that? She must be trying to fix something or perhaps she trying to impress someone. Or maybe she is just interested in the workings of drainpipes.

After reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, I immediately stood up and came to write this letter to you. That book created such a fog in my head. My brain hurts now. It had to try to connect all the dots that Charlie left out. Incidentally, Charlie has dealt with a lot of real things that get swept under the rug in society. That is why my head is still spinning. I felt like I was trapped in an account that gave only the facts and like a bad dream I was incapable of doing anything except watch. That’s it exactly. No wonder Charlie likes the song “Asleep.”

Love always,

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


Two of the most influential types of media in the world have to be the music industry and the movie industry. These types of media surpass all others because they not only entertain but cause people to think. For every emotion that one has felt, there must be at least a couple dozen movies that center on that feeling and at least a couple hundred songs dedicated to that emotion alone. Humans are uniquely influenced by these outside sources.

Ever since I was a child, I have been enthralled by history. This evening, my sister and I sat down to a movie that momentarily threw color onto my black and white pictures of the story of Anne Boleyn. We watched The Other Boleyn Girl. Although I am intimately acquainted with this story, the movie version was so much more painful and real than a skillfully written book could ever have been. I was appalled by how the men with the movie connived to use the women in their lives to gain their own material wants. I remarked to my sister, “Women were merely pawns and objects for men to use in their mad determination for power.” Yet, Anne Boleyn must have had a heart of a man because she proved to be just as conniving as or more so than any of the men that tried to control her.

Anne Boleyn somehow perfected an art that women have been trying to ensnare from the beginning of days. She figured out how to lead a ‘merry chase.’ By continually refusing King Henry VIII advances, Anne only maximized his lust. No wonder she was considered a witch. While the men could openly control the lives of the women in their families, the women had to learn how to subtly lead these very men on to their own women’s’ hopes and desires. This story is particularly tragic because of how all the counter ambitions ensnare each other in their own web of conspiracy. King Henry VIII moves right along to continue in the process of discarding many other women.

Throughout this movie, my emotions were in perpetual turmoil. I did not know who to loathe. At first, I hated the men who had so much open control of the women. Then, as the story progressed I found that their ambitious drive was truly for not. I pitied them. Yet, in turn, I began to loathe my own ‘weaker sex.’ Anne deemed merely a pawn by her father and all males upset the game of court. Although she began the game as a pawn, Anne finished as Queen of England. Somehow, I have a sneaking suspicion that Anne must have hidden a pair of pants underneath her billowing skirt.

A song that seems to be particularly appropriate for this story is entitled Keep Breathing by Ingrid Michaelson. The lyrics are simple. (the link for the song is below) Throughout The Other Boleyn Girl, the viewers can sense the oncoming storm even if they do not know the history of Anne Boleyn. Even in the darkest hours of the main characters, they somehow find the ability to keep breathing. It is a simple exhortation. One must keep breathing. And perhaps, in time, one may change the world indeed – for better or for worst.

p.s. the above portrait of Anne Boleyn is the compliments of rosewithoutathorn84 on flickr

And it begins

Finally, I, too, have been snagged by the blogging phenomenon. A month ago, I would have laughed if you said that you would be reading a blog post made by little ole' me. Of course, I have no idea of whether or not my writing will be favorably looked on by the internet world. Truly, I don't mind because this will be a place full of thoughts and analyzations. If you so choose to read my writings, you'll find cynicism mixed with optimism and fairytale stirred in with reality.

The title smorgasbord is appropriate for this blog. Honestly, it is. One may argue that the word 'smorgasbord' refers to a buffet of food. Sure that is the dictionary meaning but this word has a million possibilities. To me, it refers to the hodge podge of thoughts that float throughout my head during a week or a day. It stands for the a hundred and one decisions that one will have to make while shopping or even dining at the Old Country Buffet. In essence, I would like to warn any of those who deem this blog worth their attention that this blog was created to share 'a little bit of this and that.' For example, one day you might be tortured with a poem that I wrote myself and the next you might find yourself immersed in an amusing article focused on odd customers that one meets in a bakery.

As a newbie in this world of smorgasbord blogging, I must proclaim that you might be sorely disappointed in what I bring to this strange potluck. Granted, I will try my best to meet your expectations of excellence. Actually, expectations would be best left behind when viewing this blog as you will soon see how computer illiterate I am and how strangely random I appear to be. I feel that I must say, "Bon Voyage." as we set off on this new adventure of blogging.