the Son's maiden

Life

2008-12-29T14:52:00.000-08:00

Question A: Do you ever wish life was more simple? Do you ever feel like life plops 50 ft steel block obstacles on your path at least every couple miles? In short, do you sometimes feel thwarted at every turn?

If so please answer question B

Question B: If you could eliminate one thing from your life to make it more simple what would you eliminate? I'm curious.

Tonight We're All Lit Majors ;)

2008-09-02T20:37:00.001-07:00

It's a beautiful night tonight. A fall evening without the heat or humidity of August. My roommate is playing operatic music in a foreign language and altogether it's a perfect night to think thoughts and be pensive. . .

Left-handers

2008-02-24T04:25:00.000-08:00

Excerpts from the Left-Hander's Calender

For the edification and benefit of right-handers everywhere. Try not to be jealous. ;)

According to this excellent calender, Left-handers have . . .

MORE HEART
"The official Boy Scout handshake uses the left hand instead of the right. Although Lord Baden-Powell, the founder of the Boy Scouts, was ambidextrous, he chose the lefty shake because the left hand is nearer the heart."

BETTER WORKING BODIES
"According to neurologists, left-handers adjust more readily to seeing under water. Mark Spitz, a left-hander, is a good example. He won seven gold medals as well as breaking four world records at the 1968 olympics."

MORE BRAINS
"SAT research has shown that left-handed males perform better in the math portion of the exam than right-handed males"

"A study in the American Journal of Psychology reported that lefties scored higher on tests relating to divergent thinking and problem-solving."

They also.....

WORK WELL AS NUMBER 1
"From early on, left-handers realize that they are different from other individuals. . . . One of the requirements for a leader--real or aspiring--is that he needs to be able to anticipate what is going to happen, to think about things in ounconventional ways, to see himself as different from the rest of the pack."

AND ARE GREAT WORLD LEADERS
"Born on March 23, left-handed Egyptian pharoah Ramesses II built more monuments and major statues than any other Egyption king. His sixty-seven year reign marks the last peak of Egypt's imperial power."

Then there are things in the calender, which REALLY don't belong in any self-respecting book written by a left-hander. Like this quote...

"Did you know that left-handers may be in the majority among gorillas? Their left arms outweight their right, which could indicate a slight left-handed bias."

11:00 pm, est.

2008-01-13T19:58:00.001-08:00

Dear World,

Only two more days until Christmas break is over. I feel like I should write a sonnet or ode to Christmas break, but I lack confidence in my poetic skills. It would probably just turn out to be doggerel and make a laughable entry. Not that I'm against laughter. A smile can light up any day. I just usually endeavor to direct the laughter with me not towards me. Except for my brothers; they're allowed to laugh at me I suppose. Ties of blood and all that, you know.

This, however, leads me to an important observation. I believe you can tell how secure someone is in their creative abilities by seeing whether they write humorous or serious pieces of either poetry or prose. Some confidence is necessary to attempt any artistic expression. However, less confidence is needed to write a humorous work because if the piece flops and everyone laughs at it you can just say it was intended that way. Much confidence in oneself and/or one's audience, however, is required to broadcast a piece of a serious nature.

Anyway, that's my piece of philosophy for tonight.

Good night world.

Coming up next: excerpts from my "Why Lefthanders Rule the World" calender.

Hmm...

2007-12-27T16:54:00.000-08:00

Well, I guess I could write another blogpost. I've been meaning to for quite some time. But I had nothing to say. Then again, that didn't stop Beckett so why should it stop me? Nothing important has happened lately. I just checked and my grades still aren't in on Student Portal. It's only 7:37 in the evening, but it's horribly dark outside. Have you ever heard of seasonal disorder? It means you think the dark is depressing. Do you like the summer better than the winter? Do you function better with light? Do you flip the light switch on when you go into a room rather than sitting in the dark? If so, you likely have seasonal disorder. But let me move on to cheerier things. It's always better to look at the bright side of life and count your blessings, so here goes. Right now I'm listening to country CDs I got for Christmas. Now some of you might think that's depressing, but I'm rather partial to country. And my dear brother, Paul, underwent dental surgery which means I can use his car anytime I want too. Oh and my little sister told me I have a huge bump on my nose, which I'm sure was good for humility. And my family told me at dinner that I was the only one in our whole extended family who had attached ear lobes. Paul thought it was a rather animalistic facial feature. Let's see, what other blessings in this short life. A postal worker who didn't speak English very well rejected my box because it wasn't the right size. And the fitting room clerk at Walmart tried to make me abandon my little sister.

But hey, the Redskins only have to win one more game to make the playoffs. Life is good. ;)

My Friday Nightlife

2007-10-20T14:02:00.000-07:00

I've been neglecting this poor blog shamefully. Most of you probably haven't noticed or cared, but let me tell you just the same, I'm still alive!!! ;) And just to prove it, I present the following two posts chronologically summarizing my Friday night activities of the past two weeks. And for those of you who were complaining about my absence from cyberspace,

these are for you. :)

Friday, October 19

2007-10-20T13:32:00.001-07:00

Aley's Surprise Birthday Party

and my three favorite PHC girls :)

!!! 20 YEARS OLD!!!

Aley's an official adult now and no longer one of those irresponsible teenagers.
(No more sinister designs against Lagomorpha, okay?; )

Aley's first startled look. (Doesn't she look cute? :)

A yummy birthday cake

The lovely lit major who baked the cake and planned a very special party for her roommate.

Being demure and responsible.

(After all, we're all 20 now :)

It was a fun evening. :)

Friday, October 12

2007-10-20T13:13:00.000-07:00

The following minutes are from my Friday night meeting, which is more appropriately and mysteriously termed the (FNDLTS).

But first, let me present the pictures of the due paying members in good standing.

The Pontifex Maximus and Pirate Queen

The Anarchist & Parliament (aka Fairy Princess)

Honored Associates (membership rites still pending)

Gladiator & Mother Superior

Minutes:

1: Customary presentation of our motto

The FNDLTS Motto: “It doesn’t have to be moral . . . just interesting.”

2: Bylaws created with the particular assistance of our well-versed Gladiator

To whom it may concern:

We the undersigned, it having come to our most illustrious attention that the PHC community does not (as yet) have an equivalent to the Skull and Bones Society, and whereas we the undersigned find an absence of such a club unacceptable, unreasonable, and just plain absurd. Due to the indisputable fact that such a society similar to the aforementioned proposed society has much to contribute to the spiritual, ethical, physical, moral, mental, and psychological atmosphere on our campus, thus find it most necessitous to forge this new community henceforth set down by us (FNDLTS) and according to the following statutes:

3: Bylaws circulated among the masses. The following rules for the FNDLTS chapter of the Skull and Bones Society were proposed by various and sundry cafeteria dwellers.

1. The sacred credo shall be, “Semper ubi sub ubi.”
2. The executive office shall be titled: Pontifex Maximus.
3. Before every meeting, a bull shall be sacrificed on the steps of Founders Hall.
4. Don’t ever invite Lucas P. or Luke K. to be members.
5. At the equinox, ritualistic dances should be performed with blazing socks. (off-campus)
6. Members shall perform a secret handshake which shall include (but is not limited to) licking rocks and rubbing the head of the other member.
7. Candles shall be burned at the opening of duck hunting season.

4: According to previous agreement, the rules were accepted without alteration by the FNDLTS, but with some vigorous protest.

5: The dread knife ritual was imposed on certain miscreants who had created undesirable rules.*

*Dread Knife Ritual (DKR) is an ancient Celtic custom which involves the ceremonial presentation of a sharpened implement on the left hand side of an individual marked out for shunning while said individual is consuming sustenance. In more modern times, the FNDLTS has revived this custom and codified the precise punishment of one Friday evening not at their table for each knife presented. This shunning is effective as of the Friday meeting directly following the sharpened implement presentation.

6: Motion to remove the next topics discussed from the official minutes because of their private and sensitive nature was proposed and unanimously accepted.

Deer's feet

2007-09-07T22:20:00.000-07:00

These first two verses were the theme verses of my sophomore year and I’ve promised myself for quite some months now that some day I was going to post them along with the third one. So anyway, enjoy…it’s God’s word after all. :)

Habakkuk 3:17-19
Though the fig tree may not blossom,
Nor fruit be on the vines;
Though the labor of the olive may fail,
And the fields yield no food;
Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,
And there be no herd in the stalls—

Yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
I will joy in the God of my salvation.
The LORD God is my strength;
He will make my feet like deer’s feet,
And He will make me walk on my high hills.

:)

Junior Year

2007-07-19T14:54:00.000-07:00

How’s your summer been? Mine’s been amazing, but have you counted recently? There are only four more weeks of it left.

I work with 4th graders at a day camp so there’s lots of time when my body's occupied and my mind isn’t—time to think. We’re going to be juniors this school year; we’ll take upper division classes, think about internships, perhaps even receive respect and awe from the wide-eyed incoming freshmen (I wouldn’t count on that one :). As juniors, though, we’ll still walk the same sidewalk from Founders to the dorms, still sit in Redhill classroom one and wish the thermostat was set up a few degrees, still stand in the cafeteria line on Friday night and hope the mushroom-onion-sausage pizza lasts until its our turn. There will still be Frisbee games, dances, and waterfights, late night walks into town, and hours spent studying in whatever location suits our fancy at the moment. Will anything change because we’re juniors? Would I even want anything to change? Yes, I think I would. I know I quote too much from Anne of Green Gables, but I was named after her so it’s well—not exactly my fault. :)

This is from Anne Shirley after she finished her two year degree at the University prep school.

“When I left . . . my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. . . Now there is a bend in it. . . I wonder how the road beyond it goes--what there is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows--what new landscapes--what new beauties--what curves and hills and valleys further on.”

the empty mailbox

2007-06-08T19:16:00.000-07:00

It’s one of PHC’s favorite distractions. After Freedom’s or Western World class an observer can watch the daily ritual—the mail run. Somehow at home the mailbox loses its allure. In the two years you’ve been gone, the mail service seems to have forgotten about you. Except for the delightful influx of birthday cards and if you’re extraordinarily lucky a few letters from the longsuffering pen-pal who managed to remain faithful through the school year even when your sporadic replies invariably read: “Sorry I’ve taken forever to write. How are you? Well, there’s a paper due; more later.” Lately, however, my neighborhood mailman has become a subject of intense interest.

You look at the Spring academic calendar and read “June 5th—tentative date to mail grades”; June 5th was Tuesday . . . On June 6th the mailman comes and the mailman goes. A few bills, (I don’t mind that those aren’t addressed to me), an advertisement for a studying opportunity in some eastern European country, and no grades. June 7th is the same story only the mailman must have changed his route after 15 years because the mail’s coming 4 to 5 hours later than normal. June 8th, the mail is just as unpromising with not even a WORLD magazine to cheer the bleakness. And I live on the East Coast; mail from PHC arrives in one day!

I look up tentative in the thesaurus: “unconfirmed, indefinite, open to consideration.” Yes, that pretty much sums it up. Well, maybe tomorrow. Just another day and I’ll hold the grades in my hands, look at those decimal numbers, and . . .

Wait a second, maybe it’d be alright if the postal service took its time with that letter. ;)

Of Green Gables, Spies, and Decades

2007-05-29T19:32:00.000-07:00

-To those of you who like me are turning twenty or who are twenty or who have been or will be this golden age.

Many things have been said about arriving at the second decade and leaving the teens behind.

Anne Shirley said her teacher told her that “by the time [she] was twenty [her] character would be formed for good or evil.” I’m not sure that’s a very encouraging prospect. . . :(

Two Sundays ago, however, a guest speaker gave me a whole new perspective on turning twenty. He was speaking about the Israelites wandering in the desert and read Numbers 32:11, which mentions that after forty years of wandering no one 20 years or older was alive except for Caleb and Joshua. "Alright," the speaker said, "everyone who would have been dead raise your hand."

Staying nineteen is looking better all the time.

The Liberty Ball

2007-05-02T06:47:00.000-07:00

I went to the Liberty Ball to be efficient, productive, and bored. It didn’t work—it never does . . . I was going to wear an old dress. The dress was well-sewn and durable, quite proper for such an occasion. Then my mother bought me a beautiful dream of a dress that completely broke the matter-of-fact image.

But all was not lost yet. I was serving food at the ball and intended to spend the time cutting cheese slices, mixing punch, and making sure the other girls danced. This time Paul thwarted me. He asked me to go to the ball with him and the fun prospects of this dance began to look much too bright for comfort’s sake.

Still, I gave it my best effort. Immediately upon arriving, I cut my finger on a Sparkling Cider bottle and spilled a cup full of it. That, I’m afraid though, was the dying hiccup of a lost cause.
I got to dance WAY too much. It was pathetic; I was supposed to be washing cups not enjoying myself. And then the servers decided to be much too entertaining, and lively, and wonderful and totally SPOIL my prospects of a dreary evening.

By cleaning up time when the people had begun to leave I had given up all hope. I had a glorious time with Paul pretending I knew how to dance to break it down music and then ended up staying out until 2 o’clock in the morning with some friends at IHOPs.

Oh well, I guess I can let my plans be destroyed every once and a while.

Thank you guys for making it such an enjoyable time. :)

some thoughts

2007-04-08T20:05:00.000-07:00

1 Pet 1:22 “Since you have purified your souls in obeying the truth through the Spirit in sincere love of the brethren, love one another fervently with a pure heart . . .”

Last fall my roommate showed me that verse and since then I’ve been thinking about how one loves the brethren fervently.

In the negative sense of the command, it reminds me that I shouldn’t let myself be irritated by people—ever, end of story.

Though bearing with people might not always be natural, I think the positive sense of the command is still incomparably harder. “Self-sacrificial giving of oneself” is a glib phrase that comes to mind, but giving isn’t just about energy or resources. Loving the brethren means caring, listening, encouraging and building up even when it’s “out of your comfort zone” to use another trite phrase.

I Love Lucy

2007-01-03T20:09:00.000-08:00

After mature consideration I have decided that Lucy and Ricky Ricardo do not portray a healthy husband and wife relationship—that’s putting it mildly. ;) My family just bought a new season of “I Love Lucy” and have been laughing ever since.

I just saw the episode “Equal Rights”. In it, Lucy and Ethel decide they need to be treated exactly like men. From that beginning it only gets worse (and funnier) with a back and forth pranking of a scale worthy of the most audacious college student that finally lands Ricky and Fred in jail.

One only has to hope no husband and wife have actually acted like that...*ominous pause*

And if you haven’t seen “I Love Lucy” you really should!

Catching the Yuletide Spirit

2006-12-22T08:47:00.000-08:00

Let me start with a disclaimer; this post may turn out rather morbid. I thought as it was almost Christmas time I had an excuse. We have a tradition at our house, you see, of reading Jerome K. Jerome ghost stories on Christmas Eve. Actually, that's not quite true. I should say, Josh and Paul have worked hard in the last few years to establish a tradition of reading Jerome K. Jerome ghost stories on Christmas Eve. Dad never quite saw how ghost stories meshed with Christmas Eve or were a fitting encore for the Christmas Eve candlelight service. Thus, Josh and Paul and I sit out in the addition until the wee hours and read ghost stories by ourselves while the rest of the family sensibly goes to bed.

With Jerome K. Jerome ghost stories as my excuse, let me continue. Haven't you ever wanted to know what people would write in your obituary? I read a story once about a man who faked dying so he could read what the paper would print about him. Obituaries seem very ill-timed to me. By the time you're dead you really couldn't care less what people on earth think. And the live people already know what they think about you so why print it in a paper?

I'm sure you've seen the many blog and email things that get passed around from season to season: where do you see me in ten years, ask me any three questions and I'll answer if you do the same, if you could have three wishes what would they be? Personally, I think someone should ask, "if you were writing my obituary what would you say?"

I could ask that question to you. Then again, what if no one answered? This post would be left to stand awkwardly alone, uncommented upon and likely unread, a tribute to, I don't know, isolation perhaps? I wonder if blogs when uncommented upon have their own rendition of a certain time-honored saying. Perhaps blogs quote it like this, "Better to have posted and lost then never to have posted at all." ;)

Perfection Wanted, Apply Within

2006-12-20T11:12:00.000-08:00

Jobs. Why, you wonder, am I thinking about jobs less than a week into Christmas break. Foresight, that’s why. Remembering how I swore I was NOT going to work at the tax company again last summer and did anyway I decided to research my options for this coming summer.

So job researching began. I sat down for a think session. How do you make people give you money? And yes, robbing banks, blackmailing, and ransom notes are entirely out of the question. I decided to work it from a negative angle first. What do people not pay you for? Let’s see, reading the Scarlet Letter and All Quiet on the Western Front and then a few fantasy and romantic adventure novels thinking they can't ruin your mind too much after reading almost classics, writing a humorous story about college life with some anecdotes all too close to the truth for comfort, baking five trays of cinnamon buns and using up all the butter in the house.

Let’s see here, I could work at a facility that takes care of underprivileged infants and toddlers. I visit the place. “Maryland,” says the lady, who protects her territory like a bulldog, “doesn’t have daycares for just underprivileged kids.” Instead, it seems, Maryland gives them vouchers to go to regular daycares. I suppose that’s good. I wouldn’t want any little Oliver Twists stuck in dark corners with dilapidated Mr. Potato Head sets. But I don’t want to take care of some rich two incomes family’s spoiled kid either.

So, I stop by at Starbuck’s on my bike ride. Slowly opening the door, I am greeted by the homey smell of coffee and baked goods while quiet Christmas music jingles cheerfully in the background. Neat little clipboards of applications smile up from a shelf. Round wooden tables snuggle cozily on the stone floor. It is all very quaint and inviting, but . . . the size of the store! Personally, I think it looked like it was 10 by 15 feet, but I could have been underestimating a little. Whatever happened to wide open spaces, America home of the free and the brave?

You know, Montgomery County pays several hundred dollars to foster an infant for a few weeks. Wouldn’t that be a fun? I’d make sure the babies grew up to be respectable citizens (er…respectable three months old) and never, ever let them stick their fingers into electrical sockets. Only you have to be 21 and take nine weeks of classes. . . What IS the County thinking? Anyone capable of evaluating Rousseau’s state of nature theory must also be able to take care of a few foster people, don’t you think?

Anyway, don’t worry about me, I’m going to find it one of these days. Somewhere out there is an amazing, gloriously wonderful, love of a job. The kind you wake up early for just so you can savor those few moments of glorious anticipation waiting for it to start.

When I find it, I'll tell you, okay?

I'm home!

2006-12-14T20:49:00.000-08:00

>>Les Miserables! I think in French it means something like the Miserable Ones, but the sensation I felt this afternoon was anything but misery. Five minutes after I walked in the house door, Beth handed me two early Christmas presents from Mom. The piano book AND the CD for Les Miserables! I wasn’t quite rendered speechless, but it was something pretty close.

I’ve been living among French laborers all day with revolutionaries on every side while a priest and two golden candlesticks preside. The clash of swords, the smell of gunpowder, Cosette’s childish voice singing “Castle in the Cloud”, are mixed together in my mind. I see jail bars and love notes side by side. The branded numbers on a grimy arm stand beside a girl’s heart, which she has already given away.

>> What is my favorite song? I scarcely know, but this one catches the contrast of the two worlds.

Red - the blood of angry men!

Black - the dark of ages past!

Red - a world about to dawn!

Black - the night that ends at last!

GRANTAIRE: Red...

MARIUS: I feel my soul on fire!

GRANTAIRE: Black...

MARIUS: My world if she's not there!

ALL: Red...

MARIUS: The color of desire!

ALL: Black...

MARIUS: The color of despair!

I know what I'll be playing in Nash auditorium for study breaks next semester.

Mexico

2006-12-09T19:42:00.000-08:00

Have I ever mentioned that Mexico is a beautiful country? It’s sunny, warm, and I bet there are no overpowering gusts of polar tempests like the ones that almost blow you over when you make the mad dash from Founders to D1 at 1 am (excuse me 12:58am and 55 seconds).

I think I’ll simply not show up at 8 am on Monday morning for the Western World final. I’ll burn my 30 page plus study guide on top of my sink in flagrant disobedience of the student handbook and abscond. I’m sure I could get a job teaching Mexican orphans; Dr. Veith might even let it count for internship credit. I’ll make my appearance back on campus in time for the Liberty Ball when the flowers are bursting out of the ground, the sun is bright, and the birds are twittering above my window pane.

Until then...

Words

2006-12-05T15:53:00.000-08:00

I have words, hoards and masses of words. They’re bouncing around in my brain, racing up and down my fingers, beating against my ribcage, fighting to get out. But these words aren’t about Martin Luther and the trialogue discussion of his reformation, nor do they briefly summarize the Conte reading about Lucan or whatever that guy’s name was. These words are of higher, nobler things; closer, dearer things; exciting, more exhilarating things. Why should these words be suppressed? Why should such warm, potent words be thrust into a soulish sack and locked behind steely bars? Why grasp around in odd parts of your being trying to scrape together a little pile of words about St. Benedict and Erasmus when such tumultuous, beautiful words are rattling their prison bars asking, begging to serve you and so win their liberty? Child abuse, someone screams! You're a dirty, low-down bully to pick on these fledging words that never have had a chance to try their wings! Why should such repression be allowed in these fair lands, such rank inequality, such slavery permitted in modern times?

Because Professor Moger and Dr. McRoberts ordered a take home test and a Conte summary by next week, that’s why...

Alas, is not this how all attempts at just societies end? The world can be a free and equal place just so long as no one’s pocketbook is touched…or personal comfort zone…or G.P.A.

Best wishes on everybody's final studying. ;)

November

2006-11-25T20:07:00.000-08:00

Did it ever strike you that November is a melancholy month? The moment you step out the door a cold wind slaps a breathy gauntlet against your cheek knowing full well that you are too weak to accept the challenge. The festive red and orange leaves do their best to be joyful, but are quickly silenced by a penetrating dampness that oozes slowly down from the sky sliding from one leaf to another on its journey down. Even the sun deserts you, rising tardily as if to say “I don’t want to see you” and running away early with a hasty “I have another engagement, Bye!” On Thanksgiving, bunches of American humanity try by raw willpower to oppose the November tide. Rows of little Pilgrim and Indian manikins stretch forced grins across square teeth. A walloping turkey is produced and plopped on the dinner table. November laughs into the fat cheeks of the bird, “You think my grasping arms of despair are to be so easily avoided? Ha!”

Thanksgiving break’s been wonderful: being with family, seeing relatives, going to my home church…

But um, yeah . . . my mom says my blogposts are unrealistically cheerful and I'm trying to remedy the situation.

Cyrano de Bergerac

2006-11-13T19:33:00.000-08:00

Cyrano is officially over. At least as over as any Eden Troupe play ever is. (I still find myself animatedly discussing Macbeth and that was completed more than a year ago.) I operated one spotlight for Cyrano and thus had the pleasure of seeing it all the way through at least 6 or 7 times.

This is me ready to operate my spotlight; my special handheld radio is not pictured.

(Come to find out, though, they’re really not half as glamorous or fun as you would think to watch a special ops movie.)

Cyrano’s storyline is intriguing. While some parts are just straight out hilarious like Rageneau’s scene in the bakery or Cyrano’s colorful description of noses in Act I, there’s also a deeper theme going on. I’m not quite sure what Rostand’s point was in writing it. Was he advocating that Roxanne love a soul and not a dream man? Was he trying to philosophize on the loss Cyrano suffered because he was too scared, too proud, or too noble to tell Roxanne he loved her? At the end, Roxanne said she loved Christia’an/Cyrano only for his soul. One could respond, “Great”, but did Cyrano or Christia’an ever know or love Roxanne’s soul? One could, like Roxanne, berate Cyrano for waiting 14 years and then only letting the secret of his love slip out on accident. Yet, was Christia’an really any more open? It took Roxanne sending a special message to Christia’an by her cousin for him to dare to approach her.

But enough questions. Aley says I should be a Lit. major if I’m going to analyze a work of literature that much. ;)

The Cyrano play was amazing and the actors were superb.

….but I’m still hopelessly biased in favor of Macbeth.

“Hail, king! for so thou art.

Behold, where stands the usurper's cursed head.” --Macduff

“My thanes and kinsmen, henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland in such an honour named. . . We will perform in measure, time and place: So, thanks to all at once and to each one, whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.” --Malcom

2006-10-21T22:22:00.000-07:00

What do football and dancing have in common?—not very much to my mind. All the same, they’ve been mixing themselves up quite dreadfully of late. I noticed recently that I had a post about dancing followed by a post about football. Then, as if it wasn’t enough that last weekend I went swing dancing Saturday night and watched the D4 v. D5 football game Sunday afternoon, the activities squished themselves even closer together. This afternoon I watched a flag football game and this evening I went to a Contra Dance.

The Pictures

(football shot compliments of my photographer Tia)

The contra dance was glorious fun. At the last minute, several guys very courteously decided to come and thus the ratio of guys to girls was delightfully close for a contra. This dance, the first of the new school year, brought back memories from last year’s October contra.

Imagine me last year--nervous, inexperienced, struggling to figure out the ladies’ chain; think of me tonight-- calm, collected, gliding across the dance floor. Last year, hanging on each word of wisdom the caller dropped during the dance lesson, this year, barely listening as I perfectly executed each allemande, promenade, and swing.

Alright, so maybe I did end up completely losing Paul two minutes into the long line dance. And there was that guy that said I looked like a deer caught in a car's headlights. (I’m sure I needn’t mention that this guy was a townsperson not a true, gentlemanly PHCer.)

But these were just minor dancing incidents. ;)
--

So, it was a lovely evening and I could have danced all night. With that I’ll close and promise to try very hard to keep both football and dancing out of my next post, but I can’t promise anything....

Redskins vs. Cowboys

2006-09-18T09:27:00.000-07:00

Redskins vs. Cowboys—the words are reminiscent of the Lone Ranger and Tonto, the Rifleman, High Noon—but there certainly weren't any six shooters or buckskin leggings last night in the Redhill lounge. And tacos, chips, and pizza don't really qualify as pemmican. No, these Redskins and Cowboys were of a different variety.

At 3:15 Sunday afternoon Paul informed me that I was watching the Redskins vs. Cowboys game and that I was a Redskins fan. I did not protest. ;)

The people who believe that you have to go to a stadium to truly enjoy the energy and team spirit of a football game have obviously never spent four hours in D5. Cheers, boos, referee questioning, shouts of triumph in more decibels than I knew human lungs could produce.

I heard screaming in my dreams all night--but it was awfully fun...

Thanks for inviting me, Paul. And don't take the Redskins’ showing personally. After all, would it really be kind of them to thrash the Cowboys every time? Just think what it would do to that poor team’s self-esteem.

A Moonlit Dream

2006-09-09T20:01:00.000-07:00

If you're going to dream, if you're going to build castles in the air, if you're going to fly up on the wings of fancy and for a few moments believe it's real, choose a night like this one.

The moon looks almost orange tonight rising up over the misty waters of Lake Bob. It's an eerie shadowfilled orange glowing through the wisps of clouds that cover it. The grass behind the lake will stain your feet, the hollows in the ground by the basketball courts will twist your ankle, but the trees won't repeat the secrets you whisper to them by moonlight.

No one else, I think, can dream quite like a sophomore. A Freshman's castle in the air is too limp. They scoop their building blocks from molten rock, which always flows always changes, while a thousand different blueprints litter the construction site. A Senior's castle is too solid. Hard marble blocks are piled securely with fine mortar inbetween. The lofty things of dreams have now cemented and slowly drifted down to rest on solid ground.

But Sophomores', yes Sophomores' castles in the air are different. The blocks are solid enough to hold their shape, but they can still float aloft and scrape the clouds. A Sophomore's pen and ink lie beside a sheet of paper--what blueprint shall he draw?

Other things are bound by limits. You can buy only as much as you have to spend. You can 'play' only as many hours as free time that you have. You can travel only as far as you have gas to burn and days to squander. A dream by moonlight knows no such boundaries. For the price of a few bug bites you can make your castle rise far above the solid earthly ground. The realistic moon above can frown down all it wants. Tonight is a night of dreams, I'm a Sophomore, and I'll draw my blueprint just the way I've always dreamed it'd look.

First Swing Dance of Sophmore Year

2006-08-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

I think I spent more time in the air then on the dance floor last night.

My brothers and I at Glen Echo

I was swung aloft in the contra dance hold, flung to either side with my arms around Josh's neck, flipped over upside down and even almost swept across the floor. (Your technique was perfect Josh; my sweeping was at fault.) How does one describe an Aerial? They make the girl feel beautiful, estatic, and radiant all at the same time. I've never loved a swing move that much since I discovered dips at the Macbeth cast party!

The scientific mathmatical part of my mind

rebels at all this nonense; let's be rational here.

How can a simple reversal of gravity be that exhilarating?

.........*pause*.......

I don't know. All I know is...

It's glorious!

Thank you for a wonderful evening Josh and Paul.

Cakes and Other Natural Disasters :(

2006-08-14T15:05:00.000-07:00

Today I ate chocolate cake. Normally this would be a good thing. But it was a cake I made... *ominous silence* Why, why, WHY do I do these sort of things! It tasted fine, but it was broken in a dozen places. Half of it had stuck to the pan and had to be scraped out!

I know how to make chocolate cakes; I've been making them for almost half my life. What's happening to me?

I know how to cook. Last month, I baked carrot bread, chocolate banana muffins, cinnamon swirl bread, more; all first time recipes my mom hadn't even made before. They turned out perfectly. Okay, the chocolate banana muffin tops were a little bit flatter then they should have been--too much milk--but they tasted good. Have I pulled out so many staples, scanned so many documents, made so many folder labels that I've forgotten how too cook?!

The worst of it is I'm heading off to college in a few days. I love college--but this means I won't have a chance to restore my culinary honor! Maybe I'll skip home one weekend, let my Latin III translation disintegrate into dust, and bake a cake to bring back to school. The only thing is, my roommates and I couldn't possibly demolish a whole cake...then again, Paul will be at college…

But WHY did I have to do data entry all summer and forget how to spray a cake pan! As a magnificent then sophmore now junior brunette said to me this spring, "I'm not a feminist! Why should I have to work in order to go to college?"

On a brighter note....

Contrary to the predictions of an ex-Macbeth cast member...

The twins I helped take care of this summer were not abducted, kidnapped, murdered, or in any way harmed while under my charge. :)

Jerks or Heroes?

2006-08-08T20:38:00.000-07:00

ALL GUYS ARE JERKS!

I hate guys!

Thus said the 24 year old secretary at the tax company where I work. This woman, who has been very kind to me, sports tattoos in outlandish places and possesses a tongue piercing, a nose piercing, and a wardrobe the least said about which the better. Many without such trappings, though, share her sentiments. I stayed on-campus in-between the end of finals and graduation (and had the time of my life btw. :) A mixed group of PHC students walked into Food Lion at the rather unusual hour of midnight. The middle-aged Food Lion employee looked at us with perhaps merited distrust. Seven teenagers or twenty somethings out at midnight; that could look worrisome. She soon warmed up to us, though, and then proceeded to half seriously warn me and the two other girls to be careful around those guys. I didn’t tell her the only reason I was out in a shopping complex at that outlandish hour was because of ‘those guys.’ You wouldn’t have caught me out there at that time of night in all female company. With a trusty bodyguard of ‘those guys’, however, I felt perfectly safe.

If my secretary friend had known PHC guys, she wouldn’t have said what she did. If the Food Lion lady had known PHC guys, she wouldn’t have cautioned me. In one short year of college, the courtesy, chivalry, and consideration for the opposite gender that the guys at PHC have shown has astounded me. One can feel almost guilty sometimes, knowing how little one deserves such treatment.

For those of you in Dr. Smith’s Rhetoric, I was rereading some of the peer evaluation comments I had received about my dancing speech. Some of my audience seemed to gather from my speech that I had a low opinion of the representatives of the male gender at PHC. To set any such concerns at rest, I have the very highest of high opinions of PHC guys. (After all, how could I not with two such almost perfect brothers at PHC? ;)

Thank you guys for being such godly men and so unlike the world’s representatives of manhood who have caused my friend to believe, “All guys are jerks.”

And you females at PHC, you are wonderful too. So far, though, no one has told me, “All girls are stupid bums,” so I can’t write a post defending you. Maybe somebody will say something like that to me soon, but then again, maybe not. You wouldn’t catch a female saying something like that and as for the PHC guys…they wouldn’t dream of saying such an unchivalrous thing. PHC ladies, I guess you’ll just have to live with your praises unsung.

Death

2006-07-31T19:36:00.000-07:00

Death, people laugh about it, make jokes about it (Dr. Noe’s black humor), pay no attention to it, but sometimes death refuses to be ignored.

The 16 year old son of a family from our church was thinking about having a birthday party today, instead, he had a funeral. I never talked to J. much, but when there are 6 families in your church, you care about each person. How does a family recover from something like that? J.’s with Jesus, but his six siblings must carry on. The family members wrote essays about J. At the viewing last night, I thought for a moment what I would write if one of my brothers died.

How do you adjust to one less in the family circle—the empty chair, the empty bed, the unclaimed clothes?

I don’t know, I hope I never have to, but I think the agony would bring one a step closer to heaven. God commanded us to be heavenly minded and gave us instructions how to achieve this mental focus. [L]ay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, Jesus commanded and He gave us the reason why we should. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. A son, a brother; both are most precious treasures. Every day, ever hour, probably every minute right now, J.’s family is thinking about where he is…they’re thinking about heaven.

Why?--because one of their treasures is in heaven.

Cars

2006-07-23T19:09:00.000-07:00

Sandstone pillars, canyons, rivers, mountains, great wide plains stretching out to meet the horizon; the wind blowing, always blowing, rushes across it all. A dusty road climbs over the towering rocks, plunges into the deep canyons, cuts through the tufts of prairie grass. Route 66—I want to see it all. I want to speed along the rock ledges and look down, down miles below at the orange, yellows, and reds of the boulders hewn by some unseen Hand. I want to feel the wind on my face as I leave behind the civilized oaks and pines, the raspberry bushes, the Bradford pears that make a barricade, a wall to block out trespassers. I want to make off from their protective hedge and fly by parched grass, empty, never ending plains, the dusty round holes of prairie dog colonies. Seventy miles an hour, eighty, more, there’s no speed traps here, there couldn’t be. The thundering splendor of the rare river or even rarer waterfall, the few stunted trees, even the peeling paint and rusty aluminum of the ghost towns by the side of the track, whatever the road shows me I’ll see, I’ll love, I’ll pass on by.

Maybe Bilbo was right. It's a dangerous thing…going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you'll be swept off to. Give me four wheels and a road map and I’m gone. I’ll watch the sunset beneath the Rockies and rise over the plains. The breeze will sweep across my eyes and blow my breath away and I’ll laugh into it. Route 66—the mother road.

Last night I watched Cars….

2006-07-04T06:11:00.000-07:00

“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

A new nation incomparable to the others at its time. France had an entrenched class system with absurdly rich nobility and starving peasants; the US was the land of opportunity. Instead of the repressive African and Moorish regimes, the US had minimum laws and maximum freedom. England was built on the colonial system; Americans were willing to die to outlaw ‘taxation without representation.’

230 years have passed since America's founding.

We are a nation in the seas of time still relatively new and still incomparable to any other. Pakistani Muslims throw Christians in jail; in the US mosques stand side by side with churches. South American cocoa farmers were born poor, live poor, and will die poor; in America the grandson of an immigrant coal miner is a Ph.D. scientist. German officials fine and imprison homeschoolers; in the US homeschoolers win spelling bees, geography contests, and go to elite ;) colleges. Today should be a day of solemn rejoicing, of praise and thanksgiving, but what was the first thing I thought?—No work, I get to sleep in today! ;)

Pathetic?--probably. Will the country that defined liberty for millions slowly fade away merely through lack of advocates?

May God forbid. Pro Christo et Libertate.

2006-06-27T18:33:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to the Newest PHC Student!

Taking up the torch with which Josh illuminated my entrance to Patrick Henry College, I write to you of the latest G. to join PHC’s ranks.

This is Paul.

If you are expecting a miniature Joshua to report to Founder’s Hall at the beginning of freshmen orientation week, you will be surprised. First, there’s nothing miniature about the 7 inches Paul has on me. Second, he is quite different from Josh. For starters, Paul’s either much more reserved than Josh or much less, depending on the circumstances. When he gets in a crazy mood, Redhill watch out...unless by some strange turn of fate Dean Wilson places Paul in Oakhill. Now that could be a traumatic experience. Who would I root for at the D4 versus D5 football games? Brother against brother--or at least brother’s dorm against brother’s dorm--and me stuck in the middle.

But back to Paul. He’s of a more philosophical turn of mind than I, but I have no fear that he will become addicted to Plato or write sonnets about amillennialism when he should be studying. I’m afraid I can’t always say as much for Paul’s musical tastes. He professes to like country music. Then again, perhaps I drove him to it by playing ‘Matchmaker’ and ‘Do, Re, Mi’ too many times during his young and tender years.

Oh, and you should know about Paul’s swords. If you walk into his room here at home, you will be confronted by the glint of steel. He also has air soft pistols, knives, and other such manly implements, but I would say the swords definitely dominate. You know all those cool swords you saw Josh holding in profile pictures in years gone by; well, they belong to Paul.

Let me end with a few words of wisdom to my brother in the freshman class.

I encourage you to stay up past midnight to go to dances. I discourage you from staying up past midnight to play computer games. You mustn’t think of refraining from Frisbee or you will bring down disgrace on the G. name. You should probably take at least a minor part in Eden Troupe at some time to keep up the family tradition. But most of all, Paul, pleeease, don’t join fight club and get all your teeth knocked out!

I’m looking forward to having you at PHC!

Initial Blog Entry

2006-06-22T19:13:00.000-07:00

I like blogs. I read my brother’s blog all the time. I read the blogs of people who my brother links onto his blog. I read the blogs of people that are linked onto the blogs of the people who my brother links onto his blog. Reading people’s blogs is fun. You get to know all their deep, innermost thoughts and usually end up respecting them more in the process. However, many months ago I irrevocably decided against having a blog myself. I wasn’t sure I wanted people to know my deep, innermost thoughts.

What changed? Well, recently my mother has been encouraging me to get a blog. It would be fun, she said, I could read it while you were at school. Hmm…I chewed the thought over in my mind. Over the last nineteen years I’ve discovered a marvelous thing. Usually the ideas my mother plants in my head turn out very nicely if I try them. There are exceptions—I still think our Ceasar salads taste better chilled than at room temperature, Mom—but these are uncannily infrequent.

So there it goes, Dear Reader, my blog is created. Like it or not, you are going to have my deep, innermost thoughts shoved down your throat. I’m not under the delusion that my blog will create the massive heaps of respect that I mentioned in relation to reading the blogs of some of you, but if nothing else I hope you will be entertained.