I like to refer to school as my love and hate relationship.
"Am in in a relationship?" my grandparents often ask.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" ask my relatives at all the major holidays.
"Of course!" I often reply. "His name is School."
It's true, really. Every relationship consists of giving and taking. School takes my time, and I give it my time. Hard work is essential in any relationship. You can't be lazy and ignore your significant other. I put hard work into my studies. I write and study and read and even have writing calluses!
Well that was a fun analogy. It's quite true, though. School is so very important in my life. I try my best to get good grades and my efforts result in excitement or disappointment. I'm constantly thinking about college. Sometimes it seems that so much of a young person's life, in today's world, is stolen away by school and pressure and stress and that American "let's-do-work-to-make-more-work" mentality.
Suddenly God's voice is drowned out by my racing thoughts. That test tomorrow! Did I study? Did I write that paper? I can't go to church tonight, because I have too much homework. Did I do those chemistry problems? And how can I succeed in the future unless I am perfect? What college will want less than the best? How will I pay for college? The thoughts go on and on....
That's when I need to distance myself from my love and hate relationship. I need some space. "It's not you, it's me." I say to School. "I need time alone to refuel and rest, so that I can have a better relationship with you in the future."
Thursday, December 15, 2011
My Favorite Books (A List and Explanations)
My favorite books are listed here in no specific order. I love them all so much that listing them from greatest to least is impossible.
1. The Hobbit, by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. (Published 1937.) This is the book that I read every Christmas. Don't ask me why. (Even I don't know.) But I read it each Christmas with coffee and hot chocolate and tea. I love the characters: brave and curious Bilbo Baggins, who is quite content with a quiet pipe-smoking home life but is thrust into the world of adventure; tall, old Gandalf, with his bushy eyebrows and pointy hat, is my favorite wizard character; and with all of the elves, dwarves, and one gigantic dragon... what more can you ask for? This book is witty and the story of Middle Earth before The Lord of the Rings is epic.
2. Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte. (Published 1847.) This book bothers me to no end. That said, it is one of my favorites, probably, because it puts me in such a stir. A book must be good to make me feel anxious, angry, curious, and happy all at once. Heathcliff, oh Heathcliff... such a brooding character, and then Catherine... so selfish, but still worthy of sympathy! Just read it. Get past the first few chapters and muddle through the impossible-to-read speeches of the Joseph character and then enjoy the turbulent, heart breaking, but incredible ending.
3. The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. (Published 2005.) This book is about a young girl named Liesel Meminger as she lives through Germany during the time of Hitler and the Nazis. She lives with foster parents who hide Max, a Jewish fist-fighter. Liesel loves books and does steal a few, but one of the most important books is a black book that she writes in as a diary. This black book is dropped in the street when Liesel's town is bombed. (This is the part of the book that I cried my eyes out in.) The black book is picked up by the narrator of the book: Death. Death is a character, and he talks through the whole book. That is one of the reasons this book is so interesting. You must read this book! It is so beautiful and realistic, even with its quirks, like having a narrator that is Death. It is such a powerful story.
Needless to say, if you know me, that these aren't my only favorite books. Here are a few more.
The Harry Potter Series, by J. K. Rowling.
Dracula, by Bram Stoker.
A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.
A Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger.
Walk Two Moons, by Sharon Creech.
And many more!
1. The Hobbit, by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. (Published 1937.) This is the book that I read every Christmas. Don't ask me why. (Even I don't know.) But I read it each Christmas with coffee and hot chocolate and tea. I love the characters: brave and curious Bilbo Baggins, who is quite content with a quiet pipe-smoking home life but is thrust into the world of adventure; tall, old Gandalf, with his bushy eyebrows and pointy hat, is my favorite wizard character; and with all of the elves, dwarves, and one gigantic dragon... what more can you ask for? This book is witty and the story of Middle Earth before The Lord of the Rings is epic.
2. Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte. (Published 1847.) This book bothers me to no end. That said, it is one of my favorites, probably, because it puts me in such a stir. A book must be good to make me feel anxious, angry, curious, and happy all at once. Heathcliff, oh Heathcliff... such a brooding character, and then Catherine... so selfish, but still worthy of sympathy! Just read it. Get past the first few chapters and muddle through the impossible-to-read speeches of the Joseph character and then enjoy the turbulent, heart breaking, but incredible ending.
3. The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. (Published 2005.) This book is about a young girl named Liesel Meminger as she lives through Germany during the time of Hitler and the Nazis. She lives with foster parents who hide Max, a Jewish fist-fighter. Liesel loves books and does steal a few, but one of the most important books is a black book that she writes in as a diary. This black book is dropped in the street when Liesel's town is bombed. (This is the part of the book that I cried my eyes out in.) The black book is picked up by the narrator of the book: Death. Death is a character, and he talks through the whole book. That is one of the reasons this book is so interesting. You must read this book! It is so beautiful and realistic, even with its quirks, like having a narrator that is Death. It is such a powerful story.
Needless to say, if you know me, that these aren't my only favorite books. Here are a few more.
The Harry Potter Series, by J. K. Rowling.
Dracula, by Bram Stoker.
A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.
A Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger.
Walk Two Moons, by Sharon Creech.
And many more!
Christmas Advertisement Sentence
"You'll have jealous neighbors!" + "Get in the Christmas spirit by putting up these eye-catching trees." = "You'll be torn between getting in the Christmas spirit and making your neighbors jealous when you put up these eye-catching L.E.D light trees!"
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Writing Letters
If I had the chance to correspond with a person, real or imaginary or written, it would be Sherlock Holmes. He is, in my opinion, one of the most interesting characters ever written. I mean, I could write him if there was a homicide in my backyard, my sister Emily was missing, or even if I lost a sock! He'd figure it out, for sure. Give him the facts, a wardrobe of disguises, and a few moments to think. He'll solve the case.
Not to mention, he lives in London. All of my letters would be addressed to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street, London, England. I could write to him for help on my chemistry homework, suggestions for defensive fighting techniques, and even where to buy the best pipes and tobacco. (Though I would never need those things, Mr. Sherlock did occasionaly partake of them. Or more than occasionally.)
Although Holmes has an incredibly logical mind, he happens to be a major messy person. "Bohemian" as Dr. Watson, Holmes' friend and case-partner, describes him. In one story, Holmes keeps his papers fixed to the mantel piece with a knife and his tobacco in a Persian slipper on the rug. I think that's one thing I love about him. See, my room is messy, too, but in my mind it all has a place and is perfectly normal. Sherlock is eccentric and random and I am quite sure his letters would be very interesting.
They would either be filled with details or quick and short, depending on whether he was relaxing in some mansion in England, or working on a case. Either way, I'd still love to write the great Sherlock Holmes. Unfortunately, he isn't real. And if he were real, he would be dead.
But I can still "communicate" with him, through his stories. (Written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, my second choice for a pen pal.)
Not to mention, he lives in London. All of my letters would be addressed to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street, London, England. I could write to him for help on my chemistry homework, suggestions for defensive fighting techniques, and even where to buy the best pipes and tobacco. (Though I would never need those things, Mr. Sherlock did occasionaly partake of them. Or more than occasionally.)
Although Holmes has an incredibly logical mind, he happens to be a major messy person. "Bohemian" as Dr. Watson, Holmes' friend and case-partner, describes him. In one story, Holmes keeps his papers fixed to the mantel piece with a knife and his tobacco in a Persian slipper on the rug. I think that's one thing I love about him. See, my room is messy, too, but in my mind it all has a place and is perfectly normal. Sherlock is eccentric and random and I am quite sure his letters would be very interesting.
They would either be filled with details or quick and short, depending on whether he was relaxing in some mansion in England, or working on a case. Either way, I'd still love to write the great Sherlock Holmes. Unfortunately, he isn't real. And if he were real, he would be dead.
But I can still "communicate" with him, through his stories. (Written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, my second choice for a pen pal.)
The Rain
I love listening to the rain on my window. I love the soft tap tap tap of rain drops as they fall to earth. Of course, I don't like the frizz mess my hair is, or the muddy ground, but those are small complaints when compaired with the beauty of earth-refreshing rain.
Often I think of England when I look outside my window onto rain-drenched scenery. The people in England probably don't enjoy it that much, but I would love to be in England when it rains. (I'd love to be in England even when it isn't raining.)
I think of all the rain that inspired great poets to write. Here is a part of a poem by Emily Dickinson:
"The pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves
Her unintending Eyes,
Took her own Heart, including ours,
By innocent Surprise."
The same emotion that fills me with such longing when it rains once inspired their written work.
There is something gloomy about the endless haze and fog that often accompanies rain. Sometimes the rain makes us sad. We feel weary and dreary and anxious to be home, curled up in warm blankets. But I also love the rain for that very reason. I find myself thinking about life more when it rains. I spend time with my family, or reading, or relaxing when rain falls. It is one of my favorite things.
Often I think of England when I look outside my window onto rain-drenched scenery. The people in England probably don't enjoy it that much, but I would love to be in England when it rains. (I'd love to be in England even when it isn't raining.)
I think of all the rain that inspired great poets to write. Here is a part of a poem by Emily Dickinson:
"The pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves
Her unintending Eyes,
Took her own Heart, including ours,
By innocent Surprise."
The same emotion that fills me with such longing when it rains once inspired their written work.
There is something gloomy about the endless haze and fog that often accompanies rain. Sometimes the rain makes us sad. We feel weary and dreary and anxious to be home, curled up in warm blankets. But I also love the rain for that very reason. I find myself thinking about life more when it rains. I spend time with my family, or reading, or relaxing when rain falls. It is one of my favorite things.
Knitting, My New Hobby
My recently aquired hobby, knitting, is absolutely amazing. If you are a person who sky dives for adrenaline rushes, you may not agree, but if you are a knitter, you know that knitting itself is a type of adrenaline rush. I'm serious. The satisfaction of completing each row of stitches, and eventually finishing your project, is very pleasing.
I am knitting a scarf, much like Joseph's cloak of many colors, and it is coming along well, albeit slowly.
If you don't know how to knit, or have tried and found it disagreeable, I can assure you that I understand. There is nothing as frustrating as messing up a scarf, losing a stitch, picking up a stitch... and the list goes on. I am the slowest knitter I know, but I am sticking with it!
Some of my knitting buddies can knit and watch TV at the same time. I cannot. But I love curling up on the couch under a blanket, knitting quietly or with music, drinking tea, and hollering for more yarn. (Please!)
My scarf is coming along, but I am anxious to begin my new project idea: a pair of old-fashioned, home-made mittens.
I am even in a knitting group! We meet once a month and knit, of course, but we also eat tasty snack, socialize, and watch movies. The age range is from four years old to fifty-something, and we all share a common bond: the love of knitting. If I have a problem with my knitting project, there are plenty of experienced knitters around me to help and offer advice.
I think I enjoy knitting most because it is relaxing. I can sit, keep my hands busy, and think. I also enjoy praying, simply talking to God, while I knit. I am sure knitting will be a lifetime hobby. I love it!
I am knitting a scarf, much like Joseph's cloak of many colors, and it is coming along well, albeit slowly.
If you don't know how to knit, or have tried and found it disagreeable, I can assure you that I understand. There is nothing as frustrating as messing up a scarf, losing a stitch, picking up a stitch... and the list goes on. I am the slowest knitter I know, but I am sticking with it!
Some of my knitting buddies can knit and watch TV at the same time. I cannot. But I love curling up on the couch under a blanket, knitting quietly or with music, drinking tea, and hollering for more yarn. (Please!)
My scarf is coming along, but I am anxious to begin my new project idea: a pair of old-fashioned, home-made mittens.
I am even in a knitting group! We meet once a month and knit, of course, but we also eat tasty snack, socialize, and watch movies. The age range is from four years old to fifty-something, and we all share a common bond: the love of knitting. If I have a problem with my knitting project, there are plenty of experienced knitters around me to help and offer advice.
I think I enjoy knitting most because it is relaxing. I can sit, keep my hands busy, and think. I also enjoy praying, simply talking to God, while I knit. I am sure knitting will be a lifetime hobby. I love it!
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The Scavenger Hunt for Words
1. An angry exchange.
"No. NO! There's too many lights at the bottom already. Stop overloading the branches!"
"WHAT?!"
"You heard me... start hanging the lights further up the tree. Wait, no, maybe a bit lower now..."
"WHAT?! But you just said..."
"I know what I said. Now put the lower."
"How's that?"
"A bit too low..."
"WHAT?!"
2. An out-of-place object.
I was walking through the grass outside when my bare foot tapped against an object. I looked down and, to my great surprise, spied a pastel lying in the cool grass. I picked it up and rubbed my fingers across the artist's crayon. The oily pastel colored the tips of my fingers bright blue. What an odd place to find this, I thought, pocketing it. Whatever pictures it would create I could not wait to find out.
3. A well-loved object.
"Abby, don't you think it's time to throw this grubby bear awa...."
"Absolutely not!" I cried, rushing to grab my stuffed animal bear from my daddy's hands. "I call Bee well-loved, not grubby. And you've no place to talk about him that way! He's older than me and demands your respect!"
My dad rolled his eyes and walked away. I hugged Bee tightly and returned to my work.
4. Something well-used.
Sometimes it's not a pleasant word, but, well.... I believe something easily referred to as well-used would be the toilet. I'm trying to think of a lovelier word than toilet, but I cannot. The toilet is a necessity. Thank you, momma, for cleaning our toilet. Thank you, sir, for inventing the toilet. Thank you, last sentence, for being the last sentence in this blog post to contain the word toilet.
5. Something unpleasant.
Personally, I find tangled necklaces (or any type of tangled jewelry) to be very unpleasant. There I am, running about the house, late as usual, when I have the brilliant idea to quickly throw on a necklace before running out the door. I scurry to my room, heading towards my necklace pegs, when... OH NO!... all of my necklaces are tangled around one another. One chain is interwoven with the next. I huff and puff and leave the room, no necklace around my neck.
6. Something fresh, new, or unused.
Something new and unused that I love are freshly sharpened pencils that haven't touched paper. There is so much possibility in a brand new sharpened pencil. So many stories can yet be written with that stick of wood and graphite. (And yes... I'll admit it... I also love the smell of freshly sharpened pencils. They smell like learning and the scent of autumn.)
7. A lost or forgotten object.
"Momma?" I ask.
"Yeah?"
"Have you seen my pocket-sized book edition of Great Expectations?"
"Why no, honey, but I expect it's lost because it's pocket sized. I warned you against that purchase."
(That was an unfortunate afternoon, but luckily, I later found it in my sweat-shirt pocket!)
8. A home-made or hand-made object.
I've recently started making scarves by myself. Alright, I've only started one scarf, but I plan to keep knitting them for the rest of my life. Knitting is relaxing for me. I can think quietly when I knit, listen to music, and also pray while I knit. And scarves, hand-made in bright yarn, are perfect for the upcoming chilly months!
9. An act of kindness.
I consider an act of kindness, or many acts of kindness, to be when my friends carried my books for me. I was on crutches, unable to carry anything, and they helped me. Sometimes it meant that they were late to class, or had to take time out of their schedules, but they were still there for me. I am very grateful for those fabulous friends!
10. Something borrowed.
There is a sweater that I love that I do not own. My sister Emily doesn't know that I love it, but maybe she will when I plead with her to borrow it. I'll parade around the house, proudly flaunting the beautifully knitted, dark purple sweater, silently composing a thank you letter in my head. The sweater will be soft and snuggly, and I'll remeber to let Em borrow my clothes, too.
"No. NO! There's too many lights at the bottom already. Stop overloading the branches!"
"WHAT?!"
"You heard me... start hanging the lights further up the tree. Wait, no, maybe a bit lower now..."
"WHAT?! But you just said..."
"I know what I said. Now put the lower."
"How's that?"
"A bit too low..."
"WHAT?!"
2. An out-of-place object.
I was walking through the grass outside when my bare foot tapped against an object. I looked down and, to my great surprise, spied a pastel lying in the cool grass. I picked it up and rubbed my fingers across the artist's crayon. The oily pastel colored the tips of my fingers bright blue. What an odd place to find this, I thought, pocketing it. Whatever pictures it would create I could not wait to find out.
3. A well-loved object.
"Abby, don't you think it's time to throw this grubby bear awa...."
"Absolutely not!" I cried, rushing to grab my stuffed animal bear from my daddy's hands. "I call Bee well-loved, not grubby. And you've no place to talk about him that way! He's older than me and demands your respect!"
My dad rolled his eyes and walked away. I hugged Bee tightly and returned to my work.
4. Something well-used.
Sometimes it's not a pleasant word, but, well.... I believe something easily referred to as well-used would be the toilet. I'm trying to think of a lovelier word than toilet, but I cannot. The toilet is a necessity. Thank you, momma, for cleaning our toilet. Thank you, sir, for inventing the toilet. Thank you, last sentence, for being the last sentence in this blog post to contain the word toilet.
5. Something unpleasant.
Personally, I find tangled necklaces (or any type of tangled jewelry) to be very unpleasant. There I am, running about the house, late as usual, when I have the brilliant idea to quickly throw on a necklace before running out the door. I scurry to my room, heading towards my necklace pegs, when... OH NO!... all of my necklaces are tangled around one another. One chain is interwoven with the next. I huff and puff and leave the room, no necklace around my neck.
6. Something fresh, new, or unused.
Something new and unused that I love are freshly sharpened pencils that haven't touched paper. There is so much possibility in a brand new sharpened pencil. So many stories can yet be written with that stick of wood and graphite. (And yes... I'll admit it... I also love the smell of freshly sharpened pencils. They smell like learning and the scent of autumn.)
7. A lost or forgotten object.
"Momma?" I ask.
"Yeah?"
"Have you seen my pocket-sized book edition of Great Expectations?"
"Why no, honey, but I expect it's lost because it's pocket sized. I warned you against that purchase."
(That was an unfortunate afternoon, but luckily, I later found it in my sweat-shirt pocket!)
8. A home-made or hand-made object.
I've recently started making scarves by myself. Alright, I've only started one scarf, but I plan to keep knitting them for the rest of my life. Knitting is relaxing for me. I can think quietly when I knit, listen to music, and also pray while I knit. And scarves, hand-made in bright yarn, are perfect for the upcoming chilly months!
9. An act of kindness.
I consider an act of kindness, or many acts of kindness, to be when my friends carried my books for me. I was on crutches, unable to carry anything, and they helped me. Sometimes it meant that they were late to class, or had to take time out of their schedules, but they were still there for me. I am very grateful for those fabulous friends!
10. Something borrowed.
There is a sweater that I love that I do not own. My sister Emily doesn't know that I love it, but maybe she will when I plead with her to borrow it. I'll parade around the house, proudly flaunting the beautifully knitted, dark purple sweater, silently composing a thank you letter in my head. The sweater will be soft and snuggly, and I'll remeber to let Em borrow my clothes, too.
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