at long last, a white christmas

... and I can't wait for it to melt so that I can go out and see the horses again. Breakfast eaten, stockings opened, wrapping paper torn and living-room cleaned, I took a bag of carrots out to the barn and wished all the horses a very merry Christmas. Although, to be honest, they were more interested in checking my pockets for more treats. They've all learned that I am the bearer of good things, and thus it never hurts to look. The savvy ones figure that if sniffing around doesn't garner more goodies, then being cute will. And alas, it usually does - when I'm with my favorites, I find myself surrounded by three pairs of pleading brown eyes and I'm sunk. And they are happy.

Christmas photos are a must. We all line up in some semblance of order and have our picture took. And retook. And tooken again, until our teeth hurt from smiling so much. But there is always one more camera and someone blinked the last go-round.

Our house is small, and it shows. With everyone home, plus my uncle, aunt and cousin over, the (rather cold) basement is total chaos - sleeping bags, extra blankets, more quilts, books, suitcases and another pile of blankets in the corner. Rachel is sleeping directly in a draft from the back door, thus the extra pile.

But hey, Christmas was yesterday. Who says that Christmas has to be neat and orderly?

the eve of battle

It is the night before finals. Snow falls steadily outside while inside numerous students are diligently pouring over their notes.

Open books, loose papers, a box of Wheat Thins, a half burnt candle, bits of torn paper, and a tea mug belonging to one of my roommates surround me as I attempt to wrap my stubborn brain around Roman philosophy. Very pragmatic folks, those Romans.

My commonplace book has fallen open to an incredibly famous quote:

Trojans, do not
trust in the horse. Whatever it may be,
I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts.

-Laocoon, from Virgil's Aeneid.

Aristotle is waiting for his writings to be actualized on my page. Virgil demands to be understood - "What makes me a stoic?!" And I say it was fate. All fate.

because blogs are not a place to bare the soul

Praise the Lord!
For it is good to sing praises to our God;
For it is pleasant, and praise is beautiful.

The Lord builds up Jerusalem;
He gathers together the outcasts of Israel.
He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.
He counts the number of the stars;
He calls them all by name.
Great is our Lord, and mighty in power;
His understanding is infinite.
The Lord lifts up the humble,
He casts the wicked down to the ground.

Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving;
Sing praises on the harp to our God,
Who covers the heavens with clouds,
Who prepares rain for the earth,
Who makes grass to grow in the mountains.
He gives to the beast its food,
And to the young ravens that cry.

He does not delight in the strength of the horse;
He takes no pleasure in the legs of a man.
The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him,
In those who hope in His mercy.

Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem!
Praise your God, O Zion!
For He has strengthened the bars of your gates;
He has blessed your children within you.
He makes peace within your borders,
And fills you with the finest wheat.

He sends out His command to the earth;
He word runs very swiftly.
He scatters the snow like wool;
He scatters the frost like ashes;
He casts out His hail like morsels;
Who can stand before His cold?
He sends out His word and melts them;
He causes His wind to blow and the waters to flow.

He declares His word to Jacob,
His statues and His judgments to Israel.
He has not dealt thus with any nation;
And for His judgments, the have not known Him.

Praise the Lord!

Psalm 147

puer natus

The NSA Choir

advent is here!

(Perhaps I should start with a disclaimer - I'm not much of a photographer, so no, I didn't take this picture. I found it on the Internet and thought it fit.)

Yesterday was epic. After a week of intensive practicing, the NSA choir gave our Christmas concert, "A Boy is Born," highlighting Christmas music from the era of chants, through the days of Bach and all the way to a spiritual. Each song was very, very different from the others, and Dr. Erb had been meticulous in teaching them to us for the past four months.

During the concert itself, I found myself standing in the highest front corner of the risers, right above the organ. Heights are not my thing, and my greatest fear was not so much missing a note or sounding like a bullfrog as it was falling off and crashing oh so gracefully onto the organist.

I didn't fall.

When the concert was over, I walked off the stage in a daze, not realizing it was over until I was back at home and it had time to sink in. I then went and sang Christmas carols with my sisters until my voice was crying out for mercy. I estimate that I sang for roughly five hours all told that day.

Life is good.

from point A to point B

"Um, how do you get to Spokane?"

Usually when you take the Greyhound, your driver knows where he is going and how to get there. This was not the case on the most recent Greyhound trip I made coming back to Moscow after Thanksgiving break. In this case, when it became painfully apparent that our driver was hopelessly lost, I found myself directing him back through Pasco and pointing out the correct exits to get on the highway heading to Spokane.

I wondered if maybe I should just drive.

Once in Spokane he again became lost. Passengers began fidgeting grumbling. Another passenger directed him through the streets to the station. Which he passed. On a one way street. So he drove in through the Exit, past the "Do Not Enter Signs," deaf to the yelps of the passengers.

We were 45 minutes late to the Spokane terminal, but thankfully all the other buses waited for us.

east meets west

Dressage and reining in the same arena. I ride dressage (duh) but had the opportunity once to ride a mare with some reining training - riding a western spin is a blast. You should try it some time. I've also ridden a few steps of piaffe and passage on a high level dressage horse - also a blast. The best of both worlds.

i feel morbid today

She looked over his shoulder For vines and olive trees, Marble well-governed cities And ships upon untamed seas, But there on the shining metal His hands had put instead An artificial wilderness And a sky like lead. A plain without a feature, bare and brown, No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood, Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down, Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood An unintelligible multitude, A million eyes, a million boots in line, Without expression, waiting for a sign. Out of the air a voice without a face Proved by statistics that some cause was just In tones as dry and level as the place: No one was cheered and nothing was discussed; Column by column in a cloud of dust They marched away enduring a belief Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief. She looked over his shoulder For ritual pieties, White flower-garlanded heifers, Libation and sacrifice, But there on the shining metal Where the altar should have been, She saw by his flickering forge-light Quite another scene. Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot Where bored officials lounged (one cracked a joke) And sentries sweated for the day was hot: A crowd of ordinary decent folk Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke As three pale figures were led forth and bound To three posts driven upright in the ground. The mass and majesty of this world, all That carries weight and always weighs the same Lay in the hands of others; they were small And could not hope for help and no help came: What their foes like to do was done, their shame Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride And died as men before their bodies died. She looked over his shoulder For athletes at their games, Men and women in a dance Moving their sweet limbs Quick, quick, to music, But there on the shining shield His hands had set no dancing-floor But a weed-choked field. A ragged urchin, aimless and alone, Loitered about that vacancy; a bird Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone: That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third, Were axioms to him, who'd never heard Of any world where promises were kept, Or one could weep because another wept. The thin-lipped armorer, Hephaestos, hobbled away, Thetis of the shining breasts Cried out in dismay At what the god had wrought To please her son, the strong Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles Who would not live long. The Shield of Achilles W. H. Auden

i have come to the conclusion

that anything that touts itself as "ergonomically designed" should be thrown out. And fast. Before it hits the shelves or the consciences of gullible consumers.

Currently I'm attempting to type on such a keyboard and have so far made, at minimum, six typos for every eight letters typed. The keyboard is split in half, tilted and at an odd angle. Simply put, it is awkward.

Ergonomically designed pitchforks and snow shovels are even worse. I'm sure you've seen them - the normally straight handle, great for leverage purposes, is bent halfway up, thereby ruining any and all semblance of balance, decreasing leverage capacities, not to mention increasing the workload.

Pet peeve of mine.

every so often

I glance up from my books and realize just where I am. I'll see a teacher up front, classmates to either side, books everywhere and sit there for a moment wondering how on earth this happened. How did I get to be nearly two and a half years through my NSA career? I was walking through the halls this evening while History was in progress and felt a bit nostalgic. "Look at all the little sophomores," thought I, then grinned.

It's rather odd to think think that I'm nearly halfway through my third year of college and am starting to ponder post-NSA life. Perish the thought.

A highlight of this year has been voice - I'm still bitter that the Wilkins moved on to Seattle but now that I'm working with one of Bray's former teachers, I suppose I really can't complain. Now I know why he's so good. Pam is incredible and she knows my dressage to singing metaphors actually work and work well. *happiness*

The only sore point this the same as it as always been - the distinct lack of the equine.

obamania

I stumbled on this "song" yesterday while taking a break from working on my paper, then today saw the youtube video of it.

It's quite - er - spectacular. I chose to burst out laughing, but not everyone may have that reaction.



Despite the hero worship going on, in a strange way I'm oddly glad Obama won over Palin/McCain. I don't quite understand why(other than the fact that I was (am) very wary of Palin). Don't get me wrong, I think we're in for a really bizarre, perhaps very ugly, four years. Considering everything, I think Dr. Leithart has a better chance at explaining this than I am.

Obama may be just as dangerous as some of my friends say he is. He certainly will do all he can to re-secure abortion rights, advance gay rights, enact counter-productive legislation on health care. His goals are all the more worrisome given the executive powers he inherits from the Bush administration. I have no sympathy with his agenda.

But it’s not all gloomy:

When Obama calls his wife his “best friend” and the “love of his life,” I believe him. His personal life will not be an embarrassment to the United States as Clinton’s was. (This makes him politically more dangerous, of course.)

His election is a big step in putting both the reality and the myth of American racism behind us. I suspect many voted for him to be part of this historical moment, to participate at a distance of decades in the Civil Rights movement.

It’s hard to gainsay the overall arc of his story. He started as a nobody nowhere and yesterday got elected President. That could mean many things - it could mean the Presidency is available to anyone willing to spend half a billion dollars on a campaign; it could mean that ruthless Chicago pols get what they want; it could mean that the American people are easily duped. Call me naive, but I think part of the story is this: The fact that he was standing out that stage in front of what? a million people, shows that in fundamental ways America still works.

Obama can be smug, very smug. He’s been treated as a Messiah, and hasn’t done much to dispel the hype. Last night, though, delivering his victory speech, he was sober, reflective. No hint of smug. He appeared to feel the gravity of what’s coming. (NPR reporters, by contrast, oozed the annoying mix of giddy and smug that NPR has mastered.)

“First of all, then, I urge that entreaties and prayers, petitions and thanksgivings, be made on behalf of all men, for kings and all who are in authority, so that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity. This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.”

That includes Obama too.

http://www.leithart.com/2008/11/05/silver-linings/#more-4575

it was a dreary day in moscow

It was a dreary day today. An odd conglomeration of snow and rain fell as Moscow flocked the polls.

I voted in Idaho.

I didn't vote for McCain and I didn't vote for Obama.

I wrote in Ron Paul and felt a weight lift off of my shoulders.

dying can be beautiful

This isn't a picture of Moscow. It's a random photo I found on the internet - I suppose of some cafe in Italy or a romantic place like that. But it is a very close picture of what Moscow looks like right now. Gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. Typically I find fall depressing. The world dies during the fall. The leaves sit on the ground getting soggy in the rain and the trees just stand there, exposed and shivering.

But this year has been different. There's been a sort of vibrancy and life in the air. The leaves are a spectacular array of gold and red and the absence of rain has left the piles of brightly colored leaves looking life crisp, fluffy carpets. That wasn't very poetic, but you get the point. Come to think of it, I don't think it's actually possible to be both crisp and fluffy at the same time. Let me ponder on that for a bit. Whatever texture it is, it makes me happy.

A quote to brighten your day:

For this reason, it is not appropriate for a young person to be a student of politics, since the young are inexperienced in the actions of life, while these are the things about which politics speaks and about which it reasons.

- Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics

My thoughts exactly. My biggest political beef at the moment is not so much the elections coming up, but which state I'll be voting in. I registered in Idaho for a recent local election, forgetting where my true loyalties lie. Washington needs me and I'm not there for her. *sigh*

for rachel (re: rev magazine)

The church has uncritically invited this logic of the free market into its own house through the through-going utilitarianism of the "church growth movement" and the uncritical adoption of management theory through a preoccupation with "leadership." We treat people like consumers, speak about "target audiences of the unchurched" and sell the gospel through means that cannot be differentiated from how any other commodity is sold in the marketplace.

- Introduction to Calculated Futures: Theology, Ethics, and Economics, D. Stephen Long and Nancy Fox

there was a cat

One of my roomies, Abby has a cat named Oui Oui. I call the small, tail-less creature Weise and said small, tail-less creature hates me for it.

A week or so before break, Weise fatally maimed a mouse that had wandered into our fair dwelling. The mouse crawled under the floor-boards and subsequently died. Our room now smells of rodent death and Weise stalks the deceased creature constantly, futile though it may be.

what else are breaks for?

I've been flipping through various blogs belonging to other wiser and more witty folks and have come to the conclusion that my blog is, to put it mildly, fairly dull. But I'm afraid that life will go on as it has before. Really interesting, insightful things go into my personal written journal, not online for all eyes to see. The boring stuff come here. Speaking of:

Yesterday I woke up to my mom's worried voice. "Are you ok? You've been sleeping all day." Glancing at my watch I discovered that it was past 5pm, and I'd been sleeping since noon, as I had done the day before, and the day before that, only that time it was for three hours, not five. My routine has been simple - go to the barn where I get to work outside with horses which is sheer luxury after two more months of NSA, come home, stare blearily at Traditio homework that should be read, glance over at the nice, soft pillow.... and the pillow wins. I'm getting geared up for next term.

Honest.

happiness is...

• Washing the dishes with a garbage disposal!! Loading dishes into an actual dishwasher is only half the novelty of getting to scrape food scraps directly into the drain. How amazing is that? Two months of hand washing dishes in a sink with no disposal. I felt guilty, but I enjoyed it.
• Breaking an actual sweat. Real sweat, induced by real physical effort. Complete bliss, let me tell you. Especially when it involves an absolutely sweet horse who is thrilled to be out working. Can life get any better?
• Having my hands smell like horse.

Yeah, I'm home.

quote

Equestrian art, perhaps more than any other, is closely related to the wisdom of life. The horse teaches us self-control, constancy and the ability to understand what goes on in the mind and feelings of another creature, qualities that that are important throughout our lives.

- Alois Podhajsky

three weeks ago...

I was in Seattle without a care in the world... no wait, that was eight weeks ago.

This has been, by far, the shortest term of NSA I have ever studied through. I have no idea where it went. It was a blur of pounding migraines, Greek vocabulary, the Iliad, Plato's Republic and music quizzes. Really, think about it. If you can get through the Republic and think "hmmm, that was quick," something weird is going on.

Case in point - Before our Greek written final this morning, Mr. Schwandt was telling us about his daughter. My jaw nearly hit the desk when he said she was eight months old now and I suddenly remembered just which term she was born during. LAST school year, not this term.

But look on the bright side - when time flies this fast, there is no time to procrastinate, so things just might get finished sans panicking. I doubt it though. College is no fun without at least a little panic.

this is why i love horses

I found a video called "There is no dis in Ability" a while back and when I watched it today it made me cry. Partly because I miss dressage so badly and partly because of what these riders can do. Watch the entire thing and notice the amazing balance these horses and their riders have.

quote

Abundant life is found when, in faith and hope, we submit to being torn between past and future, inside and outside, and see it as a gateway to renewal. Abundant life on the Cross of Reality comes through the cross of Jesus, when, torn by past and future, by inside and outside, we hope against hope for transfiguration.

– Dr. Leithart

literary vegetables

On the shelf above the NSA computer I am currently using, there is a book with the following title:

Vladimir's Carrot: Modern Drama and the Modern Imagination

It amuses me every time I see it.

unpoetic

But I miss so many people right now. Too many to list, so I'm not going to.

class pictures

This was a draining week for most of us. Our first Traditio paper was due and it was week five, which is pretty much Limbo week. But it topped off with class pictures. It was a bit over-warm for this far into September, but in the shade the weather was beautiful and many photos were taken.

Sitting in the shade with Helen Primozic while the seniors were having their pictures taken.

We as Juniors

This is simply a fun shot

Goofing off with freshman Rebecca Hurt

People sitting around waiting and talking and singing and relaxing.

behold, a great mystery

Last year I bought an adorable pair of black heels. They were a rarity in women's shoes - cute, comfortable, fit wonderfully; I could wear them all day and feel like I was barefoot, they were so comfortable. A great trait when you need a few more inches of height.

I then spent a summer wearing heels one hour a week.

I put them on this fall and can we say pain? I took them off and walked home barefoot this evening. My feet were red, I was limping and blisters were threatening to appear. They hurt so badly, like they are a size too small.

Odd.

woefully inadequate blogging remedied

I understand, I understand. I haven't updated since who knows how long. Stagnate might be a good description of my blogging activities.

Currently I'm sitting in my living room, windows open, listening to the Afters playing live down by Nuart. Apparently they are one of the top new(er) Christian rock bands (and are quite popular on iTunes, we discovered). Currently they are playing the song that sent them to their national recognition, Beautiful Love. I must say that they sound better two blocks away than they do when you are standing right there near the stage. My head is still pounding from that experience. Sitting at home I can actually make the words out - the drums aren't near as overpowering.

One of the reasons I haven't been blogging is because, quite simply, not much has happened in the way of dramatic blogworthiness. School is entering the reality stage, re-introductory period has finished, first major assignments are rolling in. This week holds a Greek midterm, paper abstract and a presentation for Traditio.

The church bells are tolling for 10:00. That's the best thing about living here: I can hear the bells.

first week back - in class

And the apartment is adorable. We had bamboo blinds put in the front window this afternoon - cuteness prevails upon us all. We still have to find some more lights and get a coffee table, but we're almost to "home" status.

I love living with the McDonald sisters. Roomie dinners are scrumptious (yesterday I made Mom's famous mac and cheese and we've also enjoyed soups, deli worthy sandwiches, etc), and we've had rousing discussions over who is cooler, Leonidas or Hector (Hector by far), who said the famous "then we shall fight in the shade" quote (was it Leonidas or one of his generals?), and whether Hector was blond or dark. Going back to the Iliad it was revealed that he was dark. I won. But when Abby pulled down a copy of Herodotus, she won the "who said it" debate.

We've watched movies, eaten chocolate, washed dishes, and, yes, done homework. Plenty of it. And speaking of, I have more Iliad to read. =)

tornado watch

After two weeks of intense heat, the first week of school kicked off with a tornado watch. Yeah, you read that correctly. Moscow had a tornado watch. The rain poured down, the wind blew like nobody's business, and the lightning was fantastically huge. Despite the wind, no tornado materialized.

We had a hurricane instead. A hurricane called Jerusalem Term. They say that sophomore year is the hardest and in a way that's true. It's the unexpected, exhausting beginning of "Real Life" now that freshman year's boot camp is over. But Junior and Senior years were recently jacked up a notch, leaving me with the impression that this year's toughness quota will be very similar to last years, the main difference being that we've done this before. We're not fresh out of our first year. We're subdued.

We're Juniors.

back in moscow

The view outside my window is somewhat different than it was three weeks ago. Instead of soaring mountains, pine trees, kayaking gear and dusty horses, I am looking at downtown Moscow. NSA starts next week. My books for first term are on my bookshelf and the apartment is finally unpacked and looks like a real home. It's lovely.

a few pictures from this summer

I'll be perfectly honest - I don't like uploading pictures. As a result, these aren't in any particular order but they are of this summer.

During a week when Lone Ram and Bighorn were both having day camps, Mylinda brought Doc over to introduce the Bighorn day camp kids to horses while we got soaking wet with our campers on the slip n' slide.

Part of the reason this summer was beyond sweet was getting to know the Bighorn staff. Left to right - Alex, Ruben and Skyler Stoner (otherwise known as "Stoner")

Alex, Jay and Kyle

Shadow and Dori modeling the Lone Ram staff t-shirts

(Me with JJ)

With Dusty, one of the Lone Ram horses.

Giving Nate a high five after successfully completing the high static course.

Rock climbing: Getting ready to scale the face of Crack 1.

The view from my house.

horses, guns, and God

I realize that I have been slacking in the blogging department. Forgive me. Computer time has been limited to checking my e-mail then scurrying off to the next thing, seldom even replying to said e-mails. Basically, my correspondence with the outside world has been limited, virtually to the point of nonexistent.

Lone Ram camps have been going well. They've been small, usually 2 to 4 campers, which with horses is a good thing. They learn more when they can have one on one teaching. Mylinda has been stepping back and giving her staffers more teaching responsibilities - I've taught two complete riding lessons on my own and we are usually there helping when she's the main teacher. We also teach the campers grooming, anatomy, horse behavior, how to tack up and untack, knot tying, take them hiking up to the cross for Thursday evening chapel (usually the best one of the week), bring them over to the Bighorn challenge course and swimming hole and rifle range, spend time with them talking and laughing, and of course feed the horses, clean up after the horses, and ride the horses in order to get their brains re-wired after a week with a beginner on their backs.

There's a funny thing about horses. They are not for sissies. They are 1200 lb animals with distinct personalities and minds of their own (having my hand splinted for a month was a healthy reminder of that fact) and the work never ceases. The work is hard, the muscles gained from that work are real, the sweat can raise a mighty stench and most of that lovely tan is actually dirt. And I love all of it. I love teaching people how to ride and I love teaching horses how to carry those riders. There is nothing so rewarding as getting on a tight horse and working through his issues, feeling him bend, flex then whoosh, feeling the tension draining from his body as he stretches, lifts his back and moves, really honestly moves over the ground. Poetry in motion movement, not just the dropping of one hoof after the other on the dirt. There is power, beauty like nothing else.

Teaching the rider is different. Dealing with personality on personality is a unique skill and this summer has made me very much appreciate the patience and the time my trainer has spent teaching me. I'll be perfectly blunt. People can be a challenge. Learning to love on them, teach them, encourage them, and be there all the time for them has not come easily. I feel like God is tearing me apart and rebuilding me from inside out. It hurts. It hurts really, really, stinkingly badly. But knowing that makes life easier. It makes it possible to take the pain and with it discover the joy of watching tears fade into laughter, complaints turn into "can we do that again?" and seeing skills improve, taking what I love and giving it to someone else. Bringing people into what I do and love is something new.

Welcome to my world.

there was an eagle

The Lone Ram staffers are straggling out of the deep oblivion of slumber at noon today, after a very full week of day camp. I, among the rest, was frequently up from 5:30 am to 11 pm, with only an hour to myself. That hour was usually spent trying to remove at least one layer of dirt.

I admit that yes, it was a hectic week. The day campers came at 8am, and left at 5:30. We finished feeding the horses at 6, our dinner at the BigHorn lodge was at 7, at 7:30 we were out tacking up again for the BigHorn groups coming at 8pm, and by 10, the horses were usually done working for the day and we were heading back to get ready to hit the sack.

But among the blur, there were highlights:

*When you are up at 5:30, the mountains are gorgeous. One morning there was a haze of mist in every indentation of the mountains. Soooooo lovely.

*A bald eagle flew over the pasture so low that I could hear the wind in it's wings. It was the first time I'd ever seen an eagle in flight and it left a deeper impression than I thought something like that could.

*There are monarch butterflies everywhere.

*On Wednesday a family came over to the ranch so that their special needs daughter could ride a horse. I was a sidewalker. She could only communicate via sign language and held my hand tightly the entire time. It was very cool to see the huge smile on her face as she grew comfortable and so excited about it. Horses are amazing creatures.

first week of overnight camp

It came and it went, and it was good.

There were four campers.

From left to right: Jaci, Noby, JJ (aka Dori), Hannah, and Amy.

The Lone Ram Ranch as seen from the cross.

Noby Ledger

Bethany (aka Sitka) demonstrating the concept of getting the log out of your own eye and not judging others by appearance.

There were a good number of bull's eyes.

Getting ready for the end of week show. We performed a drill that we'd been practicing all week. We had way too much fun. =D

Me (Shadow) with Dori.

With Noby

We were covered with dirt, drenched in sweat and enjoyed ourselves tremendously. It was sweet to watch the girls' horsemanship improve throughout the week.

19 no more

Usually I'm at the beach when my birthday rolls around. But since this year I'm in Montana, I celebrated at the top of a mountain.

JJ Jorgensen, fellow staff member and all-around awesome friend, decided that we were going to eat lunch at the top of Patrick's Knob, a mountain overlooking the entire valley.

We ate peanut butter and applebutter sandwiches and saw about 23,000 ladybugs. I may have sat on a few.

The view was amazing.

One of my summer goals is to learn how to play the guitar.

Having way to much fun taking random pictures.

The birthday cake Mylinda made for me. Before dinner, all the BigHorn staff sang Happy Birthday. It was a pretty spectacular day.

Happiness!

manly hands

The past couple days have been a well received respite from nearly two weeks of solid rain. Instead of being holed up in the trailer, I'm sprawling out on the grass, enjoying the sun and attempting to type with the middle and ring fingers of my right hand taped up.

Why does my right hand display such taping? Simply put, a Belgian decided he would rather be socializing with his friends than trotting in a circle around yours truly. I forgot I was was no match for a 1300 lb horse and ended up on the ground. Very - er - humilifying. But hey, the tape looks impressive, even if the story behind it isn't so much.

I've broken out a new set of muscles over the past couple days putting up canvas tents, pitching hay, working the horses.... I've been sleeping well at night.

elk sausage

In the process of moving from location A to location B, I emptied the freezer. Upon pulling out the meats, I expected to be handling your standard beef and pork. Instead I found packages that, out of the following list, had the contents of the particular pound marked:

*Buffalo
*Moose
*Venison
*Antelope
*Elk

I had elk sausage for breakfast this morning. I don't think I'm in Kansas any more.

in a land far away

....there is Greek homework that should be done. But I'm taking advantage of the unexpected wireless signal that I was more than a little shocked to find in a world of no cell phone service. Somehow I managed to go for 18 years without a cell phone and now that I don't have one, I feel strangely paralyzed.

Back on track. I'm in Montana, living in a small and cozy camping trailer for the next 7 1/2 weeks, listening to the train on the other side of the river, feeling my shoulders ache from the sudden impact of learning the ropes course today. I learned the art of tying sturdy knots, of arranging multiple straps of nylon that I was told were the safety harnesses, juggling miles of rope and leaping off of tall trees. My hair got smashed under the helmet, my hands formed several new calluses from belaying people 60 odd feet up in the air and my heart leaped into my throat several times as I took my turn as the belay guinea pig. I admit it. I am not fond of heights - sturdy rope and belayer on the ground aside, jumping off of trees of abnormal height is, to put it mildly, an adrenalin rush.

Yesterday was horse moving day, shifting from their winter lodgings to the new camp ground. Three trips, twelve horses, and five hours later, darkness had fallen and the herd was exploring its new stomping grounds. My saddle emerged from the darkness of its shipping bag and took its rightful place among the rest of the camp tack. We hit the sack around midnight, exhausted from the day's work. Weed whacking, mowing, moving horses, moving gear, watching three extremely active children ages 2 to 7, admiring the not so lovely leg of horse the dog had drug home (complete with knee, fetlock, hoof, enough tendon to hold it all together and some hair....).

Tomorrow the plan is to set up the arena. And the plan tonight is to at least do some Greek.

Further bulletins as events warrant. Or as time warrants.

every day grow older...

...and learn something new ~ Solon

Since I'll be in Montana over my actual birthday, we celebrated yesterday. And since Mom was a professional cake decorator, I decided that it was high time I learned how to decorate a cake, and decorate it well.

Did you know that frosting is made of nothing but sugar, grease and a touch of flavoring (almond, in this case)? Neither did I - but now I know why the stuff makes me queasy.

This was the fun part - Mom had me practice on the tabletop, then on the cake. It turned out fairly well, I thought.

The finished product. The actual cake was fairly small, with the result that we almost ran out of room for the candles. The 20th one is in the corner by the : ).

Happy birthday to me.

It was a pretty memorable day, if I do say so myself.

niiiiiice

Turns out the location of Lone Ram has changed. We still won't directly have electricity to my knowledge, but we are now across the highway from our base camp. Happiness! This summer should be a good one.

i'm not crazy, i'm just a little insane

When people ask me what I did this summer, the answer will be something akin to "I spent two months out in the mountains of Montana without electricity or running water." And to prepare for the adventure, I've been breaking in my heavy duty paddock boots, learning the feel of a Leatherman, figuring out ways to make my hair look halfway decent without the usage of hairdryers/flat irons (ok, I'm a bit vain, I admit it), and wondering if I'm really ready for this.

Unless something drastic happens between now and June 2, I'll be a counselor/wrangler/woman of all work at Lone Ram Ranch, a Christian horse camp. The owners are great people with some great horses, and I am looking forward to working with them, but no there is electricity. *deep breath* I keep telling myself that back in the good ol' days no one had electricity and it didn't phase them in the least. But e-mail only on the weekends?

Be still my beating heart.

how do you tell a cucumber?

Or a broccoli, or an orange or the differences in pricing as revealed in units, for that matter.

This post could be called a number of different things, for instance:

* Why I don't ever, ever want to live in the South
* Readjusting to reality
* Where is spring and what did you do with it?

But as for the cucumber - I admit it. I really don't know my way around Winco, or any supermarket for that matter. Of three daughters and two sons I hail as the youngest daughter and so never bothered learning the skills needed for survival in an urban jungle. I can cook. If you give me all the ingredients and have a comprehensive insurance policy. So my long-suffering mother is attempting to teach me to tread through the paths of Winco.

"See this broccoli?" I love broccoli, so I'm all ears. "It's priced by the pound. You don't want a lot of stem; choose the shorter of the two." She holds up two heads of broccoli and I notice that, yes, one has a longer stem - inedible weight. I'm intrigued. I learn how to determine the juiciness of an orange, to judge the freshness of a red pepper (another favorite) and discover why it's a waste of money to buy pre-made salads. "So how do you tell a cucumber?" Apparently by checking that it is not to thick, not too thin, not gouged at all, not wrinkled or smushy. I have a long way to go.

As afore hinted at, I'm at home. When I left Moscow, Spring was just beginning to appear. The snow was fighting a losing battle, but it was still fighting. Beautiful one day, snowing the next, an altogether delightful mix of weatherish confusion. I forgot I hail from the desert. In the Northwest, yes. But a desert, none the less. Desert = Dry. Desert = Arid. (remember I just finished a year of much snow and coldness.) Desert certainly does not equal 60% humidity. But that is what I came home to. Heat is not my thing. Adjusting to arid heat is one thing. Adjusting to humid head is a whole new thing. And when you go from winter to the middle of summer with barely two days of spring to ease the shock....

Let's just say that today while working with the horses I was seeing more black than horse. I've learned from experience that when the world dissapears completely, hit the ground. Fast. And hope you don't have a horse staring at you wondering what on earth you are doing down there.

are you sure?

Because I don't think so.

I'm officially an NSA junior now. I can say that 15 times but it still doesn't sound quite right. Junior year. I went to through sophomore year so fast I feel like I need to do it again so that I can understand what I learned. *whoosh* and it was gone.

Five totally amazing teachers for a *cough* rather hellish year. My journal entries say the same thing over and over. "I'm tired. But [theology, history, math, greek, voice] was amazing."

Dr. Leithart
Mr. Schlect
Dr. Stokes
Mr. Schwandt
Bray Wilkins

There was the day I fell asleep in Theology recitation, right across from Dr. Leithart. - The day I was so sick I had to skip a full day of classes, two quizzes and Disputatio. - The day at the Wilkins when I was so tired my knees gave out from under me (*hint* it helps if you can mask this by playing with the conveniently placed child). - The day I got my first M ever in Greek. - The day I asked Dr. Stokes if I should drop math.

Then there was the day I got two SCLs and a CL on the same day. - The day Mr. Schlect told me that he was putting my paper research in his files. - The day I pulled my M to a CL in Greek. - The day Bray's jaw hit the floor twice in one lesson. - The day that Dr. Leithart wrote "outstanding" on my presentation feedback. - The day that I discovered that I was having fun crunching numbers for math.

It was a good year.

treasure hunt

The only people who achieve much are those who want knowledge so badly that they seek it while conditions are still unfavorable. Favorable conditions never come.

– C.S. Lewis

week 7, westminster term

Quite frankly, I'm surprised that my blogging, scant though it may be, has lasted this long - through the entire school year. Which is drawing to a close. Which is weird. Really weird.

I met our last history lecture with a bittersweet relief. I really have enjoyed history, but I'm glad that I won't be gagging on it's homework load in weeks and terms to come. Mr. Schlect is awesome. I've learned much from his class. But this week - let us say that it's going to be harder than anticipated due to the study sheet handed out this evening.

This last week of class is just like any other week of class at NSA. I finally feel like a sophomore, used to the wave after wave of never ending work, ("bring it on, bring it on....") and now it's nearly over.

And then I will be a junior. Fancy that.

still alive

Rest assured, homework hasn't killed me yet. But the snow is threatening to do us all in. May is almost here and the snow hasn't stopped falling.

montana

I'm currently surrounded by history paper sources, rough drafts, comment sheets, chocolate covered raisins and peanuts, a mug drained of the best hot chocolate known to man, and soaring mountains.

I'm in Montana.

Sometimes a change in environment is a very beautiful thing, especially after a week of extraordinary proportions. Exhaustion is invading every corner of NSA. Quivering knees are commonplace, Americanos (think espresso) are my new best friends, sleep is coveted above anything else.

My official reason to be here in another time zone from my dear old school is to look into a work possibility for this summer, but to be frank, driving away from Moscow was pure heaven. Despite the fact that I've been doing homework all day, regardless of location.....

solitude

Sought by many, gained by few,
Loved, yet hated, with room to breathe.
Found is lovely, kept is death.

when i grow up

There's something about music that sends shivers running up and down my spine. I can't pinpoint what it about it that makes me want to throw my hands in the air and spin around in elated circles, makes me drunk on sound. There's a movement, a balance, a wealth of stories and ideas swelling around the room. It can turn moods around, plaster a ridiculously huge grin on my face, or can make me feel very pensive, or, hopefully, profound. (Especially when writing a history paper.)

I am partial to singing. When I sing, I forget who I am, what I am, and where I am. All I can think about is the feel and taste of the notes, shaping them, seeing them flying away, hopefully where I wanted them to go. Twisting a phrase this way or that way. Being amazed that placing the emphasis on this note instead of that one can change the impact of an entire line. Even though I am very new to this world of invisible motion, I find that it's beautiful.

When I grow up, music will be involved in every part of my life. That's my hope, at least.

green sweaters and sweaty socks

The first and last 100 words of my hypothetical bestselling novel by the above title.

There was a lot of blood. An awful lot of blood. Rodney sat quietly on the porch and surveyed the damage. A drop of sweat made its way down from the reddish brown shock of hair that tumbled over his freckled forehead and found itself in the company of many other similar drops gathering on the young boy’s face. How, exactly, was he supposed to explain this to his mother?

The rough wood dug through his faded jeans, the sharp green of the lawn hurt his eyes. She would probably go into hysterics. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen.

.

.

.


She glanced over at him, sitting there on the old porch, his chin resting on a work worn hand. The shadows made the long scar look deeper than it really was.

“Rodney?” She broke the silence.

“Mmmm?”

“Have you ever wondered what your life might have been like? If, you know. ”

He turned laughing eyes in her direction. “Boring. And tragic. I never would have met you.”

The grass was very green; it mocked the coming of winter. It held onto the promise of spring, of life. Of renewal. A drop of sweat glistened on the side of Rodney’s face.

as i was saying....

So I wrote my last post, finished today's Greek homework, then read the contents of the link below. You should read it. It's that good.

http://teampyro.blogspot.com/2008/03/jesus-and-his-trick-questions.html

a very, very, very long day

The subject says it all. I'm back at NSA after a spring break full of horseiness and being outside in lovely spring weather, and riding and touching horses, and breathing horses, and reading fiction; generally NOT doing anything school related. Now I'm back. Break is over.

Emphatically over.

I've done enough homework today to last me the rest of the term, yet I haven't even scratched the surface. Greek is a ginormous mountain casting its dark shadow over my every step. It has been my major task of the day, but according to Mr. Schwandt, everything I've done so far is merely "homework prep." *blink* It was raining all day. That probably had something to do with it. But there comes a point when some place you once loved becomes wearisome because of hours and hours you've spent there doing homework. And more homework and more homework. I go to Bucer's, buy coffee, then leave and study elsewhere. I've spent a year and a half studying there. No more, my friend. I now haunt One World, the coffee shop on the other side of town. Its walls are not stained with memories of Latin, Lordship, History, Greek, Rhetoric, Natural Philosophy. Not yet, anyway.

Don't get me wrong. I'm very much enjoying the things we're going over this term. Theology has already enraptured me (not that doing so was especially difficult), History is looking good. But my lands. The homework is - interestingly challenging. And this is Day 2. Not Week 2. Day 2.

Onward forward. Thank God for music.

soaring into finals week

I'm sitting on the floor surrounded by notebooks, papers (both loose and stapled), books, power chords for laptop, printer and cell phone charger, my jacket slung over the bedpost, messenger bag slumped awkwardly against the dresser where it was dropped on Friday evening; my sanity is slowly being bent to my will.

Math will come, ere I perish. I will know the formulas inside out and backwards by Wednesday or I'll, I'll, I don't know what I'll, because I will know them.

So will Greek, History and Theology. I'm not sure how it happens, but finals come every term and so far I've come through 6 of them and I'm still alive, albeit feeling a bit like a veteran of some sort of bizarre war with weaponry that consists of bombs made of study sheets and empty coffee to-go cups.

Laugh not. Rather recognize that beneath the calm exterior of apparent confidence and laid back assurance, we are all frantically cramming in the last bits of knowledge that will enable us to dazzle our professors and enter yet another term of NSA.

osmosis happens

We're told by well-respected sources that you can't learn by osmosis. But if there is one thing I've realized at NSA, it is that actually you can.

Take Greek, for example. I was sitting in the library this morning going over vocab paradigms when suddenly I realized that there I was, writing away in a completely foreign alphabet and it was making perfect sense; granted there is still the difficulty of learning a different language, but I've found myself throwing Greek letters into my standard English writing, and English into my Greek.

I don't remember when that happened. I feel like I sat down and suddenly started reading Greek. *poof* Dr. Leithart writes the occasional Greek term on the board during Theology, no longer bothering to transliterate to the English alphabet.

It was osmosis. All good things come through osmosis.

in which i stop doing homework (for a while)

There is only so much school a girl can take before she goes ballistic. And when all you are doing is staring at books and not hanging out with people outside of study groups, it's bound to happen sooner than later.

On Friday I cracked - I was so exhausted that I fell asleep in Theology recitation; woke up long enough to comment on the discussion then was out again. After killing myself all week catching up from being sick, that was the final straw. I thenceforth chucked homework out the window and did everything BUT homework for two solid days. I watched YouTube videos, read a work of fiction, watched a movie, went to a goodbye party, went to Bucer's until 12:33am to listen to Jazz music. And I slept in. Late. Really late.

And it was beautiful.

the 23rd robin of spring

I'm spinning around in a drunken stupor of happiness. The sun is out, the birds are back, Jazz Fest is in full swing, the mountains of snow are slowly decreasing in size and I can breathe again!

Mmmmmmm. If the ground weren't soggy, this would call for doing homework on the grass. I love spring. I feel ALIVE again.

*spins around and drinks up more crisp wonderfulness*

oh, really?

If I had a dollar for every person who has said I should
be a lawyer, I'd be rich.

subtle warning signs

When you are abnormally tired, it may be more than "big load this week." (Tuesday)

When you are so tired you can't move, it may mean more that "been studying hard for that Greek midterm." (Wednesday morning)

When you're so tired you can't move and nauseous, it may mean more than "that coffee on top of Greek midterms nerves." (Wednesday afternoon)

When you're so tired you can't move, you're nauseous, you can barely talk and you ache all over, take the History quiz early, go home and crash. There is a very good chance that you are sick. (Thursday)

Thankfully I didn't miss any quizzes, although I did miss three classes and Disputatio. (Friday)

It was a good weekend to get sick and catch up on sleep.

technology hates me

I currently have 12 minutes left on my computer battery. Why? Because my third power chord in as many months fried itself, to join the graveyard of my dead cell phones. I'm on my third phone in as many months.

Thankfully I have a housemate with the same brand laptop as I do, meaning she has a power chord that fits my computer that I can borrow until I get a new one. But that didn't help with the fact that the sources for my history paper didn't get e-mailed to me like the search program said they were, meaning that once I was off the UI campus (now) I couldn't access them. Panic ensued.

Rachel called a former classmate, borrowed her University of Idaho ID number, I gained access to my sources. Panic abated, my history paper abstract was written. *great sigh of relief*

One close call on top of another. It has been an interesting term, to say the least.

will it ever end?

I own two pairs of jeans: wet and dry. The wet one hangs over the back of my chair until dry, then is rotated out, the new wet pair taking its place - status Dry no longer applicable after walking home through snow.

The snow is getting deeper and deeper, and refusing to melt. It is piled up in vacant lots, shoved to the sides of backstreets. It buries cars, covers roofs and comes through roofs. Leaks are not altogether uncommon, I gather.

And we are supposed to get 7 more inches tonight. Folks, we already have over two feet of the stuff. Do we really need any more?

beware the blizzard

"Idaho's and Washington's Governors declared North Idaho and Eastern Washington disaster emergency areas."

I've stepped into several dritfts that went several inches past my knees. This is snow that has halted traffic and brought the education industry to a grinding halt. But does that affect me? My friends, I attend New St. Andrews College. We are not like other schools. A note from our most worthy dean arrived after our first snow day in 14 years:
.
I've gathered indications from some of you that prompt this word of caution: if you plan your evening activities as though tomorrow will be a "day off," you take a serious risk. True, Logos School, WSU and U of I have already announced closures tomorrow. Remember that NSA differs significantly from these other institutions in the factors that weigh in cancellation decisions.
.
We did have Thursday off, but Friday we were back to normal, despite the fact that Kathryn and I had to dig the car out of a drift to even leave this end of town.

When we reached school, the piles of snow in Friendship Square loomed over my head.

http://www.nsa.edu/news/newsupdates.html

short, possibly reckless, break

It is snowing. No big shock. It's knee deep and still coming. Very big shock. It's gorgeous, perilous, freezing, stark. Icicles of death grip the edge of the roof, waiting for unsuspecting victims to pass by....

School continues - study groups are regularly on the schedule, weather permitting. My brain is being forced to process knowledge sloooooowly, much to my chagrin. This brain of mine prefers to whirl around at a rapid pace, glancing at new information, stowing it away, perhaps to be looked at, perhaps not.

My sister removed at least part of my mental block with a Bucer's mocha (oh hail the chocolatiness), but the clock's hands are still ticking and the week is still looming ahead.

Bray imparted this bit of wisdom my last lesson - you aren't doing this for yourself, you are doing it for the people listening. That goes for more than just music performance. What we're learning here at NSA isn't simply facts and smartness for our own brains. We're learning this stuff so we can turn around and give it to the people around us.

so we finish week 2, and stare down the throat of week 3...

Random classmate 1: So have you noticed that the work load this term seems lighter?

Random classmate 2: Yeah, I even went out at got a job. It's really nice.

Me (utter, complete disbelief): Are you out of your minds? Reaches for ibuprofen and looks askance at the piles of Greek homework.

Apparently the load this term is a bit lighter. If you discount Greek, that is. And you ignore the fact that I've spent every spare moment possible sleeping to fight off a mystery bug who's main claim to fame is sapping its victims of any and all energy. I've been living off of caffeine and and unusually high amount of sleep - 11:15 pm average crash time, getting up at 6, with naps scattered hither and yon, even though it meant falling asleep over my book in Machen classroom, surrounded by my studiously studying classmates. Wednesday night I surrendered to the virus, chucked Greek homework out the window, and got an unprecedented eleven hours of sleep. Yes, eleven hours. Then woke up, and worked on Greek. A lot of Greek. And then more Greek the next day, then passed my Greek quiz. And tomorrow, first thing on my list? More Greek.

This should be fun.

brush with death

The chill in the air was echoed by the crisp leaves that fluttered by our feet – mine shod in battered boots, his in neatly hammered iron. Due to genetically crappy feet, Monty was lame. Again. To my impatient 14 year old self, this was getting old. The romance of having my own horse was giving way to the reality of equine frailty.

We finished our prescribed 20 minute walk around the arena and headed to the only available pasture. There were actually three pastures on the property, but if I didn’t keep up on the constant fence repair, this was the only one left. It wasn’t the best arrangement; Monty, Sunny, and Brio, the resident Andalusian stud, had to share it on a rotating basis, but we made do with what we had.

With a last pat, I stood on my tip toes to unbuckle Monty’s halter. I heard the vague thud of gate against fence, a shout and hoof beats against packed, winter earth. I turned to see the magnificence of a stallion intent on the kill – head low, ears flattened, teeth bared, eyes blazing with pure hatred. Every fiber in his being had been screaming for this moment. In one smooth motion he was upon us, his graceful beauty horrendous as he lunged for Monty’s jugular. Stunned, I felt the lead rope burn through my hands as Monty rose to escape. The sharp snap of teeth hitting empty air rang in my ears and suddenly I realized I had to get out of there. Fast.

All signs of lameness vanished. Monty was defending himself for all he was worth. He fishtailed, swapped ends and threw his entire weight against the enraged grey whirlwind. Too late, I found myself trapped in the vise of slow motion, seeing but not feeling the weight of 1200 pounds of horseflesh careening over backwards, pinning me to the ground. To my amazed delight, I found a lovely dapple grey flank near my face. I lay there and admired it. Had my arms not been so tightly wedged, I could have stroked the soft hairs. The crushing weight jerked time up to speed as Brio rolled back to gather himself. Every small motion was huge. I could hear frantic shouting, and felt a pair of hands under my shoulders, felt grass give way as I was dragged to safety, saw a whirl of grey and brown as the battle moved on.

so i retired my cat last week.....

Gmail, my e-mail provider, has an interesting feature in that it presents you with ads that correspond to the content of your e-mail. It can be rather creepy, but also rather hysterical at times. Check this beauty out:

Palm Meow

Cat Retirement

Our Mission: To provide high quality care for your cat in a tropical South Florida setting whether it is for short/long term boarding or for life-long care.

"The happiness and welfare of your cat is our primary concern."

Cat Retirement Planning is a new concept in life long care for your cat after you are no longer able to provide for your beloved pet due to circumstances such as a nursing home placement or passing away. Cat Retirement provides cat owners a beautiful home like environment in which their cats can get lots of love and attention as they live out their final years after their owner is no longer able to care for them.

http://www.palm-meow.com/index.html

elephant for breakfast

So begins the new year and the second half of our sophomore year.

Enter Greek. According to Mr. Schwant, our most noble instructor, it will be like eating gravel at first but then, ah, but then *sigh of sheer ecstasy* you will be speaking the language that captivated them all. Although I have to squint a bit and take care not to loose my spot, I, along with my classmates, am reading in a new alphabet. Soon we will be speaking a language that sounds strikingly unlike our own.

The rest of our classes can be summed up in a very wise saying passed down from generation to generation:

The eating of an elephant can only be achieved by taking the first bite, then the second, then the third.... until it is gone.

manifesto

As my poor roommate well knows, I'm slightly obsessed with hair. My hair, your hair, his hair, her hair. Say you met someone who's name you can't remember and you tell me what their hair is like: I will tell you who they are.

This obsession stems from my inability to understand the hair that grows from my own head. It grants me the favor of being there, while not so politely asking me to let it be to do as it pleases. To grow fast or slow, to curl or be straight or just go in all directions at once at it's own discretion. And quite frankly, I got sick of it.

So I devised a plan to slowly bring it under control while it thinks that it has the final say so.

After senior pictures were taken, I marched into a salon, sat down and said, "cut it off." "

"How short?"

"Really short. So I can spike the back."

.

"Ok."

So it came off. Mom looked like she wanted to cry, Dad said I could sue for damages, my own sisters didn't recognize me, and I was forced to learn how to use mascara so I wouldn't be mistaken for my long lost twin brother who actually doesn't exist. Somehow I learned how to take care of really short hair. Gel works really well, so does blow drying it with your head upside down, providing you don't get dizzy and fall over in the process. Cute clips, bobby pins as it gets longer, etc. I cut it off mid-January and it looked great until around June.

My sister, wise as always, informed me that having extremely short hair would not be appropriate for NSA, which I would be entering in August, so I grit my teeth and let it continue growing. Since then I have kept it longer, but it always ends up getting bobbed sooner or later, no matter how hard I try to keep my hands off it.

.

You see, the thing with longer hair is that you have to do something with it. You can't just roll out of bed, run your fingers through it and be out the door in 15 minutes. You have to blow dry it, decide how to style it, style it, hope it stays up, fix it halfway through the day and hope to high heavens that it behaves. Bad hair days aren't a joke. They are a reality.

.

To combat bad hair days you have blow dryers (complete with a diffuser for curly hair), curling irons of various widths, flat irons, hot rollers, and aisles and aisles of hair products in brightly colored containers promising instant hair miracles. What these bottles and canisters and hair appliances don't tell you is that you need skill to apply them. Which I really don't have. I have all the tools, but I also have two left hands.

.

Learning how to use those tools has been a perilous endeavor. I distinctly remember getting an inch by one inch burn on my forehead the first time I attempted to use a curling iron. Using a blow dryer resulted in something akin to a drunken bird's nest perched upon my head. Learning how to use a flat iron was a little easier, but still brought it's own angst and had the side effect of my going board straight every. single. day.

.

So I began spying on other peoples hair. The sincerest form of flattery is copying, right? I have flattered nearly every girl I know, and even a couple guys. (I had short hair at one time, remember?) I've started asking questions, I've begged people to teach me what they know, I've spent hours parked with my boarding mom while she taught me the finer points of wielding a curling iron without burning yourself.

.

My latest endeavor was to make head bands out of sweet fabric scraps I've been saving. I think I may have gained mastery over my bangs, although I'm pondering the possibility of hairspray that has some sort of invisible cement as it's main ingredient. The hairdryer is slowly bending to my will, and the flat iron has realized that it can do more than stick straight.

.

Maybe I'm on to something here.

one short week

and I'm back in Moscow, back at NSA, back in class, back with my nose in the books. Hopefully what I've done over break will be somewhat helpful - read some theology and history, and have started working on Greek. 

And, not to mention, back watching everyone I know paring up. Good heavens. I think it's an epidemic. Every time I turn around someone has gotten married, just got engaged, or started dating/courting. What is the world coming to? At the rate things are going, I'm going to be the only single person I know. *wipes brow and surveys the horizon with a stunned shock* 

Heh, last year when I came home for break, Christopher, the son of one of my friends at the barn, asked if I had a boyfriend yet. I told him that all my boy friends lived in the Tri-Cities, had brown eyes, fuzzy faces, and had four legs. It took him a moment to realize I meant the horses. 

short hair is always a good thing

Yes, it's blury. I'm sorry. But it's all I have at the moment. I think it has already grown an inch since this shot, or maybe it just seems that way because I normally flip the ends out (meaning = looks longer).

In the background you see my mom and grandma talking on the phone with Rachel, who's down in Bogota, Columbia.