Today my fortune cookie spoke to me...
It said: You will find what you search for is already in your hand
um.............
Well, to be honest, I'm not quite sure what that means as I was holding the fortune cookie. It was obviously profound as most fortune cookies are. However on the whole, I think this whole fortune cookie business has a cosmic flaw...you never seem quite able to get a decent one. I mean let's be honest here, most fortune cookies say crap like "the path you seek is right in front of you." Well yeah, if I was headed that direction in the first place then it probably was the path I was seeking. We see them as a sign of luck, but has anyone ever had a cookie that didn't just tell them what they already knew?
"you will have success in your life"
"you give of yourself and others give to you"
Why don't they ever say anything useful like, " Don't stand there, a bird will crap in your hair," or "Don't date a guy with dark hair, he tends to cheat" ?
Sigh.....
Saturday, July 31, 2010
thoughts of a Chocolate Judas
Now I borrowed the term "chocolate Judas" from a very great writer. Nonetheless, I feel like it encompasses the feeling that we all have. It's that stage in our lives where we sit back and think, what the heck am I doing here, and why haven't I done what I said I was going to do. Yes, we all have dreams, plans, ideals that encompass every aspect of ourselves....what we do with them is another matter. Truthfully, dreams are stressful. This is mainly as they contain so many miniscule details we never even considered when we began to dream. We only see the outcome in the beginning, the road seems simple, a gliding stretch before us. As the difficulties arise, well...that's another matter really. Suddenly it wasn't as wonderful as we hoped. Don't misunderstand me, the dream is still alive, just fuzzy. We become insecure, our determination faulters. Perhaps the days, months, even a year or two pass, as we stare at the waning clock. The dream is lost in a thick fog; a haze we cannot pervade. One day someone will say something, anything really...in the flutter of an eyelash, the dream will be remembered. Perhaps determination will again well up within us; as now we've seen the other side. In that brief moment of clarity we will see that to dream is to be a Judas of some sort.
Friday, July 30, 2010
I'm still here!
Yes, readers, your other illustrious author is in fact here. I have been neglectful of my duties (having been verbally abused by some other author-type person...you know who you are), and I am now back.
I suppose you are wondering what the heck would take me away from such a life-altering phenomenon as blogging? Well, I'll tell you.
Remember back, way back to about last week....you know, when I wrote that blog oozing of self-pity and remorse? Hopefully you skipped it. ANYWAY....back to the big picture. I wrote this blog about England. Yeah, I wanted to go, but funding was...well...to put it nicely, funding was a bitch. It wasn't happening. After a whole summer of going back and forth, no sleep, many replays of Leap Year later (hey, don't knock it. I like the scenery), I couldn't figure it out. Yeah sure, everyone kept saying keep praying, you never know. In all my stupid negativity, I thought, nope, not happening.
Then last Friday happened. Somehow or another through the strange life sucking portal of government loans, I received all of my funding. I think I sat at my desk for a good half hour staring at the computer. I was in shock.
However this didn't include the extra I would need to survive. So school was paid for, but not without mass obligations to be paid for beforehand. I was in a state of obsession. I had to figure this all out. My parents couldn't pay for anything. I'm a preacher's kid, enough said.
Today rolled around. I was frantically trying to search the same stupid websites I had looked at before for some kind of miracle. Guess what? Loan companies don't specialize in those.
Then I got an email. It was from the financial aid guy in Oxford. He said he realized my predicament and was willing to work this out. I needed to prove the funds were legitimately needed in a letter. He could guarantee $5000 but probably not the $10,000 (yes, the UK is seriously expensive, and this was not money for shoes (ugh, that's a long story). So I wrote the letter.
Long story short...I AM GOING BACK TO OXFORD. I don't really know what else to say reader. My brain is fried, my nerves are non-existent, but I am going back.
I suppose you are wondering what the heck would take me away from such a life-altering phenomenon as blogging? Well, I'll tell you.
Remember back, way back to about last week....you know, when I wrote that blog oozing of self-pity and remorse? Hopefully you skipped it. ANYWAY....back to the big picture. I wrote this blog about England. Yeah, I wanted to go, but funding was...well...to put it nicely, funding was a bitch. It wasn't happening. After a whole summer of going back and forth, no sleep, many replays of Leap Year later (hey, don't knock it. I like the scenery), I couldn't figure it out. Yeah sure, everyone kept saying keep praying, you never know. In all my stupid negativity, I thought, nope, not happening.
Then last Friday happened. Somehow or another through the strange life sucking portal of government loans, I received all of my funding. I think I sat at my desk for a good half hour staring at the computer. I was in shock.
However this didn't include the extra I would need to survive. So school was paid for, but not without mass obligations to be paid for beforehand. I was in a state of obsession. I had to figure this all out. My parents couldn't pay for anything. I'm a preacher's kid, enough said.
Today rolled around. I was frantically trying to search the same stupid websites I had looked at before for some kind of miracle. Guess what? Loan companies don't specialize in those.
Then I got an email. It was from the financial aid guy in Oxford. He said he realized my predicament and was willing to work this out. I needed to prove the funds were legitimately needed in a letter. He could guarantee $5000 but probably not the $10,000 (yes, the UK is seriously expensive, and this was not money for shoes (ugh, that's a long story). So I wrote the letter.
Long story short...I AM GOING BACK TO OXFORD. I don't really know what else to say reader. My brain is fried, my nerves are non-existent, but I am going back.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Car Breakdown and a Waitress in Heels.
Yesterday, my plot for dominating my background check was foiled again. As I was stopped at an intersection my car completely died. A jump couldn't fix it, so good samaritans rushed over to help a crying girl. My car is 20 years old.. It's time for a new one. But of course, we cannot afford to get a new one (or certified pre-owned I don't care, just something newer). So, it was towed to our house and is now sitting all dressed up with nowhere it can go.
So, today Jacob drove me to my work (2 hours early) and I decided to check out this little cafe. Dating back to the 70s or so, with cups that looked as tacky as in the interior design I sat and drank some coffee. I ordered some sausage muffin thing with hasbrowns (which were disgusting and I LOVE hasbrowns!!). The waitress was wearing this white flat shoes with no back heel (rookie mistake) and her foot kept slipping out.
"I'm not used to flats," she commented, "I'm used to my heels! I know weird, huh? Waitressing in heels?"
Yes. That is quite odd. But would flat sneakers look good with her short skirt and tube top? Probably not.
Also, besides the waitress I was the only one under 55 and the only female...
So, today Jacob drove me to my work (2 hours early) and I decided to check out this little cafe. Dating back to the 70s or so, with cups that looked as tacky as in the interior design I sat and drank some coffee. I ordered some sausage muffin thing with hasbrowns (which were disgusting and I LOVE hasbrowns!!). The waitress was wearing this white flat shoes with no back heel (rookie mistake) and her foot kept slipping out.
"I'm not used to flats," she commented, "I'm used to my heels! I know weird, huh? Waitressing in heels?"
Yes. That is quite odd. But would flat sneakers look good with her short skirt and tube top? Probably not.
Also, besides the waitress I was the only one under 55 and the only female...
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
May I smell your anus?
Today I took my dog, Sophie, to the park which is a couple of blocks from my house. She hasn't been to the park for a long time because of her neglectful mother.
At the park there was a wide variety of dogs (which I did not expect because it was early in the morning). Since Sophie is part border collie, she tries to herd any thing that is small and moves (like our cat Nola, rabbits, miscellaneous chihuahuas, and any give bird). Today Sophie decided it was a great idea to herd three chihuahuas, Lula, Kitty and Baby (I think there might have been one call Pookie Love Bear or something like that). Unbeknownst to Sophie all three have been raised by a giant schnauzer, and believe me Oz was a giant. So, as Sophie was trying to dominate these little munchkins they all ganged up on her and chased her towards me. Her back hairs were standing up and they were all herding her. I think this must have come to her as a shock, because little guys weren't supposed to attack big guys. That's not how the jungle works.
After this playful episode a little basset hound (Stella) got loose from her mother and ran full speed (well, as much speed as a little basset hound with T-rex arms can run) towards me and Soph. Stella was checking out Soph and vice versa while Oz ran over to smell Stella. It was a dog butt sniffing fest and all were invited.
Fun times at the park today.
At the park there was a wide variety of dogs (which I did not expect because it was early in the morning). Since Sophie is part border collie, she tries to herd any thing that is small and moves (like our cat Nola, rabbits, miscellaneous chihuahuas, and any give bird). Today Sophie decided it was a great idea to herd three chihuahuas, Lula, Kitty and Baby (I think there might have been one call Pookie Love Bear or something like that). Unbeknownst to Sophie all three have been raised by a giant schnauzer, and believe me Oz was a giant. So, as Sophie was trying to dominate these little munchkins they all ganged up on her and chased her towards me. Her back hairs were standing up and they were all herding her. I think this must have come to her as a shock, because little guys weren't supposed to attack big guys. That's not how the jungle works.
After this playful episode a little basset hound (Stella) got loose from her mother and ran full speed (well, as much speed as a little basset hound with T-rex arms can run) towards me and Soph. Stella was checking out Soph and vice versa while Oz ran over to smell Stella. It was a dog butt sniffing fest and all were invited.
Fun times at the park today.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The disappointment of rice pilaf
No one expects rice pilaf to be very good. It's just there as pretty filler, much like parsley or the forgotten lettuce pieces. So, if this is the view that we take on filler items, why would they desire to be any better? I think that if we take, say rice pilaf, into our responsibility very similar to a "White Man's Burden" we can improve rice pilaf into being a better side dish. It could be on the same level as raw cookie dough for a side dish. The novelty could be there! Then if rice pilaf feels our pleasant association with the eating the dish it's innards would bust out glory onto our taste buds. We need to make rice pilaf feel like being delicious and wonderful. Down to the last pilaf plate every one would have George Ramsey's approval.
Next time you sit down and start to eat rice pilaf think, "I am bettering society?" If you're not, then maybe you should start. And start with that tiny, insecure plate of rice pilaf. Eventually you can change disappointment into extreme satisfaction.
Next time you sit down and start to eat rice pilaf think, "I am bettering society?" If you're not, then maybe you should start. And start with that tiny, insecure plate of rice pilaf. Eventually you can change disappointment into extreme satisfaction.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Spiders, beetles, moths, and the like.
For some unknown reason bugs are attracted to me. Of recent I have had a tick on my leg, a spider in my ear, a moth attack me while I was trying to pee and to top it off, spiders hiding in my bath tub.
This all speaks to my frustration of being a bug magnet. Everyday I typically kill at least one spider, or two beetles, or something. See on the gross bug scale, two beetles equals approximately .5 of a spider. So, I if kill 4 beetles, it is an equilavent to 1 (one) total spider.
But these spiders aren't little. Oh no, in God's infinite wisdom He decided to make really big and creepy looking spiders that enjoy my home. I don't mind the awful arachnid if it's outside because that's where they belong. But once they infiltrate my home that's when I D-Day their butts.
All this to say that someday the problem will be no more. My new goal in life (as i share it with my husband) is to kill 1% of the world's bug population, which just happens to be living in my home.
This all speaks to my frustration of being a bug magnet. Everyday I typically kill at least one spider, or two beetles, or something. See on the gross bug scale, two beetles equals approximately .5 of a spider. So, I if kill 4 beetles, it is an equilavent to 1 (one) total spider.
But these spiders aren't little. Oh no, in God's infinite wisdom He decided to make really big and creepy looking spiders that enjoy my home. I don't mind the awful arachnid if it's outside because that's where they belong. But once they infiltrate my home that's when I D-Day their butts.
All this to say that someday the problem will be no more. My new goal in life (as i share it with my husband) is to kill 1% of the world's bug population, which just happens to be living in my home.
I'm laughing, but I'm not sure why. It seems to me to be the only thing to do at a moment like this. What moment is that reader? The absolute moment at which you finally realize how insanely obscure and wholly without rhyme or reason your life choices have been. Sometimes you have to wonder, did I make the right choice?
Last night in my many random ponderings I decided it was time to get out of my head and go do something. Well, I ended up working out for about 15 minutes before boredom set in. Then on the way home from the trails, I gave up and decided that a movie and some chocolate dairy-free (sigh) ice cream was the way to go. I got home not too soon after with A Single Man (2010) in my hand. I thought, Colin Firth and Matthew Goode (very nice :)) ? How great is this movie going to be.
Actually, it was pretty good. Just so you know, I might spoil the movie for you, but I won't talk about the end. It wasn't like what I usually watch, and to be honest the previews didn't even come close to describing it.
Colin Firth plays an English professor in Los Angelos, CA. The beginning shot of the movie lends itself to a man (Firth) swimming, or perhaps drowning. His body twists and contorts, but he is never able to reach the surface. Immediately a snowy enbankment appears in which a white car is flipped over. A man dressed in a long black winter coat lies beside the car, his features perfect aside from the blood sprinkled here and there on his face. Colin Firth walks across the snow and lays himself next to the body, but not before he leans down to kiss the man.
In "real life" Firth's character was not there to witness the accident that killed his partner (Goode). Eight months later he is merely surviving. In his obscurity he goes to work, talks about English Literature to his students, spends time with his best friend (Julianne Moore),goes home and tries to sum up the courage to kill himself.
In the end, he finds himself unable. He is unable to cope, but he is unable to do anything about it. It sounds depressing right? Actually, it was pretty entertaining watching him incesantly try to fluff a pillow in order to kill himself comfortably, or try to stuff his whole body into a sleeping bag so he didn't make a mess for the cleaning lady. That's just it, he couldn't do it. There was something, despite the decisions he made every day that kept him going. There was a little glimmer of hope, though he didn't know what it was. He found it in the way his best friend was there to share his misery, or the way a student reached out to him (granted it was.. ah.. little more than friendly, but hey, who am I to judge?). Anyway, the point is, he said something in the end that was...well...absolutely right. So here it is.
"A few times in my life, I've had moments of absolute clarity, when for a few brief seconds, the silence drowns out the noise, and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be."
If you haven't seen it, you should. I won't lie, it is not a good movie if you feel adverse at all to a gay couple, but it's pretty tame in that department. It's mostly about how George (Firth) deals with his loss. Very creative, and well...it's worth your time.
Last night in my many random ponderings I decided it was time to get out of my head and go do something. Well, I ended up working out for about 15 minutes before boredom set in. Then on the way home from the trails, I gave up and decided that a movie and some chocolate dairy-free (sigh) ice cream was the way to go. I got home not too soon after with A Single Man (2010) in my hand. I thought, Colin Firth and Matthew Goode (very nice :)) ? How great is this movie going to be.
Actually, it was pretty good. Just so you know, I might spoil the movie for you, but I won't talk about the end. It wasn't like what I usually watch, and to be honest the previews didn't even come close to describing it.
Colin Firth plays an English professor in Los Angelos, CA. The beginning shot of the movie lends itself to a man (Firth) swimming, or perhaps drowning. His body twists and contorts, but he is never able to reach the surface. Immediately a snowy enbankment appears in which a white car is flipped over. A man dressed in a long black winter coat lies beside the car, his features perfect aside from the blood sprinkled here and there on his face. Colin Firth walks across the snow and lays himself next to the body, but not before he leans down to kiss the man.
In "real life" Firth's character was not there to witness the accident that killed his partner (Goode). Eight months later he is merely surviving. In his obscurity he goes to work, talks about English Literature to his students, spends time with his best friend (Julianne Moore),goes home and tries to sum up the courage to kill himself.
In the end, he finds himself unable. He is unable to cope, but he is unable to do anything about it. It sounds depressing right? Actually, it was pretty entertaining watching him incesantly try to fluff a pillow in order to kill himself comfortably, or try to stuff his whole body into a sleeping bag so he didn't make a mess for the cleaning lady. That's just it, he couldn't do it. There was something, despite the decisions he made every day that kept him going. There was a little glimmer of hope, though he didn't know what it was. He found it in the way his best friend was there to share his misery, or the way a student reached out to him (granted it was.. ah.. little more than friendly, but hey, who am I to judge?). Anyway, the point is, he said something in the end that was...well...absolutely right. So here it is.
"A few times in my life, I've had moments of absolute clarity, when for a few brief seconds, the silence drowns out the noise, and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be."
If you haven't seen it, you should. I won't lie, it is not a good movie if you feel adverse at all to a gay couple, but it's pretty tame in that department. It's mostly about how George (Firth) deals with his loss. Very creative, and well...it's worth your time.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Bubbles
There are bubbles floating in and out of my screen today. Orbiting rainbows, blowing kisses against the print....
No, I am not on acid (prior accusation from a friend who read "maybe"), and slightly hungover doesn't count either. A fellow co-worker decided to show me how to place the bubble screen saver on my computer. Every minute or so, bubbles dance around. It's really quite entertaining for someone like me. Someone dying for distractions.
Today's distraction? Complete neuroticism (is that even a word?). Mild, but complete bouts of pure insanity in which I cannot focus on any one thing. I like to call this artistic licence. Whatever it is, it's absolutely crazy. Right now, for example, I should be working on prayer cards for a family. Am I? No, I am writing to you about the fact that I need to do this. Whilst this is all going on I am thinking about England (yes, reader, a last minute phone call last night, and the whole world is in uproar), and the fact that my friend was talking about how she has ADD (no I really don't think I do even though I did score sickeningly high on the quiz), and I am currently answering the phone ("Hiers-Baxley Funeral Services, how may I assist you?" ).....
Um, well, there is a lot more, but why would I do this to you reader?
Apparently I am just going to play with my pen while I figure out what else to say. Is there anything else? No, not really.
The trouble is focus. Who has it? Apparently no one I know....
No, I am not on acid (prior accusation from a friend who read "maybe"), and slightly hungover doesn't count either. A fellow co-worker decided to show me how to place the bubble screen saver on my computer. Every minute or so, bubbles dance around. It's really quite entertaining for someone like me. Someone dying for distractions.
Today's distraction? Complete neuroticism (is that even a word?). Mild, but complete bouts of pure insanity in which I cannot focus on any one thing. I like to call this artistic licence. Whatever it is, it's absolutely crazy. Right now, for example, I should be working on prayer cards for a family. Am I? No, I am writing to you about the fact that I need to do this. Whilst this is all going on I am thinking about England (yes, reader, a last minute phone call last night, and the whole world is in uproar), and the fact that my friend was talking about how she has ADD (no I really don't think I do even though I did score sickeningly high on the quiz), and I am currently answering the phone ("Hiers-Baxley Funeral Services, how may I assist you?" ).....
Um, well, there is a lot more, but why would I do this to you reader?
Apparently I am just going to play with my pen while I figure out what else to say. Is there anything else? No, not really.
The trouble is focus. Who has it? Apparently no one I know....
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!
So today, the only day, that I could go get my background check to apply for the Alternate Routes to Licensing AND to get my new driver's license is the only day that Utah places are closed. Why? Becuase of a ridiculous "holiday" that isn't even until tomorrow. Why on earth would state offices be closed today? It just shows once again how the religion of Utah has it's hands in many cookie jars.
Thanks for being absolutely ridiculous, Utah, it's much appreciated.
Thanks for being absolutely ridiculous, Utah, it's much appreciated.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Betrayer
Let's be upfront:
I don't see myself working in the chocolate factory for a long time. Honestly I really do enjoy working here. However, this is not where I see myself in 3 years.
So, I have taken the initial steps in becoming a licensed teacher. I have applied, now I have to wait for a confirmation of my elgibility to apply for a teaching position.
BUT... I feel like a betrayer. I've been filling out the applications at my desk during working hours (there's nothing to do here during the summer) knowing full well that I don't plan on being here for a long time.
I don't want to be here for Christmas (Valentine's Day was bad enough) and get stressed out. During Valentine's Day there was no time for lunch, when I got home I was mentally exhausted and I freakin' dreamt of shipping chocolates! I don't want this for Christmas (that's when we make 60% of our annual profit whereas Valentine's Day was only 25%).
However, if I do get hired into a teaching position, I'd have Christmases off and help out here anyway. But, I want to get hired before this Christmas thing happens.
So, here I am plotting with my selfish amibition at my side for betting my career. I've always wanted to be an English teacher, and there are plenty of schools near where I live. So, I figured why not go for it? There's nothing wrong with applying to better my career standing.
But I can't shake the feeling that I'm a sneaky chocolate Judas....
I don't see myself working in the chocolate factory for a long time. Honestly I really do enjoy working here. However, this is not where I see myself in 3 years.
So, I have taken the initial steps in becoming a licensed teacher. I have applied, now I have to wait for a confirmation of my elgibility to apply for a teaching position.
BUT... I feel like a betrayer. I've been filling out the applications at my desk during working hours (there's nothing to do here during the summer) knowing full well that I don't plan on being here for a long time.
I don't want to be here for Christmas (Valentine's Day was bad enough) and get stressed out. During Valentine's Day there was no time for lunch, when I got home I was mentally exhausted and I freakin' dreamt of shipping chocolates! I don't want this for Christmas (that's when we make 60% of our annual profit whereas Valentine's Day was only 25%).
However, if I do get hired into a teaching position, I'd have Christmases off and help out here anyway. But, I want to get hired before this Christmas thing happens.
So, here I am plotting with my selfish amibition at my side for betting my career. I've always wanted to be an English teacher, and there are plenty of schools near where I live. So, I figured why not go for it? There's nothing wrong with applying to better my career standing.
But I can't shake the feeling that I'm a sneaky chocolate Judas....
Life is strange..I can't say more than that
This morning I officially turned down the chance to go back to England and study this fall. If you're wondering, yes, it broke my heart. From the moment I began to type the first letter, to the moment I pressed send, I felt myself shatter. As I was at work, the only thing I could do was quietly get up, walk to the restroom, lock the door, and sob. I never expected to react so strongly to this.
Now, I have no intention of whining, nor meriting any sort of pity from you reader. In fact, I simply needed to say, even though I am now sitting here defiantly telling myself there is still a whole day, I can't deny that the only hope we all have is that there is a point or purpose. That someone out there knows exactly how we feel. I choose to believe this is God, whether or not you feel the same. In that I have to believe there is a reason, there is more than just disappointment. So maybe there will be some hurt today, but I'm going to live in the knowledge that it's only for a fleeting moment. I have no knowledge of the future, but I press ahead in the knowledge that there is a future.
Now, I have no intention of whining, nor meriting any sort of pity from you reader. In fact, I simply needed to say, even though I am now sitting here defiantly telling myself there is still a whole day, I can't deny that the only hope we all have is that there is a point or purpose. That someone out there knows exactly how we feel. I choose to believe this is God, whether or not you feel the same. In that I have to believe there is a reason, there is more than just disappointment. So maybe there will be some hurt today, but I'm going to live in the knowledge that it's only for a fleeting moment. I have no knowledge of the future, but I press ahead in the knowledge that there is a future.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
History of Bressague (We bleed awesome)
I'm almost definitely positive that you readers are wondering how exactly we got our start.
(In this narrative, please imagine that guy's voice who narrates movie trailers) The year 2003. Rainier High School in the wonderful state of Washington. Two young ladies were about embark on a 1.5 mile journey around their track for a P.E. exercise. An idea bloomed from boredom.
(my voice) "Jessica, we're awesome writers, we should start a magazine."
(Jessica) "Yeah that's cool. We could combine our favorite things!"
"Yeah! I could have a section about dogs... and you could have one about lip stick."
"What should we call it? We'd have to combine our last names."
"Okay, Spragussan? No, Bressangue? No, stupid...." momentary silence...
"Bressague!"
"I love it! It sort of sounds dirty... But it's cool. Let's do it."
7 YEARS LATER
(movie guy's voice) 7 years later they reconnected to find their passions still writhing for creative output. Bressague was still in their minds and writing was still in their hearts.
(Jessica) "We could start a blog"
(me) "yeah. Let's do it"
(movie guy voice) There you have it, the history of Bressague. As told by Angelina
(In this narrative, please imagine that guy's voice who narrates movie trailers) The year 2003. Rainier High School in the wonderful state of Washington. Two young ladies were about embark on a 1.5 mile journey around their track for a P.E. exercise. An idea bloomed from boredom.
(my voice) "Jessica, we're awesome writers, we should start a magazine."
(Jessica) "Yeah that's cool. We could combine our favorite things!"
"Yeah! I could have a section about dogs... and you could have one about lip stick."
"What should we call it? We'd have to combine our last names."
"Okay, Spragussan? No, Bressangue? No, stupid...." momentary silence...
"Bressague!"
"I love it! It sort of sounds dirty... But it's cool. Let's do it."
7 YEARS LATER
(movie guy's voice) 7 years later they reconnected to find their passions still writhing for creative output. Bressague was still in their minds and writing was still in their hearts.
(Jessica) "We could start a blog"
(me) "yeah. Let's do it"
(movie guy voice) There you have it, the history of Bressague. As told by Angelina
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Bleeding Profusely From...
So, when you're on birth control and you get the placebo pills, you're like "okay monthly bill ready to pay you anyday now." However, once you get to the last placebo and Aunt Flo hasn't arrived to pay a visit you're like "Dang, hope it's not twins". But, the last two times I've only had a tiny pit stop visit from Flo and it totally freaks me out, I am always worried that I'm going to get pregnant! My husband and I aren't ready for kids yet.
I mean I am not ready to share my Chipotle burritos........
Does anyone have this anxiety? How do you deal with it?....
I mean I am not ready to share my Chipotle burritos........
Does anyone have this anxiety? How do you deal with it?....
Monday, July 19, 2010
maybe...
This morning I thought...
What if. What if an M &M dropped from my cup and rolled onto the floor. What if that M&M was like a magic bean and a tree sprouted out through the floor and up through the roof. And what if someone just let the phone ring and the papers pile up while they climbed that tree. What if at the top there was no busy street, or hoards of people moving too quickly, praying to get through the day.
What if time, what if everything, it all just stopped.
What if that someone just kept climbing that tree. And at the top Someone would feel the sand against their hands; the seagulls gutteral cries. As they pulled themselves up they would find the white sand stretch for miles. They would see the rocks molding into caves, and hear the surf rolling over the land. Someone would sit on that beach and look out into the waves. And while they heard nothing but the sea, Someone would wade into that water. They'd watch the creatures scatter about, and begin to swim amongst them.
And as the sun began to set, a neon pink against the liquid horizon, Someone would sit under the shade of that big tree. They'd try to remember before time seemed to stop, but they wouldn't be able to recall a thing. So as the sun would finally sink beneath the sea, Someone would rest their head against the tree, closing their eyes..nothing but the tide keeping time.
What if M &Ms were like magic beans....I suppose...maybe.
What if. What if an M &M dropped from my cup and rolled onto the floor. What if that M&M was like a magic bean and a tree sprouted out through the floor and up through the roof. And what if someone just let the phone ring and the papers pile up while they climbed that tree. What if at the top there was no busy street, or hoards of people moving too quickly, praying to get through the day.
What if time, what if everything, it all just stopped.
What if that someone just kept climbing that tree. And at the top Someone would feel the sand against their hands; the seagulls gutteral cries. As they pulled themselves up they would find the white sand stretch for miles. They would see the rocks molding into caves, and hear the surf rolling over the land. Someone would sit on that beach and look out into the waves. And while they heard nothing but the sea, Someone would wade into that water. They'd watch the creatures scatter about, and begin to swim amongst them.
And as the sun began to set, a neon pink against the liquid horizon, Someone would sit under the shade of that big tree. They'd try to remember before time seemed to stop, but they wouldn't be able to recall a thing. So as the sun would finally sink beneath the sea, Someone would rest their head against the tree, closing their eyes..nothing but the tide keeping time.
What if M &Ms were like magic beans....I suppose...maybe.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Fish Out of Water (but with lungs instead of gills)
Almost a year ago I married my wonderful husband. He moved to Salt Lake City about 10 years ago and has been there ever since. We met three years ago while I was living in Portland,Ore. Once married I moved with him to SLC where I currently am. And I am a fish out of water.
Yesterday our carpet delivery man stated that they'll be delivering the carpet a day early due to the holiday. I replied "What holiday?" with a shocked look he said, "Pioneer day."
Obviously, I'm not Mormon.
I miss my Portland. I miss being able to walk everywhere, sipping on lattes at independently owned coffee shops. When I see people completely tattooed and wearing patchouli I feel at home. They are a breath of fresh air here.
Because Salt Lake City is has the second most plastic surgery figures [outdone by L.A. (I feel so insecure that I couldn't make the letters bigger)] there are billboards all around stating that the already lovely ladies of Utah need breast enhancement, or surgery for their droopy eyelids or whatever... It's oppressive.
This culture that is fixated on perfection leaves those who do not fall into that category, or who chose to not be in that category, completely ostracized.
One of my friends claims that she is in love with the hippies here in Utah. I'm sorry but Utah does not even come close to the glory of Portland's finest.
Since the culture is completely dominated by the Mormon norm, people speak as though am I Mormon. Well I don't understand this culture.
I am doing my best to understand it as it is for all it's faults and beauty as well, because I chose to live here so I must accept what the culture is no matter how I do not agree with the norms.
Suffice it to say that here I chose to be who I am despite how that looks to others. I wear a tattered sweater that I've had for 4 years around. I wear my birkenstocks, I don't wear make -up (not only for the fact that I just don't like it but because I chose to not fit in) I will wear sweats to the grocery store. Here my little part is a silent rebellion against the oppressive norm of the culture in which I am immersed.
Luckily, my friends (all my friends, save for 2 or 3 are in the church of christ which I attend) are more focused on improving their spiritual well-being rather than their looks. Perfection is not what to strive for, because we are all human and fail. However, being our best is what to strive for. For God, for our families, for ourselves, our perfect is our best however that looks, however that feels for individuals.
Thank goodness for imperfections.
Sending love to the Northwest.
Angelina
Yesterday our carpet delivery man stated that they'll be delivering the carpet a day early due to the holiday. I replied "What holiday?" with a shocked look he said, "Pioneer day."
Obviously, I'm not Mormon.
I miss my Portland. I miss being able to walk everywhere, sipping on lattes at independently owned coffee shops. When I see people completely tattooed and wearing patchouli I feel at home. They are a breath of fresh air here.
Because Salt Lake City is has the second most plastic surgery figures [outdone by L.A. (I feel so insecure that I couldn't make the letters bigger)] there are billboards all around stating that the already lovely ladies of Utah need breast enhancement, or surgery for their droopy eyelids or whatever... It's oppressive.
This culture that is fixated on perfection leaves those who do not fall into that category, or who chose to not be in that category, completely ostracized.
One of my friends claims that she is in love with the hippies here in Utah. I'm sorry but Utah does not even come close to the glory of Portland's finest.
Since the culture is completely dominated by the Mormon norm, people speak as though am I Mormon. Well I don't understand this culture.
I am doing my best to understand it as it is for all it's faults and beauty as well, because I chose to live here so I must accept what the culture is no matter how I do not agree with the norms.
Suffice it to say that here I chose to be who I am despite how that looks to others. I wear a tattered sweater that I've had for 4 years around. I wear my birkenstocks, I don't wear make -up (not only for the fact that I just don't like it but because I chose to not fit in) I will wear sweats to the grocery store. Here my little part is a silent rebellion against the oppressive norm of the culture in which I am immersed.
Luckily, my friends (all my friends, save for 2 or 3 are in the church of christ which I attend) are more focused on improving their spiritual well-being rather than their looks. Perfection is not what to strive for, because we are all human and fail. However, being our best is what to strive for. For God, for our families, for ourselves, our perfect is our best however that looks, however that feels for individuals.
Thank goodness for imperfections.
Sending love to the Northwest.
Angelina
..Wait...what?
I've heard, and you've probably been told, that thinking out loud is a constructive way to solve a problem. Just by blurting your thoughts out in the open, the answer will come to you. Is this true? Maybe. I tend to side with the perspective that says it's just another subtle hint of God's infinite sense of humor. I suppose you're not convinced, and why should you be? Let me explain, or perhaps give you a few examples of immense verbal idiocy.
#1. Relax, it's not like I expect a ring from you or anything. (Yep, and you just made sure you'd never get one).
#2. You need a soloist huh? Yeah, I sing. I guess I could learn it all by tomorrow. ( Sure cause your non Catholic background makes you an expert on Catholic hymns).
#3. Seems to how I lost my keys, I guess I can say hi to you now (oh, this one was a gem).
#4. When I said, take the food back to the apartment, I was just thinking about taking the food back to the apartment. (yeah, you just burst that bubble).
#5. Oh please, you think men have to worry about the way they look. HA! Women have it so much worse (insert male ego boosting comment here).
Now, naturally I have made this sound far worse than it probably is. This is a list compiled over quite a space of time. I do not believe, or rather have made it a study not to meet anyone capable of constant undesirable utterances. But, perhaps I'm quick to judge. Perhaps it is just another divine sign that we're human. Sooner or later we will all be met by Captain Oblivious; a moment in which our brains somehow disconnect from our lips, and the words spoken to us have lost all real meaning. Sooner or later, we will all be struck with a moment of pure insanity where we say exactly what we think the instant we think it.....only to be met by these moment defining words... "Wait, what?"
#1. Relax, it's not like I expect a ring from you or anything. (Yep, and you just made sure you'd never get one).
#2. You need a soloist huh? Yeah, I sing. I guess I could learn it all by tomorrow. ( Sure cause your non Catholic background makes you an expert on Catholic hymns).
#3. Seems to how I lost my keys, I guess I can say hi to you now (oh, this one was a gem).
#4. When I said, take the food back to the apartment, I was just thinking about taking the food back to the apartment. (yeah, you just burst that bubble).
#5. Oh please, you think men have to worry about the way they look. HA! Women have it so much worse (insert male ego boosting comment here).
Now, naturally I have made this sound far worse than it probably is. This is a list compiled over quite a space of time. I do not believe, or rather have made it a study not to meet anyone capable of constant undesirable utterances. But, perhaps I'm quick to judge. Perhaps it is just another divine sign that we're human. Sooner or later we will all be met by Captain Oblivious; a moment in which our brains somehow disconnect from our lips, and the words spoken to us have lost all real meaning. Sooner or later, we will all be struck with a moment of pure insanity where we say exactly what we think the instant we think it.....only to be met by these moment defining words... "Wait, what?"
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Oh, so now we're getting fancy are we?
Alright, so now, as the general consensus seems to be photos of us in Rome, I have given it my best shot. Here I am at the Vatican. Who am I? Just someone who really got a kick out of seeing peacock statues surrounding the outer gardens of a "church." So naturally I had to take a picture of it. The Vatican is a trip, definitely. Wow, I will try to get some of the pictures on here. If you haven't been there, my explanations will be wholly fruitless. Regardless, whoever you are reading this blog, you should go to Italy. It's a beautiful city where guards grace the entrances of Prada (no, I can't afford it, but we thought it'd be fun to go in), seas of people (I'll add that photo later) swarm the fountains, small children with angelic smiles steal your friend's camera, old men who don't speak English randomly explain to you that you need to keep your hands in your pockets at all times due to pickpockets..... no really, it's lovely.
Actually, I was in England first. LOVED that. Those will be my next photos. However, in homage to my fabulous blog buddy, I have posted the picture from Italy.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Photo of One Writer Angelina
This picture is almost to amazing to look at. It's me in Italy eating gelatto. I almost didn't post this; just because similar to the human effects of seeing God or hearing His voice, I was afraid you (that's YOU reader) would suffer some human defect due to the amazing-ness of this photo. Just be aware... There will be more times when I might pop up and you might not even know. Dog Poop
So I have had bouts of laziness during my lifetime. One that has to be the best, most ingenious and creative bout is this last spring.
After heavy snows had covered the neglected dog poop in our backyard (which was also covered by about 3 layers of fallen leaves) I decided that I'd clean the back.
I decided, that since there was no way I'd be able to clean up the leaves AND the dog poop, I got out the leaf blower.
After attaching all the necessary gizmos I was ready for dog poop clean-up. In a matter of minutes (actually about 60 of them) I finally blew all the dog poop and the leaves in the vacant lot behind us where it has laid ever since.
The moral of the story: Sometimes laziness can make one resourceful. Good job.
After heavy snows had covered the neglected dog poop in our backyard (which was also covered by about 3 layers of fallen leaves) I decided that I'd clean the back.
I decided, that since there was no way I'd be able to clean up the leaves AND the dog poop, I got out the leaf blower.
After attaching all the necessary gizmos I was ready for dog poop clean-up. In a matter of minutes (actually about 60 of them) I finally blew all the dog poop and the leaves in the vacant lot behind us where it has laid ever since.
The moral of the story: Sometimes laziness can make one resourceful. Good job.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
What Poverty Makes One Do
Have you ever seen the Disney classic Aladdin?
Not exactly the story of my life or anything, but he did some crazy things to feed Abu and himself. Probably some psycho food combinations like hummus and mango covered with some gross Arabic poverty sauce or something like that.
My lunch is somewhat similar becuase my husband and I haven't been foraging around at Smith's Marketplace, for a week or so, and our account is a little.. shall we say... like a lowly streetrat.
I'm down to my last tapioca pudding, my broccoli is wilty (yet still edible with some sharp cheddar cheese) and although I am grateful for the lunch, I'm thinking "Man, I wish I had some (insert delicious food here) for lunch today.
The little monkey on my shoulder is telling me to just indulge and eat chocolate for lunch, since I work in a factory, but I can't. I mean it's way too expensive to eat healthy food, and the chocolate is free, but I'm actually full and I haven't even touched my tapioca yet. (That's what she said).
Oh wait, it's been touched. I should probably Tweet that.
Not exactly the story of my life or anything, but he did some crazy things to feed Abu and himself. Probably some psycho food combinations like hummus and mango covered with some gross Arabic poverty sauce or something like that.
My lunch is somewhat similar becuase my husband and I haven't been foraging around at Smith's Marketplace, for a week or so, and our account is a little.. shall we say... like a lowly streetrat.
I'm down to my last tapioca pudding, my broccoli is wilty (yet still edible with some sharp cheddar cheese) and although I am grateful for the lunch, I'm thinking "Man, I wish I had some (insert delicious food here) for lunch today.
The little monkey on my shoulder is telling me to just indulge and eat chocolate for lunch, since I work in a factory, but I can't. I mean it's way too expensive to eat healthy food, and the chocolate is free, but I'm actually full and I haven't even touched my tapioca yet. (That's what she said).
Oh wait, it's been touched. I should probably Tweet that.
Tuesday's the new Monday
Haven't you heard? Tuesday is the new Monday. No, it's true. You see, by Monday you're prepared. You know the week is coming. So what do you do? You set your clothes out the night before, remember to feed the cat, put some bread in the toaster, grab your travel mug and a pear for later, and hey, you even have 10 minutes to spare. One quick dance around the room to your favorite little tune, and you're ready to go.
You pull out of your drive, cringing just a little. However, just as you brace for the worst, you open your squinting eyes just a little, and....nothing. With the pure stretch of road before you, all you can see is the promise of successful day. By now, you're feeling pretty good.
"Take that, Monday," you think triumphantly to yourself. God has smiled on your quest to conquer Monday morning.
Then it happens.
Tuesday.
3: 41 AM- The cat strikes. Perhaps to some it is endearing to have their cat shove it's little head in their face, purring like a disfunctional boat motor. I am not one of these.
3:42 AM- Your brain has somehow interpretted the assault as your alarm. You close your eyes defiantly, but now all you can think of is work, paying rent, that relationship you aren't even sure you're in, how you never realized the air conditioner is so obnoxiously noisy....on and on it goes....
Now let's just skip ahead.
6:10 AM- Yeah, it's time to get up, but who needs a shower right? You're sleep deprived. You can sleep in for ten more minutes.
6:45 AM- It appears ten minutes is a long time. You fly out of bed, and race to the shower, almost taking out the poor cat as you do.
7:00 AM-8:00 AM- Now you can't find a clean towel, then your make-up bag overturns thus inviting Fuzz to run away with the eyeshadow brush, which causes you to realize that you forgot to plug in your curling iron, the dress you wanted to wear accidentally was hung up with the clean clothes, your toaster was never turned on, your shoes somehow were shoved in the dark crevaces beneath the bed, last but not least, that careless move of thowing your keys heaven knows where, has finally come to bite you in the..well...you get the idea.
8:05 AM- So, late to work, dismayed, dejected, carrying limp toast, you sit at your desk in relief and revel at life's absurditites. Then, just for a moment you smile. After all, you still have the rest of day.
You pull out of your drive, cringing just a little. However, just as you brace for the worst, you open your squinting eyes just a little, and....nothing. With the pure stretch of road before you, all you can see is the promise of successful day. By now, you're feeling pretty good.
"Take that, Monday," you think triumphantly to yourself. God has smiled on your quest to conquer Monday morning.
Then it happens.
Tuesday.
3: 41 AM- The cat strikes. Perhaps to some it is endearing to have their cat shove it's little head in their face, purring like a disfunctional boat motor. I am not one of these.
3:42 AM- Your brain has somehow interpretted the assault as your alarm. You close your eyes defiantly, but now all you can think of is work, paying rent, that relationship you aren't even sure you're in, how you never realized the air conditioner is so obnoxiously noisy....on and on it goes....
Now let's just skip ahead.
6:10 AM- Yeah, it's time to get up, but who needs a shower right? You're sleep deprived. You can sleep in for ten more minutes.
6:45 AM- It appears ten minutes is a long time. You fly out of bed, and race to the shower, almost taking out the poor cat as you do.
7:00 AM-8:00 AM- Now you can't find a clean towel, then your make-up bag overturns thus inviting Fuzz to run away with the eyeshadow brush, which causes you to realize that you forgot to plug in your curling iron, the dress you wanted to wear accidentally was hung up with the clean clothes, your toaster was never turned on, your shoes somehow were shoved in the dark crevaces beneath the bed, last but not least, that careless move of thowing your keys heaven knows where, has finally come to bite you in the..well...you get the idea.
8:05 AM- So, late to work, dismayed, dejected, carrying limp toast, you sit at your desk in relief and revel at life's absurditites. Then, just for a moment you smile. After all, you still have the rest of day.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Tonight we dine in hell.
Probably one of the best quotes from any movie. Not that I'd actually like to dine in hell, but it's the concept that is intriguing. Not that long ago, while sitting in church, I heard this story of a feast in heaven and a feast in hell. It goes something like this, only with a little twist of Angelina thrown in. Please enjoy.
"One day I died. I traveled to heaven and to hell to learn something about something.
When I arrived in hell, there was a huge table filled with every kind of delicacy imaginable. The hell dwellers had long forks attached to their hands. Yet try as they may, they couldn't bring the forks to their mouths. In front of the huge banquet, they were all famished, and wraith-like. Because they could not eat the wonderful feast.
"I traveled up to heaven to see what the feast would be there. Dawn's light flooded in around the table and warm light became a blanket around me. I went to see the heaven dwellers. At the table they were all laughing and having a wonderful time. The long table was filled every kind of delicacy known. The heaven dwellers also had long forks attached to their hands. On the contrary to hell, the heaven dwellers were well fed. As I looked closer to see what they were doing differently I was amazed.
"They were feeding each other. Each dweller filled their fork and fed it to the person across from them.
"Leaving heaven and traveling nowhere, I stopped to ponder these separate events. I came to this conclusion: We all need each other to survive. If we think only of ourselves, we perish. If we think of others we prosper."
"One day I died. I traveled to heaven and to hell to learn something about something.
When I arrived in hell, there was a huge table filled with every kind of delicacy imaginable. The hell dwellers had long forks attached to their hands. Yet try as they may, they couldn't bring the forks to their mouths. In front of the huge banquet, they were all famished, and wraith-like. Because they could not eat the wonderful feast.
"I traveled up to heaven to see what the feast would be there. Dawn's light flooded in around the table and warm light became a blanket around me. I went to see the heaven dwellers. At the table they were all laughing and having a wonderful time. The long table was filled every kind of delicacy known. The heaven dwellers also had long forks attached to their hands. On the contrary to hell, the heaven dwellers were well fed. As I looked closer to see what they were doing differently I was amazed.
"They were feeding each other. Each dweller filled their fork and fed it to the person across from them.
"Leaving heaven and traveling nowhere, I stopped to ponder these separate events. I came to this conclusion: We all need each other to survive. If we think only of ourselves, we perish. If we think of others we prosper."
Nomad's creed
Today I stand up proud to say "I am a nomad." I am among those who cannot stay in one time zone for more than 3 months at a time. I do not make plans ( unless you count the three seconds before my next decision). I vow never to make up my mind unless I have reviewed all the options, and even then I reserve the right to change it.
Though I sound as though I have no direction in life, it is merely a myth. I have plenty of direction ranging from North, South, East to West. I have no roots, but instead, I grow wherever I choose to be.
I am a nomad.
Though I sound as though I have no direction in life, it is merely a myth. I have plenty of direction ranging from North, South, East to West. I have no roots, but instead, I grow wherever I choose to be.
I am a nomad.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Bits and Pieces of Unfinished Work
I had never really considered the idea of falling off the face of the earth. But, today…today it seemed plausible. Even, enjoyable, perhaps. It had been raining in sheets; spattering against the window in violent bursts. It seemed even the rain, nor the ivy pressing fervently against the glass, could bear the thought of being a part of the world outside my flat. With the explosion of each drop, a loud echo sounded. I sat there staring, utterly unmoved. I wouldn’t pity the elements, not today. It had threatened rain for the past week, and each day men and women, armed with various umbrellas of red, black, and floral prints, called its bluff. It was only a matter of time before the impregnated clouds burst in a fury. I sighed, a grieved heavy sigh for my overstuffed brown chair as I pulled a ripped another rogue thread from the arm. It would only be a matter of time before I would have to replace the furniture as well. It seemed a shame to change the furnishings after Allistar Hadley had disappeared six months ago. Well, perhaps disappeared hadn’t really been the word for it. No, been reclaimed, I would think. Of course no one knew about him per say, and he was in fact a quiet, gentle sort of man. He’d been a fine scholar; A member of The College. I’d only seen him from a distance, and every now and again at the history library rummaging around the A section. I’d felt a sort of connection to the man. Two days before his “death”, I walked to the history library in search of a critical essay concerning the fall of Lucifer. It had, of course, been categorized within the A section. So naturally, there would be an off chance Dr. Hadley would be riffling through, pursing his lips, making the enormous silver mustache he sported, profound. I made my way down to the corner of Broad Street, and allowed myself one found glance towards the pub just beyond the bookstore. Perhaps later, I comforted myself as I walked through the large wooden door and handed my id card to the old guard.
“Mr. Bode,” he nodded as he handed me back my card. “Haven’t seen you in a few days. Though I believe I mighta seen ya over towards the White Horse. Like a good ale myself now and again. Though I think maybe I ought not to keep ya waiting. Got a lot of books to read I’m sure. I remember when I was a scholar here, not too long ago it was. Parked my bike just over there,” he said, looking fondly at the black metal bike rack. The sun glimmered off the red rust the chipped black paint couldn’t cover. “Yes, my young lad, I was an Oxford scholar. Studied Milton in fact. Don’t remember why I decided to quit on day. Just didn’t seem important anymore. That business with Lucifer…angels and demons…silly nonsense. I go to church, I do. I’m a good man, but..silly nonsense really. I reckon if God saw fit to really create angels and demons…well, I might not say anymore.”
I realized later I probably smiled a little too gratefully. I took my card in my hand and began to climb the winding metal staircase to the top floor. Even in my youth I had a fascination with winding staircases. It was a pity they didn’t build them as often. I began to frown, and step a little slower as I ran my hand along the rail. The old man had studied Milton. That wasn’t improbable, just strange. I hadn’t declared my scholarly intentions necessarily, but I was tampering with Milton at the moment. Though I never found it taxing, nor would I have left the college as he claimed. I rather, had been drawn to it by a lecture taught by Dr. Allister Hadley. He was mad as a hatter, but he’d painted quite an interesting world with his ideas. His lectures had always been full to the brim with students, taking courses on religion or not. Sort of a revolutionary I suspected; though most professors wrote him off as brilliant but over taxed. My mind fell back to the old man again. He’d also said he couldn’t remember why he’d left the university. In fact, he didn’t seem to be upset by any of it at all. I shook my head. This really wasn’t the time to go on pondering about some old man’s misguided attempt to be nostalgic. I was here to work, and work I would.
I finally reached the top of the stairs, surveying the mass array of books that littered the tall shelves. It was actually funny of all of it. I had been at Oxford for three months and I’d hardly seen any other of the one hundred libraries than this one. Of course I knew every pub for a ten mile radius, but that was another matter all together. Hardly what one would call surprising knowledge for a student. I pushed my way passed a line of five students, their arms bulging with biographies, and other leather bound facts. I turned the corner into a familiar room. It smelt musty and old. I liked it. I quickly grabbed what I was looking for. I had scouted the books out the day before, and felt no desire to haul them back to my own study. As I placed them in front of me, quizzically looking at their covers, I heard a grunt. A tall, well built man with thick waves of silver hair rumpled his mustache as he paced back and forth between the rows of books.
“Suppose it’s gone,” he spoke to himself in adamant whispers. “If I could only remember what I had written.” His frustration softened. “I suppose I remember soon enough.”
With that, he smiled at me and began to walk away. I hadn’t meant to watch him, or eaves drop as it were; though I hadn’t realized he had seen me. The whole process had been fascinating. I had realized half way through the man’s search; it was his book he was looking for. He couldn’t remember what he’d written? More so, I had just seen him with that book the day prior as I recalled. How does a man forget what he not only studied, but wrote himself? An image of Dr. Hadley holding a pen suddenly sprang into my thoughts. There had been no notebook of any kind beside him. Students often, against all policy, underlined, or wrote notes in the margin of books. A useful tool passed down which guided future students to the proper citations, even the proper supplementary materials. It was a noted and worthy practice I often engaged in myself. However this had been different. The author had begun writing in his own book. To himself? To the students? Still turning the pages of my own notebook, I continued to stare at the bookcase where Dr. Hadley had just been. Luckily, my eyes reverted down to my watch, noting the time at almost exactly a quarter to three. I had fifteen minutes to walk to the lecture hall, and presumably would be sitting on the floor. Consequently it would be Dr. Hadley’s lecture I was headed toward. I wonder if I would be able to focus, or rather would he?
I pushed myself out of my slumped state in the brown chair. The vanilla scented pipe smoke I had now been in the habit of using (after the several severe complaints from the house keeper of cigarette smoke being “too nasty a smell for a respectable home”) billowed throughout the room. I had been so lost in thought I hadn’t noticed myself puffing away. I looked down at the papers in my hand. I obviously wasn’t going to finish scanning the materials this evening. Damned shame really. If I had had the wherewithal to remove myself from this all consuming state of pure laziness, I might in fact venture into the pub fray with my work. There was heat, and moreover, there was beer; A good tonic to an apparently useless afternoon. Though, perhaps the study of Milton was not entirely useless, but rather tiresome. I did not need to further my knowledge of a fictional Satan. I lifted myself and hurriedly shoved my arms into my coat, grabbing my umbrella from the stand. The trip to the Eagle and Child was uneventful to say the least. It was raining too hard to walk, the bus was filled with the usual characters: students making a last minute trip to the assorted libraries, women grumbling about the weather as they held their Sansbury groceries close lest anyone steal them away. I suppose I had paid more attention to it than I realized. People watching was an obscure habit of mine. One I was told often enough in school was a rude undertaking, and should immediately be stopped. Several years and threatenings later, I still hadn’t kicked the habit. Ah, well. I ran through the rain and pulled at the large door to the pub. I was immediately bombarded with the stark smell of beer, baking grease, and firewood. I readily had to admit the heat and the smell were already working in my favor. I hadn’t realized I was hungry I watched a plate of fish and chips pass me by to the room directly to my right. A group of men, scholars of some sort no doubt, sat aggressively arguing. One man’s brows knit in a ferocious manner as he shouted.
“Tolkien was not writing merely fiction! He was demonstrating truths I tell you. Not your simplistic “small t” truths either. I mean absolutes! And what are we gentleman, but interested in the absolute!”
As the server placed the sizzling plate before him, the only absolute he appeared to be concerned with was the displacement of the malt vinegar by one of his colleagues.
I shook my head, and made my way through the narrow corridor to the bar.
“Hello Sam. I’m starving. You think I could order a beer and a big plate of fish and chips? Smells fantastic.”
A lanky arm shoved a tall glass of beer my way, and Sam smiled a wide, mocking smile. “Haven’t seen you since last night, mate. All but given you up for dead.”
I scoffed. I wasn’t entirely amused. I was working nonstop, but that didn’t mean I had to do it completely sober. The study I and Dr. Hadley had been so fond of was unfortunately a very dull, uninspiring place to work. It was a miracle he had formulated his theories there. Perhaps that’s what drove the old Crocker mad in the first place. I hadn’t planned on living in his home, but I suppose no one expected him to leave it either. They had all said, and I agreed, there was nothing more fitting than having one of his own students (though I’d only known the man from a distance) keeping the place up. It had proved an entirely satisfactory home. And, other than this afternoon I had been completely engrossed in the idea of Milton’s personification of Satan to care where the previous owner had vanished to. I shook my head, no; it wasn’t the personification necessarily, but the humanization.
“Mr. Bode,” he nodded as he handed me back my card. “Haven’t seen you in a few days. Though I believe I mighta seen ya over towards the White Horse. Like a good ale myself now and again. Though I think maybe I ought not to keep ya waiting. Got a lot of books to read I’m sure. I remember when I was a scholar here, not too long ago it was. Parked my bike just over there,” he said, looking fondly at the black metal bike rack. The sun glimmered off the red rust the chipped black paint couldn’t cover. “Yes, my young lad, I was an Oxford scholar. Studied Milton in fact. Don’t remember why I decided to quit on day. Just didn’t seem important anymore. That business with Lucifer…angels and demons…silly nonsense. I go to church, I do. I’m a good man, but..silly nonsense really. I reckon if God saw fit to really create angels and demons…well, I might not say anymore.”
I realized later I probably smiled a little too gratefully. I took my card in my hand and began to climb the winding metal staircase to the top floor. Even in my youth I had a fascination with winding staircases. It was a pity they didn’t build them as often. I began to frown, and step a little slower as I ran my hand along the rail. The old man had studied Milton. That wasn’t improbable, just strange. I hadn’t declared my scholarly intentions necessarily, but I was tampering with Milton at the moment. Though I never found it taxing, nor would I have left the college as he claimed. I rather, had been drawn to it by a lecture taught by Dr. Allister Hadley. He was mad as a hatter, but he’d painted quite an interesting world with his ideas. His lectures had always been full to the brim with students, taking courses on religion or not. Sort of a revolutionary I suspected; though most professors wrote him off as brilliant but over taxed. My mind fell back to the old man again. He’d also said he couldn’t remember why he’d left the university. In fact, he didn’t seem to be upset by any of it at all. I shook my head. This really wasn’t the time to go on pondering about some old man’s misguided attempt to be nostalgic. I was here to work, and work I would.
I finally reached the top of the stairs, surveying the mass array of books that littered the tall shelves. It was actually funny of all of it. I had been at Oxford for three months and I’d hardly seen any other of the one hundred libraries than this one. Of course I knew every pub for a ten mile radius, but that was another matter all together. Hardly what one would call surprising knowledge for a student. I pushed my way passed a line of five students, their arms bulging with biographies, and other leather bound facts. I turned the corner into a familiar room. It smelt musty and old. I liked it. I quickly grabbed what I was looking for. I had scouted the books out the day before, and felt no desire to haul them back to my own study. As I placed them in front of me, quizzically looking at their covers, I heard a grunt. A tall, well built man with thick waves of silver hair rumpled his mustache as he paced back and forth between the rows of books.
“Suppose it’s gone,” he spoke to himself in adamant whispers. “If I could only remember what I had written.” His frustration softened. “I suppose I remember soon enough.”
With that, he smiled at me and began to walk away. I hadn’t meant to watch him, or eaves drop as it were; though I hadn’t realized he had seen me. The whole process had been fascinating. I had realized half way through the man’s search; it was his book he was looking for. He couldn’t remember what he’d written? More so, I had just seen him with that book the day prior as I recalled. How does a man forget what he not only studied, but wrote himself? An image of Dr. Hadley holding a pen suddenly sprang into my thoughts. There had been no notebook of any kind beside him. Students often, against all policy, underlined, or wrote notes in the margin of books. A useful tool passed down which guided future students to the proper citations, even the proper supplementary materials. It was a noted and worthy practice I often engaged in myself. However this had been different. The author had begun writing in his own book. To himself? To the students? Still turning the pages of my own notebook, I continued to stare at the bookcase where Dr. Hadley had just been. Luckily, my eyes reverted down to my watch, noting the time at almost exactly a quarter to three. I had fifteen minutes to walk to the lecture hall, and presumably would be sitting on the floor. Consequently it would be Dr. Hadley’s lecture I was headed toward. I wonder if I would be able to focus, or rather would he?
I pushed myself out of my slumped state in the brown chair. The vanilla scented pipe smoke I had now been in the habit of using (after the several severe complaints from the house keeper of cigarette smoke being “too nasty a smell for a respectable home”) billowed throughout the room. I had been so lost in thought I hadn’t noticed myself puffing away. I looked down at the papers in my hand. I obviously wasn’t going to finish scanning the materials this evening. Damned shame really. If I had had the wherewithal to remove myself from this all consuming state of pure laziness, I might in fact venture into the pub fray with my work. There was heat, and moreover, there was beer; A good tonic to an apparently useless afternoon. Though, perhaps the study of Milton was not entirely useless, but rather tiresome. I did not need to further my knowledge of a fictional Satan. I lifted myself and hurriedly shoved my arms into my coat, grabbing my umbrella from the stand. The trip to the Eagle and Child was uneventful to say the least. It was raining too hard to walk, the bus was filled with the usual characters: students making a last minute trip to the assorted libraries, women grumbling about the weather as they held their Sansbury groceries close lest anyone steal them away. I suppose I had paid more attention to it than I realized. People watching was an obscure habit of mine. One I was told often enough in school was a rude undertaking, and should immediately be stopped. Several years and threatenings later, I still hadn’t kicked the habit. Ah, well. I ran through the rain and pulled at the large door to the pub. I was immediately bombarded with the stark smell of beer, baking grease, and firewood. I readily had to admit the heat and the smell were already working in my favor. I hadn’t realized I was hungry I watched a plate of fish and chips pass me by to the room directly to my right. A group of men, scholars of some sort no doubt, sat aggressively arguing. One man’s brows knit in a ferocious manner as he shouted.
“Tolkien was not writing merely fiction! He was demonstrating truths I tell you. Not your simplistic “small t” truths either. I mean absolutes! And what are we gentleman, but interested in the absolute!”
As the server placed the sizzling plate before him, the only absolute he appeared to be concerned with was the displacement of the malt vinegar by one of his colleagues.
I shook my head, and made my way through the narrow corridor to the bar.
“Hello Sam. I’m starving. You think I could order a beer and a big plate of fish and chips? Smells fantastic.”
A lanky arm shoved a tall glass of beer my way, and Sam smiled a wide, mocking smile. “Haven’t seen you since last night, mate. All but given you up for dead.”
I scoffed. I wasn’t entirely amused. I was working nonstop, but that didn’t mean I had to do it completely sober. The study I and Dr. Hadley had been so fond of was unfortunately a very dull, uninspiring place to work. It was a miracle he had formulated his theories there. Perhaps that’s what drove the old Crocker mad in the first place. I hadn’t planned on living in his home, but I suppose no one expected him to leave it either. They had all said, and I agreed, there was nothing more fitting than having one of his own students (though I’d only known the man from a distance) keeping the place up. It had proved an entirely satisfactory home. And, other than this afternoon I had been completely engrossed in the idea of Milton’s personification of Satan to care where the previous owner had vanished to. I shook my head, no; it wasn’t the personification necessarily, but the humanization.
Domination Lion
Not too often there comes a time when the opportunity to domiante approaches. She rears her head like a lion roaring and shows herself in the most vibrant of ways.
Today the Domination Lion spoke to me candidly.
Here, the V Chocolates Factory of Salt Lake City, UT, I regulate little munchkins who come in and participate in the most mind-blowing of tours.
"Hey, don't eat that!!"
"Get your mouth away from the chocolate spicket!"
"Did you just fart? That'll ruin the chocolate smell for awhile."
Story of my life.
But today I got the opportunty to dominate in the field of hair nets. Every kid had to wear one and gently shove every strand of their long flowing locks in the casket of embarassment for the half hour of the tour.
But at the end all was well with life when each of the 35 elementary school kids got to walk away with a bag of free goodness.
Now that's what I call a day.
Today the Domination Lion spoke to me candidly.
Here, the V Chocolates Factory of Salt Lake City, UT, I regulate little munchkins who come in and participate in the most mind-blowing of tours.
"Hey, don't eat that!!"
"Get your mouth away from the chocolate spicket!"
"Did you just fart? That'll ruin the chocolate smell for awhile."
Story of my life.
But today I got the opportunty to dominate in the field of hair nets. Every kid had to wear one and gently shove every strand of their long flowing locks in the casket of embarassment for the half hour of the tour.
But at the end all was well with life when each of the 35 elementary school kids got to walk away with a bag of free goodness.
Now that's what I call a day.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)