Today began with idignation-- I reached the end of my favorite cereal that I borrow from my roommate (sorry Heather...) and along with all the little wheat shred bits came about a table spoon of sugar! How does this cinnaommony goodness have so much sugar!?! So then I walked ouside and it was cold! Finally!
I love the cold, I glory in the cold, I love this cold. So my day went straight uphill-- and stayed for a while.
Heather and I played I Spy in chapel-- I spotted the most people but she found the ones to avoid... so I really don't know who wins.
And theory was cool and choir was great and work began as lovely. And then work got exhausting.
As the semester comes to an end, more people come with their papers and I worked with a ton of students today-- all while i kept thinking about my lovely paper that needs much more attention,
Then I realized that i didn't clock out for dinner and my time sheet was off.
So I had to email my boss and tell her... and I felt like a dork holding my co-worker up because he had to clock out on the same computer.
Thankfully, a bowl of oatmeal and a brisk walk in the cold cheered me up.
And my roomies rock :)
Good night everyone.
A dancing, turning, ribbon rhyme that's writhing through my brain as thoughts of seasons, summer, stars are driving me insane.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Sabbath
Tomorrow is Sunday, possibly my favorite day of the week. I get up, go play with Pre-K, go to church, see my awsome church family, maybe have a fun lunch, then come home and chill-- all evening. On a typical Sunday, I turn on Hulu and watch all the shows missed the past few weeks, fold clothes and do minor mending while watching. Homework is banned and only fun organizing is allowed in the cleaning department. Baking is cool and walking, but anything that is work to me gets put aside for the day. Then Monday comes and I pull all the rest of the homework together and it works. Somehow. And an afternoon of just REST is so amazing. I highly recomend it.
Once upon a time, I hated Sunday with a passion: I would wake up, get dressed all cute to see the same people I see everyday acting like their lives were totally *perfect* *sparkly dust thrown here* Then would be youth group, which I looked forward to, and then service, which I didn't. Service consisted of a music leader who considered 80's Christian choruses to epitome of modern worship and a pastor that loved to celebrate-- Mother's Day, Father's Day, Veteren's Day, President's Day, Youth Day, Baby Day, Toddlers-who-can-walk-but-aren't-in-school-yet Day-- all meant a short sermon mostly focused on honoring whoever's "day" it was. So yeah. I hated that. And I spent most of the serve being bitter and nasty inside rather than thinking about God. A personal failing, I allowed my soul to fill with scorn and bitterness instead of using the time to seek God on my own. I still feel hurt from that church though. And this was before I got put on a committee where I got to church at 8 am-- no sleeping in-- and took notes then spent an hour or two a week typing them and sending them to the other members. Only to find that NOTHING we recomended happened. Except the pastor quit. So....Senior year was not a good time for me spiritually.
I love Sundays now-- really, God has shown me how to enjoy church and meeting with him. And I have a week of quiet times and prayers to build upon on Sunday mornings. I have a place to serve-- my church needs me for more than numbers and tithe. I need TCAL for more than a place to go on Sunday. TCAL is my family. And I love it.
I can't wait for Sunday.
Cute comics about hedgehogs, because they are cute.
http://www.mooseheadstew.com/2009/10/06/
http://www.mooseheadstew.com/2009/10/17/
Once upon a time, I hated Sunday with a passion: I would wake up, get dressed all cute to see the same people I see everyday acting like their lives were totally *perfect* *sparkly dust thrown here* Then would be youth group, which I looked forward to, and then service, which I didn't. Service consisted of a music leader who considered 80's Christian choruses to epitome of modern worship and a pastor that loved to celebrate-- Mother's Day, Father's Day, Veteren's Day, President's Day, Youth Day, Baby Day, Toddlers-who-can-walk-but-aren't-in-school-yet Day-- all meant a short sermon mostly focused on honoring whoever's "day" it was. So yeah. I hated that. And I spent most of the serve being bitter and nasty inside rather than thinking about God. A personal failing, I allowed my soul to fill with scorn and bitterness instead of using the time to seek God on my own. I still feel hurt from that church though. And this was before I got put on a committee where I got to church at 8 am-- no sleeping in-- and took notes then spent an hour or two a week typing them and sending them to the other members. Only to find that NOTHING we recomended happened. Except the pastor quit. So....Senior year was not a good time for me spiritually.
I love Sundays now-- really, God has shown me how to enjoy church and meeting with him. And I have a week of quiet times and prayers to build upon on Sunday mornings. I have a place to serve-- my church needs me for more than numbers and tithe. I need TCAL for more than a place to go on Sunday. TCAL is my family. And I love it.
I can't wait for Sunday.
Cute comics about hedgehogs, because they are cute.
http://www.mooseheadstew.com/2009/10/06/
http://www.mooseheadstew.com/2009/10/17/
Monday, November 9, 2009
"East of the Sun and West of the Moon"
A bit of a rant-- how can these sappy authors whose books get published riddled with grammatical errors and sloppy sentences and so much more wrong get an agent and I can't?
Case in point--
"Ice" is a modern retelling of "East of the Sun and West of the Moon."
See: http://www.sarahbethdurst.com/ice.htm
I read the excerpt. It's boring. My little brother writes better than that, sadly.
(Warning, I am a book snob-- I like good books. "Twilight" was fun, but not good. "East" was good. "Ice" is like the stuff I wrote in 8th grade. Make that 7th...)
Ice is direct copy of "East" by Edith Pattou-- except, you know, "East" is well written...
http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/p/edith-pattou/east.htm
This is also a rather personal one, because Beauty and the Beast is my story, and "East" is the Grimm that BatB came from!
Really y'all? Epic fail...
Case in point--
"Ice" is a modern retelling of "East of the Sun and West of the Moon."
See: http://www.sarahbethdurst.com/ice.htm
I read the excerpt. It's boring. My little brother writes better than that, sadly.
(Warning, I am a book snob-- I like good books. "Twilight" was fun, but not good. "East" was good. "Ice" is like the stuff I wrote in 8th grade. Make that 7th...)
Ice is direct copy of "East" by Edith Pattou-- except, you know, "East" is well written...
http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/p/edith-pattou/east.htm
This is also a rather personal one, because Beauty and the Beast is my story, and "East" is the Grimm that BatB came from!
Really y'all? Epic fail...
Monday, November 2, 2009
Imagine...
http://www.imeem.com/fatherpat/music/iu3Tc8zl/st-petronille-contemporary-choir-veni-veni-o-come-o-come/
Now Imagine...
The subtle strains of "Veni, Veni, Immanuel" sung by a gregorian choir.
A field coated in snow with the trees making a dark border against the night.
The stars above glittering fiercely as dark figures assemble on the snowy ground.
A figure in the middle drops three drops of ruby blood on the snow. As it gently stains the white, he twists a large ruby so it catches the moon light just so.
Then--
A brilliant flash fills the glade, the dark trees prove to be white birches and the people are pale pale pale in the hard white light. Figures fall to the ground as they are bathed in light. Some rise and flee, dark crows in the night. Others twist and turn as if in torture. Some rise again, slowly, wonderingly. And some don't get up at all.
In the trees, a girl watches, transfixed. Piano music begins. The one she knows now slowly rises, agony on his face. Tears fall from her own eyes as the dark figures move with haunting rythym, falling, running, turning, standing, more fall. Many do not rise. The light pulses with its own strange beat as the piano chords and soprano notes fill the scene.
She cannot take the watching and not knowing, the seeing without believing. She turns. And runs.
The music hightens as she pounds throught the snowy trees, a pulsing light at her back.
And it fades as she slows. And falls. And the scene goes dark.
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