Bros.

My photo shoot with Sarah kinda gave me some inspiration. I took Joel and Caleb out and got some pictures of them too :) It was sorta the same style as Sarah's..just...boys instead of girls haha. It was good :)

 One of my favorites

 I liked the out-of-focus look in this one.

 I used my Polaroid for a prop in some of them :)

 Bros :)

So it was pretty good :) i never know how to end a post about pictures...or how to write them for that matter haha.

**untitled**

Hello. It's been a while hasn't it? i know that's a completely cheesy was to begin a post, but it's true all the same. So while i sit here with my cozy cup of hot chocolate (normally i don't drink hot chocolate, but today is exception...not sure why though) let me tell you...something.

i know lots of people come back to their blogs after a long absence and talk about how they've been way too busy to write anything elementary. I could say that, but i won't. I mean, i have been busy, but that's not why i haven't written. the thing is that i don't really have much to say. I could come on about once a week and say something really bothersome and short, but that would be pointless. you know what I'm saying?

Well, today i took Sarah out for a little mini-photo shoot. It was cold out of doors, so i got Joel's hoodie and a little pink beanie and out we went.These are some of my favorites :)

 Half the time she was sitting on this old desk we have next to our garage.

Not sure which is my favorite..thoughts? :)

Yeah....she got cold and we went inside.

so long.

The Wrong End of a Telescope

The dreary rain knocks with urgency at the window, like a thousand tiny drummers. Upon opening the glass, I stare in amazement as the field in front of me pulls apart, like a mountain from an avalanche or two halves of an Oreo, revealing a large murky swimming pool. After climbing out of my window, I dive in and swim down until I am enveloped in inky blackness, and can see no more. Reaching out my hand, I grasp a brass doorknob and open the mysterious portal, pulling myself through.

Now I’m in a bright, tall chamber, filled with candle chandeliers; each candle extinguishing itself, and then lighting again, creating a rhythmic pattern, like Christmas lights on a crisp December night. To my right, a hundred faceless musicians wearing top hats and bow ties strum upon large silver ukuleles. To my left there is an enormous mahogany bookcase, filled to bursting with aged tomes and ancient volumes of every size and color. A little book keeper stands on a roll away staircase with a crate of books, everlastingly attempting to cram another novel into the sea of hardbacks. Straight ahead, I see a long hall, at the end of which a shiny carousel waits for me. I choose a tall steed, black with a fiery red mane and wild eyes. The carousel turns, slowly at first, but then speeds up, creating a panorama of blurred shapes and colors. When it eventually stops, I clamber down and stumble off and behold the new world in front of me.

Wide-eyed, I walk hesitantly towards the crimson drape, the sort you usually find in an old-fashioned theatre or a certain strange barber shop. When I draw the curtain, instead of seeing the expected crowd of onlookers, I see only a little old man sitting under a spotlight, pulling a bow across his cello strings and creating a tune so melancholy and lachrymose, it feels inescapable. 

Then the violoncellist suddenly looks up, but he has no face. In the place of what would be called a visage, eyes, nose, etc.; he has but a mouth, placed in the very centre of his head. It is withered, but curls up into a sinister grin. 

The walls start to close around me, and the cellist disappears from view. I find a ladder and begin to ascend as fast as possible as the walls press in closer. I reach the ceiling and pound until that section becomes loose. I lift the round object and roll it to the side. 

I emerge from what appears to be a hatch in a great city. All the colors: reds, oranges, blues, etc., had been stripped and replaced with a mottled grey. Turning, I look up and see a gigantic oak. Out of that large tree, flies an enormous eagle with large talons and a beak the size of a sail boat. Going in the opposite direction, I run down the street and hastily enter what appears to be a Shawarma café, the door swinging shut behind me. Everyone in this place stairs at me as if I have three heads or am singing a folk song in a loud, obnoxious voice. Then they seem to shift their accusing gaze to somewhere behind me. I look through the window and see the giant eagle come crashing through the glass, shards spewing everywhere. It snatches me up, blasting through the roof, and swiftly carries me away.

 I try to escape the eagle, and at last succeed and plummet through the air. I land in a vast pool which is full of fat manatees, and whiskery catfish, as well as other strange creatures of unknown origin. Swimming to land, I recognize it to be the very same body of water where my adventures began. As I walk away, it closes up, the earth rolling in mighty waves. I find my house and climb in through the same window. Everything is just as it should be- the same as before. Reality.

This post is a bit superfluous so...

For some reason, I always like to begin my posts by describing something...i don't know why, but that's okay.  

Moonbeams stream through my window, creating a puddle of light on my floor. Pulling open the blinds, I press my nose against the window, fogging up the glass, looking out at the bright moon shining through transparent clouds, creating a silent halo encircling itself, and trying to discern the stars from the airplanes. The song “You’re Beautiful” by Phil Wickham comes to mind. I decide that it’s the perfect time to write down some thoughts in my little blue notebook, fighting off insomnia, by moonlight. You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to, but if you want to, then go ahead. ^_^ 

What is it about the sky? What’s with the starts that are sprinkled so generously across their violet backdrop, or the sun that paints the clouds with pinks and oranges? Why is it that we find the moon, only a reflection of its majesty, so beautiful? Why do we find comfort gazing at something that’s there all the time? 

Maybe because it reminds us that there’s a hope. That we’re not alone, because there’s someone who’s more important than us, who knew us before the beginning of everything.

Well, we appreciate the sky anyway, even if there’s no particular reason other than it just being absolutely marvelous, with all of its constellations, sunrises, sunsets, and eclipses. 

Like i said, there's not special purpose to this post.

I’ve decided to read Les Miserables by Victor Hugo before December 25^th when the movie comes out, if it kills me. So far I’m doing alright. I just love the way he painted his story. He was so right about so many things. If you don’t know what it’s about, or don’t really care whether you see it or not, watch this. It’ll change your mind. And if it doesn't...well that's your own problem. 

Enough about that.

 I know that about 99% of everybody has already said this, at least once, but… fall is almost here!! :D (not to mention I’m probably one of the very few people who have not had a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks yet…yeah…I know…) I can’t wait for fires and leaves and cold weather and sweaters and hoodies and s’mores and hot chocolate….I could go on for…a really long time. 

By the way, in case you haven’t noticed there IS a comment button, down at the bottom of the post kinda in the middle. Speaking of which (we weren't really speaking of it, but that doesn't really matter) if you wanted to follow me (it means you get updates and stuff) there’s a follow thingamajig on the right sidebar...somewhere over there…just sayin :)  

if you've made it this far, thanks for reading. If you didn't make it this far, thanks anyway :)

Morning by Morning

It's 6 o'clock, saturday morning. Most people are still asleep. But i can't. Thoughts have been running through my head like a steamy locomotive, fogging my brain. Worrying about friends, and sports, and all that jazz. Eventually the light from the dawn filtered lazily through my window.  i don't know why, but the song "He's Always Been Faithful" by Sarah Groves came into my head. it's a beautiful song.

I went downstairs, the downstairs that would soon be filled with people's voices and the sounds of little kids eating breakfast. I quietly opened the back door and stepped out onto the chilly back deck. Sitting on the table, i started to think about the song, and how it applied to me, looking at the pink clouds from the sunrise.

Truth is, I didn't need to worry about all that stuff. God's going to provide what I need. "He's always been faithful, He will be again."

thanks God.

The toe doctor

 If you were to go to the movie theater, purchase tickets for the film 'moriahs life,' buy a large bucket of popcorn with extra butter, and sit down, when the curtains rose you would happen upon the scene of me sitting in the toe doctor office. Not a very exciting place to be, because you're home schooled so that doesn't usually mean you get to skip classes. You would also find me painfully typing this out on an iPod touch because I made the stupid decision of leaving my trusty  notebook in the car, along with my Arizona. You may be wondering what's the matter with my toe, but sadly I myself do not know as that is yet to be decided by the toe doctor who seems to be making every effort to avoid me. All I know is that it looks really gnarly and I have been in a great deal of pain (ask my friends they'll tell you)  so here I am after a series of mildly unfortunate events in a tiny little room with a huge door painting an alarming shade of yellow and  If you were to go to the movie theater, purchase tickets for the film 'moriahs life,' buy a large bucket of popcorn with extra butter, and sit down, when the curtain s rose you would happen upon the scene of me sitting in the toe doctor office. Not a very exciting place to be, because you're home schooled to that doesn't usually mean you get to skip classes. You would also find me painfully typing this out on an iPod touch because I made the stupid decision of leaving my trusty  notebook in the car, along with my Arizona. You may be wondering what's the matter with my toe, but sadly I myself do not know as that is yet to be decided by the toe doctor who seems to be making every effort to avoid me. All I know is that it looks really gnarly and I have been in a great deal of pain (ask my friends they'll tell you)  so here I am after a series of mildly unfortunate events in a tiny little room with a huge door painted an alarming shade of yellow and walls that has pastel  dinosaur trimming plastered to the walls, rambling on about nothing in particular...

Now i'm in the car, waiting for mi madre to come out of rite aid wih my toe perscription. I dont know why I bother boring you guys with all this useless information. Have you ever met someone who constantly supplies you  with useless information? Its disparaging. Especially when you happen  to already know this nonsense yet they insist on tellin you anyway. I have. But that's ok :) pardon my little rant. Let's move on. Words. I love words. I know it's nerdy but what's wrong with the truth? Words are just so spectacular and marvelous and stupendous. You can do so much with them. Think of all the things you wouldn't be able to do without words. I wouldn't be typing this to you right now without them. 

And thus concludes my little trip to the toe doctor. Turns out its infected. Yeah. Gross. Anyway. I'm just going to stop talking now......

Last Day.

Well...here we are again. If you're on of those people, like me, who spends most of their year writing papers, answering questions, and sharpening pencils, you know what i'm talking about. And, unless you've already started school, you would recognize today as the "Last Day of Freedom." Or something like that. Or maybe you think of it as Labor Day...which i think is how the rest of the population recalls it...hmm....

Anyway.

Many spend their day out trying to catch a few more rays of sunlight before they must subject themselves to winter paleness. (unless you're one of those people with perpetual tanness- you know who you are) Obviously, I spend my last day writing to you guys..you guys should be grateful. :) But i do not mourn my lost summer days. Indeed, I like to think like Dr. Seuss:

"Don't cry because it's over
Smile because it happened."

I'm ready to move on. I hate the heat and humidity. Fall is coming soon which, for me, means jeans, hoodies, bonfires, s'mores, pumpkin carving, all that jazz.

Oh, and i thought I'd share this song...It's been on my mind a lot lately. 

This is a really short post, but...i think it suffices.

decisions, decisions, decisions oh and Miracle Max

People. They’re practically everywhere. In constant motion, crawling along the planet’s surface. And unless you choose to become something of a hermit and move to a place virtually uninhabited like the Sahara or Antarctica (neither of which, however, do I recommend due to the fact that each is a highly inconvenient place to start a community by yourself) they’re inescapable.

It’s interesting to think about the way people think, if you think about it. Why people make the decisions they make, and what effects they have, and what would have happened had they made a different choice. And why they didn’t take that path in the first place.For instance, why the figurative fellow in the car next to me chose to wear such an ugly shade of eye shadow, or why the person next to him chose to buy a Mt. Dew in a plastic bottle when, obviously, it tastes much more refreshing out of a glass bottle. Or why they’re even in the car at all. I almost want to dress en costume as Miracle Max, knock on their windshield and cry out 

"Hey! Hello in there. Hey! What's so important? What you got here that's worth living for?"

Maybe not those exact words, but you get the idea.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, unbeknown to me, the man in the eggplant-colored eye shadow is on his way to a volunteer educational play about Hidden Valley. The person beside him bought the plastic bottle beverage out of the convenience of having lid; and had I knocked on the windshield, the sight of me dressed up as Miracle Max would’ve given him such a fright that, had he not had said convenient cap, he would’ve thrown his Mt. Dew up in the air, sloshing our eggplant friend and creating a landslide of runny eye shadow. Thus, making him late for his play, and all the little kiddos would have to go home disappointed.

But what really induced them to make such decisions I’ll probably never know. And we’re only three out of billions of humans out there, making choices that could change the face of history or life as we know it. But thankfully, we’re not alone in this big universe. God’s got our past, present, and future all in the palm of his hand. Each of our billions of either brilliant or incredibly stupid choices happening at the same time; he sees them all. We don’t have to worry about the future, because he’s got it all. Thanks God :)

Have fun storming the castle :)

wigs and mountain tops

Moths flutter noiselessly around the lights attached to the roof of the wooden wrap-around porch while the sound of the cricket’s and cicada’s raspy overture floats along the chilly evening breeze. Lights twinkle cheerily through the trees. But best of all, the smooth roll of Blue Ridge is unfolding before me in glorious spectrum. The massive mounds of earth slice into the fading sky, making it seem as if it’s just us, our rented log cabin, and the mosquitoes. In the middle of nowhere.

Montagnes. Mountains. The word would have the same meaning in any language.  It means winding roads, steep cliffs, beautiful glades, and views that take your breath away, tearing it from you, twisting it around, and carrying it off into the sunshine like crisp autumn leaves, or a certain wig that a strange neighbor that you don’t particularly like gave to you as a birthday present. 

 

Grandfather Mountain was, in a word, incredible. After strutting across the swinging, mile-high bridge, we scrambled along the top of the craggy cliff top. To the left and below, the winding road curled around like a lock of light blonde hair with highlights down the mountain. To the right, the ledge jutted out and disappeared in the grey, foggy, nothingness. 

Mile-high bridge

 

After walking down the trail to the parking lot while mom and dad drove with the little ones, and having an incredible encounter with a certain white tale doe and her fawn, we endeavored to undertake the Black Rock trail. I must say, it was quite a feat to behold, taking a hike with two three-year-olds, but it was worth it. There were viewpoints along the trail where you had to cling to the cable like a monkey and pull yourself along a ginormous boulder. To the panorama no words or pictures could do justice. But I will say that Marianne’s words for Sense and Sensibility came to mind:

“Is there any felicity in the world superior to this?”

Blowing rock was, although fun, a bit mediocre. I think the legend-person who jumped off like a million years ago died…there was not enough gust to support a very light feather- let alone a full-grown warrior…but that’s just a matter of opinion. The town of blowing rock was pleasant. So different from back home. Shops and cute cafés line Main Street. Residents congregate in the park and content customers loiter on cast iron benches as they happily slurp their pastel ice cream cones. 

For some reason, we always seem to gravitate towards mountains as our get-away. For some people, it’s the coast they turn to as refuge from life’s craziness, for others it’s the hustle and bustle of big cities they enjoy. But for us as a family (I mean, I think I’d enjoy anything), and I’m sure for many other people, we seem to feel closer and more at home when we’re in danger of slipping and plummeting off a cliff, or when we’re lying on our stomachs on a precipice, holding our faces out over the edge to feel the exhilarating breeze. Or when we’re standing a mile high at the top of a mountain; shut out from the rest of the world in a foggy cloud.

But good dreams eventually come to an end, and we begin descending the winding roads. Let the cow counting begin.

Clown shoes and carousels

Adventures can take you anywhere. They are enticing occasions that can take you from the sultry cabin of a coal-guzzling locomotive, to a hard, jutting peak in the Himalayas slicing the sky, to the gut of an aircraft, plucking conveniently salty peanuts out of their crinkly gold packaging while scribbling furiously in a deliciously old and rumpled notebook. Which is where you find me, yet again. On my way back home sweet home. 

Ah, Florida. It was grand to see it again. Although, I’ll admit, I thought flying was a bit strange. You see, I’m used to driving the whole long fourteen hour journey south in our good ol’ blue club wagon with the rest of the clan, where changes along the road come gradually. But flying, oh no, you land and, whoa, there’s palm trees, like, EVERYWHERE. But that’s just culture shocked little ol’ me.  ^_^
                Anyway. I decided I’m not going to record my adventure play-by-play, but I’ll just give a description, in case you’re interested 

Twice, we went to the beach, where the clear emerald surf crashed its white foamy mass over the sandy coast. The shells shone like time-worn pebbles on the grainy bottom. Pelicans soared overhead. It was gorgeous. The sunburn? Not so much.

                At the Brunswick harbor lanes we pulled on those funny clown shoes, tugging at the greasy laces. Then we bowled a good five games or so. Phil creamed me in like every game. But it’s all good. 

Don't they look like clown shoes?

                Driving down US 1, we visited some relatives and swam in their pool (FAIL of the day…stepped on my sunglasses and cracked them…oh well), and then strolled down to the fish and gator-infested river.  (Well, I’m not so sure about the gators, but you never know …) 

River :)

Grandma :)

                Ah. And we went to the chocolaty cocoa beach, where the crowds surf, swim, play volleyball, or just stroll along the shore. Oh, and we went to Ron Jon Surf Shop. That place is incredible! It’s like a beach version of Dick’s Sporting Goods. No joke. It’s an extraordinary place with a medley of souvies and hard-core surfing equipment, from key chains to wetsuits.

Need i say more?

Ron Jon Surf Shop ♥

Welcome to Cocoa

But most of all, we had opportunities to visit family, which is most important in my book.

One day we had dinner with my uncle, or, my dad’s “older brother’s little brother.” As they like to put it.  And then Tuesday we drove two hours across to Lakeland and had lunch at steak and shake (I think it was my first time) with cousins, whom, I might add, we hadn’t seen in AGES.

"He makes this really funny face when he bites into a lemon.."

Me and Sierra :)

___________

So even though Florida was marvelous I can’t wait to touch back down, hug the fam, stand in line at the carousel and wait for my overstuffed suitcase to come around the corner. Question. Why do they call it a carousel? 

That’s a carousel.

That’s a baggage-goes-around-in-a-circle-so-people-can-watch-it-and-find-their-bags-after-they-go-around-a-million-times-thingamajig. 
 Why do they call it a carousel just because it goes around in a circle?

anyway.

I know I was only gone a week and a half, but it felt great to step into the terminal in our tiny little airport (the one in Orlando is like a mall) and power walk down the familiar mermaid-adorned carpet and see family at the end of the long corridor. Thanks for reading.

-yours etc.