Summer

Along with the usual agonizing search for a job (how come so many other people manage to get summer jobs and I'm never one of them?), I have a long list of more pleasant and interesting things to do this summer.

I find myself at the inevitable point in my life when most of my childhood friends are off having adventures of their own and do not return like homing pigeons to their parents during the summer months. This is the third Saturday I have been home and I have not interacted with anyone other than my family and the strangers I meet at the library and the bank. It's a little odd. I miss my friends, but I am a big girls, so I can handle it. I have no idea who reads this blog anymore. But if you are in town, don't forget to say hi.

Through that magic substitute for real human interactions known as the internet, I am keeping in touch with most of my friends, old and new. One of my summer goals is to finally read Harry Potter. A handful of people from my school are reading with me. I set up a blog for us all to geek out, rip to shreds, and otherwise enjoy each other's company while he get through these cultural icons. It's kind of a fun group. Some of us have never read them before, some grew up with them. I am interested in looking at how Rowling plays with fantasy conventions and traditions. When does she use traditional symbolism to her advantage and when does she turn it on it's head for her own purposes, and when does she simply throw it out. And since I am a writing geek, on top of the fantasy obsession, I like to critique her writing strategies, and mentally edit and rewrite the book in my head. I swear this is not a sign of contempt on my part. I do this with all the books I read lately. In any case, you can read our collective Potter ramblings Here

My other major summer project includes rewriting a short novel that I have been working on since I was twelve. I officially finished it a year or two ago. And when I say I'm rewriting it, I don't mean editing or revising, but literally sitting down at a blank Word document and starting from the beginning. This allows me to fix problems that bugged me but I was too focused on finishing the silly thing to solve. While I'm at it, I've changed the sex of the two main characters. This is REALLY interesting. They were two boys, and they did all the sorts of things that boys in fantasy novels for kids do. They ran around with swords and fought dragons and that kind of thing. But there are a grand total of three girls in this story. So, being the rabid feminist that I am, I decided it would be worth it to rewriting the whole thing with girls. It really changes things... a lot.

I'm rewriting the story for my own enjoyment, but also because come fall I will be doing an independent study in Fiction writing with an English faculty member. I'll be applying to grad schools this year, so I need some writing samples to send out. Twenty to thirty pages of exemplary work. Yikes. So I have also been doing the old college search again. I really enjoy researching schools. I hope to have a short list of three or four schools to send my twenty pages of nonsense to, plus a short essay saying "I write good, le'me in."

With all this writing I have to do, it is perhaps a blessing that I didn't bring home any art supplies. But I have a sketch pad and a pencil so that's enough. I am listening to some books on tape and drawing. Right now I'm in the middle of Children of Hurin. So I'm drawing portraits of the Valar. Because I'm a geek.

That's the update. And now I don't have to feel guilty because I haven't posted since February. Now I'm going to go watch Tangled with my siblings.

Poor man's art.

Bernadette and I had a little trouble finding the place, and it was closing when we got there. We walked in anyway and I was a little hesitant. There is a smell I associate with poverty and drugs that I became familiar with when I used to deliver food for the St. Vincent society and when I rode the city bus to school, back home in Spokane (aka “Spocomton”). This place was full of it. I overcame my mild repulsion, since I had come this far, and even if we couldn’t get into the gallery, there was art hanging in the hallway.

Someone kindly let us in, opened the art room for us, showed us around and told us a little about the program. Heartside Ministry art room is both a gallery and a studio. The space is crowded with supplies, chairs, tables, and the walls are covered in art work. At first glance there is simply too much to take in. As I focused my attention on one group of work or another, I began to realize that there is something different about this gallery. Art is always expressive, of course, but the people who created these pieces really had stories to tell.

Our tour guide showed us the work of Deb Dieppa. He told us that she suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder. I remember studying MPD in my psychology class a few years back. It’s a horrible disorder. I remember thinking, “this looks like possession by demons.” It is caused by horrific abuse in childhood. Dieppa’s art showed her struggle with the disorder. They tended to be dark and a bit ominous. I kept coming back to a piece called “Shame.” A childlike figure dressed in a pale robe stood in a dark forest-like place with her hands clenched against her chest. Her face was a ghastly pale purple. It clearly captured something painful that the artist was very familiar with. But the very fact that she could paint about it and express her struggle gave a great sense of hope to her work. This hope, I found, was common to all the pieces that I looked at.

I didn’t get to hear the stories of the other artists represented. But their work spoke for them. Ann P. was one of my favorites. She often wrote an encouraging phrase across her paintings. “This Too Shall Pass,” across a cloudy sky with a hint of blue and sun. “Relax,” was a colorful painted puzzle pattern. These and others told of a life filled with struggle and hardship, but also hope and determination.

I was surprised to see how much of the art was religious. The passion, resurrection and the creation stories were referenced often. Johnny King’s “It Is Finished” (a very poignant crucifixion portrait) and “In the Beginning” (which showed the world as a bright horizon in the darkness of space. A silhouette of Christ stood in the center like a reminder that His fingerprints are in all things.) are examples. Christ said blessed are the poor. Most of the time, I have a hard time believing that he meant it. But seeing paintings like these makes me realize that these artist’s, many of them homeless, are capable of being must closer to Christ than I am. I always hear that Jesus made Himself like us, so he knows what we go through. I think Johnny King might know what Jesus went through. Christianity is indeed a poor man’s religion.

Along with the works that referenced the creation story, the works of an artist named Darwin seemed to put us in perspective by showing something much greater than ourselves. Darwin’s work shows the beauty of outer space; a world that is too large to fathom, and yet we are a part of it. How humbling and awe inspiring.

There was so much variety, I know I will have to go back at some point. Perhaps it is my over active imagination that creates all this meaning and inspiration out of these images. I don’t know if the artists intended to prompt all that reflection and hope. But that was the effect it had on me and I am very glad it I came to see it.

Sea Monsters

I haven't done a book post in a while.
Scott O'Dell is a fairly famous author. Or at least, I think he is. Island of the Blue Dolphins won a Newbery medal and all. We got through a lot of those medal winning books. I think someone read Island to me when I was very little. It's not one I remember very well but I think it may have been important somehow. I was pretty obsessed with Native Americans for a while and it may have been O'Dells fault. There was also The Kings Fifth which was very good and I would recommend it to anyone who likes adventure and books about hunts for gold.

My favorite Scott O'Dell book, however, is The Black Pearl.
The appeal of this was the gripping danger and adventure, the quirky Catholic characters and

Sea Monsters.

Okay, the manta ray was probably the biggest appeal. The pearl rightfully belongs to the Devilfish and when the main character steals it, disaster strikes. Those terrible superstitious Catholics. They're so silly.
I was glued to the page.

You have to admit, manta rays are probably the coolest thing in the ocean. Knowing that some sea monsters really exist just makes the world a better place. I'm delightfully terrified of sea monsters. I freak myself out when I'm swimming. I would never be able to take a submarine ride, but I would hate myself for passing up the opportunity. But as long as the monsters are on the TV, and I am safely on the other side, I can't get enough of them.

The world is a better place if you believe in the existence of the Loch Ness Monster too. It doesn't have to be proved. As long as there is a possibility that Nessie could capsize your boat at any given moment, the world is a happy place. Or you can just say that Nessie is just some giant eels playing tricks on us and that's almost as good, I suppose, as long as they are extraordinarily giant eels: Seam Monsters.

Jellyfish are really the scariest things in the ocean. I used to think they were just pretty and colorful and whimsical. Then I was drawing them and I looked up a whole bunch of pictures online.
This one is not so scary. I can't post the scary ones or I'll have nightmares. :D
They can get really big. And then they eat really big things. And the looks so harmless and kind of dumb. They just float around looking all squishing and graceful. Then the zap you and you get all tangles in their nasty tentacles... And they EAT you. *shudder*
Who knew?

Jellyfish are sea monsters.

Not all Jellyfish are eight feet across with eighty foot tentacles. Some of them are pretty small and unimpressive. But they are still sea monsters. There are the ones that actually have brains and will chase after their prey. Those are pretty scary too.


Then there is this guy.
I was almost disappointed when they finally found a live one. It made them a little less scary. The more you know about a creature the less frightening it is( with the exception of the Manta Ray, of course, because he's my favorite).

A giant squid's eye balls are about the size of a human head.

Imagine looking it in the eye! I have to confess that I read Twenty-thousand Leagues Under the Sea just for the fight with the giant squid.



We used to have those Child Craft Encyclopedia things when I was little. In the back of one of them there was a story about the Kraken. There was a fantastically scary picture of this monstrous octopus-ish thing cracking a ship in half. Mine was much better than this one. All the sailors were screaming and jumping overboard or trying in vain to kill the thing. And the Kraken itself looked wicked enough to be enjoying itself.

It was GLORIOUS. I was terrified of it.

I always found it and marked that page somehow so I wouldn't open to it by accident. It was not the sort of picture I wanted to sneak up on me. When I was done looking at all the pleasant pictures, I would open to it very slowly so it wouldn't jump out at me. I would peek at it for about thirty seconds and then close the book very quickly before my imagination ran away and left me too petrified to move. It was the best part of the book. I have to admit, I'm glad the Kraken doesn't really exist. I love it in a story, but I prefer giant squid in real life. They don't seem as malicious.

I've rambled far off my intended subject, but I've one more sea monster to mention... at least...
The Narwhal is one of the more ridiculous looking creatures in the ocean.
It almost doesn't count as a monster because it's so funny looking. And I guess it doesn't actually use it's tusk for killing things. That's kind of lame. But it's still monster-ish.

After all, it's a whale with a seven foot tusk sticking out of it's face!

There are a whole bunch more monsters in the deepest parts of the sea. But it's bed time and I will give myself bad dreams if I post anymore pictures. (All of these came from Wikipedia, by the way)
The Black Pearl was about pearl divers, obviously. Even without the Devilfish, it was a pretty good book.

One of those stories that is written so well that images from it will stay with you forever.

Treasure Island

I got a lot of stories in the early 90's. It was the era of the return of the Disney Musical. Little mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Lion King. While those stories are amazing and I love them, I have to admit that some of them were a bit morally bankrupt. Aladdin is a jerk, Ariel is an obnoxious teenager and her father is just what every teen thinks their parents are in their self centered teen age world. As much as we loved them, I'm sure my parents really hoped I didn't take Ariel as my role model. (I did, but mostly the singing on tall rocks part.) I guess the assumption of story writers was that if a character was too virtuous, we couldn't identify with him and grow to love him. Beast was great that way, that was the point of the movie, but I wonder why they didn't give Belle some major flaw. We sure like her a lot despite her virtue. There was also a sense that if the characters didn't have some moral flaw there would be no story cause they would never get into any trouble, or have any fun. It was the age of "Follow your heart" which was often in direct conflict with "Do what's right." In any case, I always got excited when I read or watched a story in which the main characters were somewhat admirable. When they did the right thing even when it was hard and it meant a sacrifice. It's kind of refreshing when you don't want to slap the main character for being such an idiot. You can overcompensate; thus we have characters in a Jules Vern novel. They are so perfect you just have to laugh at them. I'm very fond of them too. Likewise Robert Louis Stevenson. I loved Treasure Island for many reasons (one of them being that it involved pirates) but one of the biggest was that the main characters were fairly admirable. Jim was a good kid. Dr. Livsey is my hero. The Captain is like a rock! While the Squire was kind of a dork he wasn't a bad sort. I hate every movie adaptation for Treasure Island with a passion (except the Muppet version, and I don't know why I forgive them so much) because they always mess it up in one way or other. They make Long John too much of a good guy. Yeah, he was redeemable but they never make him quite as bad as he is in the book. And they never make Jim quite as brave and noble. I think of the old Disney version with the Shirley Temple's male counterpart as Jim. *shudder* I have heard people complain that the book glorifies violence because the climax of the coming of age story is when Jim shoots one of the pirates. In Jim's defense, a real man destroys evil when he cannot redeem it, especially if it's about to destroy him. I like them that way. I love all the adventure in that book too, of course. Jim manages to get into plenty of trouble without off-putting character flaws.

The Girl Son

The Girl Son appealed to my tom boyishness when I was just starting to read. It was about a girl's struggle for freedom as she grows up in 19th century Korea. There are a lot of bits that are important. There was a scene that is very vivid to me in which she is all by herself for the first time and trying to make a bowl of rice. The driving and supporting force in her life has been her mother up to that point but her mother just said goodbye and left her at a boarding school. She is all alone now and has to make her own rice. She tries and fails several times before she manages to make some she can eat.

She is all grown up by the end of the book and she is arrested and put in solitary confinement because she is an advocate of women's education. There is a scene where she is being taken somewhere by a female guard and she reflects that she is more free in her small cell all by herself than the woman who is her captor. That idea intrigued me. The way she described her inner freedom was really beautiful.
It's based on a true story though I didn't ever do much research on the real person. She must have been quite amazing.

I, Jaun De Pareja

Elizabeth Burton De Trevino is a cool writer and I have loved every book of hers that I have read. The first one I read was for a book club when I was about ten. I, Jaun de Pareja was about the slave of a famous painter. The most important part of the story for me was one little scene when the artist is talking about color. I haven't read it since I was ten but this is how I remember it. The artist pointed to a cloak and asked Jaun, or someone, what color it was. Jaun answered that it was blue. The artist disagrees and starts pointing out other colors blended into the blue cloak, in the highlights and shadows. Purple, black, green, red... and suddenly Jaun can see them. He sees color the way the artist does. My mother actually read this out loud to me and I stared at something, I think it was our curtain, and tried to see all the colors the way the character in the book did. I didn't hear the next part of the book at all cause I was too busy looking at all the hidden colors in our curtains.

Meet Addy

I was an American Girl. Addy was my favorite. She's probably responsible for my love of Civil War history. I was a romantic little stoic child. Or at least I was helplessly romantic and tried desperately to be stoic. Addy and her struggle to keep her feeling on the inside when her father and brother were sold to another plantation and when she was terrified on her run North was one of those things that got my little imagination running at ten or twenty time my reading speed. I made up stories about runaway slaves and tragically separated families for the next five or six years...

And it was the history too: the little details of how they lived and what they wore and all that. American Girls was really good at that. There is a long list of historical fiction set in that time that came after Addy and I would probably have missed if I wasn't introduced to the time through the Addy stories. I can't remember many of the names. There was one about a quaker community... Who Comes With Cannons... I think... Across Five Aprils is great... lots of slaves hiding in hay carts and that sort of thing. I would probably not take the Addy books with me to school (though I might bring my mini doll just for old time sake) but those stories were definitely important.

The Silver Chair

Whenever I go away from home I take a book. (Just like the main character in Inkheart by Cornelia Funeke, which is pretty good even thought it drags on forever) When I leave my natural context and go out where I'm not at home and people don't know me, I like to take a story that is part of me out too so I remember who I am. It's usually a Narnia book. Silver Chair almost always gets picked because of the Burnt Marshwiggle. I have to remember that I'm a Narnian and, no matter how far from Narnia I am or how unreal it seems. I ought to live like a Narnian always. It's a journey story and that makes it good to take on journeys. And because in the first chapter Eustace lets Jill in on his terrific secret even though she might laugh at him. Terrific Secrets like that are meant for sharing and you have to take the risk. Christ is my terrific secret.

Update on the Boring Things people ask about

I applied to a college this year. Yeah, I've been at the community college but I was getting frustrated because there are a lot of things I want to do that I can't get at the community college. So, after a frustrating visit to the advisor's office, I did a search on college board and found a college that offered most of what I wanted. It was really hard. I had to narrow done my interests to just the ones I think I could really spend four years studying. I ended up with art, music and creative writing. I found a school in Gettysburg that offered those three as majors (creative writing is a minor but that works for me). It's Gettysburg College so of course there is also a great history program and Civil War studies which is perfect for me. There is a classics program and Italian studies, and a whole bunch of other interesting things that Zita likes.
So I got all excited. I applied and even spent a weekend over there. There were a lot of great experiences. I did a vocal audition for the music school there and didn't get nervous. That was a major triumph for me. I also felt the age gap between me and the kids who would be my classmates. I'm 21 and they are going on 19. There is a difference.
I got to visit Catholic University of America in Washington DC while I was in the neighborhood. That was really cool. There were just lots of 'growing up' experiences and everyone can now say "I told you so" and "it's about time" if you really want to.
But I didn't make the cut for Gettysburg this year. I'm back to square one. I am a little disappointed. Everything seemed so perfect for me but I guess God has something else in mind. I have some more things to learn here yet. I will be applying to schools in bulk now I guess. That was the original plan anyway; spend two years at SFCC and then decide where I wanted to go.
Now I have a better idea of what I want to do. After much agonizing I decided that I really do want to study music, art and creative writing. Nothing practical of course, but I can't see myself going to college and not taking the opportunity to study them. I have a year to change my mind. I know that I want to go away from home. I have a list of places I don't want to go to school. I feel like I'm being picky but anything that narrows my choices is good for me and my poor decision making skills. I even know roughly what I'm going to be working on at SFCC this next year. It's a little weird. All these goals and plans and normal things are not as boring to me as they used to me. I still can't wait till school gets out next week so I can get back to my real life.

Wrong airport

I had a long conversation with a Muslim... I guess it was three weeks ago. That was interesting. We talked about the Koran (Quran? Qur'an?) for a while. He was trying to get me to question the origins of the Bible but take the authority of the Koran without any scrutiny. The Bible was written too long after Jesus died to have described Him accurately while the Koran has incredible detail about His life. He moved on quickly when I asked him how many years after the death of Christ the Koran was written. He was trying to convince me that Jesus was not God. For some reason he seemed to think that if God were going to become man (and He would never bother doing such a silly thing) He would do it in a more extraordinary way. Becoming a baby was too normal. I tried to explain to him that He did it out of love but at that point we got to the air port and I handed him a terrible wad of bills and promised myself never to be caught at the wrong air port with out a car again. Taxi drivers are scary enough without trying to convert you to Islam.

Bits and pieces.

Last quarter I spent a weekend or two working on this mosaic for my art class. I had a really good time and got a migraine head ache from bending over it. It's a copy from an icon we have in my house.

The early Christians borrowed the mosaic technique from the Greeks and Romans who used them on their floors. The Christians put them up on the walls of their churches. The gold back ground was traditional because it put the figures in an eternal, non earthly setting which was appropriate for the subjects they depicted; Christ and the Saints mostly, also royalty and church patrons. I was sitting in class lamenting the fact that I couldn't go to Italy and see all the beautiful churches with these amazing old mosaics. My teacher didn't tell us that there are newer churches with mosaics like that in our own country.
I was at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception (the Immaculate Conception does in deed refer to Mary, in case there should be any confusion) in Washington DC this weekend. There are so many beautiful mosaics in there it is literally breath taking.

I will tell you more about my trip and why I was there later. I'm all excited cause I think I figured out how to work the photo upload and I want to show you the pictures before it hates me again.
Some of my pictures are not so good so you should look at the virtual tour on the web sight but here are mine anyway.

This is Our Lady of Nations. There are so many beautiful little chapels opening in ever corner of this basilica. There are actually two main sanctuaries and dozens of little alters and memorials and smaller chapels.
You just can't beat the Catholic Church for beautiful art. I love all the different images of Our Lady. There is one for every country, race, need and cause. Here are some of my favorites.

This is Our Lady Queen of Missions.


Our Lady of China


I don't know what this images is. It's the Easter Rite Chapel.


Our Lady of Hope


I don't know what this one is called but I like it.


These are just some of them. I only took pictures when the chapels were empty and I wouldn't be bothering anyone with my obnoxious tourist flash.

Then you walk into the main church upstairs. WOW! I've seen the image of Christ in Majesty dozens of times and I've never really liked it all that much. Never under estimate the power of Being there! Mary says "My soul magnifies the Lord". You've been looking at all these images of Mary in nooks and side alters and then you walk into the main church and this meets you:



^This one I took from right under it. Not the best shot. When you walk in it's like He's RIGHT THERE. Then you walk towards it.... and walk.... and walk.... and you get to the high alter... and then you walk some more.... and finally you are right under Him. Makes my little mosaic look kind of pathetic.
Here is a better picture I've stolen from an other web sight:


It's amazing. This is the reason. He is the One Mary leads us to. It's really all about him.

Right below the mosaic there are some statues of Saints. The people who built the basilica were smart cause they put the names of the Saints under them so that people who have no skill or knowledge of symbol recognition with Saints can figure out who's who. There are Saints ALL over the place. Right under Christ in Majesty was this Statue:

It's St. Zita!! right there under the big dome! Needless to say, at this point I was jumping up and down and squealing with excitement... right there under the big dome.

There was a side chaple for St. Louise too. Here is her statue and a mosaic of her.



St. Zita is such an obscure Saint that it was pretty amazing for her to be up there. We looked for a St. Zita medal in the gift shop but there was no sign of her.
There were lots of other Saints around. It was really a lot of fun to be there. I wish I had had a few days to spend looking around cause there were all sorts of things that I'm sure we missed. It's like a treasure hunt. There are things written on the walls and arches and stained glass and symbols that tell you so much if you know what they mean. It's almost a visual overload but at the same time it's still a house of prayer. All the gold and light and color is to lift our minds to God and the glory of his creation. Every Saint is an image of Christ and an expression of His glory. They are our family and little imperfect models for us to follow.
And Mary is the most perfect creature of all. Of all the Saints, she reflects and magnifies the glory of God most clearly and brightly.

Just last week... no wait... it was about a month ago...

The first thing you loose when you leave civilization is respect for you clothes. After a mile or two you are still looking for a clean spot on a log to sit on. After another mile or two you would plop down in the middle of a muddy stream bed without a second thought.
Summer is the time when you have allot of adventures and then you spend fall catching up on them in your blog. One of my last summer adventures was a eight mile hike in the Montanan mountains... or some of them anyway. More like big hills actually, I know what a mountain is.
It was amazing. I've never been back packing before and I don't know exactly what I was expecting but this was way better. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to carry a thirty pound pack for as eight miles but I did alright. From far off all those big hills make a pretty postcard. They're all misty and purple against the morning sky and then you get so close to them you can't see them anymore. This was supposed to be an easy hike since it was my first time. I don't think our guide did his research very well. Eight miles, three thousand feet. Not bad. I"m sure me climbed more than that from all the ups and downs we took. We gained every foot at least twice. Three steps up two steps down all the way. Then there was the little detail of the trail. No one had been on it in who knows how long. We pretty much blazed our own trail for the last few miles. And there was, of corse, the thousand foot rock hill right at the end. No one remembered to bring ropes or climbing gear of any kind. My dad gets half way up, then he radios back "Some one take my picture from down there before I die." We did.
If you can pick him out I'll give you a virtual mountain goat. It wasn't that bad actually. It was worse than it looks in that picture of course but I've been told by more experienced hikers that I have no real bragging rights. I got up in one piece (all the casualties happened on the way down).
There was this deer... doe, I guess. It was the biggest fattest doe I've ever seen. The ones that live around here and eat peoples gardens are like little stick figures. This beast was the size of a horse. It wasn't shy either. I wish I had gotten a picture of it. I guess it was a little shy of cameras, though the rocks we threw at it didn't bother it a bit. Every few hours at night it could be heard snuffling around our camp. I was sleeping next to a tree so it didn't get me but I guess it stuck it's big snout into my dads ribs, right through the tent. It was a little unnerving to have it saunter on through while we made our breakfast. We took to calling it the "dumb-dumb-dumb DOE" Like Beethoven's fifth.

Our camp site was really beautiful. (you can't actually see it in this picture. The trees on the right block it but you can see teh rocks we fished off of over there.) I has a lovely day, went fishing for the first time, climbed up another few hundred feet (cause we hadn't had enough the day before) following the stream that filled the lake we camped at, took some pictures,


(like this one. It's really hard to make a 'w' with rock fragments so the tense is wrong now. I'm there in spirit, how bout that?) a butterfly landed on my hand and hung out there for about ten minutes.
Hiedi, you should have been there when it got dark. The stars were incredible. I found Draco and some of our other friends but then the Doe came and ousted me from my observatory. Okay, well, we could hear her stomping around and I wasn't going to wait until she found us. Wait a minute, I don't think Hiedi knows I have a blog... Maybe I should fix that...
Then we packed up and trekked back. On the way down The Rock, we sort of had to crab walk or slid on our back sides to keep from over balancing and toppling to our deaths. Dana lost the seat of her jeans. My back pocket didn't survive. One of dad's water bottles went bouncing and spinning down the hill and into the forest below. We didn't find it so it's still up there somewhere if anyone wants to earn a virtual helicopter by leading an expedition out to rescue it. After we got off The Rock, walking felt like trying to stilt on tent polls cause my knees were so shot.
The rest of the hike back went really fast. We got back to the amish bakery just before they closed and bought some very delicious sandwiches and milkshakes. It seemed so unfair to spend half the day getting our eight miles behind us and then take just a few minutes to drive the other eight miles to get lunch. It's amazing that Americans spend so much time thinking of ways to save time when we move so fast anyway we should have all the time in the world.
That sentence was probably horribly incorrect grammatically. I think it's time for Karen to stop typing.

Oh and by the way.

I have been meaning to write about my new baby brother. I think I mentioned him earlier but he has not had a blog all his own. I have been trying to think of something to say about him. What do you say about you first brother? I could go on about the baby things but they are not all that new to me. I remember three other babies. They all make adorable little noises and faces and they mess their diapers and nurse and sleep for most of the day. Not that every baby isn't a miracle that is new and beautiful but I don't think I need to describe his daily activities for all and sundry. He does normal baby things.
I could talk about how I am feeling about having a brother. I have four wonderful sisters. In the past we've proudly boasted of our brother-less state. Our family had an identity of having no boys and no regrets. During the pregnancy we were a bit defiant. Why would God give us a boy when we do so well with girls. Maleny said that if it was a boy we had to send it back. I even said having a boy in the house would make me all the more anxious to move out. (Which is something I will need some pushing to pursue.) Now that he is here I don't mind so much. He's a baby, which is what we wanted. Even Maleny said that he was exactly what she wanted, if not what she expected. I thought we should have named him Isaac because of all the laughter when we found out. But dad said this issue was a non-negotiable. I guess St. Isaac is his patron along with St. Lawrence (patron of comedians, on whose feast day our David was born) But now that the shock has worn off we are all falling back into our natural family routine. Only with a baby brother. It's not that much different yet. I guess we're in for an adventure when he gets a little older, or so all our acquaintances have been eager to remind us. "You're gonna have to redefine everything you thought was normal." A dear friend gleefully informed us. Our one male cousin was playing cool and disinterested. "I'm planning on ignoring him till he's old enough to play video games." My mother was indignant at this comment. "It's just a boy thing." My aunt assured her. We're not looking forward to all the "boy things." Mom says most of that is just bad behavior and she will tolerate none of it. There have been all sorts of comments about what sort of psychological problems a boy raise in a house of five girls will have to face. "Poor kid." is probably the most repeated phrase. Just the way "Your poor dad!" used to be when we told people that we had five girls and no boys. Some one today commented on David's tendency to sleep with half open eyes. "With five sisters, he's gonna have to sleep with one eye open." This makes no sense to me. What terrible things are the expecting us girls to do to him? It makes me wonder if they know us very well. Honestly now! I don't think it would take a deep acquaintance with my sister and I to deduce that we are not particularly pugnacious. Most of us treat each other with a decent amount of respect and have no intention of picking on any one. We're all different enough so that we are either all normal or all oddballs in one way or another. We just have better things to do than harass each other about it. Our evilest plots for David involve teaching him how to swing dance and getting him into theater because there are simply not enough boys in the world who know how to sing and dance. Maybe this sounds like torture to some people but he can hardly escape being musically inclined. He comes from a family of musicians. Dad's side of the family is incredibly musical. If he doesn't get it in the genetics, he will get it in his upbringing. In the average day he hears folk music, contemporary christian rock or folk rock, classical flute music, broadway show tunes pounded on the piano along with some classical pieces, all of us singing along to all of the above plus some a cappella gregorian chant and medieval polyphony. And we dance with him all day long. Poor kid. Some one call child protective agency!
Well, in any case. I'd like to introduce you to my brother: David Francis.
Here he is being wonder full, looking over my sister C.C.'s shoulder. Odd looking child. Skinny and big eyed. He looks like a staving child from a third world country. If only he wasn't so adorable when he cried he would get his dinner a heck of a lot faster. :P

I side swiped a parked car.

Don't laugh, it's not funny. I only got my license a week ago and my parents don't want me to drive cause I'm not on the car insurance yet. I was lucky they let me go. Typical.

So it's like this, my older sister Dana was on a school trip to the neighboring state. She took a train. Her train got in at midnight. My dad was supposed to park the car in the parking lot of the train station and and ride his bike home so she would be able to just drive home when her train got in. That was the plan. Then there was my little sisters chamber music concert that got out a bit late. My dad is like "well, if I go park the car and ride back it will be ten thirty and I have to get up tomorrow morning. Karen! I bet you would like to get up at midnight and go get your sister." Yeah. Sure. So my dad bailed and the only other option was my mother who is seven months pregnant and NOT feeling very well. So I agreed. Dad gave me directions to the train station and they were pretty simple. I actually had no idea there was a train station down town. But it didn't sound hard to find. Mom suggested that my younger sister Clara come with me so that I would not be driving around down town alone on a friday night. That was fine. But Then... mom started giving Clara some well meaning advice and just making sure she knew what she was getting into. There are going to be lots of intoxicated people roaming the streets and you are Not to make eye contact with Any one. As she continued I could see Clara getting more and more nervous. By bed time she was like "Maybe this is not such a good idea." Too late now! So we put a DVD on the computer and watched until it was time for us to go. So we get into the car in our pajamas and start heading for down town.

The streets were pretty empty until we got right to the heart of town down. Then we ran into the one thing that could throw off dad directions: Hoopfest. Well, if you know what Hoopfest is than I guess you know where I live but if not, Hoopfest is when about two thirds of the population of my city get together and play basketball. All the roads are blocked off and filled with basketball hoops. It's a huge deal. My city is a little obsessed with basketball. So we get to the street that we are supposed to turn on and, naturally, it's blocked off. Or at least it looked like it was blocked off. I might mention that my vision is kind of bad right now cause I have a clogged tear duct in my right eye that waters and oozes puss every once in a while and generally makes it hard to see. I have glasses as it is so at every stop light I had to take my glasses off and wipe my eye. As for the time between stop lights; I just prayed and squinted and blinked. So, seeing that the street is blocked, we pull into a parking lot and use the alley to get onto another street. This begins a long adventure of trying to navigate the one way streets and detours. Oh and did I mention that there were indeed crowds of intoxicated people stumbling around, j-walking, running (not just blindly stepping but running like they wanted to get hit) out in front of traffic, and generally making things interesting for the two lost little girls in the giant station wagon. Clara was freaking out. "I am really interested in the glove compartment right now. I am NOT making eye contact." She so comforting. This is doing nothing for my nerves. "LOOK! Hallelujah! there is the street we are supposed to be on! But dad said to just keep going cause there was a dead end and that is the train station. But this is a two way street (amazingly) and I have no idea if I would go right or left. Wait, do I even have a choice? Is that way blocked off? No. I guess we're going to go right cause it's easier right now and I am not sure if it's legal to go left just now." There are all these do cones and those sandwich board type 'do not enter' signs all over the street so I am trying to get into the right lane without hitting any of them when Clara yells "Karen your too close!!!" *CrashScrape* "You just hit that car." No! Really? "I think that's called side swiping." "you're just going to keep going!" "Yep hit and run. No I'm going to find a place to park and survey the damage." "You're going to get OUT of the car!!!??" I did a really bad parking job in the first parking lot that presented itself; just on the other side of the block. We sat there in the parked car for a few just catching our breath. Then I we got out (against Clara's better judgment) and looked at the side of out car. In the dark with water in my eye it did not look all that bad. Nothing was missing. We still had our windows and our rear view mirror. There was no obvious paint scratch. There are lots of people laughing and some yelling in this parking lot so at this point we just wanted to be back in the car with the doors locked again so we did not do a real meticulous check. Jolly good enough! Karen has trouble backing out of her lousy parking job but she gets back on the road without hitting anything else to we can call that a victory. Three cheers for two way streets! We when back around the block to see if we had hurt the other car. It was this big ugly black ( or so dirty and old that it was very dark anyway) truck. Or something. I am not good at identifying different kinds of cars. In any case it was bigger then ours in every dimension. It's not hard to have a taller cars then ours (though this one was fairly tall) but it was pretty impressive for its girth and length. We could see a little piece of the wood paneling off the side of our ugly old station wagon on the ground next to it but it did not look at all damaged (in the dark, through the window, with water in my eye. So we were a little distracted looking at the car we hit and forgot for a moment that we were looking for the train station. Then we got back on task. "Dad said it was a big brick building and you can't miss it." Right. All the buildings in this part of down town are big and brick. There is no dead end. But there is that building sitting a ways back from the street. Could that be it? Yeah. That's it. We side swiped a truck parked across the street from the train station. But, of course, by the time we figured this out, the only entrances to the parking lot had big 'do not enter signs on them. We have to go around again.

Once again, between detours and one way streets and people we were not supposed to make eye contact with it took us about another ten minutes to get back to the parking lot across the street that we had parked in before. Dana was just going to have to walk a little way cause I was not about to chance missing the entrance again trying to get closer. My parking job was a little better. Once I decided on a space that I thought might fit the ark. There was also this little black pickup (or it looked black. Everything looks black at night) sitting in the middle of the lot, not in a parking slot but just sitting there with it's lights on blocking my way. I had wanted to find a place closer to the cross walk where there were not so many cars and I could make a really wide turn into the slot. But no. There was this pickup. I thought at first that it was waiting for us and as I was not eager to park with this guy staring at me, I stopped for a moment hoping it would pass me or go park or something. But it didn't, it just sat there. I wasn't about to try and make eye contact with the driver and signal for him to go so I pulled into a slot and parked.

I gathered up my purse and looked around for anything else in our car that any one might want to take. I can't imagine anyone suspecting there was anything of value in that hunk of junk but you never know. That pickup is still sitting there. We're in our pajamas. We were counting on getting a place in the train station parking lot and just waiting for Dana to come find us. Now we have to walk across the parking lot, across the street, through another parking lot, and into the train station to wait for Dana who might be searching the lot already. Smooth. We got out and Clara was paranoid about the doors getting locked. I just want to get inside where there are security guards. But she insists that I have to lock her door with the key. Stupid old car doesn't have power lock on the key chain. We stood there with a pickup behind us for three minutes or so trying to get the door locked but it's not happening so we close it, stick the key in and pretend to lock it. No one would want to rob out car anyway right? We walk away, past the pickup. We didn't make eye contact of corse but I could have sworn the two guys in the pick up were watching us. I looked back as we waited for the light to turn and so one of the guys get out of the pickup. He was walking towards our car but he looked over his shoulder at us the next second so I starred at the light again rather hastily. "You know, Clara, now would be a very appropriate time to say a prayer to St Michael the archangel." I don't know why we did not think of this before. St. Mike and I should have become very good friends by now. "God save the car." I mutter and we cross the street.

It's 12:10. Dana said her train got in at midnight so by that information she should already be here. There is no sign of her in the parking lot. Or in the lobby. Clara remarks, at this point, on the large number of people we ought not to make eye contact with in this building. Thank you Clara. She is staring at the various vending machines and trying to look inconspicuous. Without making eye contact we, deduced that the guy sitting behind the counter over there must be a security guard. Karen is very glad and resolves not to go out of sight of said personage. We approach and ask him if a train had come in with in the last quarter hour. After assuring us that he didn't know anything and we ought to ask the train people, he said that he hadn't seen any large group of people disembark so it must not have come yet. Good. We sat down and waited. Clara stared very hard at a bus schedule in order to avoid making you-know-what-with anyone. I considered what would happen if someone decided they wanted a big ugly station wagon to drive home in. It was 12:30 when Dana's train came in. She was one of the first people off and she got in line for the ticket counter cause she had left something at the station on her way out and needed to retrieve it. When we first saw her we waved but I guess she was not making eye contact with anyone either so she did not see us. We would have yelled (cause it would have embarrassed her and that is our solemn duty as little sisters) but we were a little hesitant to draw that much attention to ourselves. We sat and watched her for a little while before we got up and and tapped her on the shoulder.

This is really long and it was all pretty painless from here. Dana had two male classmates with her. It was really nice to have some guys to walk with us (although Clara said they looked just like all the other people we're not supposed to M. I. C. with. Dana drove. I wonder if mom had not worked Clara into a state of paranoia we would have done better. Nothing was as bad as it seemed at the time.

So that was my adventure. I hate Hoopfest and one way streets. Dad asked what happened to the car this morning. I have not seen it but I guess it's worse than Clara and I thought last night.

Good grief. I rambled on forever. I think I am going to walk down town and watch some basketball.