In A Nutshell

I love this world, ya know?

A Journey That Will Reveal to Me

I hadn't yet matched what I want to do
with what I can do
or what it would take to get there.
I imagined I'd be happy,
wherever I was,
and that I'd have been happy along the way.
I figured that if my passion didn't
match my proclivity,
I'd find a new passion.

***

One can't teach another to write.
Writing's core is at the author's
want to say something
and the ability to say it
--the need to say it--
through words and the imagery words create.
I believe I am on a journey
that will reveal to me
whether or not I can write.
But if I can't?
I couldn't stop.
Without words and music, I don't know
where I'd be.
Music feeds me
but never allows me to feed myself.
I need to develop
to take hold
of my observations and concerns
so as to channel them
onto a page
through a pen
well.

***

Here is where I release any wants
and offer completely my heart to the Lord.
I feel this wordcraft has been pressed
on my heart as a method and talent
but will never truly glorify
unless matched with calling and direction.
The amount of potential and responsibility
I feel from the Lord as He speaks to me
is overwhelming.
He offers me a taste of my meaning
and no more.
He leaves me uncertain enough
to yearn for Him daily.
I've found
He's made my heart wise.
I don't know yet
what to make of that.

***

As far as life's plan goes,
I will follow the path
where His will overlays my goals.
I'll go to college, get a job
and I'll be pleased with myself
and what I am for Him.
Please don't tell me I could do better.
My heart holds no place for your naive concern.

Transplant

I couldn't hold my heart anymore.
Its edges sliced my fingers,
and the blood stained my skin.

I threw it into the sky,
caught the sun in my eyes,
and cringed as I heard a thud.

An older lady stopped to rescue it
and rubbed the dirt off
onto her Yorkie's winter sweater.

I said thank you and
would she like to keep it.
She said no and continued on.

I made a boat of leaves,
set my heart down into it,
and pushed it towards the waves.

A local fisherman found me
on a park bench
eight days later.

He looked from heart to face,
noticed the resemblance,
and tucked it into my fist.

I said thank you and
would he like to keep it.
He laughed and turned his back.

Becoming aware of its burden to me,
my heart suggested I
set up an eBay auction.

The highest bidder
was from Minnesota
and wouldn't cover the shipping costs.

I still have my heart.
It's small and messy
but knows a couple good jokes...

I noticed your heart
has taken a liking to mine.
Maybe you'd like to keep it?

12-2-07

'What we know of His ways hardly spans the eye of a needle. His ways could wrap around the universe...."


I will praise the One that put light in their eyes.
The One that took her to praise.

To Feel Alive

My life is changing.

***

My music and words
and your words
and their words
and books
and Bible
the people and places and things
and ideas
the actions
the tears and smiles
the laughter.

My life is changing...

You are changing my life.

Everything and Everyone I have ever known,
...is changing my life.
I am seeing more than I ever could have,
relying on more than I ever would have,
thinking of more than I ever should have.

My feet are on the ground
while my head's in the clouds,
my eyes are on your lips
while my ears tune to Dave
humming, humming...

I don't know what to feel
because I feel more than I know how to.
I don't want to choose.
I am going to live it all.

No worries--
I know what I live for
I know what I love for
I know what I learn for
and yearn for

I know where you are.
I know where you'll be.
I know where I'll be
when you want to find me.

I know where I'll cry
when you forget where we've been,
I know who I'll listen to
when I can no longer trust myself.

I know how to feel
but not how to say,
I know who to need
but not who to leave,
I knew when to look away
but not when to forgive...
forgive and forget.

I know how to sing
to myself in the dark
I know how to dance
in the shower
I know how to overuse
people
and places
and things
and ideas.

I know how to give myself too much credit,
and I know how to leave the doubt behind.

I know what it is
to feel alive.

Happy 19th Birthday,

Stephen Baker! I would send a card your way, but there's got to be an awful lot of people in Lynchburg. I would have to hope that a north-heading postman knows exactly who you are. So instead, I'm sending you a post.

Have a wonderful day.

:]

Venue

There's a river inside my head.
It is never still,
all the while pouring through
from top to toe.

There's a sun behind my eyes
but a cloud behind your words.
There's a storm beside my heart
and rain where the blood should be.

There's a fist below my gut.
He tells me things no one should hear
and tears the stitching
my spirit had sewn.

A fire engulfs my soul.
Sitting next to the river,
she sees her reflection
and weeps.

She weeps not for sorrow
and seldom for joy
--but she weeps to cool the flames.
She weeps because she doesn't like to burn.

A Racing Mind at 1:45

I do believe I have more to say than I
know how to say
am able to say
care to say
will ever say.


sometimes i feel i have words that could rival others'.
or forget about others'... rival my own.
then i reread them
and vow to stick to learning from others' alone.


could it be, though,
that life is not life
if it's only learned from
and never taught?


then, man.
this is a hard thing to live.

Neverland

she lives in a house of eggshells.
sometimes they crack and fall into her hair,
or bed, or soup.
there should be reasons for such happenings,
but she bothers not to know.
she lives with a heart of fairy tales.
she was Rapunzel once,
but ever since she cut her hair,
the heart only whispers.
she plugs her ears when it whispers of the prince.
she plugs her ears and holds her breath
until the whisper changes to plea.
one time when she was younger,
she lived next door to neverland.
differently than anyone ever knew,
neverland was a traveling circus:
peter pan the lion tamer
and tinkerbell the acrobat
kept the lost boys behind the fun house mirrors.
she visited often to keep their tears at bay.
it was hard to sleep in her eggshell bed
while the boys wailed for her fairy tale heart
to lead them home.

Melt to Blue

the sun is strong
but melts to sea
she melts to blue
and me to you

to hop this fence
and slide the dunes
through the brush
and towards the moon

will lead me to the salty licks
of waves upon a beach
i wish to dive beneath and swim
--forever swim away.

i hurt to be here, stranded
murky, aching, cold
enduring tangled jeers
amidst a younger blood

if i leap to scale the deep
never tiring or turning my head
and if you mirror notions free
surrender to places unsaid

i will meet you past the stars
far from where we'd been
i will find you safe ashore
she'll rise and melt again.

Free Hugs

Po-et-ry

"And what do you like to do, Lucy?"
"I like to write."
"Ah, what do you write?"
"Poetry."

Though not quite so bland and straightforward, this exchange, in some form, has worked its way into many recent conversations. After explaining to the asker (and, perhaps, to myself), "I write poetry because [fill-in-the-blank]," I found myself wondering if I do, in fact, write poetry. What is poetry? Do I give myself too much credit in labeling every stanzaed work a poem?

Who might know the answer to this question? Why, Mr. Webster, of course.

po-et-ry (n.): 1. a: Metrical writing. b: The productions of a poet. 2: Writing that formulates a concentrated, imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound, and rhythm. 3: Something likened to poetry especially in beauty of expression.

After discovering this, I can identify with the second choice. I write with language meant to convey an emotional response. On occasion, it is concentrated and imaginative... but does this alone constitute 'productions of a poet'? Pray tell, Mr. Webster.

po-et (n.): 1: One who writes poems; a maker of verses. 2: One (as a creative artist) of great imaginative and expressive capabilities and special sensitivity to the medium.

So far, so good. Dare I inquire further?

po-em (n.): 1: A composition in verse. 2: Something suggesting a poem (as in expressiveness, lyricism, or formal grace).

The term 'poetry' is rather subjective, as I should have known - Mr. Webster always has the hardest time with abstract nouns (he offers nine options for the word 'love', to little avail). I consider my musings poetry partly by default, but partly by personal opinion. Ultimately, the label stays.

Without

the throbs and fumbles
within this bright red throne
upon which sit love
and peace and human virtue

without which, connection
would collapse
smiles would fade
and glows would dim

beat on, we scream,
never stopping
bring us hands to hold
and souls to match

without fail or prompt
the throbbing continues
pumping adrenaline
and pulsing spirit

feeding love and peace
and smile and glow
and hands and souls
without consent.

From A While Back

Woods

shamrocks and lilacs
wreathed her brow
the brow he'd kill for
she knew

running listlessly
through broken woods
clinging moss
and smiling branches

she never stopped.
he called to the clouds
but the message was
in vain

when he'd whisper
she'd slow,
cock her head to one side
and reply to the wind -

"never again, my dear. never again...."

Nine to Nine at Eleven Ten

in the dark
cross-legged and small
i sit in a worn out hoodie.
their song is on repeat
it makes me think of him
and doubt myself
but i listen over and over
and under and over again.
my back hurts but won't crack
my eyes sting but won't cry
my fists support my chin
promising to support any violent tendencies
(as long as they are respectable and short-lived.)
the snowy stationery tells
of leaking hearts.
the penpal paper may, in fact,
know me better than i do.

All In The Family

So my brother started a photography blog today.


It's really not bad at all.
It may even be good.
Example >


Give it a shot. (Ah, the puns... I can't help myself, I tell you...)
Midnight Sun

Jaded

I must expect too much from people.

#100

Here it is, Post Number 100. I'd rather call it Post Number 10 *Squared*, but I don't know how to make the little two.

Originally, this milestone post was to be accompanied by the Top 100 Songs In Lucy's Book. That list is taking forever. Once the list passes ten, the songs are interchangeable. So, instead, the Top 10 Songs in Lucy's Book *Squared*:

1) Love, Reign O'er Me - The Who
2) Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd
3) Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen
4) Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap
5) Hurt - Johnny Cash
6) Juke Box Hero - Foreigner
7) The Story - Brandi Carlile
8) Love Is A Place - Metric
9) Non-Zero Possibility - At the Drive-In
10) Breathe Me - Sia

Purpose

God gave me this vision one day.

...minus the notebook paper, purple ballpoint pen, and bear logo.

I try to write, sing, and dance daily. Some days, I only dance. Some, only sing. These are the days that turn to weeks - the weeks that turn to "lucy, why haven't you updated?" I have stumbled upon a solution. You may, perhaps, consider it a cheat. I don't mind. You can learn as much about my life through others' words as you can through the words I can currently offer. (There aren't very many.)

I am thinking about doing a series of sorts, alternating between poems and PostSecret postcards. None I have made have been posted as of yet. These will do as well, if not much better.

I thank you for your patience.

Bracelets

blue and gold and pink
and blue and gold again
swinging dangling jangling
overtaking this vessel of ink

the vessel that promises
pleads from within me
to bubble up and away
with words and wind and woe

encased consciousness
never seems to comply
instead circling stooping sinking
into neverending recesses of thought.

Fun In L.A.'s Oriental District: Lost In Translation

"Kasugai's strawberry gummy. Made from fresh strawberry juice, is a very delicious gummy. Please have a fun time with this strawberry gummy."

"Friends are good. Sometimes they are so stupid but sometimes...you still find them adorable."

"Milky Way Puppy: To feel relief even though the sky is there...even the sky knows my mind."

"Oops! Its body and character turns dark when it gets dirty. 'Peodak' which is a close friend of 'Oops'. Let's make a funny movie with these guys."

"Well, I like egg fries, but I'm not an egg. Oh my god, anybody who can pick me up from this egg basket?!"

***

I found these and others printed on toys and objects in Life Plaza, "a perky gift store...stuffed with merchandise from Japan and Korea." -LA Magazine

Naturally, I bought them.

More on my trip to Los Angeles later this week when I can get my hands on a USB cord...and some spare time. Sorry, Mom. My remote thinking process is far from complex.

(...Haha!)

Twinkle On

a smiley face balloon
escapes the wrist of
a teary eyed toddler
bittersweet irony
pushing him towards the sun

up and up and up and
never falling
discovering past the clouds
a floating sanctuary
where the stars twinkle on

AO & WP

(Appalachian Outreach and Walton Percussion)

Our missions trip in TN was focused around a home belonging to Anna, a 76-year-old single grandmother. Our team of 36 spent four days sanding, painting, planting, mulching, and repairing. My dad rebuilt both of her tolilets as well as replace an entire wall's worth of siding. My friend Leslie and I cleaned out her pantry, rat crap and all. It was nasty...I'm cringing now. I was also in charge of The Mulch Team on the fourth day. We worked through the pouring rain: it rained ALL THE TIME. She's lucky she was so old and cute.

Well, the last day was beautiful. Picture perfect. There was no shortage of cows; we almost witnessed a bullfight. For the first time, I saw a calf drink milk from his mother. It's surprisingly intense.

I had a great time serving and meeting new people that week. I will never forget it. I want to thank you all so very much for your "welcome homes", but alas, it is time to leave you once again.

This year, as some of you may have read in an earlier post, I was moved from drumline to the "pit" or "front ensemble." I was pretty down about it, but I've gotten used to it, and it's a really fun thing to be a part of. My love for marching band will peek through (stare you down, even) at different places in this blog, I'm sure of it. This year, our marching show (what you see at a high school football game's halftime) is titled "Closer to the Edge." It's based on three separate songs by Yes, a progressive rock band from the 1960s through 80s.

Because of my eight year background in piano, my directors placed me on The Synthesizer for our show's opener (the first of three movements). I had pictured something different when I heard "synthesizer"....


Instead, it's an electronic keyboard with many many many sound effects. The techno beats I kick practice off with are now referred to as "funky jams."

The Synthesizer is known this year for its funky jams and solos, one of which is featured here:

*This is a 20 minute video - a great one if you have the time. For quick reference, however, 5:22 thru 5:03 (minutes left) is the sweet spot.*


The solo is a daunting one and not yet played up to par. It's a bit simpler than the one you saw, but really, not by much. It's crazyyy.

This past week was called Pre-Camp, or 8-4 Week. We practiced from 8AM to 4PM Monday thru Friday, learning music and preparing for Band Camp. I leave tomorrow morning for a week in LaGrange, GA. The days will be hot, repetitive, and practice-stuffed: 10 hours each day.

I honestly cannot wait.

But First

Before I describe the best and worst of this year's youth group missions trip, I felt I should keep up with various bloggers' recent video posts. Be warned: neither are comedic. Both, however, are creative and thought provoking. That's good too, I figure. The funny ones just didn't find me this week.

The first is a Coldplay cover performed by the group Young@Heart - a choir comprised of senior citizens from 71-93 years of age. I find it very powerful.



The second, well... artists' neverending mediums never cease to amaze me. Take a look:

I am home, but too exhausted to write a detailed post about last week's wonderful experience. In due time.

Have a wonderful evening, whether it be this one,



or this one.

Adieu

Away I go to Jefferson City, TN. I'm spending a week with the Marietta Vineyard youth group on an Appalachian Outreach missions trip.


See you next Monday! I will miss you all. But first, my mother, as she dances wildly around the kitchen:

"I should so be on Youtube."

Two Lane Etiquette

Dear beige SUV taking the Appalachian Highway last weekend,

You were really cramping our style. We didn't take the long way to go 30 in a 35. No. Our sport-touring motorcycle can handle 40. 50, even. It's a bummer you doubt your Sport Utility Vehicle's ability to do the same. I speak not only for my father and me, but for the Porsche Boxster and both Ford pickups behind you. I apologize for the tailgating Porsche, but you had it coming. He couldn't legally pass over the double yellow line. Passing at all was impossible while taking the sharp, blood-pumping curves. The Highway Makers provided quite a few shoulders for you to take. To let us pass. I suppose that just didn't work for you.

I understand that you were trying to be cautious, but we would rather you exercise extreme cautiousness behind us. And even then, adrenaline is fun. Try it.

Sick of seeing your tail lights,

lucy

Kids These Days...

Recently

I lost interest in my Visual DNA.

Like Nicole, I added a Facebook badge.

New links include Whiskeymarie, Scott, and Action Poetry.

I went to Asheville, NC Friday night and took some fun pictures. As soon as I figure out how to get them on here, they will be.

Post Secret hasn't yet updated. I'm beginning to doubt that today is Sunday. The power they have....

Please forgive my hastiness. The thunder is threatening the electricity and survival of this post.

The World Is Up to Me

I don't think I've ever told anybody this: I have a deep-seated yearning to impact the world. By impact I mean influence, leave a mark, change...all that. I'm not yet sure how, where, when, or even if I will. I feel as though I must. Unbeknownst to me until recently, changing the world feels to be more of a responsibility than a goal.


While this goal may be common, I don't think it universal, and saw this here blog as a worthy forum for future updates. They may be few and far between, but I'm starting early, relatively, and I beleve that if I make the right choices, remain diligent, responsible, courageous, hopeful and close to God, I can *cue cliché* do anything. Anything within my abilities, of course (and, I suppose, the abilities of the people I am able to reach).

Ow

You know the saying "God has a sense of humor"? In this case, I am not one to agrue.

I wrote and erased a post this morning about my excessive opinion sharing, and grasped at straws for a better topic. Giving up, I hung out with Jack and Skye, talking, eating lunch and the like. After agreeing that a slice of watermelon would be the perfect addition to this beautiful afternoon, I retrieved both the watermelon and my father's crazy sharp Japanese kitchen knife.

I know you know where this is going. And it is.

Now, I've used this knife before to cut the past two watermelon. I have this healthy paranoia when it comes to sharp things, but my love for watermelon often outweighs it. With Jack rotating the watermelon as I cut it in half, we were close to fine. So close...

And then I stuck my thumb in the line of fire. I wanted to find the line I had been cutting, as to continue the straight line and avoid mangling my favorite fruit. There was my thumb, and there was the crazy sharp knife. And there was the chunk of the tip of my thumb.

In pain and, I suspect, shock, I ran down the hall to the bathroom, grabbed some toilet paper, and put pressure on the bleeding thumb. The bleeding was bad. There's still some on the bathroom floor, in the sink, and on my foot. It was dripping everywhere.

I hate blood, especially my own. I hate needles more than blood--I could never be a heroin addict (this offers my mother some comfort). I was hoping, hoping, hoping that the missing piece of my thumb was no reason for stitches. But the bleeding wouldn't stop. So I called Mom, who called Dad, who came home as fast as he could.

The tears were not from pain, but from the horrible anticipation of the emanating needles and my father's anger. That knife was not to be used by children, and certainly not children home alone. *Cue lesson learned.*

He took me to Urgent Care along with the thumb chunk, which had been preserved with the help of Jack's knowledge of medical shows, Ziploc bags, and ice. I was fairly impressed, but the nurse tossed it.

"I don't think we can stitch this back on, sweetie..."

Two doctors and two nurses came in. One nurse took my temperature and blood pressure, and one doctor seemed to exist only for comfort. I was not comforted. The main doctor tied a rubber tourniquet around the base of my thumb to stop the bleeding and explained the cauterizing method.

"We're going to use a special chemical to close the blood vessels. It might sting a little bit." Immediate mental note: this is going to hurt, and it's going to hurt a lot.

She took a translucent wand covered in the chemical and rubbed it around in my open thumb. It stung like crazy, but I always take the "No pain, no gain" deal to heart when it comes to medical procedures. My eyes watered quite a bit, and the Comfort Nurse exclaimed, "Oh! You're breaking out in hives! Aw, look, you're all red..." Yes, Nurse, you got me.

It was pretty cool though, the chemical really did burn the blood vessels. It turned the skin crater all black. No more blood, no more tears. The doctor stuck a piece of Gel Foam in my thumb and wetted it down. It acts as a sort of synthetic scab. The second nurse took a nifty gauze tool and wrapped up my now healing thumb. I was very grateful. It was a trauma-free experience, all things considered. It'll heal, maybe even without a scar.

As Dad and I were getting in the car he added, "This would make a good blog post, huh?"

Now You Tell Me

Well.

I know I'm only guessing, but this has got to be what it feels like to need a drink.

Gah.

Please Help: Save Darfur

Happy Father's Day! to all the dads who read this blog. I hope it was a long, relaxing day filled with the people you love.

Along with the U2 By U2 book, java barbecue rub, handmade ceramic bowl, and gifts he ordered himself online, Dad received the "Instant Karma: Save Darfur" compilation of newly recorded John Lennon hits by today's artists. All proceeds go to support Amnesty International's efforts to save Darfur's, and other worldwide, human rights crises.

"In the remote, parched landscape of Darfur, Sudan, the rhythms of everyday life are a distant memory. Now there are days and nights filled with the dread of 'evil horsemen' called Janjawid. They charge into villages on horseback, camelback and trucks, armed with automatic weapons and murderous intent. As one survivor told Amnesty International, 'They came in the houses and ran after those who were trying to flee. A man was shot four times in the back and in the leg. They burned the village. Only 10 out of 100 houses remained intact.'

This is Darfur's nightmare. The inconceivable suffering. The deaths of thousands of civilians. The rape of thousands of women. The loss of homes for millions of men, women, and children. The metrics of pain are staggering.

The catastrophe began for the people of Darfur in 2003, when the Sudanese government enlisted Janjawid militias to carry out the dirty work in its scorched-earth campaign to crush rebel activity in Darfur. The conflict is fundamentally about resources, especially the increasingly scarce land that farmers and nomads must share. The conflict spilled over into the neighboring Chad in 2006. And so the nightmare multiplies."

After learning more about Darfur's crisis within the liner notes of Instant Karma, I visited www.instantkarma.org and signed the petiton to urge the new UN Secretary-General to act. I ask that you would visit the link and do the same. There are song-by-song previews and an option to buy the CD from this link; it's excellent.

You can watch Green Day's rendition of "Working Class Hero" here.

I admit I bought and gifted the CD for the music primarily, but after reading about the crisis' particulars, I felt I must act in the best way I could. You can donate money here. If you can't, please at least sign the petition. It is a very simple way to get involved and end the killing in Darfur.

Bad Blogger

Sorry I haven't been keeping up with my usual posting frequency. I would like to attribute this behavior to a wild and distracting summer vacation, but....

Here are some recent goings on in my life.

A close friend of three years told me he no longer saw the point of our friendship. "We rarely talk and I hate all your friends, so there's no reason to ever hang out." I replied with the mature, acceptable answer of "Asshole."

My best friend has been gone for three weeks and recently lost a very close relative to lung cancer.

I have had summer-long bedtimes and wake-up calls mandated.

I have had my interests insulted.

I have been badly sunburned, thus increasing my chances of acquiring skin cancer by 13%.

I am looking forward to...my youth group missions trip in three weeks. The week after, 8AM to 4PM everyday marching band practices. Then Band Camp, then redoing my room, then flying to California, then the beginning of my second year of high school. Okay, so, I'm looking forward to half of that.

Here's to getting out of the house as soon as possible.

Oh yeah, and I'm learning how to drive, so I can't yet do that by myself. Bicycle rides are a bitch.

New Element

Please check out this blog's addition: My Visual DNA. >

Each category has a chosen picture that I felt described it, and each caption relays a bit more of what it means to me. The pictures switch pretty quickly, but rolling over the thumbnail of the picture you want to see will keep that picture still. I encourage you to create your own, if you haven't already, at the link below the window.

It really bugs me that it breaches my layout's boundaries, but I like it too much to trash it. I'll learn to deal.

Sunday Secrets

***

I love the rain. I'm pretty sure my Perfect Day includes it.

That day may or may not include a wedding.

After seeing quite a few, it seems as though a wedding would complete the Day I Planned As Perfect.

My Perfect Day requires no planning.

Sure, Why Not.

I've been tagged by H. I thought I'd give it a go.

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.

1) Worker Mommy
2) Whiskeymarie
3) Lollie
4) Random Mindless Ramblings
5) Bulletproof Blank

*I'm not tagging anybody... if you'd like to fill this out, feel free.*

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was getting ready to start first grade, my first year of school. I never went to kindergarten. I didn't skip it, per se, I just didn't enroll.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
The same I am now. Work, band practice, sometimes eating, always sleeping.



Five snacks you enjoy:
1) Sun Chips
2) Oreos
3) Deviled Eggs
4) Guacamole on anything
5) Cinnamon Teddy Grahams

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to:
1) Hide And Seek - Imogen Heap
2) One By One - Unkle Bob
3) Mad World - Gary Jules
4) Pinball Wizard - The Who
5) See the Sun - Dido




Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
(Let's say...5 separate million-dollar deals.)

1) Pay off Mom and Dad's debt.
2) Buy three dream cars, one for each kid. ^ This red 1980 Mercedes-Benz 450SL for me. Light blue would be nice, too.
3) Launch a charitable business idea, such as Toms shoes or Ethos water.
4) Pay for my college. And Jack's college. And Skye's college...
5) Purchase the many books and CDs I've had my eye on.


Five bad habits:
1) Neck cracking
2) Sarcasm
3) Extreme procrastination
4) Nail polish chipping
5) I don't put anything away. My room is covered with my shoes and laundry.


Five things you like doing:
1) Sleeping
2) Reading
3) Writing
4) Talking
5) Laughing


Five things you would never wear again:
1) I once wore my dad's old Gulf War fatigues to school. I painted my nails dark brown to match. Never again.
2) Flowered barettes -- the bendy kind.
3) Turtlenecks.
4) Pigtails.
5) Birkenstocks. (I've never owned a pair. I tried them once and refuse to wear them.)


Five favorite toys:
1) This
2) These
3) This
4) This
5) And this guy

Regretfully,

I never could juggle. Why it was a Physical Education unit, I didn't understand. "This week: dodgeball. Next week: juggling...?" It only ever took a few days to remind me. After that week, my quads burned and my knees killed. The cycle was this: juggle two balls. Check. Juggle three balls. Drop them all. Run, bend, and squat to retrieve all three balls from various corners of the expansive brick gym.

I learned to stick with scarves. Juggling scarves makes me want to run away to the circus. I just might, with those mad skills.

***

Cool picture, no? There's more where that came from.

Bewitched

you love her
don't you
then why
doesn't she
believe you?

take a step back
this is what
you want?
you're too good
to her

i love
your heart
i can't watch
let you watch
her
break it.

Sunday Secrets

***

I've wondered the same.

One

You. Can. Only. Type. One. Word. No. Explaining.

1. Where is your cell phone?
Room

2. Relationship?
Lacking

3. Your hair?
Blonde

4. Work?
Sporadic

5. Your sister/brother?
Argue

6. Your favorite thing?
Sleep

7. Your dream last night?
Messy

8. Your favorite drink?
Root-Beer

9. Your dream car?
Classic

10. The room you're in?
Clean

11. Best time of year?
Christmas

12. Your fears?
Paranoid

13. What do you want to be in 10 years?
Comfortable

14. Who did you hang out with this weekend?
Leslie

15. What you're not good at?
Forgiving

16. Muffin?
Pumpkin

17. One of your wish list items?
Camera

18. Where you grew up?
Marietta

19. The last thing you did?
Baked

20. What are you wearing?
Shorts

21. What aren't you wearing?
Shoes

22. Your pet(s)
Allergic

23. Your computer?
White

24. Your life?
Young

26. Missing?
Receipts

27. What are you thinking about right now?
Party

28. Your car?
Nonexistent

29. Your kitchen?
Old

30. Your summer?
Band

31. Your favorite color?
Green

32. When is the last time you laughed?
Night

33. Last time you cried?
Monday

34. School?
Summer

35. Love?
Platonic

**borrowed from Lindsay**

My New Gimmick

For Flenker

Like A Bowl of Oatmeal

Dang, this blog is bland. How am I supposed to expect people to read if they are being lulled to sleep by the extensive grey background? I need some help. Additional blog tips, if you will. Sprucing tips. I tried the picture element, but my computer won't upload the pics. My computer is lacking in many Blogger areas. For instance, there is no Insert Link icon or Edit HTML option. And now my pictures won't upload, save the occasional blog post picture.

If there is a formula for changing the background of this blog, I would kindly appreciate it.

*Update: Returning to the dreaded cat-house has been a source of stress all day. Forget the key. No one steals from an empty garage. If a criminal, and so inclined, feel free to take the cat.*

Holy Mother of...

I've been feeding this cat for the past week. Chelsea. Her family is out of town, at the beach. They took the dog. I can take care of a cat, no problem. Twice a day, food and water, clean the litter box, turn on the sprinklers every other morning. Sure. I've got it under control.

Well. Over the past couple of days, I brought my sister or friend to play with Chelsea while I complete the cat tasks. When I walk in by myself, she meows all weird, rubs against my legs, and doesn't like it when I move. She pounces my feet...and it freaks me out. Usually if she has someone else to focus on I can get in and out unscathed. This morning I brought my brother, Jack, as my handy helper. I turn on the sprinklers, unlock the back door, and say hello to Chelsea. I point Jack in the direction of the food closet and tell him to fill her bowl while I clean the litter box. He quickly walks to the door. Chelsea chases his feet. Not playfully, mind you. Chases. Jack stops. Chelsea hisses. Chelsea SCREAMS. I have never in my life heard a cat scream. I've heard late night cat fights, sure. But a yelling cat? Scared the bejeezus out of me. Chelsea gets low on her haunches (funny word) and screams and sprays and pounces. She scratches Jack's sandalled feet and screams some more. He is standing completely still, scared out of his mind. I'm yelling at Jack, though I didn't know his walking away would spur such a hellish cat reaction. She walks over towards me, glaring. I'm trying to talk her down. "Chelsea, it's okay. Come over here. He's not going to hurt you. Would you like some food? Would you?" Still glaring. She walks towards me and scratches my feet. I'm not happy anymore, not sympathetic, not anything other than "Get Jack and myself the hell out of here."

I turn to Jack and say, "Once she's distracted, I'm going to open the door. Run."
"NO," he replies.
"You've got no choice."

She walks toward her cat bed but spins around and jogs towards Jack. Jack is on the verge of tears. I don't blame him. My knees are shaking, and I don't scare easily. Something about this angry, screaming cat scares me like nothing else. I take any blame for Poor Judgment and Stupid Cat Conduct, but she'd seen us both before on numerous occasions. I didn't forsee any hostilty. Jack pointed out that he was scared because he couldn't defend himself. He can't kill the neighbor's cat. He can't kick her, or buy the pepper spray ring he found on eBay once we got home. Well he could...

Anyways. Chelsea turns around and I open the door wide. "Run, Jack!" He does. And so does she. Jack's outside but up against this kudzu planter. Chelsea jumps about a foot into the air and hisses. Jack opens his arms wide and yells, not caring one bit about what it will take to get away. He runs around the side yard. She chases him. I'm yelling, "Run, Jack!" mixed with "Chelsea! Come back!" She is not an outdoor cat. Her owner assured me that she is dumb and would die. I've got to get that cat back inside.

I later learn that Jack ran around and jumped the fence. Chelsea was stopped by the sprinkler and came trotting back. Once again, she stops and glares. If I move my feet, she scratches. I point inside and tell her to go back in. She doesn't take her eyes off of my feet. Jack and I are on the same side of the house now, separated by a latched gate. "Hand me some rocks," I tell him. I stick my hand through the fence's slit and Jack gives me a couple pebbles. I toss them one at a time into the garage, and Chelsea follows. I grab the doorknob and slam the door. And realize that I left the key inside.

No way in...ANYTHING...am I going back in there. I take Jack and walk home.

I didn't used to hate cats. And I feel bad for Chelsea, in a way.

Mostly, though, I think she's insane. "She's possessed by the devil," insists Jack. I don't argue.

I called my neighbor and let her know the goings on. She said I don't have to go back. Chelsea has a full food and water bowl and a semi-clean litter box. She'll be okay overnight.

But I have to go back. I left the key.

Alongside

the colors race by
the stars overhead
the wind pushes on
the shadows tag along

each new streetlight
gives birth to a silhouette
a darker, shallower me
following alongside

as her head turns to the sky
i see the stars
as her hair blows back
it whips my face

they will do anything to keep up,
the driver and she
scaling speed bumps and curbs
and neighboring lanes

disappearing into the pavement
they taper into nothingness.
when the streets are dark
they are gone

Birthday And A Lip Dub

The whole fam at Skye's 12th birthday celebration. "Happy Birthday Homegirl! From Sapporo."


This video makes me happy. Thanks to Krysta for introducing me to it.

Sunday Secrets

My favorite this week.

As You Wish

I have a genie lamp and everything, but my genie has yet to appear. All I can do is dream of three wishes I would bestow upon the mythical creature. So whether they be selfish, charitable, medical, physical, emotional, mental, social, anything at all, what would your three wishes be?


< "Three Wishes" by Heidi Hayes

Back In The Day

Mick Jagger cracks me up. Here's a clip from 1989 -- the year my parents married. Needless to say, dear Mick hadn't yet reached the doddering level seen at Superbowl XL.

Start Me Up

***

Next cyberspace question: Now that I know how to insert a link (thanks go out to Jad once more), how would I go about inserting a Youtube video?

Thank you in advance, blog veterans,
for entertaining these bouts of oblivion.

Take Me Back

I was wrapped tightly in a ball, my head down, arms around my knees. This fetal position had become very familiar to me. I floated up and up and up, blindly and without a sense of direction. Suddenly I stopped and felt a presence. He watched me and waited. I lifted my chin and glared sorrowfully.

"Take me back," I pleaded.

He gathered me in his palm and watched knowingly, patiently perhaps. Slowly he pushed me back down to Earth with his index finger. The sheer force unfurled my body's tight form.

I landed feet first and looked to the sky for remnants of this encounter. There were none.
...


...
A cancerous spirit began to leave its body. It passed through the Holy Spirit and continued to rise, newly healed. Suddenly the spirit was brought back into its body by an unseen power, powerfully enough for onlookers to credit... gravity? or a black hole?

The spirit was rejuvenated, left to live the rest of its healthy life.

This mother's body's doctors were dumbfounded. To no avail, they attempted to attribute the miracle to scientific probability.

FREE

I take my Spanish final tomorrow. I don't really care how I do. I want to get the heck out of there.

No finals Friday!

I am FREE FREE FREE. I can now spend my time reading, writing, painting, room refurbishing, sleeping, rehearsing...all the best of summer.

(The main difference between school and summer is that I can perform all of the above without feeling guilty about choosing such activities over school-related ones. Awesome.)

Most Recent Addiction

www.newsbreakergame.com

Update, 5/25: I made it to level four! First time ever! I rank 71 with 16,000 and something points!

I spend way too much time in front of this screen...

GBCDME Update

Flenker's and H's mixes for the Great Blogger CD Mix Exchange arrived Saturday. Both are fantastic (or will be, since I haven't yet listened to them in depth.)

Once I have received all six, I will post Lucy's GBCDME Awards 2007.

...

Disclaimer: I have no "insert link" option on my computer, I'm telling you. I wish I could make posts such as these more interactive, but I'm afraid you'll just have to visit my Link List.

Sometimes I worry that I am impossible to love.
That I wasn't made for it.

It doesn't matter that this contradicts everything I believe in.

Meme: The Lucy Edition

* Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about him/herself.
* People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
* At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
* Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

Leave me a comment if you would like to be tagged.


1) When I was four I stuck a china berry up my nose. On Christmas Day. The hospital and a pair of tweezers aided in the extraction of the berry from my little nostril. Soon after came the Barbie bowl and the plastic bead. Why are nostril-sized wonders left in the reach of four-year-olds?

2) I have moved eleven times in these fifteen years. I was born in Portland, Oregon, moved to Phoenix, Arizona, and then here (with many moves in each state). I never went to preschool or kindergarten, so I attended only four elementary schools.


3) I am scared silly of the Six Flags mascot guy. The old one. Who dances badly (and baldly) to the scary music. I hate him. I also hate clowns, but that's a given.

4) I swallowed a dime last month. Yes, last month. It was no accident. I had been offered money to swallow a nickel but was afraid I would choke. He took back the offer, but I wanted to see if I could eat a smaller monetary unit...so I did. Later that week, a good friend of mine did the same. I was "an inspiration".


5) I was supposed to be a dwarf. Pretty far along in my mother's pregnancy, the doctors let her know that my limb measurements (via Ultrasound) were unusual for a regular sized baby... They told my mother that her first child would be a little person and asked if she would like to "terminate the pregnancy". Thank the Lord, she politely declined; my dad says they didn't care at all how tall I would be. Here I stand today at 5'5", give or take half an inch. Crazy docs.

6) I deliberate longer than most people about whether or not to kill a bug. My philosophy: if they're in my house, they're a pest. Nevertheless, I will stare at that bug for ten minutes with shoe in hand. For instance. Last night, I noticed a darker spot of carpet. There it was: a long-legged winged thing under a stool in my room. I immediately put a shoe on (my leg provides sufficient space between the bug and myself, my arm does not) and eyed the creep. Thoughts flying through my head: maybe it's already dead. maybe it's asleep. maybe I can kill it tomorrow. maybe it will run to a place where I just can't seem to reach it. Alas, the buggy guy moved, removing all hope of previous death and/or exhaustion. I moved to kill it at least three times. My hands were shaking. I counted down from ten and crushed the thing during an extreme moment of bravery. Yeah. I'm a wuss.

I also hate the crunching noise they make.

7) I judge people based on their grammar usage. For others who do the same, chances are you've already passed judgement. For those who do not seem to mind whether or not their use of the English language is the right one, your day will come. Please perfect your homonym knowledge. Their, there, they're. Your, you're. To, too, two. It kills me. They do, after all this time, continue to have different meanings. Know them. Love them.


8) I enjoy making cootie catchers with Starburst wrappers. Little baby ones. (As you can see, I am out of interesting facts about myself. Eight is a few too many, obviously.)

Periodical Wisdom

I recently read (maybe it was Men's Journal...) that the way to judge a relationship is not through one's reaction to bad news, but to good news.

I heartily agree with this observation. Sympathy is quite universal. It's safe to say that a friend one trusts with bad news is trusted to ease the pain, sorrow, frustration, etc. How capable that friend is of handling happy information is a separate entity entirely.

Ex: "I might be going to California to see my aunt this summer!!"
"I'm going to an Ohio amusement park."
"Oh... that's cool, too." Notice the deadened enthusiasm.

Or: "I could make section leader next year!!"
"That would never happen. Oh, I mean, just kidding. Sure."
Good save.

These are recent, real-life interactions that left much to be desired. The words "I'm so sorry!" are expected. "I'm so proud of you!" is a phrase heard less often. It's a surprisingly revealing indicator.

Happy Mother's Day

Thank God for your mother.

- David O. Selznick

Amen.

http://www.d-e-f-i-n-i-t-e-l-y.com/

Banquet and A Mixtape (or 6)

Band Banquet was great. Pictures to come. I was awarded a letter as well as a "Distinguished Service Certificate" for assuming Concert Two's Secretary position and taking roll daily. That is quite the feat, lemme tell ya. I plan on building on this responsibility and becoming Band Secretary/Treasurer as a senior. I would announce superlatives from the podium at Banquet '10!

I'm still in my dress. May I say, strapless ensembles are not my favorite. And the netted petticoat thingy is pretty darn abrasive. I didn't trip in my Could Kill You With This Heel heels, though. As far as I can tell, it's a blisterless shoe: 4-inch, bronze, strappy number.

...

Mixes are in the process. I spent a good bit of time on these babies...as it turns out, mix assembling is rather intricate. I had a good time with them; they're the best I've ever made. Will be mailed out on Monday for sure.

Picture Perfect

Guess what?

I saw my first Duck Mom and Duck Babies train today. They were floating down a creek. Floating...? Well they don't swim...

Anyways. I was at my bus stop after having taken off my Hell of A Blister Shoes and running home to grab my Algebra book when I peeked at my neighbors' creek and saw the Duck family. There were five Ducklings, babies as I like to call them. "What was a duck doing with five babies? Were they crying?" my dad asks. Ha. Ha. Ducklings, okay?

Today was a beautiful day. They've been beautiful for some time now, and I enjoyed the bus window wind on my way to school. It ensured that I would be awake enough to complete my 4th period class homework in 1st period.

But then, I didn't make it that far. Mom picked me up before lunch, which was good; I needed the alone time and had forgotten my pizza money.


^ an example photo I wish I had taken but did not.

A Sob Story

The results are in...

And I did not make the drumline. I will spend my summer Tuesday and Thursday nights with the "Front Ensemble". In a marching band, the Front Ensemble (or pit) is the collection of mallet keyboards and accessory instruments at the front of the field. These players are still percussion and provide a melody and background effects, but do not march. I have nothing against the pit or the people who play in it. It takes an incredible amount of skill. But I really really love to march. I love that drumline, and it sucks that I was beat out by a friend I was sure I'd stick with, and a rookie. That means I'm really not good at all.

So today, after reading the new Walton Marching Band Percussion rankings, I found my name and walked away. I'm not sure what everyone else made; I was in a bit of a daze for the next three hours until my mom came to pick me up. She understands my disappointment and thankfully is not disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me. I worry others are too. That's worse, you know, letting down other people.

So I'm home now, all alone until Jack and Skye get home. My face is a bit soggy and my spirits are shot, but there's a chocolate cake in the oven and an impressive Tivo assortment. I'll get through it. Until next year...

Multi-Tasking

Here I sit in my third period class, typing this post because I find it amusing that doing so is an option. Actually, I'm on my knees (can't find a chair) and halfheartedly listening to Mrs. D discuss Change of State. There's a diagram and everything, but she knows we've been there done that and allows us to take the review as we need it. I don't have a focus problem, per se...I simply choose to focus on a different topic than the one at hand. I happen to be a Change of State Master; I'll be okay come End of Course Test -- a.k.a. EOCT.

A sidenote: drumline audition results posted tomorrow. I am very, very nervous. Not being good enough is my fault completely, so I've prepared myself for the worst. Optimism is good and all, but unrealistic optimism disappoints. "Realist" suits me, I suppose. Come back tomorrow for a) a sob story, or b) an ecstatic account of the summer to come.

Oh How I Love My Jeans

Dress shopping, as it turns out, is fun in theory. However. When searching for THE band banquet dress, the outing is a dreaded one. Today's was fairly harmless; our first stop was our only stop. Filene's Basement had a cheap, decent selection. After a few amusing, floor length try-ons, I settled (lovingly chose, really) on a light blue and dark brown, flowered, strapless piece. The size is a bit off, but the tailor is my friend, the price was right, and I really wanted to go home.

I had enough budget space to purchase a huge pair of "pearls", a plate of chinese buffet, a pink lemonade, and a cinnamon sugar pretzel.

Alas, I forgot my camera. And believe me -- the people watching has never been better. Really interesting people like to hang at the mall, it seems.

Banquet is Friday, and I promise: pictures will be taken.

Yearning to Feel

It's one thirty in the morning
Pouring down rain
I unlocked my front door
Stepped off the stair
And soaked in it
I felt connected to each drop
I held out my hands
Bent back my head
And cried.
Where the rain stopped
And the tears began
I could not tell.
Headlights approached and
I learned that vulnerability
Is still a stranger
I turned away
Looked inside
Then back to the street
Opened the door
Dried my tears
But not my hair
Or tank top
Here I sit, shivering
Yearning to feel the rain

Post (my)Secret

Thanks to Stephen and H, PostSecret now defines my Sunday mornings. I read every week and marvel at the contributors' vulnerability and creativity. Some make me smile, some make me think, and some cause despair. Secrets come in all sizes.

Last night, I sat for a good twenty minutes hoping to formulate the many secrets I know I have. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I found my souvenir postcards and went wild. I ripped off the cover of my Spanish to English Dictionary because I couldn't find another worthy medium. I ended up with four, proud secrets.

PostSecret "judges", if you will, go through thousands a day, I'm sure. Yet the comfort in mailing my secrets to a willing reader is immense. I wonder the reactions of my mail lady...how many has she seen? Will she begin to think of her own secrets? This is a marvelous operation.

I now visit PostSecret as a potential contributor. Even if these don't make it, they are no longer secrets. They don't need to be shared with the important people in my life, do they? A stranger will do just fine. It feels really, really good.

(This post would have been loaded with links, but my "insert link" thingy is temperamental. Visit the Link List to the left, if you wish.)

Summeritis

Come tomorrow, I will have had this here blog for one month. This is my 49th post. That is definitely more than one per day, so going two days without one seems uncommonly bare. Isn't that funny? TWO DAYS, what am I gonna do?

If it weren't for my extreme lack of ideas, I'd be handling it a bit better. My brain has become a giant black hole due to the allure of summer vacation. My days are uninteresting save high school social drama, but you don't want to hear about that. Neither do I.

I kept thinking an epiphany would come -- a wise, worldly idea worth discussing. Nope. I hoped I would come up with an original, thoughtful short story plot. I'm still sitting on that one.


Three more weeks. This includes End of Course Tests, half-days, and finals week. I need to get the heck out of there. I need to get my creative juices flowing; they've either come to a standstill or been sucked out completely.

A Love Rock for Grandma Jo

Shortly before she passed away eight years ago, we took Grandma Jo to the park. Jack and I took turns wheeling her around; Skye was too small. I suppose I was eye-level with her sitting figure at the age of seven and remember discussing rocks. I would pick one up, and she would tell me what the shape reminded her of. There was a boat, a leaf, and a heart. This last one we argued about for a bit. She would turn it clockwise and tell me it was an "L"; a Lucy rock. No, Grandma, it's a heart...for love!


I found our heart rock yesterday evening and began to cry. My last memory of her is withdrawn; she began wearing wigs to hide the chemotherapy's effects. Her battle was with ovarian cancer. She would remove the wig when home, as it was itchy and uncomfortable. I hated seeing her bald. She's my grandma, she should have white, fluffy hair. 'Imagine her like a baby - babies are bald,' my dad would tell me. I couldn't bring myself to do so. I felt the baldness embarrassed her and was embarrassed for her. I was watching television in her home when she, wigless, brought me a blanket to wrap up in. I didn't even look her way -- I was too afraid! I know I was little...I tell myself she understood. It's hard, you know, when my memories of my mother's mother include rudeness and a rock. The rock, I will treasure forever. Lucy's rock. Grandma Jo's love rock. I miss her every day and wish emptily that I had more than a heart-shaped rock.

Trying Fiction On for Size

After learning about the Iowa Young Writers' Workshop yesterday afternoon, I have begun writing in preparation for the application. Along with a 1-2 page explanation of why I want to go and a teacher recommendation, I must turn in ten pages of completed work. Those ten pages would be easier to fill if a well-developed story was included, no? But that whole well-developed thing...

I'll be eligible to participate in this junior version of the prestigious Writers' Workshop next summer. For two weeks in June, "120 young writers from across the country come together to share their work, practice craft, and improve their writing in Iowa City, Iowa". Sounds like a blast to me. Plus, it doesn't interrupt band camp.

"If writers were musicians, the Iowa Writers’ Workshop would be like one long jam session." - Sara Langenberg

Understanding

slowly i set myself apart
my lack of social competence
spurring walled introspection
i search within
to brace myself from without

my mother says she doesn't get people
their children would be no different
agreeably, she says this will never change
a specified crowd
provides momentary comfort

this is unsettling, but i understand
who could get me
other than who made me
is every interaction blissfully satisfying
ignorance is bliss



there is nothing more complex
than the pairing of people
or a friendship's niche
love is a recipe
for lack of a better metaphor

perhaps in the end
where my understanding stops
another's will begin
and comfort will be found
in their neverending questions


for another's doubt
invites the integration of mine
i tear down the walls
attempting answers
in hopes of finding my own