Carbon Credits - The New Coal?

So, being in an environmental studies program (at least for the next day, then I graduate!) we talk about all sorts of things environmental. Some of it is rather mundane, such as conserving energy (which most of us have learned), to rather interesting ones such as carbon credits.

Carbon credits are a newer system for controlling air pollution. There are only a set amount of credits for every business in the whole world, and every business was originally alloted a certain number of credits which allow them to emit carbon up to the credits that they own (so relate it to a gift certificate, and you can only spend what you have on the card. Same deal). However, if you're an environmentally concious business, such as New Belguim Brewery, then you may not need all those carbon credits and can sell them. Carbon credits are traded much like shares on a stock market, and there will never be any more carbon credits than there are right now. As there are more businesses every year, you can see how their value is going up.

How effective will this be in controllling pollution worldwide? I have no idea, because if I were a large corporate company set out on making money; I simply wouldn't play the game. But. . .it's an interesting gift idea that was on my wish list. Should you have someone on your gift list that you may not particularly love, buy them a carbon credit and stuff it in their stocking. You're helping the environment, and it's a coal by-product. Too clever by half!

The oddness of Brussel Sprouts

Today I write about a strange subject for such a season. Brussel sprouts.

It was my original intention to have a vibrant vegetable container garden spilling forth from the third floor of my apartment, but apartment and gardening is a tricky combo, especially with vegetables. While my flowers thrived, my vegetables were less than thrilled with this strange existence, and one by one they gave up the ghost. All except for three little brussel sprouts, who, like all the other vegetables were raised from seeds, given the same loving care as the cucumbers, the peas, and the tomatoes. I was curious about brussel sprouts, not opposed to eating them, and had heard that they were a strange plant to grow in appearance and habit. I had hoped that by growing them perhaps some of the mystery would be revealed, but alas, I am more enamored and confused by them now than I ever was previously!

Upon first inspection, aside from their unwillingness to die like their other vegetable cousins, these sprouts were like many others I had seen, and I gave them their own pot. Throughout the summer, I watered and fertilized them with my other plants, expecting to see the one stalk that would show me that brussles were on their way for my dining pleasure. All summer long those three little plants thrived, alert and spunky when my petunias were drooping from the heat, crisp and cheerful when the rest of the plants were being nipped by frost in the fall. But once they each reached a certain height, there was no more growth to be seen. New leaves came and went, but the height remained the same and no signs of any brussels. Fall came and went and killed all of my flowers, so I took all the pots in, but the brussel family was still cheerfully alive, so I left that pot out on the balcony, thinking in a few more weeks it would be dead.

A few more weeks came and went and with the impending snows I was sure the brussels would be killed. My assumptions were proved wrong however as after each snowstorm, the little plants bounced back. Last week we had a severe cold snap that sent our temperatures plummeting into the negatives. This, surely would kill my brussels. Any yet though they drooped a bit at that last weapon of nature, this week they are perking up again, the only green thing to be see (Aside from Christmas Trees) for quite a ways!

So I thought I'd take a picture of my three brave stalks to share with you all, for while I still have yet to see any sign of edible vegetables, I've admired their tenacity and will to live!

I'll have to agree with people on brussel sprouts, they are a most strange little plant. :)

Back and Better than Ever

Hi All,

Well it's been nearly a year since my last post. With my senior year of school and such, I backed way off anything that didn't involve homework in my spare time. My apologies to all, but the good news is that I graduate this Saturday (the 17th) and now have the time to get back into doing this. So, I'll be reconnecting with those that used to comment and beginning to get some new stories lined up about what's been happening these past few months. Thanks for being patient, I look forward to reading all your blogs again!

~Christa

It's all about perspective. . .

CIDER

Last night, I walked quite a few blocks of downtown Denver in a blinding snowstorm to get to the bus-station. Upon arriving, my hair was frozen in strange directions and I was soaked. My fingers numb and mascara running. The bus heater was barely on, and so I continued to freeze for another 20 minutes as we drove back up the freeway.

That said - it was probably one of the prettiest things I’d ever seen in my life. The snow blew down the vast corridors of buildings, changing stop lights into fuzzy representations of colors, and falling back up into the sky on crazy air currents. One of the reasons that I was so wet and cold is because I was walking incredibly slowly, trying to watch it all even as snowflakes lashed at my eyes. Before the storm hit, I was talking to a man and he was wondering if it was better to take his break outside in the cold or inside where he works. I told him; “Outside. Even though it’s cold and overcast, it is an extraordinary day. This summer, when it is scorching hot and everyone is complaining about how they can’t keep cool, you can go back to this day and remember what it was like to be so cold that your nose lost feeling.”

I really think that people have forgotten that everything – comfortable and uncomfortable – is an experience to be embraced. Just as a snowy night in downtown may not be the perfect 70 degrees to walk in; it’s still an experience having its own ethereal beauty. When you’re too caught up with how cold you are and how strange you must look with hair frozen at right angles to your head . . . you lose sight of what’s really going on. Nature’s Snowstorm Spectacular.

Technology

Last night in class we delved into the netherworld of UNIX. From my short history with that program, I’ve decided I can live a full and happy life if I never come into contact with it again.

A DOS-like command program, the server froze time and time again, as each of us attempted to create a simple text site that stated “Welcome”. I was sent into a demented help manual that didn’t let me out and then created a whole list of files that I couldn’t delete and couldn’t get out of. My friend, Chad created a site that said:

Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website
Welcome to my website

Even though he didn’t type it that many times, that’s how it came out. As he stated “I wanted people to feel really, really welcome”. Another friend became stuck in the text editor and was unable to publish or leave that file. We were in the inner workings of hell with no escape. Even the instructor resorted to faith as he said “You have to believe it will work! What the *&!% did that do?”

We ended up having to cut off the server just to exit the program, and we ended up leaving class about 15 minutes late due to this pleasant technology trip. Grumpy, tired, and sick of typing commands, I thought to myself as I walked to catch my bus home: “What about this technology is making my life easier?!”

Mutiny on the Bounty

CIDER

My father is out in California this week. It’s funny how things can link in your mind. We bought the family boat in Cali, and I’ve been thinking about my dad’s prized sailboat that sits in Pueblo Reservoir here in Colorado . . . and my dad.

Like most father-daughter relationships, there are times we get along, and times we do not. My dad has a personality that compels him to have everyone share in whatever great activity/hobby he’s into at that point in time. (I also, have this trait)

For instance, he bought a sailboat, so he can sail. But everyone else had to sail too; and while my parents were raised in Hawaii where sailing is the ‘in’ thing; their Colorado offspring do not share this passion. But, there were no excuses. Out to the boat we all went, so we could go around in circles on a rather tiny reservoir. I was there, Greg (before we were married), my two brothers, sister, mom, two dogs and vast quantities of food.

We had just ‘cast off’ (which doesn’t mean much when there is not wind) and had begun to drift slowly towards the center of the lake. Occasionally a wind would gust off from one of the nearby ridges, and instead of making us go faster, it would hit the sail with great (albeit brief) force, and then the boom would knock one of us nearly unconscious as it snapped around the deck. This began to annoy my dad. Although he would yell “JIBE!!!” milliseconds before this happened; none of us really knew what “JIBE!!!” meant, and were knocked silly by the boom as punishment. So dad took action. He began to utter mysterious phrases with great passion, often directed at one of his four children. Things like “COME ABOUT!!!” or “FALL OFF!!!!” to the poor soul who had been drafted into working the tiller; or - to the person who was sitting gazing at the water – “GRAB THE LINE AND PULL THE SHEET IN!!!!”

It was mayhem. Those who didn’t respond as expected (all of us) were sternly rebuked for our lack of maritime knowledge; and soon the situation came to a head. I started snapping back, my brothers joined in, even our border collie seemed less enthusiastic then normal – and within a matter of mere minutes it was ‘Mutiny on the Bounty’. We were shouting, gesturing, the boat had decided to stop, my mother was attempting to lower blood pressures, and within all this pandemonium, my father decided to let us know just how furious we made him. He drew himself up and bellowed with great force; “THAT’S IT!!! I’M GOING TO FIND MYSELF ANOTHER CREW!!!!”

Well, that killed the viscous mood that we were all in. No matter how serious he was trying to be, ‘the crew’ couldn’t keep a straight face. The day turned out all-right in the end.

Harnessing Cats

I've found that the more I think of things to write about, the more my attention comes to rest on my cats. Greg and I have cancelled our DirectTV subscription, and have felt only minor withdrawal symptoms; I think because of the high entertainment value that cats have.

For example, Cider is now about 7 months old, and I want to get her used to a harness so that she can be out gardening with me without being an outdoor kitty. So we found one that matches her fur beautifully, and, following all the advice given us, tossed it on the floor so she could get Used To Its Presence over the next few days. She lost interest within about 3 minutes, and it sat on the floor in the exact same spot for the next 3-4 days. So, with her Used To Its Presence, I decided that it was time to put it on her.

She say patiently while I clipped it on, adjusted it to fit her tiny runt-frame, and then I patted her on the sides and scooted her out into the middle of the living room floor. She looked at me, disgusted, and then began to walk like an old sway-backed mare. Her body was stretched; her stomach an inch off the floor, and then the weight of it all was apparently too much. She collapsed onto her belly with great drama, and began pathetically scooting about, pulling herself with her two front paws and pushing with her back. I was in fits of giggles at this stage, and Cider, seeing that her flare for acting had not pulled my heartstrings nearly enough, burst into action.

BOING! High up in the air I saw a flash of tortishell fur, and then another streak as she re-entered the atmosphere and went tearing around the living room. She did somersaults, cartwheels, she hopped to the left, then the right; she flopped over on her side and began scootching again, only to be hit with another burst of energy as she went zooming to the den. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. My sides hurt too much. I intercepted another wild dash and took off the harness, and with an indignant sniff, she went to get some food.

All the websites say that you should NEVER react to a cats behavior to the harness, laughing is specifically mentioned, so I suppose I'm a bad trainer in that fact. I need to keep putting it on and taking it off, and eventually we can work our way outside. As of right now, I don't see that happening anytime within the next 10 years. Especially if Cider has something to say about it.

Suntanning

_____________________________________________________________________ Today, as I write this – I am a major contributor to global warming, and will be for probably the next few days.

I've recently begun sun tanning again. I've been going for almost a month now once or twice a week in a very low UV bed. So there haven't been dramatic results, per say - but I like the slow and steady approach to this particular habit. To mark my progress, I keep sticking a little butterfly sticker on my skin which will show up lighter as the rest of my skin gets darker and darker. As of yesterday morning, there was no butterfly to be seen.

So yesterday I go in to see if my bed was open. It wasn't, but the helpful employee said that bed 2 was. It was a step up from what I was already using, but it had less intense something-or-other which dramatically reduced the chances of sunburn. It was, he told me in a matter-of-fact-voice, the bed that I should have started with. Splendid! Put me in for 10 minutes like the other bed! He paused, "Well, you could go longer in this bed, it won't burn you, and you’ll see results very quickly.” "Hmmm, ok, let's do 15 minutes then." He had a point, I had been at 10 minutes for 2 1/2 weeks now, surely 15 minutes in a lesser bed would do no harm. Perhaps that butterfly I'd been sticking to my skin would begin to show!

I go in, and cover my face, like always, and relax. There is something nice about laying on a warm tanning bed when its chilly outside, I just love it. I did get a little warm, but turned the fan up to compensate, and was fine. After 15 minutes were over, I went home to take a shower and then finish up some studying before class started later on that evening.

I looked at myself in the mirror to see how the tanning was progressing, and was a little worried to see the vast amounts of pink beginning to show all across my hide. I changed my plan to a milk bath to take some of the heat out of the ‘mild’ burn, and then went to class. When I returned home at nine, I changed into my pajamas, and noticed that I was putting off vast amounts of radiant heat. I went back to the bathroom mirror, where it was revealed to me that I now resembled a lobster. The good news was that my butterfly sticker showed. A pale outline among a vast expanse of red. The bad news was that tomorrow was going to involve much pain.

Today, I am the sun, clothed in baggy jeans and a loose shirt. I can barely carry my laptop bag, and last night Greg couldn’t sleep near to me for the amount of radiant heat that was warming our bed. My cats are especially drawn to me, as it must resemble sleeping on a heater, and I know that the global warming monitors will notice a sharp peak in Colorado for the next few days.

Greg's Blanket

_______________________________________________________

A few months ago, I made my husband a big blanket. At 6’7” all the blankets around our house don’t cover him all the way when he’s watching TV, laying on the couch, etc. So with my mother’s help, I undertook the daunting task of creating a blanket that was about 9 feet long and 6 feet wide. The blanket was completed, and Greg LOVES it, but I’ve needed to do all the little ties that holds the fabric with the fluff all together. I’ve procrastinated this task for almost 3 months now, as it is daunting at best.

Well, Greg finally convinced me that it needed to be done, and even said that he would help. So last night as we watched Star Trek TNG reruns, we began. Tie after little tie, about 6-8 inches apart, working from the middle out. The cats were overjoyed. Not only were we on the ground, but there was a blanket, AND thread!!!!! So they gleefully pulled the thread through right before we were able to tie it, pounced on our hands – barely missing the needles, and generally ran around like wild things. I am patient with them, as kittens tend to do things like this, but Greg doesn’t quite get the fact that cats will not behave when you ask or yell at them to.

So, after he did about a quarter of the blanket, his frustration was almost tangible, and we had not yet eaten dinner – NOT a good combination. I sent him into the kitchen to put the pizza in the oven, and continued on . . . for the rest of the blanket. He half-heartedly offered to continue, but I felt it was best for our marriage if he just sat and watched TV.

A few hours later, it was done. My back was sore, eyes strained, the cats were exhausted, and I had poked more than a few fingers. I handed the blanket up to a very happy Greg (my legs were stuck in the cross-legged position), he looked down at me lovingly and proclaimed:

“I just love it when we do projects together.”

Beligerent Kitten

My cat has grown belligerent.

Cider is my tortishell kitten, I rescued her mom off the streets, and after she had her kittens, found a home for the mom, and kept Cider as my own. She is our second cat, friend now to Leo, our orange tabby and first cat.

Cider is an incredibly friendly kitten, loves people and cuddling – and her full name, christened by my husband, is Cider Baby. Spoiled? A wee bit, but she is very mindful of her manners, so training her to be a good cat has proved to be a simple thing. Until last week:

She discovered that she could easily jump up on the kitchen counter and check out what I was doing when I was preparing meals or doing dishes. This is not sanitary, so it’s rather important to me that she does not continue on in this practice. I can push her off, pick her up and set her down, squirt her with water, soak the counter so it’s not that fun to be on – and she will still jump right back up, unfazed. Greg went to extreme measures the other day. She was in the sink, and he turned on the water, hoping to startle her off and really begin getting it in her mind that she shouldn’t be doing this. Full throttle, the water came out, I already felt horrible, but knew it must be done. The result? Nothing. My kitten sat there mildly interested in the fact she was getting wet, but not really concerned about it.

We were astonished.

And decided that water is obviously not a motivating factor for her.

So at this point in time, we are at a stalemate. Cider has agreed to not walk anywhere on the counter but the back part of the sink – where no food goes, as it faces out into the living room. So she will curl up there and watch me cook, happy as a clam, and keep her end of the bargain perfectly, but she refuses to not jump on the counter at all. I’m a little bewildered that I’ve been able to confine her to that area, but not teach her the counter is off-limits. I can only guess that she has her own idea of where she belongs, and as long as she can keep me company and see what is going on, it’s fine with her. So I’m at a loss at this point, and I suppose it’s not too terrible, but it’s the principal of the matter. My kitten has found something she likes, and I can’t seem to get it out of her system. And all this time I thought I was HER owner, not visa versa.

Locker Room Revolution

This weekend, we are up at a cabin in Grand Lake, Colorado. The past few days have been rather momentous in the fact that I have joined a swimming class at school – which means that I get to do laps for about a half hour, and then bob in the water with other students for another 50 minutes. While I am not deathly sore, I can definitely feel some muscles are working harder than usual.

However, in joining this class, I’ve also had to overcome the locker room. While I’m not an overtly shy person – it is a rare occasion that has warranted me taking a shower completely naked with quite a few other naked women. I had originally resolved to simply shower with my swimsuit on, but peer pressure won over as I was the odd one out, and I succumbed. It’s difficult to pinpoint what actually is bothersome about this. Either me being naked, or me being surrounded by other naked people. Shower-room etiquette was never covered in school – and though showers were there, we were much too shy to utilize them. Apparently something happened between then and now that I missed out on. I suppose its just desserts for dropping out of gym for 4 years and then trying to get back in the game. I missed out on the locker room revolution!

Tough Love

CIDER

My husband and I have finally ended our quest for a church home that is near to where we live. It’s a wonderful place, with hard-hitting sermons, and we just love it. This morning, the pastor was talking about how we as Christians are called to love others, no matter how hard it may be. This wouldn’t normally have struck me as funny, except for what happened on our way to church. Greg was miffed at the electrical box having been tagged with graffiti in the night, and proceeded to state “I wish I had a gun - I would just shoot those kids dead”.

Looks like we need to keep working on the whole aspect of sharing God’s love – preferably without the 12-gauge.

New Site Design

Hi All,
Hope you ike the cool new design I put together last night. The last thing that I'm trying to put up are links on the side to blog sites I visit (all of yours) but I'm having difficulty changing the link color. So for now they are invisible. There and working, but invisible. I'm working on it, and will hopefully have it changed by tonight. In the meantime enjoy the design!

~Christa

Cats' Magic

CIDER

I have decided that cats must possess magical powers. Now, I realize that I am extending this statement to all of cat-dom, and it may be true only of my cats, but I think it goes for all. We'll see how many commenters agree.

My cats have one seriously strong spell - the ability to make you fall fast asleep, even when you weren't tired in the first place. If I sit or lay down to read, write, or type away on the laptop, both Leo and Cider (their names) find this an irresistable inviation to cuddle. One will be on my knees or legs, the other my lap or chest, and the purring begins. They purr for quite a while, and it is during this time that the spell is cast. Soon, the purring dies down, as they nod off, and I am not long to follow. I won't get up, won't continue what I was doing - the book is usually set down and we all take a nice nap. It is the same with my husband, and last night, when my parents came up for dinner I found it was the same for my dad. Cider hopped up in his lap, fell asleep - he kicked back the recliner and fell asleep too.

It is an irresistable thing to nap with cats, and therein the magic may lie - but right now I haven't the time to pursue the matter further. Cider and Leo just fell asleep on my chair, and I feel I should probably join them on this lazy Saturday afternoon. . . .

New Blog Site to Visit

CIDER

Hi Everyone,
My mom is now a blogger, visit her site and say hello!
www.Deesgarden.blogspot.com
Thanks!

Crosswalks

CIDER

This is my first story composed entirely on MY NEW LAPTOP! It’s wonderfully tiny, and the keys make a satisfying ‘clicky’ sound that is reminiscent of a typewriter, which is far superior to the usual plastic ‘clack’ of the normal keyboards. Truly, my laptop in all forms. Also, my husband surprised me with the super-cool lavender computer bag I had be coveting off the ebags website, so my look is complete, and I can now write in style. (As well as extensively surf the internet)

So, on to the subject which has been foremost in my mind as of late. Crosswalks.

I am the type of person who tends to not rush out into the middle of a busy street just because there is a little white light-man telling me it is ok to do so. I like to verify that everyone is stopped, and I know I tend to drive some friends crazy with my caution. Being on a college campus that is smack in the middle of downtown, I am forced to cross many streets, all highly busy. Some crosswalks even go diagonally across the road – which I have only ever attempted once. I already feel highly rushed with the hand flashing and the drivers revving their engines just waiting to stomp on the gas – diagonal is never enough time.

So today my friend, William, suggested we go to the Rocky Mountain Seed Shop after class. This was a difficult decision, go look at seeds (which, being a gardener, I am a little crazed over) or avoid crossing all those streets?!?! The seeds won, and we headed out. Then came the first crosswalk. Like always, I hesitated, looked dumbly at every sign, of which each had a bright red hand in the middle. I was reluctant to just cross, though the traffic was going in the right direction to do so. I looked at William for guidance, and . . . . To my surprise he had the same blank stare that I did. In fact, he was looking as though he hoped I had the answer of when to cross!

We made it across the street, and after perusing all the seeds, we started sharing our crosswalk-phobia. Each time a street came up to cross, we both paused for a while, making sure that everything was stopped or going in the right direction before proceeding - and neither of us was rushed. It was nice, and we were laughing at ourselves the whole way back to campus.

I suppose it goes to show that you’re never the ONLY one who has issues with something, even as small as a crosswalk.

Laptops and NASCAR

CIDER

I am a full-time student in my final year of school. I have a LOT of homework when school is in session. Fresh back from Christmas break - spring of 2005 is proving to be no exception. However, at the same time that my school load is picking up, Greg has joined an online racing league that requires both the desktop and laptop to participate. The desktop runs the game, and the laptop sends his voice out so that he can apologize profusely for running into any of his fellow racers. You’d think it wouldn’t be necessary, but apparently these people take their fake racing VERY seriously, and have come to expect profuse groveling if a rookie screws up. Not enough groveling = excommunication from the Church of NASCAR. They have the power to make good on this, Greg assures me. So its important that he has the laptop with the microphone.

I really don’t care. I think it’s silly and/or stupid. I also don’t control the computers.

The other night, I was highly exasperated. I needed to type up some stuff and couldn’t because Greg was busy groveling (or racing – they’re intertwined at this point). I stomped into the den with a very carefully prepared ultimatum. I stood before my penny pinching husband and announced:

“Greg, I need to get homework done during the week. Either you schedule me in on the computer for about 2 hours every weeknight or you buy me a laptop of my own.”

It seemed simple, but as Greg began to ponder this, I realized I’d gone in over my head.

“Hmmm, you know, that’s a great idea! I start looking tomorrow and we’ll have something for you soon.”

Sure enough, there’s a laptop in the mail even as I type this, and it should be here on Tuesday. This has taught me a lesson:

Be careful what you wish for – especially when your husband is a techie-junkie.

A Family Christmas

CIDER
It was Christmas Eve.

Traditionally, my family has always attended a candlelight service, mainly because my dad was a pastor and usually led the event. However, now with a switch in professions – from pastor to missionary - things had become awkward. We had no church that we really enjoyed as a family; so choosing a service that we could all attend and like. . . .well it was proving to be a challenge. This sets up the scene of what was going on 3 days before Christmas Eve:

My sister, who had moved out a year and a half ago under rather painful circumstances had to work Christmas Eve, but still wanted to go to church. So she voted for an 11:00pm service. My father, very accommodating in order to bring her back into the fold, thought it wasn’t such a bad idea. However – the rest of us did.

My brother, John, felt that it was the better part of wisdom to not attend any service at all. While I was inclined to agree with him, I also knew that the idea wouldn’t last long with my parents, so we were forced to disagree.

My mother and brother thought that going to ‘their’ church was a great idea. My brother, Jeff, had friends and a girlfriend who all attended; and my mom, because that was where they usually went.

Somewhere in here my grandparents were to be accommodated. Conservative Baptists, this would need to be taken into consideration as they were going with us, whichever service we chose.

I live with my husband, an hour away from my parents and everyone else involved in this decision. Really, I shouldn’t have much say – but my personality dictates that I have a rather large part in the decision-making process. Separately, I received a call from almost every family member, and weighed each opinion heavily. Then, I picked an entirely different church altogether. This was one that Greg’s (my husband) parents attended off and on, and that was reputedly a nice balance between contemporary and traditional. It had a convenient service time of 7:00pm, and although Presbyterian by background, my grandparents were willing to overlook this shortcoming and attend. Each family member could attend, and the evening was promising to be memorable, if not borderline perfect.

I was only to be correct on one of those assumptions.

We arrived 5 minutes later than the 7:00 time, but we were in luck! Service had not yet begun, and we were still able to get a whole row to ourselves. We waited, and waited, and at 7:20, I was mildly concerned. Perusing the bulletin, my mind started turning. I was sure that the service started at 7:00, and wasn’t the pastor’s name Bob something? Not this Stewart that was printed here. Hmmm. A cold bolt shot through me at the same time realization struck. This was not the service! This was an entirely different church! And (as a side observation) no one here was under 65! At that same time, my husband leaned over. Apparently he and Jeff were doing some calculating on the 4-page program/book and they estimated that with the 16 carols, 1 story-telling, 1 message, and then the candle-lighting – we were in for at least a 3 hour service. The family turned questioningly to me. What was there to say?! I smiled reassuringly, much more confidently than I felt – explained that I believed us to be at the wrong service, but that I’m sure it was going to be great. Look at all the old-fashioned carols that we hadn’t sung in ages! Even a few that I had never heard of before. This seemed a mistake, but in truth we were in for quite a treat.

Yep.

We sang EACH verse of EACH carol – 7 verses of “We Three Kings”, 5 verses of “O Holy Night”, and 6 verses of “Silent Night” just to name a few. Then, it was storytelling for the children. Here I was sure I would be saved.

Once all two children shuffled up to the front (awwww, how cute); the assistant pastor told an odd tale of a bunny, who froze to death in a blizzard, but saved a field mouse. Using the word ‘carcass’ a number of times, he then said that there was a wolf that looked at the dead rabbit for a day, and then left. It was entirely bizarre, and I sunk lower in my seat as the piercing gaze of my family continued to turn to me. A few more 10-verse Christmas carols later, the sermon began. And dragged on for quite some time. We needed to go. Already 2 ½ hours had passed, and the troops were fidgety. My father made an executive decision that surpassed hundreds of years of family protocol. We were going to leave early.

The word was passed down the line. At the prayer before the candle-lighting, we were going to make our big break. No, wait – new message – we would leave at the prayer at the end of this sermon – there were 3 more carols between here and the candle-lighting bit – none of us would last that long. Mercifully, the prayer came 10 minutes later, and the pastor, with this aptitude towards droning on and on, gave us plenty of time to empty the row. Still, not everyone was praying. Some of the elderly ladies appeared to be sentencing us to hell with their piercing gazes. The already-empty church was visibly even more empty with our party of 9 gone, but we felt no remorse. Slipping, and sliding as we hurried to the cars, giggles and snorts started escaping some of the better-tempered of the group. Some, were not quite yet ready to forgive, but were willing to admit that it was already funny.

Once home, we changed into our jammies and convened in the kitchen to make the Christmas Eve toast right before dinner. My grandmother, very proper and serious, offered to make it, and we all waited to hear her speak eloquently of the past and future year. Somberly she raised her glass, and looked at each one of her children/grandchildren meaningfully. She took a deep breath and proclaimed:

“To The Great Escape!”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

A view into an entry-level class

CIDER

I am taking a class called 'Intro to Theater' to finish my core. This is the first 1000-level course that I've taken in about 2 years, I'm with a lot of younger people, and it's decently fun because, well, it's THEATER. If I have to explain why this class is fun and easy, you have not been in college recently, if ever.

We are already working on final projects. My group of 7 has to direct a small, 10 minute play or part of a play. We can either do a play off our list or compose our own. I am always on-board for creativity, but with a total of 18 credits this semester, I was thinking that to do a play that is already written would be a simple matter that wouldn't require a lot of my time.

My group, however, does not agree, and is insisting on writing a play. Today we brainstormed, and so far the idea is to do a spoof on reality TV - which will center on/have the main contestants be homeless people.

Because the play has to have meaning, or revelation at the end, my idea was that we would have the homeless people mirror on how the over-consumption of the US takes up a lot of the world's resources, and therefore developing and third world countries have less, but are the majority of the worlds population. In order to mirror this, each homeless person would represent a country, and one of the characters wouldn't really be homeless, but an actor looking for fame. He would steal the real homeless people's money, food, and camera time, and in the end we would have a dramatic reveal, and his last name could be 'America' or something to tie it all together.

To me, it seemed brilliance itself, however, I think I went over their heads. A silence fell over the usually chatty group, and then a cute little gum-chewing blonde piped up;

"Yeah, like, MTV has something like that called Bum Wars! The producers give them all this like, food and money, and then the homeless people have to fight over it. We could totally do that!"

Either she really got it, or she really didn't. I was too afraid to find out.

The Storage Unit

CIDER

About one weekend per month, Greg gets a strange gleam in his eyes and begins frequenting our small apartment storage unit with more attentiveness than usual. His mind begins to work furiously and the trips get longer and longer. I know that the battle has begun when boxes and bikes begin to make their way into the den, and then the living room, slowly taking over the front of the apartment and rendering it impassable. Greg is not seen or heard from in this initial battle; and were it not for the occasional thump or indistinguishable muttering, I would assume the boxes had finally taken him.

This dismantling continues until the storage unit is nearly empty and the apartment is quite full. Then, logically, reassembling must take place, and after a short break where battle-wounds are tended to and courage is rejuvenated, back he goes to begin the Tetris-style reconstruction. Box after box goes back in, the bikes find their home, and soon - aside from vacuuming - the task is complete.

Grinning madly he takes me to see the result of his hard work. I step into the vault and survey a scene that is remarkably similar to the previous design. Still, the fact that he has accomplished this feat is given much praise, and proper appreciation is to be expected. As we step back into our apartment, a brooding silence falls over the two of us, and I know we are thinking the same thing:

"Perhaps next month. . . "

It is one of the warmest January days on record. . .

It is one of the warmest January days on record. At a comfortable 70 degrees, I can sit outside in the sun and allow my mind to be tricked into thinking that spring is now here. I walk this route day after school-day, on my way to class. It is a path that leads down below the street, and over the river that passes through the middle of downtown. There are shorter, more efficient routes that I could take, but this is one always calls to me. Like a quiet sentinel, this river is an oasis in the middle of the city, and I often imagine the alpine slopes and silent woods that it must wind through in order to find me. It also has a magical quality about it, for out of the corner of my eye I often see the waters of my favorite camping-spot, where I’ve stayed since I was a child.

The sounds of the river are also mystical, for no matter how loud the cars, trucks, and emergency vehicles can be; the gentle murmur of the river still carries out over the noise. For it, unlike man-made counterparts is consistent. Some days it is peaceful and playful, babbling over stones and around sand-banks, while still others; swollen with the run-off of a distant rain it complains loudly as it courses through its too-small path. But on the day of my writing, it is a balm, for it joins with nature to laughingly throw off winter’s mantle, defying the cold death-grip out of sheer pleasure – to provide a day of enjoyment for a student such as myself, and also for the runners, walkers, bicyclists and myriad of pets that need to stretch their legs.

In a week or two I will pass by this grassy slope, bundled tightly against the freezing temperatures which will remain for months, and I will smile. For today is a hidden gem to be remembered with pleasure, not simply for the beautiful chance to sit and be warmed by the sun; but because of what today symbolizes. That winter, like any sort of bondage, can be thrown off simply and quickly to the freedom of all.

And for a student such as myself, that is good to remember. . .

Just Beginning. . .

So this is a blog spot. . .

Here I hope to write thoughts and events that I can share with friends and family, and even have a continuation of writings I have and continue to place in a folder called 'Of Magic & Sensibility'. Henceforth the clever blog name, which is far more clever than the word 'blog'. As there is not much time now, I will write more later, but I wanted to at least start, which is exactly what this is; a start.