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
2.13.2005
2.12.2005
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. . . .
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!
Hi Everyone,
My mom is now a blogger, visit her site and say hello!
www.Deesgarden.blogspot.com
Thanks!
2.10.2005
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.
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.
2.04.2005
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.
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.
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.
2.01.2005
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
