A little creative writing.
WARNING: DO NOT ATTEMPT THE FOLLOWING EXPERIMENT YOURSELF. THIS WAS A DANGEROUS OPERATION CONDUCTED BY A PROFESSIONAL TEENAGER UNDER CAREFULLY CONTROLLED CONDITIONS, NAMELY, WITHOUT PARENTAL GUIDANCE.
I have made the most amazing cookies in the world. This is the truth. I really did make some cookies, and they really were the most amazing cookies in the world. The fact that the house is still standing everything I did in the kitchen them is just short of a miracle. Anyhow, the production of these cookies was undoubtedly the...um...highlight of my entire life. You probably want to hear all about it, starting from the very beginning.
You must understand a few things about me first. Like most Americans, I have a morbid fear of both dish soap and kitchen sinks, and for this reason I have avoided the kitchen for much of my life. However, one day I was alone at home, working on homework. The kitchen was sitting between the dining room and the laundry room, very much as it always does. Finishing my homework, I ascended the stairs at about 4 pm, searching for some form of “food.” “Food” in quotation marks means anything with a negligible food value, like Twinkies, potato chips, and/or Mountain Dew. To my great dismay, we had none of the aforementioned “food.” Looking around the clean, empty, quiet kitchen, I decided to ward off boredom and hunger at the same time by preparing a monster batch of chocolate chip cookies, as home-made chocolate chip cookies have very nearly as little food value as Twinkies.
Having never prepared such cookies before in my life, I began to hunt (first and foremost) for a recipe. Looking in the cabinet, I was dismayed to find not one, not two, but an entire stack of cookbooks. After shuffling through countless culinary publications with titles like “Breakfast with the Browns” and “Princess’ Pop-Tart Recipes” I found what I was looking for: Mom’s Best Recipes. An antique, dog-eared book, my mother had received this marvel of maternal cooking instruction for her birthday some years ago. She had used it many times in the past, and was an expert in directing my father to consult it for culinary instruction. After a minute or two of searching through the book, I found the recipe for Colossal Cookies. Propping the book up on the counter, I began to search for the necessary ingredients.
Eggs. Hmmm. Well, I didn’t know for sure if we had any eggs. Opening the fridge door, I was halted in my tracks by a solid wall of food objects. Crouching in front of the refrigerator, I froze for a few seconds. “Careful, commander, we may have a landmine here.” Warily eyeing the precarious pile of victuals, I spotted the eggs. Then, in a smooth, practiced motion, I slid forward toward them. I made my move. Snatching the eggs, I slid back super fast and closed the door even faster. As the door shut, I could hear the pile slide further forward...one step closer to eventual world domination. Smiling in a satisfied way, I carried the eggs over to the counter. “Booby trap setting successful, Commander, over.” Referring back the recipe, my heart sank. The next ingredient? Milk.
Milk. I had dealt with refrigerator booby-trapping before, and I could do it again. Crouching again, I prepared my quick instincts for a sudden defense deployment. Flinging the door open with more force that necessary, I took three shots to the torso (that would be, the butter, lettuce and sour cream). But I was able to keep the other items where they belonged. As I rummaged about for the milk, I failed to see the horseradish creeping forward over the edge of the shelf. Looking down just in time, I saw it sail proudly over the edge and hit the floor with a dramatic, fatal smash. Grabbing the milk, I shut the refrigerator door and stepped away from the broken glass. Placing the milk on the counter, I reached for the paper towels while viewing the damage. Horseradish from the front of the refrigerator to the opposing counters – a distance of over five feet! Amazing. That one must be a record. Mopping the horseradish up, I resumed my ingredient-gathering.
Butter. I grabbed the thawed stick off the counter.
Brown sugar. Scratching my head, I tried to remember where I had last seen the brown sugar. Of course it would be with the oatmeal.... Where was the oatmeal? Cabinet...cabinet...cabinet? Wha- oh. That one. Eh-heh.
White sugar. Raiding the sugar bowl, I was one step closer to completely eliminating the food value of these cookies.
Baking soda & baking powder. Hmmm...wonder what happens when you light this stuff on fire...? Smells dangerous enough....
Flour. Bleached? Unbleached? Baker’s? Not bakers? Whole wheat? White? I picked the closest sack.
Vanilla. Whoa! That has got to be more than 10% alcohol. Ah well, throw it in anyway. Hope no one gets drunk...
Finally! Everything was assembled for my cookies. The recipe now advised me to beat the eggs together with the butter and sugar. After prowling through the Great Under-Counter Drawer, I finally found and wrested from the grip of said drawer the beaters I needed to make my job easier. I started cracking the eggs. As my first cracking attempt failed, I began to think. As my second crack failed, I began to think more. And by the third egg mess I had to clean up, I was ready to take action.
Assembling my assorted chisels, picks, and scalpels, I put on my safety goggles. This was going to get messy. First I tapped the egg with a scalpel. Judging by its diameter, it would take an 0.6 inch pick to get a functioning hole through it. After that, I’d attempt to use my 3.3 chisel to open the hole up safely.
A 0.6 inch pick didn’t work. And come to think of it, a 3.3 chisel didn’t cut it, either. (Keep in mind that this operation took place on the kitchen floor.) After exhausting my tools, I finally by complete accident broke an egg and maneuvered it into the bowl without any egg shell spillage! Well...none that I cared to take note of anyhow. At this point, I was more that slightly frustrated. But my innate dedication kept me going until I had all ... well ... one egg in the bowl.
The butter was soft enough to not be a problem. The sugar blended effortlessly, and everything was peachy for awhile. But the flour presented a problem. Every time I went to pour it into the bowl, it thumped into the bowl with a soft, giant white explosion. By the end of this step, I was covered in a thick, unflattering coat of flour. Gritting my teeth, I blended it all together. The vanilla was uncooperative. By the time I got the lid off the grimy bottle, the rest of the ingredients had begun to set. Looking into the bowl at my achievements, it dawned on me that cookies were not intended to set. At this point, I have to admit I completely disregarded the recipe and threw everything into the bowl with a gusto that would have made Martha Stewart cringe. Whipping it all up, I began to spoon it onto the cookie sheet.
It was about at this point that I realized I hadn’t turned the oven on.
I took a breather from the kitchen for a moment.
Returning, I turned the oven on and finished spooning the first batch of cookies to be baked onto the cookie sheet. Glancing at the clock, I remembered that my mom would be home in less than an hour. To hasten the cooking process, I turned the oven up (mistake number one) and put two cookie sheets into the oven (mistake number two). Then I realized that the kitchen needed to be cleaned. I got out the mop (mistake number three). I turned the water on for the dishes and turned my entire attention to cleaning the floor.
The flour, combined with the grease from the butter, along with the egg goo from my earlier experiment combined with the spilled sugar to create a veritable batch of cookie dough on the floor. And adding water and a mop to the mixture did not help things. “Commander! This looks like a quicksand!” The thick goo on the floor was not diminishing in size, so I decided to get the snow shovel from the garage. On my way to the garage, I realized that the trashcan was overflowing. Running it out to the garbage bin, I grabbed the shovel on my way back into the house. When I saw the kitchen I almost had a heart attack.
Soapy water flowed over the edge of the sink, spilling onto the floor to combine with the cookie gook. The entire kitchen was bathed in a foamy, gooey, substance not unlike cookie dough. To top it off, a burning smell began to permeate the kitchen as smoke circled lazily up from the oven.
I didn’t panic. I didn’t scream. But I did realize that I would need much more than just a shovel to clean this mess up. Dashing through the slippery, scummy, ankle-deep swamp, I turned off the water and opened the oven. Black smoke poured out of the oven as raw cookie dough dripped over the sides of the pans. Wrenching both from the oven, I turned the oven off and opened the kitchen window. Putting the cookies out of my mind, I began to clean up the swamp. I settled on using the soapy water to scrub up the stubborn goo. Strapping kitchen towels to my feet, I skated industriously about the kitchen, shoveling the mess into trash bags. Soon the floor was visible again. Wiping my brow, I carted all eight trash bags out to the trash bin and returned to the kitchen to clean everything else up. Washing the dishes was easy with five hundred gallons of hot, soapy water. It took about ten minutes to clean all the dishes. Scrubbing the oven was less enthralling. The cookie dough had burnt itself stubbornly onto the walls of the oven and required several hard scrubs to remove (most of) the residue. After I had scraped, scrubbed, wiped and washed everything in the kitchen, I had finally returned it to good shape.
When my mom got home, she thanked me for freshening and cleaning the kitchen. I didn’t say anything. And I certainly kept my mouth shut the next time Mom was cleaning around the bottoms of the cabinets and asked, “How did I get cookie dough in all these cracks?” I just shrugged.
What did I learn from the Cookie Incident? Cooking can be hazardous. As a safety precaution, you should never cook anything, including toast, without wearing a welding helmet. And resist all urges to make something in the kitchen unless you feel like paying for flood & fire insurance.
Next time, I resolved, keeping in mind that a good cook makes substitutions where necessary, I decided to use my cooking skills to make Dave Barry’s sweet potato soup with lobster and orange crème fraichè. I plan to follow this creative gentleman’s recipe: 1. In a medium room, remove wrappers from eight miniature Three Musketeers bars left over from Halloween.2. Eat bars.3. Feed wrappers to dog.And after that, I’m never going to cook again.
25 May 2007
A little creative writing.
24 May 2007
Music has a lot to say about promises. Def Leppard and Aerosmith talk about ‘late-night’ promises that were made spur-of-the-moment and were forgotten by the morning. Stereotypically speaking, the entire premise of country music is regretting broken promises. Frequently, we’ll promise something that we’re sure we can deliver, only to wake up ten minutes after it’s too late to take our words back, realizing that not only is there no way we can deliver what we promised, we had no right to promise anything like that in the first place.
A good example of promising more than we can deliver is in our relationships. When we’re caught in a fast and furious relationship with some guy or girl we really like, it’s so, so easy – too easy – to promise that we’ll be their friend forever, or, if our relationship is more advanced (or we are more foolish) that we’ll love them forever, and we’ll be there for them whenever we need them.
The simple problem with promising such extravagant rewards to any human being is that we’re completely incapable of keeping our word. When we say we’ll be their friend forever, we don’t take into account that we don’t know everything about them. We don’t know their flaws. As we get to know them better, we may find that we can’t stand them as people. In which case we simply iron over our words, hope they’ve forgotten them, and say our goodbyes. Love is more complicated (isn’t it always??). Put plainly, we have no right to swear our undying (!) love to anyone in any situation outside of marriage. If we swear our love to the first person who comes along, *knowing* that person is who God made for us, we are not only foolish, but we’re flirting with fire...so to speak. The people you swear to love usually do not forget such oaths, wish as we might they would.
That’s the waking-up-ten-minutes-after-it’s-too-late part. Speaking from personal experience, I am never aware of my mistakes until after I’ve done with them. I don’t realize my foolishness until after I’ve spoken. I don’t realize my temper until after I’ve shouted. And I certainly don’t realize my pride until after I’ve patted myself on the back. While I’ve never professed undying love to any person (and don’t plan to for quite some time), if the past and other people are any indication, I’m just as likely to rush ahead and spout my feelings before I recognize that saying how I feel is a form of selfishness...the desire to see my emotions reciprocated precisely in the other person.
And then, there's the truth element. I find myself listening to music that promises the world. But I realize that I won't always be there. There's no way I can be (it's humanly impossible - think time-space continuum). I can't promise to love anyone forever except in the formal, God-honoring form of marriage vows. So there's no reason to rush ahead and promise things I don't know if I can deliver. My word is my word, and I mean to keep it. Proverbs 15:4b tells us that an upright man is one who "keeps his oath even when it hurts." We can set standards for ourselves before we're ever tempted to promise something rash so that keeping our word is an infrequent occurence.
Honestly, making rash promises is a form of selfishness. If we don't think through our own words, we most likely will end up paying for them. Even if we don't, someone else does. Speaking after you think and promising according to God's standards - not our flighty feelings or boastful beliefs - is just one more example of maturity. Hebrews 5:14 tells us true maturity is being able to tell the difference between good and evil, and getting that skill by constant usage. Let's learn our lesson from Def Leppard & Aerosmith (probably one of the only lessons we WANT to learn from them!) and watch what we promise.
painted by Lydia at 3:15 PM
10 May 2007
The British are feeling the pinch in relation to recent bombings andhave raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved." Soon,though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even"A Bit Cross." Londoners have not been "A Bit Cross" since the Blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to a "Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was during the great fire of 1666.
Also, the French government announced yesterday that it had raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels inFrance are "Surrender" and "Collaborate." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability.
It's not only the English and French that are on a heightened level of alert.
Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly andExcitedly" to "Plan Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain:"Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."
The Germans also increased their alert state from "DisdainfulArrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have the higher level: "Invade a Neighbour."
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO's pulling out of Brussels.
I LOVE foreign policy! The 2006-2007 NCFCA Policy Debate resolution was amazing, and I'll miss it as we go into domestic policy next year.
painted by Lydia at 2:33 PM
01 April 2007
I screamed to God out of frustration
After another day of waking and hating the fact
That I’m still where I’m at
What’s the point of all of this
Cause I’m not seeming to find it
Is it meaningless? I search the reason behind it
Because these moments seem to drag on forever
And these years on end seem to have never been this
Desperation has formed repetition within
Too insecure to pretend and I’m too weak to defend
Here it comes again all in my world again
Left with no direction no beginning no end
The days blend together and the weather never changes
Numb to the outcome but yet not quite painless
Aimless to whether or not I made a mistake
And if so how far is too far before it’s too late
Should I wait but then what would be too long
To reverse the effects if I was wrong
Hindsight is a beautiful thing
When you can look back and see what patience and time can bring
Is it a must that I’m here is it a must that I stay
In order to look forward must I look away
We're moving towards a new day
Unsure of what tomorrow will bring our way
I’m not even quite sure of what this day holds
I say we travel the unknown and watch it unfold
Hold today close while still reaching for tomorrow
Through the test of time I’ve seen joy overcome sorrow
So with every trial I endure
With hopes to mature into what I was created for
More than life itself I want life itself
Press past the present until forever is felt
And take hold of the hidden mystery
Wide eyed and open I now see differently
If it’s to be then give me the strength to be content
And find peace in knowing one day it will all make sense
Learning to accept the unexpected
Because the unknown wasn’t here for me to correct it
So I let it go and stopped trying to control the impossible
Simply put tossed in the shuffle
At a young age just like everyone else
So I don’t feel sorry for you or for myself
Love is bigger than that and I’m not below or above
The way it moves even though the things it does
To my train of thought can bring about doubt and uncertainty
Patience tends to not agree with my psyche
That’s more than likely just some pride in me
Fighting expectations of where I think my life should be
Selfishly I forget so quickly
Let me never forget Lord break me in humility
Some sort of amazing grace on me
As I look back upon my life and where You’ve taken me
Hear the call peace fall
From trial to triumph I want your hand in it all
Allow me to know where to stand in it all
~John Reuben's amazing song, Hindsight
painted by Lydia at 1:20 PM
30 March 2007
I am *finally* posting again! Thank you, thank you, to all my *coughhack* faithful readers.
But seriously, it is great to be back.
I’m prepping for regionals in team policy debate and impromptu, and it really is quite fun. I love research so much! I wish I could spend all my time learning about NATO, the ICI, the CFE, the NPT and the GCC! Yay! Debate is wonderful! And of course, impromptu takes a close second! And I get to go to regionals in both of them! *spazzes out*
God really made himself known to me through speech and debate this year, though. He bolstered my sense of value as a speaker, but didn’t let it go to my head by allowing me to break in impromptu my first time ever doing it. While I broke with it, I didn’t make it to finals (which was fine with me). He bolstered my sense of worth as a speaker because I felt a little as if I’d been riding along on my debate partner’s coattails (which is not a pleasant feeling) all the way up through finals at PDQ. But when I broke with impromptu, I felt *better* about my speaking capabilities! So much better, in fact, that if I’d broken to finals, I’d have been way cocky (pardon my grammar). I’m very pleased with how I have improved since last year, and I’m more than happy to be around all the amazingly awesomely coolful people in speech and debate.
On other fronts...other school subjects are coming along well. I’m actually getting a ton of work done despite the decidedly spring-ish note in the air. It’s really getting nice, and I’m excited about spring (just like I was last year – it never gets old!!!) All those...bugs...and all that sunscreen...I can’t wait for warm weather. :)
painted by Lydia at 7:22 PM
28 February 2007
27 February 2007
For all of us who feel only the deepest love and affection for the way computers have enhanced our lives, read on.
At a recent computer expo (COMDEX), Bill Gates reportedly compared the computer industry with the auto industry and stated, "If GM had kept up with technology like the computer industry has, we would all be driving $25.00 cars that got 1,000 miles to the gallon."
In response to Bill's comments, General Motors issued a press release stating: If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, we would all be driving cars with the following characteristics:
1. For no reason whatsoever, your car would crash twice a day.
2. Every time they repainted the lines in the road, you would have to buy a new car.
3. Occasionally your car would die on the freeway for no reason. You would have to pull to the side of the road, close all of the windows, shut off the car, restart it, and reopen the windows before you could continue. For some reason you would simply accept this.
4. Occasionally, executing a maneuver such as a left turn would cause your car to shut down and refuse to restart, in which case you would have to reinstall the engine.
5. Macintosh would make a car that was powered by the sun, was reliable, five times as fast and twice as easy to drive -- but would run on only five percent of the roads. (amen!)
6. The oil, water temperature, and alternator warning lights would all be replaced by a single "This Car Has Performed An Illegal Operation" warning light.
7. The airbag system would ask "Are you sure?" before deploying.
8. Occasionally, for no reason whatsoever, your car would lock you out and refuse to let you in until you simultaneously lifted the door handle, turned the key and grabbed hold of the radio antenna.
9. Every time a new car was introduced car buyers would have to learn how to drive all over again because none of the controls would operate in the same manner as the old car.
10. You'd have to press the "Start" button to turn the engine off.
painted by Lydia at 7:37 AM
25 February 2007
You probably missed it in the rush of news last week, but there was actually a report that someone in Pakistan had published in a newspaper an offer of a reward to anyone who killed an American, any American.
So an Australian dentist wrote an editorial the following day to let everyone know what an American is, so they would know when they found one.
An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. An American may also be Canadian, Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, or Arab, or Pakistani or Afghan.
An American may also be a Comanche, Cherokee, Osage, Blackfoot, Navaho, Apache, Seminole or one of the many other tribes known as native Americans.
An American is Christian, or he could be Jewish, or Buddhist, or Muslim.In fact, there are more Muslims in America than in Afghanistan. The only difference is that in America they are free to worship as each of them chooses.
An American is also free to believe in no religion. For that he will answer only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.
An American lives in the most prosperous land in the history of the world. The root of that prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God given right of each person to the pursuit of happiness.
An American is generous. Americans have helped out just about every other nation in the world in their time of need, never asking a thing in return.When Afghanistan was over-run by the Soviet army 20 years ago, Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their country!
As of the morning of September 11, Americans had given more than any other nation to the poor in Afghanistan. Americans welcome the best of everything...the best products, the best books, the best music, the best food, the best services. But they also welcome the least.The national symbol of America, the Statue of Liberty , welcomes your tired and your poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless, tempest tossed. These in fact are the people who built America.
Some of them were working in the Twin Towers the morning of September 11, 2001 earning a better life for their families. It's been told that the World Trade Center victims were from at least 30 different countries, cultures, and first languages, including those that aided and abetted the terrorists. So you can try to kill an American if you must.
So did General Tojo, and Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and other blood-thirsty tyrants in the world.
But in doing so you would just be killing yourself, because Americans are not a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human spirit of freedom.
Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere, is an American.
I like this a lot!
painted by Lydia at 7:46 PM
22 February 2007
For all of you who truly believe that my life revolves around debate, IT DOESN’T!!!
….speech is important, too!
But seriously. I’m prepping my speech for the IE qualifier March 1-3: I’ll be doing DUO with a member of our club as well as impromptu on my own. This will be a first for both of those…so……eep! I’m a tad nervous about that. I hope we’re ready in time! My DUO partner is planning on coming down for a couple hours tomorrow before a mutual friend’s (my debate partner’s) birthday party.
painted by Lydia at 7:13 AM
13 February 2007
You can wear these caffeine patches for DAYS with NO side effects!! AAAH! Sorry.
That's what I'm feeling like! 10 judges for our clubs debate tournament! All courtesy of our family! Oh yes!!!! If only everyone could be like us....
But I digress. Yup. Speech and debate is exciting. Right now I'm memorizing, memorizing, and wishing I could memorize faster. Oh yes.
In other arenas, a bunch of the families in our church just had babies. HAPPY BIRTH-DAY! And they're all little girls. Wow. Talk about an influx.
Anyway! I'll close on this note! It's good to be caught up!! AAH!
Move me up through the darkest clouds
Till I've lost in the sun every shadow of doubt
There is no better find than to find myself with you
In a fog you are all I see
I'm inviting you closer with each time I breathe
Surrender has somehow become so beautiful
-Mute Math: Control
painted by Lydia at 4:16 PM
05 February 2007
September was fun... we attending debate camp in our state and learned a lot. We made a lot of new friends, too. We've yet to see them at debate tournaments, but we're really looking forward to that!
October was too long. Halloween was not as fun as it usually is.
November was...November. Personally, I think it's the most boring month of the year: No speech and debate competitions, no birthdays, no holidays, and most of all, gross grey weather.
December was more fun. We had our first round robin, and our team suffered somewhat horribly, but we had fun while we were slaughtered!!! And that's what counts. Plus, we learned a ton!
January was all right. Busy...it's going to get busier as the year goes on.....
February! Wow! Busy as all get out!!! We have three tournaments within the first three weeks. O_o I love competing, but I'm glad I don't have to compete in all of them.
Well, there's a quick summary of what's been up with me. I'll try & post more frequently.
painted by Lydia at 2:54 PM
04 July 2006
26 June 2006
~You can type sixty words a minute with your feet.
~Instant coffee takes too long.
~You chew on other people's fingernails.
~You answer the door, before people knock.
~You sleep with your eyes open.
~You go to sleep, just so you can wake up and smell the coffee.
~ You don't even wait for the water to boil anymore.
~ You're the employee of the month at Starbucks - and you don't even work there.
~You help your dog chase its tail.
~You lick your coffeepot clean.
~You go to AA meetings just for the free coffee.
~You're so wired you pick up FM radio.
~You have a picture of your coffee mug, on your coffee mug.
painted by Lydia at 7:00 PM
19 June 2006
ONE of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as ’twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e’er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew—
Only more sure of all I thought was true.
painted by Lydia at 3:59 PM
12 June 2006
Well, we had a blast skating with our friends on Sunday. It took our minds off some of the sad happenings of the day, so it was SO worth doing it, even though it was pretty far from our house. Skating is therapeutic, I think.
On Friday, I got the go-ahead on my summer project. I wanted to earn money for a few real big, money-comsuming things. So I started working that afternoon and worked for right at two hours.
On Saturday, I worked more on the fence, which is my summer job. I'll be stripping and repainting it on both sides for a reasonable sum. It's simply tedious work-not too hard.
Sunday, my sis convinced me to sign up for speech and debate camp, which runs from August 31st-September 4th right here in Colorado. I was really totured by the idea of not having enough money and having to go into debt, etc. Money bothers me! I don't like banking at all-it makes me nervous. But I'm earning enough money with my summer job and odd work I've done in the past, plus my parents are going 50/50 with me on the expenses, so it makes it MUCH easier on me. But I'll still be working hard. I think debate camp is worth it, though.
I think that's all for now. Pretty much, I'll be sanding and painting fence a lot over the next few weeks (there's a 30-day limit on all the jobs my dad assigns-if you aren't done by the end of the 30 days, someone else can take your job, finish it, and get your full pay.)
painted by Lydia at 9:54 AM
05 June 2006
Today we found out that our friend died. We never got the chance to meet him, but I know he's up in Heaven. At least, I think he was a he. I don't know. Please keep our family in your prayers. Anybody's death is sure to be hard, and never having met this little person doesn't make it any easier.
I know you're always there
To my every prayer inside
I'm clinging to the promise of a lifetime
I hear the words You say
To never walk away from me and leave behind
The promise of a lifetime
~Kutless: Promise of a Lifetime
painted by Lydia at 5:39 PM
01 June 2006
30 May 2006
22 May 2006
My sis sent this to me. Check out what it has to say before your life begins to revolve around your transcript.
painted by Lydia at 6:01 PM
21 May 2006
We got a car over the last week. It's nice. I'm excited. And I don't want to make anyone jealous. But I don't think anyone who knows me personally reads this blog, so....It's a '77 Camaro, 6 cylinder with a rusted-out exhaust system. We're looking at installing a glass pack for it. It needs quite a bit of bodywork, as right now the roof is covered with "fur" from a former vinyl top the previous owner ripped off because it was getting into such bad shape. However, the interior is impeccable and the engine is extremely well maintained. We're the third owners of this car, which is unusual for it's age-usually they have more owners. Anyhow, that's our summer project. We will be working our tails off this summer to try to get enough money to split the cost half and half with our dad. Also, we need to look into insurance, etc for it. This could be a lot of fun!
painted by Lydia at 3:10 PM