...though the word "test" may be used in this post, it has nothing to do with the hideous, bloodstained, parasitic apparitions that live off of human toil and tears and then, when they've finished all of those, polish off hopes and dreams.
Unless, of course, you studied enough beforehand.
No, these are actually pretty fun.
Another reason you might be scared, but shouldn't be, is that the site I'm directing you to is apparently a dating service. I'm not sure why the items I'm interested in are kept there, but as far as I can tell they have absolutely nothing to do with meeting compatible people.
Blog Rater
This one allows you to put in a website and get a rating. This blog, for instance, is rated PG for two uses of the word "Hell" and one of the word "gun." Of course, it's now probably PG-13 for an added use of each of those words...anyway, that was interesting and useful, and the site composes a little html code so you can paste the rating onto your blog if you want to. Yay.
Your Chance of Surviving a Zombie Apolcalypse
That's right, with this you can compute your chances of surviving a zombie apocalypse (You can also learn how to spell the word 'apocalypse' here. I did!)
I took it yesterday. I had a 56% chance of surviving, I think.
How Much Are You Worth -- Dead?
This one calculates, I know not how accurately, how much someone could get for selling your body as a cadaver. I find it morbidly humorous.(Allow me to say that by posting this I am not at all trying to be offensive or disrespectful.) I am apparently worth $5115. That's not much, if you think about it in perspective.
Finally, there's my personal favorite:
How Much of a Geek are You?
I dare you all, dear readers, to take this one. Some of you I will solicit personally if you take too long. Post your scores here. Don't be shy!
Oh, yes, I'm 58% Geek...and I didn' cheat much at all! I'm a little disappointed I didn't score higher. Oh well.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
I Judge this Serendipitous
The following is an anecdote which will hopefully edify my readers.
This afternoon I was thinking. I do that occasionally, and today I stayed home from church in the morning and evening because I am ill. So, sometime this evening I was on our back porch reading a re-write of Jonathan Edward's sermon entitled "God at Work," but my mind, at least at times, was elsewhere.
I was considering a series of events and conversations which had transpired over the past year which had caused my to look more closely at what all this judging and not judging in the Bible is about. My thoughts this afternoon were along the lines of realizing that I really didn't know where the Bible stood. I thought it would be nice to get some reading material and study up on it. That was page, oh, 66, where Pastor Edwards was talking about pride being a big snare for people in a revival.
Yeah, I sure have the pride, I thought to myself, not making the connection between pride and looking down on other people. I mean, if God says something is a sin, and someone does it, then I can consider it to be, or "judge" it, if you will, to be a sin, right? Well, my pride in being a sin-detector extraordinaire was probably oozing out my pores, and some notion that it was a problem for me filtered through my grey matter as I read. Then I got to page 71.
read the heading.
I'm not the kind to get all exited about things like this (that's why I'm writing it up on my blog), so I just thanked God for his amazing providence which had in this case saved me a trip to the church library, and helped get my mind back on what I was reading. Pastor Edward's primary point was that God, and only God, sees the heart, and we as people have neither the ability or the right to declare a professing Christian an unbeliever. Pastor Edwards is rather straightforward, which is probably a good thing for me:
He proceeded on page 72 to toss in a list of Bible verses to show the truth of his statements.
I am also concerned that I will get spoiled by these reading materials materializing in front of me right after I am prompted to study them. But it certainly is nice.
My only real concern is that tricky "living good lives" statement, which is never qualified. My readers' thoughts, applicable Scripture verses, and other such comments are welcomed.
Meanwhile, enjoy the serendipity
God at Work was prepared by Gary Benfold. © 1995 Grace Publications Trust.
This afternoon I was thinking. I do that occasionally, and today I stayed home from church in the morning and evening because I am ill. So, sometime this evening I was on our back porch reading a re-write of Jonathan Edward's sermon entitled "God at Work," but my mind, at least at times, was elsewhere.
I was considering a series of events and conversations which had transpired over the past year which had caused my to look more closely at what all this judging and not judging in the Bible is about. My thoughts this afternoon were along the lines of realizing that I really didn't know where the Bible stood. I thought it would be nice to get some reading material and study up on it. That was page, oh, 66, where Pastor Edwards was talking about pride being a big snare for people in a revival.
Yeah, I sure have the pride, I thought to myself, not making the connection between pride and looking down on other people. I mean, if God says something is a sin, and someone does it, then I can consider it to be, or "judge" it, if you will, to be a sin, right? Well, my pride in being a sin-detector extraordinaire was probably oozing out my pores, and some notion that it was a problem for me filtered through my grey matter as I read. Then I got to page 71.
C. Let us beware of judging others,
read the heading.
I'm not the kind to get all exited about things like this (that's why I'm writing it up on my blog), so I just thanked God for his amazing providence which had in this case saved me a trip to the church library, and helped get my mind back on what I was reading. Pastor Edward's primary point was that God, and only God, sees the heart, and we as people have neither the ability or the right to declare a professing Christian an unbeliever. Pastor Edwards is rather straightforward, which is probably a good thing for me:
"We will see that declaring people to be unconverted who claim to be Christians and are living good lives is forbidden by Christ in the New Testament. Since he forbids it, his disciples must not do it."
He proceeded on page 72 to toss in a list of Bible verses to show the truth of his statements.
I am also concerned that I will get spoiled by these reading materials materializing in front of me right after I am prompted to study them. But it certainly is nice.
My only real concern is that tricky "living good lives" statement, which is never qualified. My readers' thoughts, applicable Scripture verses, and other such comments are welcomed.
Meanwhile, enjoy the serendipity
God at Work was prepared by Gary Benfold. © 1995 Grace Publications Trust.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Cooking with Master Dobbs
Good afternoon, dear readers! My, what a lovely day it is -- not just because it's beautiful outside, but because I am not at work! It's my first weekday off in quite a while, and I'm enjoying it profusely. I already got Michael and Patrick through their morning in the Sanctuary, finished reading Off Armageddon Reef, and, most importantly, cooked lunch. I wish to share what I cooked with you today. But first, a little history.
I cook lunch a lot at my house, (at least at times when I'm home for the meal!). I was planning to cook some chip dip for me and my younger sister to eat, but found that we were having chili for supper, so I decided to hold off and go for something a little more...exotic.
Here's a cooking note for you chili-cheese dip lovers: Try adding a can of cream of mushroom soup to your chili-and-cheese dip; it makes it taste ever-so-much-more cheesy!
Now, back to my brief history of cooking. I wanted to make a good cold salad with a white dressing, mainly because I remembered eating a great macaroni salad of similar description the other evening. However, my younger sister and fellow future partaker of lunch asked for something hot. I decided to stay my course, and make a hot cold salad.
For my base, I spun the lazy susan and selected two eager volunteers: a can of kidney beans and a can of black beans. While I could retitle this blog "ode to beans" and wax poetic, I think I shall leave that for another day.
The following is a brief, easy-to-use set of instructions to make your own hot cold bean salad!
I cook lunch a lot at my house, (at least at times when I'm home for the meal!). I was planning to cook some chip dip for me and my younger sister to eat, but found that we were having chili for supper, so I decided to hold off and go for something a little more...exotic.
Here's a cooking note for you chili-cheese dip lovers: Try adding a can of cream of mushroom soup to your chili-and-cheese dip; it makes it taste ever-so-much-more cheesy!
Now, back to my brief history of cooking. I wanted to make a good cold salad with a white dressing, mainly because I remembered eating a great macaroni salad of similar description the other evening. However, my younger sister and fellow future partaker of lunch asked for something hot. I decided to stay my course, and make a hot cold salad.
For my base, I spun the lazy susan and selected two eager volunteers: a can of kidney beans and a can of black beans. While I could retitle this blog "ode to beans" and wax poetic, I think I shall leave that for another day.
The following is a brief, easy-to-use set of instructions to make your own hot cold bean salad!
"Holy Cow"
Saute about 2tblspns of chopped onion in a saucepan. [Note: "saucepan" is really just a longer and more distinguished sounding word for "pot"]. Saute them in whatever you feel like. Butter might work well. All I added was a little water to keep them from burning. Proceed to add about 3-seconds-squirt of cheesy ranch dressing, one large spoonful of mayonnaise, one large dollop of sour cream dip, and one swish-out-of-a-sugar-tin of white sugar. Simmer for a few seconds so everyone can socialize. Drain the beans some, but not all of the way (the bean juice will help with the sauce!) Pour them into the saucepan *wink*wink* and turn up your stove so that you won't have to wait forever to eat. Then comes the fun part. Open your spice cabinet and scan it quickly, like your driving instructor tells you to scan the road for insane drivers and deer that you cannot possibly avoid but should try to anyway. Add things such as:
-garlic powder
-chili powder
-season-all salt
-mustard powder
Then add the following essential ingredients:
-fake or real bacon bits (lots and lots)
-curry powder (4.7 dashes)
Stir all these in, simmer them for a while, and eat them!
Try it on chips.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Timothy and the Grenobles, Part IV
Dear Readers,
I am satisfactorily drowsy after writing this final chapter, and so to, you will find, are Timothy and Lisa, and, in fact, the Grenobles themselves. But I do not doubt, and I think you cannot, that after all are sufficiently rested (how long that will be I cannot say), they will wake up and have another adventure together.
Timothy, meanwhile, skipped, leapt, dropped, lowered himself, and, at times, fell down the stairs. He arrived at the next door unaware that Lisa was had stopped following him. Looking inside he saw a little kitchen. In he stepped, and turned all the way around, staring up at open, wooden shelves. A beautiful, wild window frame was carved into the wall, but there was no glass, only glowing amber lighting the room, showing up wisps of smoke and steam from the stove. Pots and pans hung from the wall; a deep, Earthy smell, like fresh bread but ten times better, wafted from the oven; and in the cabinets were all manner of roots, petals, grinders engraved with labels, and brown packages tied with rough yellow twine.
As the smell reached Timothy's empty stomach he sat down in the middle of the paneled floor and cried.
The Grenoble seized two moss gloves, dipped them into a basin of water, flung open the over, letting out more of the smell and a brilliant glow, and pulled out two trays, the mitts hissing and spluttering. With a flourish it carried them over Timothy's head, dripping water onto his bangs, to the only open counter and set them down on wicker coasters.
The spluttering and splashing and, most importantly, the trays of food, had stopped Timothy's eyes. He stood behind the Grenoble's leg, looking from the counter's edge, which he could not quite see over, to the Grenoble above him, which was busy doing to the food whatever mothers and fathers and Grenobles do to food while they make you wait too long before you can eat it. Finally, it raised a deep brown, almost-black colored muffin to its mouth, smacked a bite out of it, and closed its eyes.
Timothy let out a quiet whine.
"It is ready," whispered the Grenoble through dark crumbs, and handed one to Timothy. Timothy, now that he had his food, took his time examining it, and picked off a few crumbs to fall to the ground. Then he bit in. It's texture was that of rich wheat bread, and it tasted of freshness, grains, sugar-glaze, and birthdays. Then the Grenoble took from the other tray what looked something like the play clay snake Timothy had made the day before. Timothy examined this even more carefully (for he had taken a bite of the snake, and it had not pleased him); it was brown, flakey, crisp, and firm on the outside, and curled all around. He bit it; it crunched all the way through and filled his mouth with a strong taste, like after he had eaten six ginger-snaps at once when no one was looking, and started crying because of it. This time he did not cry at first, because he was getting to be a big boy and like spicy things. He took bite after bite, and then ran around the room in circles, tears pouring down his face, but laughing hard even as he wailed with the strength of the root. The Grenoble did something else on the counter, and then carried two packages with steam coming from them over to one of the cabinets. Putting these away, it rang a little triangle and stepped back out onto the stairs. The light coming down the trunk was reddish, like that at sunset, and Timothy yawned. Lisa came out of the room up the stairs, also yawning, and stretching, with the other Grenoble. The brother and sister took each other’s hands; Timothy thought Lisa smelled like syrup; Lisa thought Timothy smelled like gingersnaps.
"Food," said Timothy, pointing into the kitchen.
"Hmm," yawned Lisa, "books," she flung her hand behind her to indicate which way.
"Now, we..." she began to say to the Grenobles, but then she noticed that they had already begun to descend again.
"Come on!" she giggled, remembering a part in the book she had just read where the children found a cave on the estate and explored it.
They passed many more quaint little rooms with knothole doors. Timothy found it all quite ordinary, and nothing to compare with how tired he was, or how good the food had tasted, and Lisa marveled at how perfect and pretty it all was. There were several sitting rooms, with various types of lamps and chairs and tables, and writing rooms with desks and almost-empty shelves, old yellowed papers, quill pens, and ink wells, and closed doors, and dusty pantries, and rooms that were only a tangle of vines or branches, and two rooms that must have been the Grenoble's bedrooms, for inside of them were round beds of leaves and moss and dirt. Instead of cups and baths were little springs bubbling up from the floor, and foresty mobiles hung from the ceilings and circled slowly, casting shadows of leaves and creepers on the walls.
when they came to these two doors, the Grenobles yawned, stretching their limbs so that they squeaked and creaked, and opening their mouths wider and wider, so that wind sighed straight down the stairs, sleepy, pulling downwards, making Timothy's eyes sag.
Then they closed their mouths so quickly that Timothy jumped to see them disappearing into their faces.
The two Grenobles stood by their bedroom doors, crossing their arms behind their backs.
"You have made us be home," they said, "goodnight." Then they each hugged Timothy and Lisa in treeish embraces, which felt like throwing yourself against a young mossy tree that gives way under your weight so that it does not hurt. Then they hugged each other, wind whispering about, went each into his room, and closed perfectly shaped doors on the knotholes. The light from the sunset was fading from above. Timothy shivered.
"Come back?" he asked the door in front of him.
It cracked open, and the Grenoble poked its head out, a nightcap on its head, the burr that tipped it hanging in front of its face.
"Go to the bottom; that is the way home for you," it said softly, and closed the door again.
Lisa looked down. She could see only one more light below them, and no more rooms. She looked up. It was getting dark; she could see the vaguest tint of red far up at the top of the submerged trunk.
"Oh, Timothy, our shoes are up there; we had better go get them," she said, and then stood still and sighed wistfully. Timothy's footsteps retreated from her hearing down the tunnel. By the time she understood the sounds, he was out of sight below her.
"Timothy!" she hissed, trying not to disturb their hosts. "Ah!" she bounded down the stairs after him. There was a wooden candlestick with an amber candle glowing in it on the wall; she took it carefully as she went past ("I'll return it later," she said to herself).
Timothy came to the bottom of the stairs and ran into a closed door. He pushed and shoved on the handle; he even growled at it and banged his head on it, but it would not budge. Turning back he found himself at the bottom of the tree trunk on a dirt floor covered with leaves. Lisa leaned down from the stairs not far above, lit up by her candle.
"Wisa, door won't go!" remonstrated Timothy, thrusting an accusative finger at the knothole. Lisa was a big sister, and Timothy knew that when she wanted to she could be very helpful with doors (only she didn't want to be helpful often).
But she could not budge this door.
"Open!" said Timothy, annoyed that she was not cooperating with him. He was hungry again, and tired, and cross. When he was hungry and tired and cross Lisa should not be so silly as to not open doors.
"It's locked," she said, beginning to realize they were alone in the dark. The shadows cast from her steady amber candle shivered inexplicably, and Lisa took Timothy's hand (in case he was scared) before turning to survey the rest of their surroundings. Across from them was an opening beneath the stairs. She stepped to it with her candle and peered through, Timothy shrinking back a little so that she had to stretch out both arms to get the candle to the opening.
A shallow gust blew through the doorway, but the amber glowed brighter in its presence. She could see trees of a forest, and, now that she looked so hard, some lights. She pulled Timothy through the doorway, and, turning back, saw that they had just stepped out of an ugly gash in the side of an oak. The sun was setting behind the tree. Dogs barked from the lights.
"Home. Come on!" cried Timothy, and yanked Lisa towards the lights, so that she dropped her candle. It hissed in a puddle, and when she picked up what she thought was it, she found only an oddly shaped branch in her hand. "Come home!" said Timothy, and carefully led his sister through the forest towards the sound of the barking. Soon they were trudging through the backyard. Timothy saw the rest of the family sitting down around the meal, and the siblings dropped each other's hands to run up the back porch steps and inside.
"Play wit' 'nobles!" yelled Timothy as his mother served him.
"What's that, Timothy?" asked his father.
"He said we played with the Grenobles," said Lisa somberly, looking down at her plate. "They...they...we played a game with them...a dancing game with the wind."
"Oh," said her father.
"Funny dancing, fell in wa-water, funny feets!" Timothy clapped his spoon in his hands.
"Oh!” laughed his mother, spooning him out a bowl of soup.
"I'm sorry I got my dress dirty...oh!" said Lisa, for she had just at that moment realized that her shoes were back on her feet. She stuck her head under the table to see Timothy kicking his feet -- shoes and all -- against his high chair.
"Lisa, what are you doing?" asked her father. She sat up quickly, grazing her head on the table and making a leaf fall from her hair.
"Making sure Timothy didn't loose his shoes."
"Did he?"
"No."
"Want to play wit' 'nobles," pouted Timothy as he saw his mother approaching with the soup. He wished he could have another of the muffins, or one of the spicy snakes.
"It's dark now, Timothy; they probably had to go home, too," said his mother, sitting down beside his high chair. "You will have to play with them again later. Now, eat up."
She blew on a spoonful of soup.
It spun and danced under her breath.
Timothy giggled.
I am satisfactorily drowsy after writing this final chapter, and so to, you will find, are Timothy and Lisa, and, in fact, the Grenobles themselves. But I do not doubt, and I think you cannot, that after all are sufficiently rested (how long that will be I cannot say), they will wake up and have another adventure together.
Timothy, meanwhile, skipped, leapt, dropped, lowered himself, and, at times, fell down the stairs. He arrived at the next door unaware that Lisa was had stopped following him. Looking inside he saw a little kitchen. In he stepped, and turned all the way around, staring up at open, wooden shelves. A beautiful, wild window frame was carved into the wall, but there was no glass, only glowing amber lighting the room, showing up wisps of smoke and steam from the stove. Pots and pans hung from the wall; a deep, Earthy smell, like fresh bread but ten times better, wafted from the oven; and in the cabinets were all manner of roots, petals, grinders engraved with labels, and brown packages tied with rough yellow twine.
As the smell reached Timothy's empty stomach he sat down in the middle of the paneled floor and cried.
The Grenoble seized two moss gloves, dipped them into a basin of water, flung open the over, letting out more of the smell and a brilliant glow, and pulled out two trays, the mitts hissing and spluttering. With a flourish it carried them over Timothy's head, dripping water onto his bangs, to the only open counter and set them down on wicker coasters.
The spluttering and splashing and, most importantly, the trays of food, had stopped Timothy's eyes. He stood behind the Grenoble's leg, looking from the counter's edge, which he could not quite see over, to the Grenoble above him, which was busy doing to the food whatever mothers and fathers and Grenobles do to food while they make you wait too long before you can eat it. Finally, it raised a deep brown, almost-black colored muffin to its mouth, smacked a bite out of it, and closed its eyes.
Timothy let out a quiet whine.
"It is ready," whispered the Grenoble through dark crumbs, and handed one to Timothy. Timothy, now that he had his food, took his time examining it, and picked off a few crumbs to fall to the ground. Then he bit in. It's texture was that of rich wheat bread, and it tasted of freshness, grains, sugar-glaze, and birthdays. Then the Grenoble took from the other tray what looked something like the play clay snake Timothy had made the day before. Timothy examined this even more carefully (for he had taken a bite of the snake, and it had not pleased him); it was brown, flakey, crisp, and firm on the outside, and curled all around. He bit it; it crunched all the way through and filled his mouth with a strong taste, like after he had eaten six ginger-snaps at once when no one was looking, and started crying because of it. This time he did not cry at first, because he was getting to be a big boy and like spicy things. He took bite after bite, and then ran around the room in circles, tears pouring down his face, but laughing hard even as he wailed with the strength of the root. The Grenoble did something else on the counter, and then carried two packages with steam coming from them over to one of the cabinets. Putting these away, it rang a little triangle and stepped back out onto the stairs. The light coming down the trunk was reddish, like that at sunset, and Timothy yawned. Lisa came out of the room up the stairs, also yawning, and stretching, with the other Grenoble. The brother and sister took each other’s hands; Timothy thought Lisa smelled like syrup; Lisa thought Timothy smelled like gingersnaps.
"Food," said Timothy, pointing into the kitchen.
"Hmm," yawned Lisa, "books," she flung her hand behind her to indicate which way.
"Now, we..." she began to say to the Grenobles, but then she noticed that they had already begun to descend again.
"Come on!" she giggled, remembering a part in the book she had just read where the children found a cave on the estate and explored it.
They passed many more quaint little rooms with knothole doors. Timothy found it all quite ordinary, and nothing to compare with how tired he was, or how good the food had tasted, and Lisa marveled at how perfect and pretty it all was. There were several sitting rooms, with various types of lamps and chairs and tables, and writing rooms with desks and almost-empty shelves, old yellowed papers, quill pens, and ink wells, and closed doors, and dusty pantries, and rooms that were only a tangle of vines or branches, and two rooms that must have been the Grenoble's bedrooms, for inside of them were round beds of leaves and moss and dirt. Instead of cups and baths were little springs bubbling up from the floor, and foresty mobiles hung from the ceilings and circled slowly, casting shadows of leaves and creepers on the walls.
when they came to these two doors, the Grenobles yawned, stretching their limbs so that they squeaked and creaked, and opening their mouths wider and wider, so that wind sighed straight down the stairs, sleepy, pulling downwards, making Timothy's eyes sag.
Then they closed their mouths so quickly that Timothy jumped to see them disappearing into their faces.
The two Grenobles stood by their bedroom doors, crossing their arms behind their backs.
"You have made us be home," they said, "goodnight." Then they each hugged Timothy and Lisa in treeish embraces, which felt like throwing yourself against a young mossy tree that gives way under your weight so that it does not hurt. Then they hugged each other, wind whispering about, went each into his room, and closed perfectly shaped doors on the knotholes. The light from the sunset was fading from above. Timothy shivered.
"Come back?" he asked the door in front of him.
It cracked open, and the Grenoble poked its head out, a nightcap on its head, the burr that tipped it hanging in front of its face.
"Go to the bottom; that is the way home for you," it said softly, and closed the door again.
Lisa looked down. She could see only one more light below them, and no more rooms. She looked up. It was getting dark; she could see the vaguest tint of red far up at the top of the submerged trunk.
"Oh, Timothy, our shoes are up there; we had better go get them," she said, and then stood still and sighed wistfully. Timothy's footsteps retreated from her hearing down the tunnel. By the time she understood the sounds, he was out of sight below her.
"Timothy!" she hissed, trying not to disturb their hosts. "Ah!" she bounded down the stairs after him. There was a wooden candlestick with an amber candle glowing in it on the wall; she took it carefully as she went past ("I'll return it later," she said to herself).
Timothy came to the bottom of the stairs and ran into a closed door. He pushed and shoved on the handle; he even growled at it and banged his head on it, but it would not budge. Turning back he found himself at the bottom of the tree trunk on a dirt floor covered with leaves. Lisa leaned down from the stairs not far above, lit up by her candle.
"Wisa, door won't go!" remonstrated Timothy, thrusting an accusative finger at the knothole. Lisa was a big sister, and Timothy knew that when she wanted to she could be very helpful with doors (only she didn't want to be helpful often).
But she could not budge this door.
"Open!" said Timothy, annoyed that she was not cooperating with him. He was hungry again, and tired, and cross. When he was hungry and tired and cross Lisa should not be so silly as to not open doors.
"It's locked," she said, beginning to realize they were alone in the dark. The shadows cast from her steady amber candle shivered inexplicably, and Lisa took Timothy's hand (in case he was scared) before turning to survey the rest of their surroundings. Across from them was an opening beneath the stairs. She stepped to it with her candle and peered through, Timothy shrinking back a little so that she had to stretch out both arms to get the candle to the opening.
A shallow gust blew through the doorway, but the amber glowed brighter in its presence. She could see trees of a forest, and, now that she looked so hard, some lights. She pulled Timothy through the doorway, and, turning back, saw that they had just stepped out of an ugly gash in the side of an oak. The sun was setting behind the tree. Dogs barked from the lights.
"Home. Come on!" cried Timothy, and yanked Lisa towards the lights, so that she dropped her candle. It hissed in a puddle, and when she picked up what she thought was it, she found only an oddly shaped branch in her hand. "Come home!" said Timothy, and carefully led his sister through the forest towards the sound of the barking. Soon they were trudging through the backyard. Timothy saw the rest of the family sitting down around the meal, and the siblings dropped each other's hands to run up the back porch steps and inside.
"Play wit' 'nobles!" yelled Timothy as his mother served him.
"What's that, Timothy?" asked his father.
"He said we played with the Grenobles," said Lisa somberly, looking down at her plate. "They...they...we played a game with them...a dancing game with the wind."
"Oh," said her father.
"Funny dancing, fell in wa-water, funny feets!" Timothy clapped his spoon in his hands.
"Oh!” laughed his mother, spooning him out a bowl of soup.
"I'm sorry I got my dress dirty...oh!" said Lisa, for she had just at that moment realized that her shoes were back on her feet. She stuck her head under the table to see Timothy kicking his feet -- shoes and all -- against his high chair.
"Lisa, what are you doing?" asked her father. She sat up quickly, grazing her head on the table and making a leaf fall from her hair.
"Making sure Timothy didn't loose his shoes."
"Did he?"
"No."
"Want to play wit' 'nobles," pouted Timothy as he saw his mother approaching with the soup. He wished he could have another of the muffins, or one of the spicy snakes.
"It's dark now, Timothy; they probably had to go home, too," said his mother, sitting down beside his high chair. "You will have to play with them again later. Now, eat up."
She blew on a spoonful of soup.
It spun and danced under her breath.
Timothy giggled.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Myth: College is More Exciting than Home
Fact: Since returning home from college late Thursday, March 3, I have
- Used a large piece of power equipment, utilizing its rapidly rotating plastic blades to cut down thousands of organic growths.
- Learned about Christians in Chile, Colombia, Cuba, and Brazil, including information about their countries' history, customs, foods, and governments.
- Eaten hormigas. For those of you who have not tried them, they have a texture like popcorn and a flavor like roasted salted peanuts.
- Stepped barefoot into a casserole dish which had marshmallow spread in the bottom.
- Won several important battles with the help of Tristan and his band of warriors known as the Shining Force.
- Eaten four restaurant-prepared meals.
- Eaten no Chartwell's-prepared meals.
- Eaten several little-sister-prepared meals.
- Eaten several self-prepared meals.
- Finished a book I have been reading for more than half a year.
- Begun a translation of William William's Theomemphus, which begins with a fascinating biography detailing his part in the Great Awakening, and includes lots of Welsh words like ' ' and ' '.
- Written on my blog.
- Forced cotton fabric to realign by pumping water onto it and applying pressure with a superheated piece of iron.
- Forced wooden stakes into the ground by pounding on them with a piece of heavy metal.
- Dug out a 120-or-so square foot section of my back yard to a depth of about 3.5 inches. Might I add that I live in Georgia, thus ensuring that I was digging into Georgia red clay.
- Chipped concrete. Granted, I could have done this at college if I had signed up for that particular Practical Service, but it is still exciting, and something I did not do at college.
- Watched TV, just for fun, in the middle of the week.
- Watched on in a mixture of horror and anticipation as our fridge/freezer and stand alone freezer broke at the same time. We had to eat everything. Everything included a lot of ice cream.
- Sold shoes. If you don't think that's cool, think again.
- Teased my little sister.
- Gotten a blister on my thumb.
- Written pieces of stories, and pages of outlines for the second book in the Sol War story arc that I thought up, oh, four years ago.
- Discovered David Webber's book, Off Armageddon Reef, which is quite enjoyable, though slightly annoying due to its similarities to the Sol War story arc.
- Gone to the library without any idea that I was going to run into a bona fide member of the Imperial 501st stormtrooper legion, and myriad other Star Wars oddities collected for the thirtieth anniversary of the theatrical release of Episode IV.
- Most recently, I have acquired a rocket launcher.
- Used a large piece of power equipment, utilizing its rapidly rotating plastic blades to cut down thousands of organic growths.
- Learned about Christians in Chile, Colombia, Cuba, and Brazil, including information about their countries' history, customs, foods, and governments.
- Eaten hormigas. For those of you who have not tried them, they have a texture like popcorn and a flavor like roasted salted peanuts.
- Stepped barefoot into a casserole dish which had marshmallow spread in the bottom.
- Won several important battles with the help of Tristan and his band of warriors known as the Shining Force.
- Eaten four restaurant-prepared meals.
- Eaten no Chartwell's-prepared meals.
- Eaten several little-sister-prepared meals.
- Eaten several self-prepared meals.
- Finished a book I have been reading for more than half a year.
- Begun a translation of William William's Theomemphus, which begins with a fascinating biography detailing his part in the Great Awakening, and includes lots of Welsh words like ' ' and ' '.
- Written on my blog.
- Forced cotton fabric to realign by pumping water onto it and applying pressure with a superheated piece of iron.
- Forced wooden stakes into the ground by pounding on them with a piece of heavy metal.
- Dug out a 120-or-so square foot section of my back yard to a depth of about 3.5 inches. Might I add that I live in Georgia, thus ensuring that I was digging into Georgia red clay.
- Chipped concrete. Granted, I could have done this at college if I had signed up for that particular Practical Service, but it is still exciting, and something I did not do at college.
- Watched TV, just for fun, in the middle of the week.
- Watched on in a mixture of horror and anticipation as our fridge/freezer and stand alone freezer broke at the same time. We had to eat everything. Everything included a lot of ice cream.
- Sold shoes. If you don't think that's cool, think again.
- Teased my little sister.
- Gotten a blister on my thumb.
- Written pieces of stories, and pages of outlines for the second book in the Sol War story arc that I thought up, oh, four years ago.
- Discovered David Webber's book, Off Armageddon Reef, which is quite enjoyable, though slightly annoying due to its similarities to the Sol War story arc.
- Gone to the library without any idea that I was going to run into a bona fide member of the Imperial 501st stormtrooper legion, and myriad other Star Wars oddities collected for the thirtieth anniversary of the theatrical release of Episode IV.
- Most recently, I have acquired a rocket launcher.
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